Original subtitles

I found this diary in the blue cupboards at Neaulphe.

I don't remember writing it.

I know I did though.

I know it was me.

I recognize the handwriting, the details of what happened.

I can picture the place.

The Gare d'Orsay.

My itineraries.

But not myself writing.

What I found was evenly filled pages, the letters tiny,

unbelievably placid and regular.

What I found was a phenomenal chaos of thought and feeling

that I dare not amend,

besides which literary polish strikes me as shameful.

One thing is sure,

obvious.

It is unthinkable that these words were written whilst waiting for Robert.

MEMOIR OF WAR

MEMOIR OF WAR Based on the story by Marguerite Duras

APRIL 1945

It wouldn't be odd if he did come home.

He could come here directly,

without fuss,

against expectation.

Alongside expectation.

Some do return.

Without warning.

He'd ring at the door.

Who's there?

It's me.

Many such things do occur.

Oh, Robert!

I knew it.

I knew you'd come home.

You're so handsome.

Do you want to eat?

Something to drink?

Just water.

I've got coffee.

Real coffee if you want.

Come on.

Make an effort.

I know it's hard.

You can't give up.

I'm not!

I'm not giving up.

It's something else.

Not that? All right.

I'd rather be alone tonight.

I'll manage.

As you wish.

I'm not far, if you need me.

For ages...

For ages I tried...

The world was at war...

I thought I was still running towards you...

Following in your footprints.

JUNE 1944

Joining you, maybe.

For ages. I thought it might work.

ID card, please.

Frau Suzanne Boulard.

Jeanne Bellay.

Frau Jeanne Latussier.

Please follow me.

Are you still waiting?

My permit is out of date. I don't know what to do.

I have to see someone. Herman. About my parcel.

My husband was arrested.

I've packed his things. He's nothing to wear.

Ah, it's that Dupin business.

I dealt with that.

You're Antelme's wife.

That's right.

I'm worried about...

Do you know about parcels?

Are you the writer?

How do you know?

Your book was on the table, beside the diagram.

You know, the sketch showing German fuel deposits.

I'll be right back.

Madame Antelme!

Madame Antelme!

I said to wait.

About the parcel, I'll do what I can.

Thank you.

Hello, Marguerite. How are you?

- Hello, Suzanne. - Marguerite.

- Any news of Robert? - Not yet. Today, I hope.

See you!

Are you all right?

You didn't sleep at home.

Those three manuscripts are for you.

Yes?

For you. A call.

- Who is it? - I don't know. A man.

- Will I put him through? - Yes, do.

Yes. This is me.

How do you know I...?

How do you mean, moved?

He's been moved where?

Who is the Inspector for interrogations?

How can you know that?

All right. Where?

Now?

Hello.

Please. Sit down.

Waiter!

A bottle of red!

You're very pale.

Are you eating?

Waiter, a plate of ham for the lady.

I've brought you something.

Here.

Thank you.

It's flattering to be at the same table as a writer.

Even a woman writer. An intellectual.

I must confess a secret.

Neither my colleagues nor my wife know it.

My passion, to be indulged as soon as Germany wins,

is books.

Art books.

An art bookshop!

That's my plan.

I've got the premises.

- We have a bit of butter. - Fine, good.

And my husband?

Oh yes, sorry.

Good news. He's at Fresnes.

He's been questioned. Not tortured, I promise.

Do you know how he is?

I don't know. Well, I imagine.

Why do you imagine that?

I gave instructions.

You gave what?

Well, I gave...

It's like billiards. Three-cushion cannon.

Some people appreciate me.

Others fear me. They let me wangle things.

I've had Robert classed as avoiding work duty in Germany.

They'll treat him favorably.

You're not impressed?

I thought you'd be pleased!

I thought you'd say he's been shot to ease prison crowding.

Won't you eat?

Do have some. Please eat.

I hate to see you like this.

Mind you, sadness suits you.

I need to leave.

Already? You haven't touched your food.

I'll hear more.

- I don't know how to thank you. - Don't.

We meet tomorrow. All right?

It'll be okay.

Hello, Marguerite.

- Any news ? - Not yet.

Jean's here.

How are you?

You?

Are you holding up?

You must. Robert will. He's tough.

He's not just anyone, is he?

If only we knew what they'll do with prisoners.

The Allies are advancing.

The firing-squads will start.

It stands to reason.

Not according to our information.

Holding executions takes preparation.

I would have heard.

Marguerite.

Hello.

- Any news? - No, not yet.

Robert's arrest weakens our network. They'll infiltrate us.

We must stop meeting in my flat.

There's been a massacre at Tulle.

They're even shooting

women and children.

A real massacre.

Same in the Creuse. A whole village taken hostage.

They're all over the shop. They're out to terrorize.

I'd say it won't be long till they leave.

In the centre of Châteauroux,

they shot at passers-by.

I met the cop who got Robert.

Sorry?

Who?

The cop that got Robert.

- That Gestapo bastard? - I spoke to him.

He said he'd give me news.

Get parcels through.

Why did you speak to him?

He's at rue des Saussaies. A big-wig.

It's a trap.

You must break off contact. Why didn't you say?

They're probably watching this flat.

Do you think?

So stupid!

Why did you do it?

It's mad.

He thinks I don't know,

I'm a writer.

I agree with Dionys, it's too risky.

Most networks are infiltrated.

He's right.

He's calling back. To meet again.

What for?

I think he likes me.

He wants information. He's using you.

Robert won't talk. So it's you.

- Of course! - You're putting us in danger.

Have no more contact.

Lie low.

On the contrary. It's an opportunity.

We shall use this cop.

He's our only link with those under arrest.

With his rank, he can do things.

This is the best news we've had in months.

It's you I'm afraid for.

You really do think I'm useless.

Don't talk nonsense.

Promise you'll be careful.

- All right? - Fine.

Keep your eyes open. Make sure you're not followed.

Give the concierge

the address you're going to, the time you'll be back.

Give no names. And no addresses.

Don't make anything up.

Lie as little as possible.

Don't lower your guard. Not even about Robert.

Terrorist!

Dirty traitor!

Aren't you ashamed?

Now are you pleased you betrayed your country?

I'll make you choke on your own balls!

We'll see him before a firing-squad.

Another person denounced.

I want to show you something.

You can't imagine how the Resistance generates traitors.

You do know that?

Not really.

I assume so.

How do you think your husband was caught?

He was betrayed from within his own network,

by someone threatened with deportation. Easy.

Do you want the name?

Never mind, really.

You don't want the traitor's name?

What for?

I must be careful.

Look. Rue Dupin!

I see what he's trying to do.

You do know this street?

You arrested him here?

Are you serious? You've never been here?

You don't know the building?

What do you want?

I said, I know nothing.

It all started here.

Your book on the table.

You do see,

it all adds up.

What do you mean?

You must realize?

Are you trying to scare me?

You've succeeded.

This is a joke played on women

so they feel you've saved their lives.

Very Rue des Saussaies!

Now, dearest Marguerite.

Don't get on your high horse.

We'll meet tomorrow.

All right?

We have so much more to share.

Fear drives blood from the brain.

I no longer hear well.

It's a selective deafness.

Street sounds muffle.

They sound like the sea.

I walk the streets. There are no cars.

I can't see properly.

I can't focus.

I carry on walking.

I cross onto the pavement,

then back into the road.

I walk on. My feet walk on.

I see tall buildings at Sèvres-Babylone tip in the sky.

Pavements hollow out, turn black.

Everything is a blur, but I walk on.

I walk on. My feet do.

I cross onto the pavement,

then back into the road.

I feel a slight pang that I failed to die a living death.

What to do with freedom?

I'm afraid I'll be killed.

I'm ashamed to be alive.

I feel if I don't die, I'll see you again.

That I must live to see you again.

I don't know if this note will reach you.

We are so close.

You are behind those walls.

I could be with you in an hour.

From now on, I'll write everything down.

When you get home, you'll know.

Yes, I'm home.

Fine. Tomorrow.

12:10.

Where?

Fine.

See you tomorrow.

Rabier calls everyday.

He gives his appointments at the last minute,

always at unlikely times.

At twenty to six,

4:10,

always in public places,

with several exits.

Corner cafés, junctions, streets.

His preferred neighborhoods are the 6th,

Chamber of Deputies, République, Duroc, Palais Royal...

Rabier always arrives early and waits at a distance.

If we're to meet in a street, he stands further on.

In a café, he'll wait across the street,

but not right opposite,

always in the best lookout spot.

Often, I don't notice him.

He'll burst up from behind.

Restaurants, their doors closed.

A door, a knock. Butter on the table.

Crème fraiche.

Juicy meats, wine.

I'm not hungry.

Not hungry.

This makes him desperate.

Every time I'm to see him,

I assume I'm to be killed.

I behave as if he knows everything.

Every time.

Every day.

My friends are probably right.

If this collaborator is using me to infiltrate us...

He's using me.

And I believe I'm using him.

He keeps giving me guarantees.

He lets me send my letters,

tells me German policy on prisoners, prison conditions.

What's he say about Robert?

He says he's not ill. He hasn't been tortured.

I'm sure that's true.

He needs to tell me the truth.

I don't know.

I want to believe it.

I'm at his mercy. Everyday, I run to him.

Because he brings me closer to Robert.

Our forces will engage in many tasks

to help Allied progress.

It is a real joy,

as you, compatriots, far-flung friends, can imagine,

to see a good part of France

freed with the active participation

of clandestine forces throughout our land...

In the center of France,

towns have been liberated by us.

South of Paris,

thousands of patriots are attacking the enemy head on.

In the East and South-East, the enemy is harassed.

I have just learned

that in my own region of l'Aisne, fighters have operated a sortie.

Nearly ten thousand of us are fighting south of the Loire.

Far-flung friends, such is the good news from our homeland.

France is risen.

Marguerite,

please sit down.

You don't mind being seen with me here?

I've finished your novel. Remarkable.

You know I'm not here to talk books.

But about my husband.

Do you know this man?

Here.

No, I can't place him.

- Try. - Who is he?

Morland. Does that mean anything?

I've not met him.

I can't help you.

I said, I don't know my husband's business.

If you help me find him, I'll ensure Robert is not deported.

What do you mean, deported?

How? To where?

Why won't you say?

Look at the pictures. You know him. You must.

Look.

Please.

If you help, I say Robert will remain at Fresnes.

That's a promise.

Do you not know?

If I did, I wouldn't tell you.

It would be appalling of me.

Morland is head of your husband's network.

He's worth 250,000 francs.

Never mind. I don't care about money.

A denunciation! What do you take me for?

Does it matter what I think of you?

Even if I knew, I wouldn't say.

You don't know him?

As it happens, I don't.

I've not met him. He's not been by.

Listen, please.

If you can do something, please do.

I beg you.

Do you like my begging?

I know an officer. He works at Fresnes.

He deals with transports.

He'll tell you what convoy.

A convoy to where?

You're bluffing.

You can do nothing. You're bluffing.

I'll give you a permit.

It'll get you in.

Take it. It's all I can do.

I'm to see Mr Weber. I've been recommended.

What's in your bag?

- Go ahead. - Thanks.

They're coming out!

Madam, please.

- Why can't we go in? - I'm sorry.

- Where'll they go? - We don't know.

Tell us! We've a right.

Have some been shot?

No one says shot.

What about political prisoners? Where do they go?

They've been transporting them since last night.

To Germany, is it?

Tell us.

Are they going to Germany?

Be patient. They'll tell you. Leave us alone.

Marguerite!

To Compiègne!

They took him by truck.

Compiègne.

They'll deport him.

You don't have to.

I don't need him.

Are you sure?

Yes. It's me.

I want to see you.

Tomorrow. Fine.

Tomorrow's perfect.

I know the place.

Fine.

All right.

I'll be there.

The St-Georges.

At noon.

Near rue Caulaincourt.

Not much time to get ready.

Noon is manageable.

Better be quick.

Before the bastard leaves Paris.

I want him to talk.

I want to know who betrayed Robert.

I want him punished.

Monsieur Rabier, how do you do?

- My dear Monsieur Rabier. - Your health!

Have a nice meal.

My friend.

Not like the Flore.

You don't want to talk books.

Oh, but I do.

My bookshop is nearly ready.

Don't you read the papers?

Don't you see the change coming?

Everyone knows Montgomery will be in Paris soon.

Germany is not beaten yet.

Excuse me, they came to our flat last night.

They knocked, they rang, they woke the whole building.

We didn't turn the light on.

The FFI.

A denunciation.

Luckily, our door is armored steel.

Still, they get away with it.

- You do nothing. - We shall do.

It'll be seen to soon, I assure you. We'll beat them.

She's afraid.

And she's right.

Let's have wine.

Why not?

Waiter!

A bottle of Pouilly.

What about your door?

My door?

Is it armored steel?

I'm not scared.

I've nothing on my conscience. I made my choice.

I'll tell you something.

I was told to arrest some Jews.

No one was home.

There was a child's drawing on the dining-room table.

I didn't wait for them to come home.

I spared a family.

Many others too.

What I mean is, well,

I would have told you,

if they'd wanted to arrest you...

You saved our lives, the Jew and me.

You're establishing your defense.

Wine changes things.

You're judging me.

I am his cop.

You don't know me.

Your book.

If I may.

He's less important now.

He's nothing.

Just a German police agent.

"The day closed over her like the sea..."

I am his cop.

I notice the new shirt,

the tie

that goes with a brown suit,

a gilded beige.

What a pity this shirt found an owner headed for the gallows.

Magnificent.

It speaks to me. Like it was written for me.

I have lost my fear.

You were saying?

He gazes at me.

You're making me drink.

My fate has always been in your hands.

What if it was me that held his fate in my hands?

I have lost my fear.

Now it is they who are afraid.

Do you want to dance?

All these people,

all liable to die in the days or weeks ahead.

They know it.

It cannot now be otherwise.

Soon they will be swept away.

I come from a different country.

I come from France.

Everything will be plain.

Everything is plain.

I am elsewhere.

Wine.

Fear.

Dionys, so close.

Robert, if you could see us, you'd laugh.

I can hear you laugh.

I can hear you.

At last it's over.

Germany has lost.

Germany has lost, everyone knows it.

What you're saying is appalling.

Never mind. It's nice to see you smile.

I'm sorry but what's she saying?

We arrested her husband.

Oh, that's it!

That's it.

Someone said something about fear.

When a machine-gun fires, the skin comes alive.

A sixth sense jumps to life.

Do you mean me?

Or your husband?

No, I didn't mean him.

Forgive me.

I feel nothing.

Skin.

Body.

I have lost my fear.

Dance with me.

Keep calm. Step away from the windows.

Vacate the dining-room.

There's a shelter just nearby.

Or the cellar if you prefer.

Music! Champagne!

Please enjoy yourselves.

Everything's fine.

Goodbye, Sir.

Good evening. The shelter is 50 yards away.

Marguerite.

Stay with me.

What are you doing?

I'm not afraid.

The Empire will not collapse.

You'll be fine with me.

Stay.

I want to know why you called.

- To see you. - Why?

- To talk about Robert. - That's not true.

Be brave. Tell me the real reason.

I want to know.

Why?

See?

It's happening it seems.

The world is breaking free.

I have a friend who has a flat nearby.

Stay with me. Please.

What for?

To kill me? To possess me?

You despise me.

People like you despise people like me.

We're from different worlds.

A few years ago, you wouldn't have stopped to see me.

If I'd saved your husband...

You lied to me.

I know you never tried to save my husband.

I know now I always knew it.

You gave me the illusion we were not apart.

That's what you gave me.

I shall lose you.

It was the last time.

He knew it.

He'd understood everything from the start.

He did nothing to arrest us

as if it no longer mattered.

I wish you could see this.

Something about to burst.

I'll tell you.

How the world is breaking free.

I'll tell you

how everything tipped.

A few days later, at 11 pm,

the Liberation of Paris began.

Eight nights.

A whole week.

Rabier must have heard the uproar as he fled.

All the church-bells.

The massive crowds hanging off

buildings and in the streets.

Inexpressible joy.

Paris is free

in a world still at war and ripe for oblivion.

Total oblivion.

I chose to wait for him

as I am waiting

if it costs me my life.

It's my life.

If you go to Japan, Madam, visit Mount Mihara

and sing the song of a poetess named Shiyu.

My little dragonfly fisherman is gone,

but whither?

Japan is also white granite buildings,

straight avenues maddened with taxis,

sunlit offices, whence a brain controls shipping on the high seas...

The war staggered on.

We were innocent of any knowledge of what had happened.

It was the birth of Man.

Virginal.

"But wait for evening...

"At night,

"Glasshouse Man gathers his kimono.

"The collar falls to his toes.

"Garish kimonos are like plumage to the Japanese."

By the end of winter, a German defeat was declared.

Long months of war were to come

throughout Europe.

For ages, we were without news. Nothing budged.

A lid over occupied France.

Now news flooded in from all parts

bringing the reality of the world.

Spring brought its own casualties,

its survivors

and the inconceivable pain of German camps.

Orsay.

Our POWs look astonished.

They come in from Le Bourget and Germany.

Sometimes they talk, usually they don't see what it is we want.

They grin.

They stare at French girls, their first in a long time.

Many people with no one to wait for come here too

for the show.

Homecoming POWs,

women waiting,

the whole business.

They want to see it.

It may never happen again.

You could be among them.

You might plausibly be in the next train

or the one after.

I'm bad at my job.

All these names to list and never his.

Every five minutes,

I want to be done with it.

Not to be needing news.

To be out of this depot forever.

She said, "No."

"You're not from the Ministry, you've no right."

Never mind.

Families are kept in the dark. We inform them.

We publish lists in Libres.

Where did they crawl out of these officials in their immaculate clothes?

Haughty and condescending in tone.

"Where's your ID?"

"You can't use a table."

"You should be outside, at the end of the queue."

The Gaullists are moving in.

They'll occupy France.

They're rewriting history.

They'll poison the country for years.

De Gaulle has got all he wants, except peace.

We're the only ones still waiting.

The age-old waiting

of women

all over the world

for men to come home from war.

At night, I pass by the paper with a list of names.

I tell Dionys, I won't go back to Orsay.

All the prisoners will soon be home.

Till the very last one.

But you're not home.

Eat.

Eat.

You have no right to give up.

You're right.

I've seen the war out.

I have to be careful.

He might even come home.

There's a ton of stuff to do today.

I've bought some amphetamines.

Have a shower. You're starting to smell.

You must go and see Madame Bordes. Her son's asking after you.

I told her,

her husband's in convoy IIIA next week.

Go and see her, she's not doing well.

Really?

She's there. She won't get up.

Hello.

- What's your name? - Suzanne.

Mom!

Hello, Suzanne.

Madame Antelme is here.

Madame Bordes?

Madame Bordes, it's Marguerite.

I'm coming in.

Madame Bordes.

Don't let yourself go.

There, there.

It'll be all right.

There.

I know.

Pull yourself together.

Convoy IIIA is not here yet.

They're coming.

You said that a week ago.

I'm not making it up.

Read the papers.

I can't make out the papers.

You say they're not back yet, the streets are full of them.

You're lying.

Convoy IIIA was released two days ago.

There's no more reason to believe he won't come home than he will.

It's a matter of days.

A question of days

or hours.

Of course.

Thank you, Mrs Antelme.

I'll drop in again.

I must stop my temples throbbing.

I fall asleep.

Beside him.

Every night.

In a dark ditch.

Beside him.

He is dead.

Germany is in flames.

He is in Germany.

If he's not been shot.

He's in the inferno that is Germany.

- Well? - Nothing.

You?

Nothing.

How are you?

The light's back.

I saw Sorel at the Centre.

He said one in fifty would come home.

30% of the camps have been liberated.

There's no more reason to believe he won't come home than he will.

We're spoiled for choice!

Two thousand shot at Belsen.

1500 bodies found in a mass-grave at Mittel-Glattbach.

Forced marches on every road.

20,000 Buchenwald survivors, 150,000 shot just before the Allies came

so they could not speak.

The bodies were still warm.

That massacre might have been avoided

if paratroopers had been sent 24 hours before the Allies marched in.

Now, they'll shoot people in every last camp.

Nothing to stop them.

No one cares.

So, you see.

Berlin's in flames. Germany's a mess.

Here, we're electing city councils.

"De Gaulle and tears forgotten."

Camp victims are ignored.

A day of mourning for Roosevelt.

No mourning for common people.

That's how it'll end.

We may never know.

All I know,

the only thing I know is he's been hungry.

He was hungry for months.

He died without seeing a bit of bread.

Not one.

Stop this at once. It's facile.

See, I'm the most cowardly woman waiting.

- The doorbell. - I heard.

It's Beauchamp.

Good evening.

Hello, Marguerite.

I've brought some wine.

I don't know what it's worth.

- So? - Why won't he write?

They can't, there's no post in Germany.

I'll fetch some glasses.

We have heard from Buchenwald.

We know Robert's August 17th convoy arrived.

We know that.

We're bound to hear more.

He may have been moved in the New Year.

True.

I don't know

but in my bones I know.

"De Gaulle went to the Gare de Lyon to meet Ravensbruck survivors."

Well, the Soviets have reached Berlin.

I'm not complaining.

I wish I was in a vast plain.

Alone.

Over there darkness falls as it does here.

In his ditch,

shadows lengthen.

His mouth is in darkness.

I'm losing strength.

Six years of war are over.

I know it.

It's the end of the world.

I'm not dying against anyone.

I must be careful.

Dying isn't being with him.

I mustn't fail.

I've given up waiting.

I must stay alive, await him.

He's been dead two weeks.

Fighting exhaustion.

Two weeks.

Worn out.

Abandoned in a ditch.

Rain on him, sun.

Worn out. Waiting.

Dust of victory.

Mustn't get used to it.

His hands are open.

If he rang at the door.

"Who is it?"

"Me. Robert Antelme."

As soon as he comes, I shall die.

Can't be otherwise.

Such is my secret.

Give it to me.

Give it me, I say.

It's three o'clock.

Wake up.

You were delirious all night.

You said things.

Incomprehensible.

Breathe.

Any pain?

Good.

Blood pressure very low.

You'll have to be careful.

Stop taking Corydrane. Eat

and take a bit of aspirin.

It may help, all right. Goodbye, Marguerite.

It's Mrs Katz, Dora's mother.

She's here?

You said she could stay here.

Dora?

- Dora's mother? - With her bags.

I don't want to bother you.

I've come at a bad time. If you're sick.

No, not at all.

It's only a cold.

Nothing serious.

- Dionys will settle you in. - Till my daughter comes home?

Of course.

Let me help you.

- Make yourself at home. - Thank you.

Hello, Hélène.

She's asleep.

Buchenwald?

How so?

What comrades?

Where?

I can't hear.

Any other details?

Hotel Royal.

Thank you.

Robert's comrades have arrived.

They saw Robert ten days ago. He's alive.

You're all feverish.

I feel I've waited enough.

Robert may come with the Jews.

Why not Jews?

No one speaks of Jews in Paris.

Nothing is known of Nazi atrocities.

Nothing is known about the human species.

It was a magnificent spring.

Before our eyes,

an April afternoon.

Bright sunshine.

Move back.

Let us through.

Let the bus by.

Come. They're across the street.

Straight on, towards the desk.

Dionys! Go upstairs.

- Where? - Sixth floor. Go on.

Excuse me, have you seen my children?

Nissim, Joseph and Salomon?

12, 16 and 15.

These are Robert Antelme's friends. Remember? We spoke about that.

This is his friend

and his wife too.

They will question you.

I'll leave you.

Are you Perrotti?

Did you see Robert?

Two weeks ago.

How was he?

Tired.

Hello.

Could you help me?

What is it?

I want my family.

Isaac Mardoché Gicranec.

My mother, my brother Felix.

They were taken in 1942.

I don't know him.

Thanks.

Please, Miss.

The boy?

Why isn't Robert with you?

We looked for him as the train left, we didn't find him.

We did look though.

How come you didn't find him?

It was dark.

Everything surfaces.

Here.

Eight months in Buchenwald with Robert.

Together, they survived a winter in Buchenwald.

The evacuation.

Marching columns on the road.

Dozens, hundreds, marching, dropping.

Robert among them.

Corpses in the ditches.

I saw him after he escaped.

I know I did because we even agreed to leave from the station.

How do you mean, escaped?

He tried to escape.

But they got him.

They caught him?

What did they do to him?

They beat him.

How?

I don't remember.

I know I saw him standing.

I know I did.

You're not telling the truth.

Let me.

It was in the column.

Try to remember. When did he escape? The day before?

They can't say.

They can't say if he's alive.

If he's on the march.

They can't say anything else.

Words don't describe what eyes have seen.

Words cease.

I'm sorry.

I dropped off.

I'm sorry about the mess.

Sorry.

I washed my daughter's things. They stank of mothballs.

I'll clear it away.

Tomorrow, I'll iron them.

I can iron your husband's shirts if you like.

- Good night. - Good night.

That's it for tonight.

Time to sleep.

Go to bed. I'll have food sent up.

You heard what the doctor said.

Something's wrong.

There's a gap.

I don't understand.

He was in the column.

He escaped from the column.

He was caught.

He was beaten.

But they saw him standing.

He said he saw him standing.

Why wasn't he at the station?

You know it means nothing.

Go and lie down.

- You know something? - Nothing.

You do.

You interpret signs any way you please.

You won't face the moment.

You're wrong.

You're quite wrong.

Mrs Bordes, Mrs Katz, me.

Women that wait are only in the moment.

We stick to something like God.

Glued to God.

God!

The nonsense you talk!

You think only of yourself.

You give nothing.

You don't care. Even about your best friend.

I'm sorry.

What was that?

So hit me.

Go on! Hit me!

Maybe you want him not to come home! It's easier.

You're a monster. You're mad. Look at yourself.

Look at yourself.

What are you trying to prove?

To impress whom?

- You'll be ashamed of yourself. - I've nothing to hide.

Nothing!

Nothing to be ashamed of.

Nothing.

Except that I'm here. And alive.

That's all.

I'll go home, in case of a call.

Have a rest.

Tomorrow may be a big day.

Call me if you need.

I promised.

Not allowed.

Must be reasonable.

Know what they say?

Hitler shot himself in the head.

He's dead.

Mind you.

They say it weekly.

I hope I hear something today.

Won't you get dressed?

Another picture from Belsen in the papers.

A long mass-grave.

With bodies in a line.

Thinner than ever seen.

A Jewish girl of 17 has come home.

Her elbows have pierced the skin on her arms.

Probably her age,

the tenderness of her skin.

She appears naked, clean.

She's not in pain.

Her joints don't hurt.

Not her belly from which one by one

at regular intervals

all her genitals were removed.

Six months Mrs Katz has waited for her daughter.

Her Jewish daughter, handicapped,

a bad leg from TB.

I've had her black coat relined.

I've had the pockets mended.

A stitch in her stockings.

Her shoes tipped.

She wears them right down.

I think that's it.

We heard they killed cripples.

I'm ready, as they say.

As soon as they got to the camp.

Systematically.

We don't know about Jews.

What they did to the many that left home.

Six months Mrs Katz has waited for her daughter.

Waiting keeps her alive.

They say Hitler shot himself in the head.

Dead, they say.

It's not certain.

I told you that.

Six months, Mrs Katz has been defying God.

I'm off to the Carreau du Temple.

Every night there

there's news.

If he comes home, we'll go to the seaside.

It'll be midsummer.

He'd like nothing better.

He'll arrive.

He'll go to the beach

and watch the sea.

Me, I'll be happy to watch him.

Him.

I ask nothing.

If he rings the bell. "Who is it?"

"Me, Robert Antelme."

Dead.

Dead.

Dead.

Dead. May 3rd.

Robert is dead.

That sentence is possible now.

Creatures crawl over him, live inside him.

Shot in the neck.

He died with my name on his lips.

It was done quickly.

Dead. Dead.

Now.

His hands are open.

Each, dearer to me than my life.

Familiar.

Familiar in this way only to me.

This is the end of the world.

I shall not die against anyone.

A foreign land will rise out of this chaos.

Me.

No place for me.

Nowhere

on this earth.

Me,

I am with him, there,

in that inaccessible place

that no one else can know,

where it burns

and where one dies.

An illuminated city represents death.

It is a sign of a tomorrow without them.

Land of oblivion.

His death is in me.

How to terminate this condition?

A heart that beats,

throbbing temples.

His death is inside me.

This is Mrs Antelme.

She was a comfort.

He came home last week.

Hello.

I wanted to thank you.

Don't mind us.

What is it?

Show me your eyes.

Look at me.

I want to see your eyes.

Come closer.

- Tell me. - What?

Tell me the truth.

You know Robert's dead. You won't say.

You're biding your time.

You're biding your time.

Is that it?

Biding your time?

You're delirious.

Have you learned something new?

The living are coming home.

Robert isn't.

Tell me the truth.

You're feverish.

Going out was a bad idea.

I wanted a sign in your expression.

A lie.

A lie concerning his death.

Why get in such a state?

I'm not in a state.

You've grown apart

every day, with the waiting.

You've grown apart from him

steadily.

That,

that is what you hate.

You're a bastard.

I know.

Are you certain?

Yes, she's here.

Oh fine.

Of course.

See you shortly.

Robert is alive.

Morland is on his way up.

- Hello, François. - Hello.

Where is she?

Listen carefully.

Robert is alive. At Dachau.

- Dachau? - Listen as carefully as you can.

Robert is very feeble. You can't imagine.

It's a matter of hours. He may live three days, no more.

He's in quarantine. They won't let him out. He won't survive.

He must be got out.

You and Beauchamp must go to Dachau now.

Go to my office.

They'll have French officers' uniforms, passports, military orders,

petrol coupons, permits.

Go now.

It's the only thing to do.

Official channels are too slow.

- I'm coming. - No.

Sorry, no room for you.

Go home. You'll be kept informed.

Hurry now.

Be brave.

Three days. Maybe four.

It's nearly over.

They gassed her.

I didn't know they used gas.

No one knew.

The day she arrived.

It's been five months since my Dora

went to heaven.

And I didn't know.

I'm still here.

Come and sit down.

No, no.

I'm getting a train.

I'm going home to Lyon.

You never know.

Maybe it's not true.

After all,

it's only a rumor.

People talk such nonsense.

If she does come home, she'll go there.

She'll need me there.

I mean what they told me might not be true at all.

I must go to the station, find out train times.

I'll leave my cases here,

if you don't mind?

I hope your husband's news is good.

I don't know any more.

Where he is.

I don't know where I am.

What is this place?

What is this whole business?

What's it about?

Hurt is gone.

I no longer exist.

Why would I wait for Robert Antelme?

Why him? Not someone else?

What's she actually waiting for?

What waiting is she waiting for?

What is going on in this flat?

Who is she?

What is this place?

What is this whole business?

Robert Antelme.

Did he ever exist?

Robert is downstairs, at the café.

He needed to stop.

Dysentery.

He's lying on a blanket.

I want to say,

it's much worse than anyone thought.

You'll need to be strong.

You'll not recognize him.

It took us

an hour to recognize him.

He was with the dead and the dying.

We wrapped him in a blanket.

We had to hold him up.

We managed to dress him.

We got past the guardhouse.

US soldiers wore gas-masks.

We avoided vaccination, it would have killed him.

He passed out in the car.

We thought it was the end.

As we got away from the camp, he started to talk.

He said he didn't think

he'd get to Paris alive.

He thought of you.

He repeated your name many times.

I can't.

I can't.

I don't want to see him.

I have no wish to see him.

I don't want to.

Not anymore.

Pull yourself together.

Listen.

Listen to me. Make an effort.

What is most precious?

Robert Antelme? Your own grief?

Make an effort.

He's so happy to be home.

To see you. He said so. He doesn't say much.

He doesn't speak.

I'll go down and fetch him.

I don't want to see him!

Robert!

Nearly there.

Careful.

Robert came home on May 7th, 1945.

His form was not yet dead.

It drifted between life and death.

It was a while before he came back to life completely.

Before every day, every hour,

every minute,

he won the battle against death.

It was that first summer of peace.

It was on a beach, in Italy.

A warm south-west wind was blowing.

We come out of the water, refreshed.

The sun is burning hot.

Robert lies beneath a sunshade.

The sun is still too much for him.

Sometimes, he says nothing for a long while.

He watches people coming and going, things.

How can he watch and see?

One day, I said we must get a divorce.

I wanted to bear Dionys' child.

He asked whether we might ever reunite.

I said no.

I had not changed my mind in two years.

The heat has become unbearable.

The south-west wind has died.

Or maybe there was no wind.

Maybe it was another year, another summer,

another windless day.

A breath in deep sleep.

Robert stood up.

He went to the water.

I came to the edge.

I stood watching.

He saw me watching.

He was blinking behind his sunglasses.

He smiled.

I knew he knew

that every hour, every day, I thought

Robert did not die in a concentration camp.

Subtitles: Pierre Hodgson

Subtitling: TITRAFILM