Original subtitles

What about the rabbits?

Hi, Feu-de-bois.

So you came?!

Why wouldn't I come? It's my sister's birthday!

Hi, Marcel.

Solange...

Solange!

Solange...

Happy birthday, Solange.

Didn't need to, Bernard.

Well, open it.

You're nuts.

He's nuts!

No need.

Like it?

Yes.

I wasn't sure about a flower...

but as you like birds so much, I figured...

Put it on.

Yes, of course... I'll put it on.

There.

So!

I'll give you a kiss.

You do like it, then?

Of course I like it.

That's not the problem.

So what is the problem?

Bernard, it's worth a fortune.

Don't you worry about that.

How could you afford it?

None of your business!

It's beautiful... It's certainly beautiful!

Well, I'll take it off now.

No, don't!

Why are you taking it off?

Because it's too nice.

It's not.

How could it be too nice for you?

No, it's too nice for this dress. Don't you agree?

Where did you find the money, then? How did you manage it?

That's no one's concern.

It does concern us!

You never had anything.

We've given you everything you have.

Like this suit...

It was Roland's. And that shirt, too.

You forgot?

We always helped you as best we could, and you...

How could you?

With what money?

He robbed the old lady!

You robbed the old lady!

That's enough now!

Right? That's enough. You all shut up!

Of course, that was it.

He'd gone and helped himself...

when Solange and Evelyne had taken her to the retirement home.

He was well accustomed to stealing from his own mother.

But to him, it was not theft.

No...

He was just recovering what was his.

It was easy... he knew all the hiding places.

He'd found them.

I don't give a damn about those idiots.

Should've seen them turn!

Like rats... vultures...

All of 'em.

It's because of them she removed the brooch.

Not because of the dress. It's a nice dress.

My heart would've farted if I'd stayed there...

Farted in my throat.

It's because of them, not because of the dress.

It's a nice dress.

What is Solange doing?

How would I know?

Stop being pissed off, and come and sit down.

Someone's actually talking to me!

Talkin' to me!

Coz people are watching, eh?

They're all there

Except for the dead.

The dead didn't come.

That's a good thing.

Better they didn't come.

Imagine if they'd come?

And Reine?

What'd she 've said... Reine? Eh?

And the dead infant? All gone.

It's a pity the dead infants didn’t come.

With Reine, they were the only ones who meant anything.

Yeah...

So... the bachelor?

With his bachelor's degree.

Something between him and me.

I would have liked to try for uni...

and he thought that was pretentious.

It is true, that here, at the time...

and also... in our family...

But I would've liked it. Where's my sister?!

Where's Solange?

Oh, Rabut! Where's my sister?!

Still in the kitchen?

Most likely.

It's her party... and she's the one in the kitchen.

Aren't you ashamed to let her do everything?

Bunch of slackers!

Bunch of slackers!

What does the bachelor have to say?

And him there!

Him! He can be there, he can.

He can be there, while I...

Bernard, stop it!

That dirty Arab can be there.

You get out now... get out!

Ignore him, Sayid, it's nothing.

For years I've wanted to punch you in the face!

Your goofy face!

Shut up!

That's enough! Now you're leaving.

Go on, get out!

Go on... Get out!

Rabut, help me!

- Go, Feu-de-bois! - Okay!

Stop your raving... None of that here.

No dirty Arabs.

Understood? None of that in our place.

Well, you didn't always spit on the Arabs, did you?

Who said that?

Who said that?

The Algerian French are not Arabs!

They're not Arabs!

Take this back, and get out of here!

No.

Get out of my sight!

Solange...

Fuck off!

Now now...

It's what everyone dreaded and it's happening.

As if it had to happen, of course.

As if it were written.

So the men rush in.

The strongest. The bravest.

Those who are least afraid of him.

Roland, Marcel, Roger, Alex.

Not me.

Impossible for me. My body refuses.

Nobody hits him.

They know his strength.

They know he'll remember...

that he'll know exactly from who each blow came.

So no one dares...

and everyone protects himself as best he can.

She was the first girl that I'd held in my arms.

20 years old

Rabut... Another record.

Here...

Look at this.

What are you doing here?

Nothing.

Just visiting.

I have the right, don't I?

I think you've been drinking.

No matter, but you can't stay here.

You need to leave.

And why should I leave?

I'm fine here.

It's cool, I'm fine. There are cakes... I'm fine.

You need to go home, Sir.

I am at home, here!

More than you, Arab.

More than your Arab husband and Arab children.

I'm at home everywhere,

If I want to stay, I stay.

And I get blotto if I want to.

And you just shut your mouth!

And if you're not happy, go home.

You dirty Arab!

Yes... this is my home... my village...

In my village!

My village, you dirty Arab!

It's over.

Who was he?

Who was he, Mum?

Don't talk.

Oh, fuck!

Bourlem, stay quiet here.

Shut up!

Close your eyes!

Shut up!

Close your eyes! Close your eyes!

- OK, Rolland? - All's well.

- Hi, Marcel. - Hi.

- A small wine? - No, thanks. I'm looking for Rabut.

Sorry to disturb you, but since he's your cousin...

and you're on the municipal council...

- What's the matter? - Not here. I'm with the police.

What are you going to do?

What do you expect? We don't have a choice.

No one's been killed.

So he fucked up. So what?

- You call that a fuck-up? - Yeah.

Tomorrow he'll apologize... of his own free will.

Being sorry isn't good enough. Too easy..

I'm fed up with these guys who get drunk on our taxes.

He has to stop pissing us off.

That thing with the brooch was premeditated.

The problem is what happened afterwards.

We just can't let it pass.

It'd be better if you came with us, Rabut.

It's not a good idea to go there now...

pissed as he is.

He's not a bad person... It's probably bad wine.

Does he have a gun?

Like everyone.

Best to let him sleep it off. We'll go down in the morning.

Rabut?

I agree.

OK. 7.30 tomorrow... in front of the police station.

Don't worry, we won't be alone. I arrange what's necessary.

No, it's on me.

Thanks.

Goodnight.

Mayor...

Yes?

Do you remember the first time you saw an Arab?

No, nothing.

See you tomorrow.

What I wanted to ask him, was, if he'd been there.

Where? In which unit?

What he's seen.

If he'd been frightened.

I knew he was too young.

It didn't make sense.

Shit, Rabut...

He's your cousin... you could've defended him.

What'll happen now?

Get off my back!

You don't know who he is.

He's not a poor guy.

He's not a nice person... He's never been nice.

The things I could tell you!

Like when he used to throw kittens against a wall.

Or when he weighted frogs, so they'd drown.

No I won't talk about them...

Just boyhood pranks.

Come close to me, Solange.

Don't cry, little sister.

Will you take care of her?

Yes.

Will you love her as if she was me?

Yes.

Her name was Reine.

She died, leaving the child of an unknown father.

Get out of here!

Get out of here, you bastard!

I'm not making this up... I was there.

I'd answered Nicole's questions.

Night was falling.

I was cold.

And now, I had to tell Solange.

I told everything.

I saw the anger and sadness came over her.

She didn't want to leave the children.

This time, she knew she couldn't

do anything against what others would say.

The police were going there.

The old resentments would fall on him.

What did he actually do to her?

No idea.

She couldn't stop the hate.

Until we get his statement, we don't know.

She wouldn't even try.

She'd let things be.

Well, there's still...

meat and cakes in the fridges.

You can share them.

It'd be a shame otherwise.

I know it's not you, Sayid, who's making up stories...

You never have.

No, I want him to come to see you, and apologize.

He has to, because ...

Yes.

Yes. I understand. Yes. Yes.

'Bye for now.

He won't file a complaint.

He doesn't want to make a fuss.

He never has.

One day, we had to choose an employee representative.

No one wanted to do it.

It's work, responsibilities... It takes up time.

Then eventually, Sayid has said...

"I'd like to do it."

There was stunned silence.

No one dared say a thing .

People looked at each other...

But no one was looking at him.

Then...

big Marcel said...

"Very well, in that case, I'll do it myself."

"Everyone OK with that?'

I don't know if everyone agreed...

but no one objected.

Not even me.

And Sayid stood there...

without saying a word.

I would've said what?

I'd believed that by being forced to work with you...

to live with you... that we would've become the same.

I think you were brave.

I didn't understand...

...that I couldn't speak for you.

I couldn't represent you.

I was wrong, and it embarrassed you.

What did you do with the brooch?

I put it in the spare room.

I'll take it back to the jeweler, and get the money back.

He'll be obliged... it was stolen money.

I agree.

And I'll return their part to the others.

They're right... it's true. Such a brooch!

What made him do it?

It was to shame them.

Anyway, you always said it.

- What? - That he was like that.

You too. You knew.

He's always been like that.

Not always, no.

Yes, he didn't even write to you when he got married.

Stop, Rabut. You know he always wrote to me.

Otherwise how would you know he was married?

And when he had his boys, he also wrote to me.

And before, from Algeria, he wrote to me at least once a week.

But not to our mother, that's true. Oh no!

Not from Algeria or Paris.

Ah yes, the telegram to say that he'd never come back

when you two finished in the army.

Other than that, nothing for 17 years.

All because of a lottery ticket.

For him, it wasn't just a lottery ticket.

It was about him making a new life for himself.

She bought 2 cows with it, that's all.

Oh yes... And fixed the barn roof.

No problem for him to make a new life.

In any case, he never forgave her.

Well for her, it's the 17 years without news that she's not forgiven.

She should have!

A son is a son.

If one of my sons...

I don't know... a son, for a mother... Nicole?

Yes, I think so.

How could she?

He didn't even introduce his wife to us.

Never! And we don't know his children.

We don't even know what's become of them.

Do YOU know?

- No. - How is such a thing possible?

We were their family!

Nothing to do with you.

At his place, there's not even a photo of his sons.

And when Dad died, he didn't come to the funeral.

Does that also have nothing to do with us?

How could she have forgiven that?

He ended up coming back anyway.

Anyway, she never loved him.

Always saying awful things about him.

To his face, without embarrassment.

That he was a worthless brat.

Even in front of people we barely know.

It didn't bother her.

And he's just smile...

as if it was quite normal... as if he agreed with her.

And the more she said bad things about him...

the more stupid things he did, to prove her right.

That one's always had a big mouth, that's all.

It's not all! You were there when Reine died.

You heard.

No, stop with that now, Rabut! Stop it!

You know nothing.

You can't know the remorse he felt afterwards.

He was so young.

He knew nothing about anything.

He only listened to the priest.

You don't remember how he was?

Raving mad.

Inflexible.

He has his prayer-book with him while tending the cows.

No... What he said to Reine...

We shouldn't even think about it.

But he understood afterwards.

He understood.

He never forgave himself.

But the words have been said.

He'll die with them.

But the others, there...

always spitting on him... What were they thinking, eh?

Think they lost any sleep? No.

Because for a 17-year old girl to be dying like that...

It was what she deserved... It was like that in those days.

Everyone thought that.

Not me, Solange.

You neither.

Alright!

Come on, it's OK.

What's the point of talking about it, now?

Bernard is how he is... but he was always nice to me.

And when he talks about Sylvie, he doesn't say "the bastard".

Never.

A family of crazies, that's what it is.

A family of crazies.

The Lord is with you. You are blessed among all women.

Cease fire!

And Jesus, the fruit of your womb, is blessed.

Cease fire! Cease fire!

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us poor sinners...

- Poiret, is that you? - Yes, lieutenant.

At the hour of our death.

Fevrier, you OK?

Yeah, what is it?

It was dogs!

We found two, full of lead, next day.

Our battle was not Verdun!

What was it we heard?

Seven or eight years later, we heard from Fevrier.

It was in 1969 or '70, one or the other.

The year when the Americans went to the moon.

He'd decided to see some friends again that he'd kept in touch with.

He was asking around.

Nicole has gone to bed.

He's had a few too many.

We don't tell ourselves the same things after a few too many.

She isn't so pretty.

She's sort of faded.

She shouldn't have to live on a council estate.

They're expecting their 2nd child, yet no longer look at each other.

Or just a sidelong glance.

And the words...

The same.

Complaints.

Eternal complaints.

They were living in Clamart.

A hate-filled place.

Bernard worked at Renault.

Mireille did housework occasionally.

She no longer saw her family.

She'd lost everything in 1962.

To set up a garage, you need dough.

If you believe that her father would lend us...

Maybe you should ask him!

For that, he'd have to agree to see us.

I never asked for anything... I'm not going to start.

I gave 28 months of my life to protect your fucking orange trees.

And I have to go begging to your father?

Fevrier, aren't I right?

When we got married, I told you he wouldn't forgive me...

that we should no longer count on even seeing them again.

You regret now, do you? Admit you regret!

You were poor when I married you.

You weren't marrying me for financial gain, were you?

Listen to her!

I'm not ashamed.

What I've earned's with my sweat, no one else's.

If you're ashamed of working, go home to your mother.

What are you thinking about?

I was thinking of Solange, when she took us home.

And that we'd left her alone.

I wondered what she was going to do with the whole night ahead of her.

Is she going to collapse from fatigue?

Go to the bathroom... put on a nightgown?

Will she turn on the TV?

Stay there, in front of it, without watching it?

Is she going to bed?

Switching off?

Hoping that fatigue will knock her out till morning.

Will she imagine her brother at Sayid's place?

Imagine her actions...

Those of the woman defending herself.

Her body which resists.

Tears, screams, fear.

Will she let herself be invaded by a host of jostling images...

one chasing the other?

Will she endure them?

No, she won't endure them.

Then she'll start again.

She'll wait for sleep to come.

But it won't come.

I know those sort of nights well.

They feel darker than usual.

Darker and darker as the hours pass.

We start to hope that we'll stay awake

because of the images waiting for us to return.

But we doze off briefly...

and there they are...

...like flashes.

We wake up with a start... gasping.

We're not sure where we are.

There's sweat... and cold.

Tears, sometimes.

Going to bed.

Nicole's words to soothe me.

Mine to excuse me.

Don't worry. It'll work out.

I know...

I know only too well.

I saw Rabut.

He came on the mail-train.

He's very fit.

You can tell his mother if you see her.

He won a camera in a contest.

He doesn't stop taking pictures.

We seem to be lucky in this family.

Him in particular!

His mother didn't steal from him what he won.

At first I count the hours, then I count the days.

It's been so long without you.

When I know the date of your furlough...

I could count backwards.

I'd be happier counting the days that bring us closer.

Fortunately, from time to time, I see your cousin.

We met at the Meteor twice.

He's a nice guy.

He made me dance. He's better than you!

We weren't that fond of each other, but we stayed together if we met.

It had always been like that.

Since we were kids, and there, even more.

There was an unknown thing, that seemed to connect us.

Maybe something from the country.

We'd sit in the shade without saying anything,

then walk around the post.

He didn't ask about family news,

or about Nicole... as to if we were still engaged.

About Mireille too... Never.

He said nothing.

Me neither.

Hello, Miss.

Hello, Bernard.

Smile at Rabut.

- His name's Rabut? - Yes.

Can you tell me your name?

Fatiha.

How come I haven't seen him?

Good question.

Coz he's got a cushy job.

He's stuck in the barracks.

Isn't that right, uni boy?!

Are we going to see the tortoise?

I don't know, have to ask your father.

Mr Engineer!

Yes?

May we see the tortoise?

Yes, but Fatiha mustn't enter the tents.

No problem.

Look at Rabut.

Just 35 days to go!

And demob!

Shut up! Some of us have 18 months to go!

Or 25!

Oh, Bergonnier! Pics of your wife in the nude?

No.

You wish?!

I wrote to you about all of it.

The boredom of chores.

Those who drank till they fell apart.

I wrote of the sameness of one hour after the other...

day after day, night after night...

into weeks and months and lost years.

I told you about guard duty...

the heat of the sun, the dust.

But most of all, boredom.

Weariness.

Your mind slowly emptying, like an hourglass.

Waking up and eating surrounded by others.

Evenings with others.

The same jokes, the same games of belotte,

the same memories of back home told a hundred times.

The letters that don't arrive.

The girls who've stopped writing.

And the food.

The things I told you about the food!

It's not awful, but there's never enough,

and it's always the same.

corned beef, canned tuna, rice...

Always rice or beans.

I know, I hear that everywhere, but it's not up to me.

Not too much alcohol?

I never drink it. Makes me a laughing stock.

I didn't tell you he'd been kidnapped while returning to town.

You can get dressed. You're fit for service.

The MPs with him were found...

with their throats cut.

But not the doctor.

He was found later.

I didn't tell you about the operations in the mountains.

The hunt for Fellagha bandits.

Raids into Douar and Mechta.

We never found anything,

but it calmed the nerves.

I didn't tell you about the prohibited areas...

People expelled...

displaced by the million into camps.

The silent villages... like cemeteries.

Nothing living in 100s of square kilometres.

Nothing at all.

Not one human.

Not one animal.

Nothing that would enable a Fellagha to eat.

Nothing.

And napalm... as soon as a trace of life is spotted.

We were pacifying.

Why do I remember this clay jar?

How do the peasants here manage to grow wheat in this sort of land?

It's not possible.

Anyway, now it's in the forbidden zone...

There'll be no one left to harvest.

It's not just Fellaghas who are going to starve.

Empty these shacks, damn it!

Get on with it!

Get everyone into the square!

What are you still doing here?

Why aren't you outside with the others?

Shut up!

What are you hiding?

Where are all your weapons?

The Fellagha, where are they?

Where's your father?

Are you a Fellagha?

Answer me!

Put your hands on your head.

Where is Idir?

With the lieutenant.

Are there any weapons?

Rifles?

Where is it? Eh? Is that what you're hiding?

I asked you a question! Where are the guns?

Do you take us for idiots?

What are you hiding under there?

Fevrier, stop!

Fuck you!

Stay out of it, Chatel.

Go search the old man if you like.

Come here!

Hey... You know you're pretty, don't you?

Yes, she knows it.

I didn't write about all of it.

I told you about Rabut, Mireille, the little girl.

I told you about the tortoise.

News about cousins, friends...

but the rest, no.

Maybe I should have.

But I didn't.

And I never will.

Because there are no words capable of telling it.

Want my photo?

It'd make me want to vomit.

- I make you vomit? - You make me vomit.

Like what was done makes me want to vomit.

Like the massacre at Oradour...

What's the difference?

Are you calling me a Nazi, Chatel?

Is that what you're saying?

I'm saying what happened to them.

was the same.

My uncle was in the Resistance.

He was 18 when he was shot.

So you take it back, right now.

And who are the Resistance fighters here?

Go fuck yourself!

Defend yourself!

Defend yourself, you piece of shit!

Stand up!

Get up, you little bitch. Try to be a man for once.

For once!

Fight back!

Fight back!

Fight back, you piece of shit! Fucking fight back!

Kastendeuch, that's enough.

That's enough now!

Three days later,

it happened with a Harki [Arab in the French army.]

Because Chatel told him Harkis were traitors to their country.

The Harki didn't like it.

He told him he is French, like us.

That his family needs to eat.

And that the army, is a job like any other.

Chatel didn't want to fight...

and he took a hammering without saying anything.

That's your pacifist for you.

Jesus, have mercy on us. Jesus, son of God, have mercy on us.

Jesus, son of the Virgin Mary, have mercy on us.

Jesus, have mercy on us.

Jesus, God of mercy, have mercy on us.

Jesus who loves chastity, have mercy on us.

Jesus, who loves us, Jesus, our refuge, have mercy on us.

Do you want us to pray together?

No.

I always pray alone, except at Mass.

You don't think that prayer is stronger when we share it?

We don't share anything, Chatel. We don't believe in the same things.

You believe in forgiveness, I believe in punishment.

You believe in the love of God, I fear his wrath.

You believe that men are brothers, and I already have too many.

You turn the other cheek, I'll always hit back.

I didn't like what you said. We're not Nazis.

Do you think people have the right to self-determination?

No, and I don't give a damn.

What would you do if someone prevented you from working?

If it was decreed that your village was to be a prohibited area?

That you were forced out and put into a camp?

What would you do if someone occupied your country?

This is France right here, in case you didn't know.

We're fighting for France. We're doing our duty.

Get slaughtered like a sheep, if that turns you on...

but let me pray how I wish to.

"Little sister,

for the 14th of July, I'm getting a proper perm.

"I'll leave with the supply convoy

"and I'll be back with the next convoy.

"It will take four days.

"It is a beautiful city.

"Everything is blue and white.

"The sky, the sea, the walls.

"The streets smell of grilled sardines and sausages.

"In the Casbah there are women with red hair

"and tattoos on their hands...

"and others who show nothing but their eyes.

"When peace returns, it would be wonderful to live here.

"I'll tell you about it. Love, your brother."

Love, your brother.

Little sister...

I slept at the hotel.

I hadn't thought about where I was going to sleep.

And once I got here...

I followed Kastendeuch and Fevrier to a street next to the station.

You have to register and pay in advance.

There was a sink with hot water...

and a shower on the same floor.

I told you that I slept at the hotel...

but in fact, I haven't really slept.

I was listening.

From my window, I was listening to the port...

Sirens on the boats, engines.

The noise of the city, as well.

I'd never really listened to that noise.

In a city, there's even sound in silence.

But it's pleasant... It's regular, soothing.

I'd never slept alone.

Always two or three brothers in the same room.

Always someone coughing, sniffling or crying.

That never stopped me from sleeping.

That's how it was.

I never imagined it could be otherwise.

But then, suddenly, I felt light.

As never before.

Strong.

I felt I was a man.

I left aimlessly.

I walked in the city, alone.

I didn't know where I was going.

The streets decided for me.

My legs followed the slope.

I was no longer afraid, no more enemies.

The war and the doctor forgotten.

The world was lovely.

The people were beautiful... Their faces, their smiles.

The sky, the sea, the sound of the lapping waves...

...of the sand, of the wind.

I didn't know that beauty could make you cry.

I wonder why.

No one had ever taught me.

I knew nothing.

I've thought of you, over there, in the village.

I thought of pals when we laughed about niggers and wogs...

when we'd never seen any.

I thought back to the stories of Grandpa in 1914...

The Senegalese infantrymen who were sent as the first wave

to terrify the Krauts and who fell by the dozens.

They died for France, too...

but there's no monument showing their names.

I would have been Harki.

Yes. In their place, I would've been Harki.

Because the Fellagha slaughtered

poor guys like me who understood nothing...

Just that it was good for France.

And France has lasted a long time.

Hi!

(Arabic)

It was a butchers shop.

During artillery barrages,

it went on for hours and hours.

On one occasion...

it went for more than 100 hours....

...without ever stopping.

Over 4 days.

We were waiting to die.

There was nothing we could do.

Bodies were blown into the air.

Then flesh fell like rain.

It was raining blood.

The blood of the dead mixed with ours.

And sometimes the whole trench was covered...

and the guys were buried alive.

We were like statues...

made of mud.

It was everywhere.

Mud.

Like a yellow sea of ​​mud.

I saw a captain who'd gone mad.

He was looking for clumps of grass, and when he found one...

he dressed it with his comb.

I saw it.

(Arabic)

I had a bad conscience and I didn't understand why.

The shells...

They were French. French people who were fighting with us.

Sometimes it was just bones.

Sometimes, it still looked like a man.

Sometimes it was a friend.

No one can know.

The cold... The rain... The mud.

And the fear.

And the madness.

There are those who commit suicide...

there are those who go mad...

because they're sick of being afraid of dying.

That was Verdun.

So, were your grandfathers at Verdun?

Not in Verdun, but in the Somme.

It was the same.

In 1940, my father was taken prisoner at Douai.

When he came back, I no longer recognized him.

I was told to kiss my dad...

All I saw was a tall, bearded, skinny guy...

who looked nothing like the one who I'd been shown in photos.

I was scared of him.

Like your father, when I came back...

he always asked me when are they giving me back my arm!

Thanks for coming.

- Thank you. - Come back another time.

I wouldn't tell my pals that I'd come here.

I didn't know why...

but I knew I wouldn't tell them.

Let's go! Bring the stretcher.

It was lying in a strange way...

the right arm hidden, the head in profile...

pulled back.

But the throat wasn't cut.

That was the main thing.

His throat wasn't cut.

His mouth was open, eyes black, hair grey with sand.

His skin the same... grey, taut...

not yet burned by the sun.

We could still see that it was a human being.

We could just recognize him.

But a few days later, we would have found carrion.

They'd left a photo in his pocket.

We used to see it on the wall.

They looked at the camera. It was still working.

They'd cut his flesh.

Scraped everything down to the bone...

from the wrist to the shoulder, with knives.

They had done this to a living man.

Where was he?

Down the hill... 500 metres past the pass.

They wanted to be sure we'd find him quickly.

- You saw his body? - Yes.

- How was it? - Not pretty.

They castrated him?

Shut up!

They always do it.

No, he wasn't castrated!

Want to know what they did to him? Want to know? Want to know?

Calm down. Leave it.

He's an idiot.

Only dogs would do stuff like that.

Fucking Arab dogs.

Don't take it personally... they're just angry.

I'm not an Arab...

I'm Berber.

Can you give me another one?

Come on! We're boarding.

Hurry up!

That night, reinforcements have arrived...

and we went there.

Come on... get a move on!

We could do nothing for the guys' morale.

They needed to avenge the doctor...

Do that, both for him....

and for us.

So that every Arab would know that it could happen to them...

they were going to kill 10 of them. Maybe even 100!

So we did what had to be done.

I thought of that night, in 1944...

when an old woman took us in the woods...

because an SS division were on there way back to Normandy

and they'd been burning villages along the way.

And you, the tiny infant...

who dared not cry.

Maybe you knew she wouldn't hesitate to smother you...

so as to save us all.

And I thought of Oradour as well.

And I thought if I'd been from here, I would have been a Fellagha.

I didn't tell you, Solange.

I won't tell you.

Oh Bernard! Come here, we were talking about you.

A beer for the soldier-boy!

Greetings!

How about spearfishing?

My father has a hut on the beach. We're there all the time.

I guess so.

Hi cousin.

Where were you?

Wandering the streets. I got a bit lost.

Ask me for a dance.

I'll never set foot on the farm again... ever!

I'm finished with them. I'll have nothing to do with them anymore.

It's your family, Bernard.

Now my family consists of you.

You're enough for me.

With Solange.

We'll bring her to Paris with us.

Will your parents agree?

Sure they will...

because it'll save them money.

That's all that matters to them.

It's going to be fine. I think about it every night.

Selling American cars would work out.

Parisians want Cadillacs and Chevrolets..

not tin lizzies, understand?

And you'd do the books.

You'd be good at that.

Not here, Bernard... Everyone knows me.

At least, everyone knows my father.

Sorry.

We could go to the beach tomorrow, if you like.

Don't scowl.

I'm not scowling.

I don't like the end of furlough, that's all.

I'd like to live near Monceau Park.

It seems very pretty.

And a park is important for children.

Alright, we'll set up house near Monceau Park.

I don't care where...

so long as it's in Paris.

Tomorrow... 2 o'clock at the Meteore?

Can't you make it earlier?

I have to be back at the barracks before 5.

We have to be back at the post before dark.

I can't make it earlier.

2 o'clock then.

Yes.

Till tomorrow.

Till tomorrow.

I've thought of the priest.

Of his sermons.

Of his lies.

Loving wasn't a crime.

I thought of Reine.

Of the harm that I'd done her.

That she was no longer there to forgive me...

and that no one could take her place.

You'd have been less miserable if you'd come with us.

Fevrier saw his blonde again... She lifted his spirits.

Wow, she lifted your spirits!

Her tits drive me crazy... I could spend my life with them.

What?

Nothing.

I know what you're thinking.

Using whores is not cheating.

- I didn't say anything. - You're judging me.

You don't have to judge me!

Calm down! You're wrong, Dabenoc.

Think about it.... There are blondes, fatties, niggers...

A woman for every taste. This is cock-heaven.

It'd be a shame to have it cut off before it was used.

Next time we'll take you with us to get laid.

After that, you'll never stop wanting it.

Here's to being demobbed!

Here's to the demob... Happy days can't come too fast

Here's to the demob... As the oldies say... what a blast!

- Ready? - Yeah.

- Hi, Jose. - Hi, guys.

Hi.

Aren't the others here?

They took the girls to the beach. They'll be back later for a drink.

- Was Mireille with them? - I really don't know... maybe.

Jose!

If your father is a farmer, we're the same.

Not quite, though.

The soil is the same everywhere.

When we work it, we love it.

How many acres does your place have?

- 30. - 30?

Yeah.

- You'll go back to it? - I don't think so, no.

I've a lot of siblings, so after the army,

I'll open a garage in Paris. I don't want to have a boss.

It's good to have ambition.

How stupid I am...

Of course you're never going to let me marry your daughter.

I'm just good enough to die protecting your vines...

your olive and orange trees.

It's for you, and your fucking 1000s of acres, that we risk our lives.

I'm so stupid.

We're all so stupid.

Hi, cuz.

Hi.

Are you waiting for someone?

- No, why? - Nothing.

Are you going back to barracks soon?

Yeah.

Another one?

3 beers.

Come and dance... They're short of guys.

It's too hot.

It always is, in this fucking country. Come and have a bit of fun.

Yours. My shout.

See that? He's making progress.

Come and rub yourself against the forbidden fruit.

I told you... Don't feel like it.

No fruit to your taste?

Or it is because the priest forbids sampling before marriage?

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

What's wrong, uni-boy?

What do you want from me?

Don't call me that.

Louder, uni-boy, I can't hear you over this fucking music.

Are you setting out to piss me off here?

Louder, uni-boy.

I wanted to ask you...

did you abuse the doctor, too, when you collected his body?

And cleaned your nails with your knife?

Stop it!

Bernard!

Come here!

Let go of me!

Let me go!

Smash his face in!

Do you want to kill him?

Finished! He can't defend himself.

I don't know what he did to you, but he doesn't deserve to die for it.

What got into you? Aren't there enough deaths already?

What's bugging you?

I never thought I'd this between two Frenchmen.

How would your mother feel

if she heard her son had been killed by a comrade?

Do you think of your mothers?

It upsets me to see this.

We should be going.

You'll go when I decide you're OK to go.

Our convoy must leave before dark.

If it goes without us, we'll be AWOL.

That's serious.

The convoy hadn't left.

The lieutenant had decided to wait for us.

No one knows why.

Maybe he feels he has to come back with the same number he left with.

That must have been it.

Or something else, unknown. It was his decision.

Gentlemen, follow me.

I was expecting to get the usual...

Days of detention, military court...

assignment to an even shittier zone.

But that would be nothing compared to what awaited us.

I'm not responsible! I brought them back to you.

Shut up! You'll explain yourself tomorrow.

You two are a pain in the arse with your bullshit.

Can't you get drunk nicely?

At that moment, we knew.

We didn't say anything.

It's afterwards we tell ourselves that we already knew.

But here, no. We didn't want to know.

Dabenoc, Fevrier, Khodja, Breniere, to scout!

Of course, Bernard's name, mine,

because it all happened because of us.

Because they'd had to wait for us,

and that somehow we'd done the work for the Fellaghas.

Some have said that. Well...

No, they didn't. Not quite like that.

They said, "That's your bullshit."

It wasn't even worthwhile.

We knew that if the convoy had returned normally...

before nightfall...

it wouldn't have happened.

We knew that the post was at half strength.

The Fellaghas wouldn't have attacked if we'd been there.

But we stayed in town.

And they were aware of it.

The tower door was not closed, not damaged... nothing.

The lock was intact.

It had been opened with the key.

Someone had opened it, that was for sure.

So we thought of Abdelmalik

because he wasn't lying with the others.

Idir also thought it...

even before we did.

They had done it without guns...

With axes, knives.

Then they left with our weapons.

Dabenoc, Fevrier.

Dabenoc, Fevrier!

Fevrier, this is an order.

It was indescribable.

How to tell it?

There are no words...

It was beyond imagination.

And yet they had done it.

Some men... Some men had done it.

We can always say that it's Bernard's fault...

or yours or mine, or anyone's.

Above all, it's the fault of those who did it.

That's all he was thinking.

He might have taken tranquillisers or be exhausted from work...

it didn't change anything.

He wasn't sleeping.

He thought about what he'd seen.

About what he had done, too.

Afterwards . Elsewhere.

How many times did I tell myself that I should've separated you...

come down on you harder.

Bernard especially.

Did I ever give a damn about you getting home on time?

But him, yes.

And me.

Because if we'd returned on time...

Not sure it would have changed anything. No one knows.

Yes, we know.

I knew.

Bernard knew.

We all knew, and didn't need to tell each other again.

No need to judge us, either.

We took care of it.

In perpetuity. Guaranteed. Till the last breath.

After the death of the doctor, the others stopped saying Fellaghas.

It was 'dirty Arabs' or 'rodents', 'darkies', 'wogs', 'boongs', 'melons'.

(Arab speaking) They weren’t talking to us.

They didn't turn their backs to us, fearing for their lives.

They spoke softly so that we didn't hear them.

They laughed, looking at us. It was them and us.

They gave us orders, and that was it.

Abdelmalik couldn't take it anymore.

How could he have done it?

He said that 23,000 francs to betray...

To watch them cut the throats of those who he'd been living with for months.

He’d eaten with them, laughed with them, played football...

They'd shown him their photos.

The worst is that... now it's over...

It’s not about betraying...

we wouldn’t be real Algerians, either.

To watch the guys you know, get their throats cut...

yet not really give a damn about independence.

But there were even some French who were for it.

All they wanted was to go home.

Like the engineer and his wife.

- That's what he thought. - And the baby too.

- It was going around in his head. - And the little one.

He didn't stop them.

And yet... I didn't take it seriously.

What do you think?

I am French, Colonel.

He betrayed me too.

Idir died in 1962... executed with his family.

He was left there with the others.

Those were the orders.

I saw those who were trying to get into our trucks.

I saw their eyes...

I heard their cries as I banged their hands with my rifle butt.

You've seen them too.

Those were the orders.

I saw their tears...

their rage, their despair.

Those were the orders.

I saw a captain weep, leaving his men behind.

He knew what was going to happen to them.

So did I.

You too, Rabut, you knew. We all knew...

and we let it happen.

They'd been sure they'd never be left behind...

being brothers in arms.

And Idir is dead.

Like the others. Everyone.

His parents, his brothers, his nephews...

His grandfather who survived Verdun.

And we stay alive.

"This wasn't Verdun."

Even I ended up believing it... that it wasn't war.

What do call it, if it's not war?

How do we talk about the prisoners that we released, before killing them?

The ones we cast in concrete?

The ones we threw into the sea from helicopters?

Who do we tell?

The woman we love?

Our mother?

Would you tell your mother?

We were all finding that we'd changed...

that we were hardened...

that we'd become men...

that it was time it all ended, as the farm was in need of hands.

But that someone would listen to us? No.

Even friends didn't want to hear about it.

Not a single one.

Because they'd turned a new leaf.

Because life goes on.

Do you think life goes on?

One day, it ended.

There was jubilation... overflowing joy.

Algerian flags everywhere.

The people in the streets, the children, women, parrots, songs...

And the furniture thrown out of the windows...

chopped up with an axe, to leave nothing behind.

Not a plate, not a bath, nothing.

Cars overturned, burned, or pushed off the top of cliffs.

The noise of crashing metal.

The cries of children, frightened for their lives...

as if they knew what was happening around them.

Those who leave are traitors!

Traitors are put up against a wall!

De Gaulle's troopers are traitors!

Dad has gone crazy.

They let them kill us!.

He saw Bernard's letters, he knew I was leaving.

I didn't ask where the bruise came from.

Slaps didn't do that. You wouldn't tell me anything.

I couldn't even write to Bernard to explain to him.

It was only afterwards, when you told me.

We left, and left everything behind.

All our possessions, our memories, our cemeteries, our dead.

What did my daughter understand about this suffering?

She was at that tender age...

The age at which you can start a new life anywhere...

so long as you're with the ones you love.

The chaos, the hatred.

The never-ending attacks. The mutilated bodies.

The screams. The tears.

The madmen of the OAS...

who wandered the streets

to eliminate Europeans who wanted to leave

or Muslims who came to work.

Stop shooting!

Stop shooting!

Lieutenant, please order them to stop shooting!

The massacres, the mass graves...

The French colonials, lynched, kidnapped, gone forever.

Nobody wanted to know.

We knew. We didn't say anything.

We're back.

We brought gifts, flowers,

coffee cups and saucers.

The others didn't ask questions.

Or stupid questions.

If it's as big as a camel.

If it's bigger than a cow.

If it's true Muslim women shave their pubic hair.

The old people still said that it wasn't Verdun.

We'd reply, "You said it, grandpa!"

And laugh.

We acted as if we could forget.

We turned a new leaf and got back to work.

We barbecued a sheep on Saturdays.

Veterans' meetings.

Went to the war memorials.

Sang the national anthem.

And at night, walked in the woods, talking to our dogs.

I won't go.

I don't want to see what I couldn't prevent.

I'll stay here.

I'll wait for the police to tell me that it's over...

that they had no choice, and it's closed to discussion...

that in these cases, you can't take any risks.

That if I'd been there, maybe it could have ended otherwise.

Or else it'll be Solange who'll come and tell me

that everything that I did worked out well.

And maybe even if I had been there...

And come to think of it...

it was a total bloody shambles about nothing much!

She will thank me and...

And I won't know why.

Then she'll breathe a sigh of relief...

and say, "It's over now...

"It's ancient history."

A story of the past, yes.

An unimportant story that will be forgotten...

and will join the heap

of all the stories of no importance

that we've wanted to forget...

which pile up to make the walls of a house in which we lock ourselves...

With doors that we don't know what they might lead to...

and others that we'll never open,

for fear of what might be hidden behind them.

How long have you been up?

Not long.

Come back to bed. You don't need to be up for an hour.

I'll come... you go.

No, I'm not going.

I don't have to.

What on earth would I be?

It's been so long since I last called you "cousin".

It's not because of Reine.

I don't hate you for that anymore.

Nor for the "uni boy".

Or that fight over there where you almost killed me.

None of that.

I won't go, because I can't stand you any longer.

I can no longer bear your presence.

I can't stand what you've become.

I can't bear the ghosts that accompany you.

I can no longer bear to think of you there...

alone with your dog, your memories, your hatred...

and all the old resentments that stopped you from living and loving.

Above all, I can no longer bear to see what I should have become...

if I hadn't accepted things...

accepted to live with them...

make do with them.

No, I won't go.

I won't go to Patou's for a coffee...

nor to anyone else's, who wants to explain something or other.

I already know all I want to know.

I know everything.

I think of Solange who must be waiting for me with the police.

But I won't go.

I'll stay here.

I'll move as little as possible, in whatever time I have left.

That's how I'll wait.

I'll think of Feu-de-bois.

I'll think of Bernard and Mireille when they danced together..

I'll think of Algeria.

Of the sea

I'll think of Idir.

I'll think of Fevrier.

I'll think of us at 20.

Subtitles by FatPlank for KG