Original subtitles

Why?

Why me?

Why did this incredible adventure happen to me, Freek Groenevelt?

Until then, nothing and no one

had upset my peaceful life as a bachelor.

I had a good job as city editor with the newspaper

and wrote fairly successful novels.

I didn't have any enemies. I sincerely wished my fellow humans all the best,

but I also wanted to protect my inner self

from any kind of assault. And I had done so very successfully.

Until the day that Joachim Stiller appeared in my life.

Subtitles downloaded from www.OpenSubtitles.org

That fateful morning I was on the tram, absorbed in a new translation of Kafka.

Apart from the city news, I also did the art page of The Scheldt Express.

And I was unaware of anything.

Tickets please.

Thank you.

Then something happened

that, at the time, I paid little attention to.

STOP REQUESTED

Jezus Street.

Who asked to get off here?

Well? No one?

Right, that's enough! That's the tenth time over a couple of stops.

Drive on, drive on. - Some people!

I thought:

a tram stopping for nothing, there's a story in that for the newspaper.

How was I to know that this unimportant incident was the first in a series,

that would cause my belief in the logical relationship between things

to be shaken forever?

When my article was published the next day,

everything in the garden was lovely. At least, that's what I thought.

Groenevelt, why don't you write books anymore?

A tram stopping for nothing would be great in a ghost story.

But not in a newspaper? - No one was killed.

Too good for in the newspaper then? - That's magic, it's not news.

Journalism is contemptible. I'm going to start a new life.

OK, here you are. There.

I had, indeed, started a new life.

But I only realise that now.

You can see they forecast nice weather.

Mmmmn... - Look at him looking.

When I was young, I wasrt allowed to do anything.

Now I'm old and can do what I like, I can't manage it anymore.

If only you knew... I can have a serious conversation with you,

the others only want to talk about football.

Or their wife, who is less and less like the woman they married.

Bloody hell!

Now what? Is the metro coming past here too?

If they carry on like this, there'll be nothing left of Antwerp.

Believe me.

That's for sure.

There was something strange about those lads.

But nothing you could immediately put your finger on.

They were too pretty for their job.

Like extras from some streamlined American film.

Their overalls were too elegant, too new,

and there wasrt a spot of mud anywhere.

Just look at how they're all dressed up.

Young people today spend all their money on clothes

and only drink water in the bars.

I might as well shut up shop. No one comes in anymore.

In five minutes it'll be a right mess out there

and not a single person will come past. Believe me.

Can I have 3 rolls with steak tartare? - Steak tartare?

The same as usual. Maria!

Three steak tartare for Mr Groenevelt. With plenty of filling.

I have to be at work by quarter past one!

Drive on. - Everywhere is blocked.

What's he doing?

Because of the road menders the whole area looked very different.

Was it their ethereal beauty,

their angelic imperturbability, in their awareness

of the uselessness of all gestures in the face of eternity?

Whatever it was, those three proletarian Apollos from the Belvedere

reminded me of when I was young.

But when I realised that, the enchantment was broken.

And the street looked as it usually did again.

Here they are.

There you are.

Bloody hell!

They did that quickly. - What?

They didn't do anything.

Maybe they repaired something. - When?

I don't know. I was reading my book.

They've hardly dug up the street and they're filling it all in again.

That's not right, is it?

Who's going to pay for all that? You, me, everyone.

You pay tax until it bows you down. And why?

To keep a bunch of layabouts like that in work.

They're a load of immigrants, foreigners.

Outsiders. You don't even know where they've come from.

Our own people can't find any work and they are paid to do nothing,

just fill their time with nonsense like that.

I ask you!

Just look at that! A mess! A real mess!

And to think, last time I voted for that Keldermans,

that old bloke from Public Works.

Well, he won't be getting my vote again. At the next elections...

That.

You should write about that in your newspaper.

And how they are wasting people's money.

What are newspapers for

if the man in the street can't have his say in them?

I had to admit, the landlord wasrt entirely wrong.

Behind the solid forehead of a 17th century chief archer

still lived the encouraging idea

that newspapers are there to complain about stupidity and injustice.

And... I had my article for today.

HOOGSTRAAT

CITY SNIPPETS BY FREEK GROENEVELT

Absurd. - Criminal.

Don't exaggerate. - Mr Keldermans, they insult you.

Not me personally. - The Public Works Department then.

Insulting that is insulting you. - What do you want me to do about it?

Deny it, sir. Deny it. - Do you really think that...

Certainly. We must send a denial to that Groenevelt immediately.

I've got so much work to do already. What do you want me to do?

I've taken the liberty of preparing a response.

Yes, but... - Just sign here.

Yes, but... - The mail goes at 5 o'clock, sir.

Is there anything else I can do? - No, no, you can go.

What?

OFFICE OF THE ALDERMAN FOR PUBLIC WORKS

So that story about the street, you just made that up, I suppose?

No, I didn't.

That Keldermans is mad. How can he deny it?

I saw them digging up the road.

Writers see all kinds of things, but the authorities know.

Imagination versus reality. - Hundreds of people stood watching.

No one was killed, so it wasrt news!

I'll make it news. I'll go and see him. - The Alderman for Public Works?

You think a man like that will see you?

Susanne, can you get me City Hall?

I'd intended to put this alderman in his place.

But as I walked across Grote Markt to City Hall,

I suddenly felt less sure of myself. The feeling of uneasiness,

that had come over me on the tram and in the dug-up street, came over me again.

A feeling that something wasrt quite right.

There I was, standing in front of an imposing city hall.

As indecisive as Jozef K in The Castle.

Was it a coincidence that Brabo's fountain stopped spouting?

Or was it a sign?

The whole square suddenly seemed silent and deserted.

But one thing was clear.

I shouldn't go in.

Andreas. - Freek.

Did they convert you?

No, they sold me some incense.

Andreas, you're too good for this world. - They're good kids.

Well, how's things?

What's up? Is something the matter?

I don't know. Strange things have happened to me recently.

What kind of things? - It's just an overactive imagination.

Is that a problem for a writer? - No, but it is for a journalist.

So, the superstitions department has been expanded again.

There's money to be made from flying saucers.

No, that's just vulgarised popularization. Have a look over there.

Sixteenth edition of your Traveller In The Night.

That's my best book.

What's that?

Nothing, something I want to put aside for a customer.

Show me. - There's nothing interesting in it.

The Broken Fist, special edition.

Rotting art.

The best way of setting fire to The Night Watch.

Henri de Braekeleer, misunderstood pioneer of constructivism.

Do people still believe that drivel?

I've never sold a single copy.

What about that customer? - Oh yes, him...

So that's it. There is mould on Freek Groenevelt.

I said it was all nonsense. Give here. - No.

Stinking piece of garbage.

Common journalist.

Hysterical sluts.

Standard-bearer for the declining bourgeoisie, Freek Groenevelt.

Stop. - Why?

I'm allowed to enjoy myself.

This man has expressed an opinion about the work

of our comrade-in-arms Surinam, who is exhibiting in the Compa gallery.

I don't remember writing about him. - Stop it. Give here.

Just a minute. Listen.

What Groenevelt can't or won't see

is that Surinam attempts to transcend reality,

to actually make the everyday experience tangible.

And it's true too. Look.

Tangible, eh?

And you wanted to keep that from me? Arert you ashamed?

I don't like them insulting you. - I'm not in the least insulted.

It's not even signed. - Usually it's schoolboys.

They prefer to remain anonymous.

And keep their address a secret too.

Here, Painters Street 2. Isn't that that very modern gallery at the South Side?

You're not going there?

Maybe I can make my experience tangible, if curiosity gets the better of me.

After all, I'm a journalist. At least, that's what they say.

Next day, Joachim Stiller took over my life for good.

We start by doing non-stop the exercise from last week.

First, an exercise for the hips.

One, two, three, four. Open and close...

That plant will recover, Mr Freek.

I think I heard the post.

God!

It's kind of that lady downstairs, isn't it? Bringing the post upstairs everyday.

Eat your egg first.

Right, I'll be here at 11 tomorrow.

I've got to go to the medical insurance office and you always have to wait ages.

Shall I bring a cauliflower with me tomorrow?

There are some nice Belgian ones. Are you going to get the meat yourself?

Or shall I get some lamb chops from Janssens'?

Tomorrow is lamb day.

Hey! I've just...

Anything else?

I'll just empty it.

A TIME FOR REFLECTION

Mr Freek. - Yes?

Can I ask you something? - Go on.

It seems the world is coming to an end. - Where did you hear that, Mrs Frans?

It said it on a flyer that was in my sister's letterbox.

And whers it going to happen? - In forty days.

Because of the comet.

I don't think I'll be there, Mrs Frans.

Wort you? But...

See you tomorrow.

Don't let your coffee get cold.

No!

Dear Mr Groenevelt, In The Scheldt Express

you published, on 14th July, an article about the road repairs in High Street.

Thank you for paying attention to this unimportant event.

This event heralds other phenomena, that I won't mention yet.

If other events occur in the near future

that don't fit in with generally accepted logic,

never doubt the reality of what you see or hear.

Whatever happens, I won't lose sight of you.

Yours sincerely, Joachim Stiller.

Joachim Stiller. What is all this?

Unimportant events.

Someone else who only thinks it's interesting if someone has been killed.

I don't get it.

Ajoke by the guys from the paper? No.

A maniac?

Written too neatly. The ink has faded a bit.

No address, no date.

Date?

Damn, the envelope.

Have I gone totally crazy?

That stamp has been out of use for more than forty years.

How come the post office accepted it?

Let's have a look at the postmark.

11th September

1919.

1919? I'm going mad.

This letter was posted more than 20 years before I was born.

Mr Groenevelt, what a surprise. Come in.

Sorry to disturb you so early, Mrs Vandecasteele.

Don't be silly. I'm glad you've finally come to see me.

And no need to be so formal.

It's Lily.

Your bathroom is here. - How do you know?

I have my spies.

No, it's Mrs Frans.

She's secretly in love with you, did you know that?

Hey...

You're dangerous, you are.

Because you take everything so seriously. Go on, sit down.

I'm proud to have a famous writer in my home.

You're my first. - Famous...

Certainly. - I've been forgotten.

Not by me. I've read all your books.

Honestly.

I never dared ask, but now you're here, would you...?

Have you got something to write with? Of course. A writer always does.

And no Mrs Vandecasteele. Lily, with L Y.

For Lily, the charming Iris, with affection and gratitude

from her neighbour upstairs.

That's nice.

Who is Iris?

Iris is a goddess. A very beautiful goddess.

With wings of silver and shoes of gold.

And a scarf... like a rainbow.

And she delivered letters, just like you.

Now look a bit happier, eh?

It's not because I'm wearing red that I'm dangerous.

Would you like a drink? - No, I only came to ask you something.

When you brought up the post this morning, d'you remember this envelope?

What d'you think? I wanted to ask if I can have the stamp, it looks very rare.

Do you collect stamps? - Don't be daft.

My son, Fons. - I don't want to damage this.

I understand. It's such a lovely envelope.

Relax. - I'm very relaxed.

I don't believe you.

You look like someone who can only write about women and love.

D'you know my motto?

No. - Love doesn't belong in your head,

love belongs in your body.

I'll do my best. - Glad to hear it, famous writer.

One day we'll go out for a meal together.

That'd be nice.

I know somewhere where they won't recognise you.

Fine.

1919, very strange. You're right.

You often hear about letters that take years to deliver.

Who could know in 1919

that in years to come an as yet unborn Freek Groenevelt would live in Antwerp

and allude to an incident that would happen 55 years later?

Nothing proves that the letter itself was written in 1919.

That's what I want to know.

I'll ask an old friend of mine, professor Schoenmakers, to find out.

With his equipment it's easy to find out how old the letter really is.

D'you think so? - Definitely.

Colijn. Oh, hello Mr Kerels.

Yes, your son.

Joachim? Joachim what?

You only know the first name?

Yes.

Why didn't you say so?

That is Joachim Van Babylon by Marnix Gijsen.

No, that's okay. You're welcome.

Bye, Mr Kerels.

What a coincidence, eh? Two Joachims in one day.

It'll all be a coincidence.

Did you go to The Broken Fist, by any chance?

THE BROKEN FIST GALLERY ENTRANCE VIA PLAATSNIJDERSSTRAAT

What was waiting for me in the gallery

shows that I was no longer in control of my fate.

Yes? - If I'm right...

If I'm right, this magazine is published here.

Yes, that magazine is published here.

By the gallery's owner? - You could put it like that.

Then I'd like to speak to him. - He's in Paris.

When will he be back? - No idea.

And the editor, Simone Marijnissen?

That's me. - Oh.

Yes, Mr Groenevelt. - You know me?

I've never read anything you've written, if that's what you mean,

so don't worry.

So you didn't know who I was when you published that article about me.

My compliments, you and your friends...

Colleagues. - Fine, colleagues then.

No one else will come now. Shall we go upstairs, to my apartment?

You can have a whisky, as a-pick-me-up.

I just wanted to know... - You don't have to, I just thought,

Mr Groenevelt is angry and wants to say unpleasant things.

Better to do so over a drink.

Don't get worked up about that article. - I'm not.

Why did you come then? - Maybe because I'm curious or I...

Oh. - What oh?

You were going to say, "Maybe because I knew you were there."

You're not going to talk like some novel writer!

What's wrong with that? - Oh...

You mean, love isn't in your head but in your body.

You're very nice. - So?

I didn't know a common journalist with mould on him

could be nice too. - There's something I must confess.

I don't think you're in the least mouldy.

But I do think you're capable of using common journalistic tricks,

Mr Joachim Stiller.

Whisky OK?

It was just a joke.

It's not a joke. Where did you get the name Joachim Stiller from?

Do you know him? - Of course.

I know you. - Me?

Where did you get the idea from that I'm Joachim Stiller?

Dear Miss Marijnissen, Your friend Bert...

So you have got a friend.

...wants to publish a very unpleasant article about Groenevelt.

I advise you to persuade your friend not to carry out this pointless plan.

A very important event awaits Freek Groenevelt.

He must not be confused. You won't be sorry that you took my advice.

Joachim Stiller.

And you think I wrote this? Be reasonable.

How could I know that your friend would publish such a stupid article?

You're a journalist. They always know everything.

It bloody well isn't me. I didn't even know you existed.

When did this letter arrive?

Just before the first edition was published.

I know because I had to pay a surcharge for an invalid stamp.

A stamp like this?

Yes.

Have you still got the envelope?

No, but it's the same handwriting.

He wrote to me saying that I shouldn't doubt the truth of...

new phenomena that would occur.

What kind of phenomena?

Maybe...

this.

Simone!

Simone! - That's all I need!

Are you upstairs? - Who's that?

Zijlstra. - Zijlstra?

Here? - Why are we closed already?

Freek. Well I never.

Well I never. How nice to see you.

Hello, Zijlstra. Hello. - It's been a long time, Freek.

It's so nice to see you. I've just got back from Paris.

You could've phoned... - Didrt have the time.

What are you doing here?

Don't tell me you've become a fan of avant-garde art.

Oh no, I get it. You're here to see Simone.

Just like everyone else. - Are you the owner?

Don't tell me you didn't know. - No.

I also didn't know that you try desperately to insult people.

Insult people? Oh, that article in The Broken Fist.

No, that is Simone's department. Dear Simone.

You can't refuse her anything. - Are you... Are you and her...?

Simone and me? Where did you get that idea from?

As if I'd have time for that. Have you sold anything?

No, nothing. - Doesrt matter.

So you were successful in Paris? - What is successful?

Totally successful. It's in the pocket.

Freek, lad, you've no idea what I've discovered.

Something new. I've discovered something totally new. A gold mine.

A gold mine? - Yes, in the public urinals of Antwerp.

No, no, no. I'm not interested in your urinals.

Don't give me that. You're coming. - I don't want to.

Are you a journalist? - No, I'm not!

Then you're coming because you're interested in art.

Come on, Freek. Come on. Hurry up.

I'm not interested. - Come on, Freek.

Is your painter there? - You'll see.

If this is a joke, it's not funny. - Ajoke...

Excuse me, sir. - Mr Groenevelt. Nice weather, eh?

Hello, sir. - Freek, stop struggling.

You'll see. It's breathtaking, simply fantastic. Stop struggling.

It's simply... You'll enjoy it.

Here it is. - What?

Look. Take a look. Use your eyes, blind man.

What d'you say? Isn't it fantastic?

Is that your discovery? - It's the missing link

between the Lascaux cave paintings and modern art.

Don't tell me you're going to sell that graffiti?

Certainly am. And for a lot of money.

Who on earth is interested in the scribbles of some poor sex maniac?

A genius, you mean. Here, judge for yourself.

That's disgusting. - It's new.

It's new, that's what matters. That's the only thing that makes money.

How many young artists have I kept alive?

And they you? - Less than you think.

They lived too well on what I gave them

because they never came up with anything new.

Well, I've discovered something new,

by chance, intuitively, or simply because I'm me,

on the courtyard wall of Den Engel.

That same afternoon I went to all the bars, all the public urinals,

all the fences round waste ground, there were drawings like that everywhere,

and I tried to trace him. Up till now...

But I've already arranged the sale of his masterpieces

in Paris, Geneva, New York. An important market, New York.

And now you're going to dismantle those toilet facilities and sell them in bits?

If I can find him, that unknown genius...

You'll believe that yourself soon.

You haven't looked at it properly, have you?

No, if I can find him, even if it takes a year,

I'll shut him up somewhere with some canvasses, brushes, paint...

I mean, I'll install him in a studio and sign a contract, if necessary.

Provide him with some women too. - No way.

You're mad. Provide sustenance for someone who is sexually starved?

He'd start painting daisies.

Christ, Freek. You've brought me luck.

There he is.

It's him. It's him. - How do you know?

I can feel it. I can feel it. It's him.

Pay the bill for me, will you? I've got to go after him.

Sir, sir! Wait!

Friend, my dear friend. Don't be scared.

Yes, agreed. Our Dear Lord has led me to you.

I won't hurt you.

That's right.

Even though I had to admit the adventure with Zijlstra had enthralled me

and I had to acknowledge the dark humour of what happened,

once again I had that uncomfortable feeling that I couldn't put a name to.

Unless it was d�j� vu.

In some inexplicable way

the graffiti man had reminded me of Joachim Stiller again.

I couldn't get him out of my head.

Tomorrow I would start looking into it, sort it all out.

There had to be a logical explanation.

Maybe that Stiller was some madman who hung around in the city.

Maybe he lived in Antwerp,

had an address or a telephone.

A telephone.

Bloody hell.

Stichting, Stiff, Stijven, Stille Hulp, Stilmant, Stilmant...

No Stiller in Antwerp.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm not Joachim Stiller.

Ah, good morning, Mrs Frans.

Good morning, Mrs Vandecasteele. The post was early today, I see.

There were only advertising leaflets. - Right.

FOUND A SECLUDED RESTAURANT. THIS EVENING? LILY

Hello, Mr Freek. - Hello, Mrs Frans.

Not eating here this evening, then?

What d'you mean? - Well, that actress...

An actress?

Lily. - Oh, is it Lily?

I always say Mrs Vandecasteele.

But she's probably never been a Mrs.

When I say actress, I mean in a manner of speaking.

I've put the water on already. - That's kind of you.

And, as you know, I don't like gossip.

But that's the truth. Everyone knows.

I'm not lying.

She's never been an actress on the stage,

but she can act. The things she can make men believe...

But they are all very respectable men.

They are doctors, engineers, record company directors, managers.

Last time even a whole congregation of dentists.

They're always at seminars and meetings...

When are you going to have a boiler put in?

And all they do is hear about teeth and gums all day long

and when they're away from home, they get bored in the evening

and they get madam to come.

Apparently she can be a lot of fun. But she isn't a whore.

No one in Antwerp can accuse her of that.

She's... What do they call it? She's a... a hostess.

Yes, a hostess.

Mrs Frans, that's none of your business.

No, you're right. It's none of my business.

Anyway, I don't like talking about people behind their back.

She can do what she likes. After all, she's not hurting anyone.

On the contrary. But she's not your type.

Did I say something?

I couldn't stop thinking about Joachim Stiller.

If he was one of those letter-writing maniacs, he must've written before.

Maybe to the newspaper.

Which year do you want? - The last two or three.

If it's not too heavy. - It is too heavy.

Readers' letters are always the heaviest files.

Looking for ghost stories in the archives now?

Drop dead. Then there'll be some news for the paper.

Do normal people ever write to us? - Very rarely.

Why do we keep all this? - Sometimes a madman wants to read them.

Have you ever seen one by someone called Stiller?

Joachim Stiller. - Freek, what do you think?

And the name doesn't mean anything to you, either?

Joachim Stiller?

Joachim Stiller.

Never heard of him.

Hello?

Freek, it's for you. City Hall. The alderman for Public Works.

Damn.

Yes? Mr Keldermans.

Yes, something came up.

Whenever you want.

This afternoon at 3 o'clock?

OK, Mr Keldermans. Goodbye, Mr Keldermans.

Why didn't you go and see him last time?

Oh, that... There was no point. - And there is now?

Yes, maybe.

Yes, now it was won'th going.

I knew that the strange behaviour of the alderman for Public Works

had something to do with the appearance of Joachim Stiller in my life.

You're wrong, Mr Groenevelt. This is the file of all my departments.

There hasn't been any work done in High Street for four years.

Certainly not on the day you thought... - I didn't think.

I saw it. And not only me.

Are you OK? Shall I call someone? - No, don't do that.

It's a bit stuffy in here. - Shall I open a window?

No, that just makes it worse.

It...

It's that thunder, that noise. As if it's bomb exploding.

And it hurts.

It hurts so much.

Maybe I should come back another day? - No, stay, please. Stay.

You must forgive me, Mr Groenevelt,

for sending that letter to your newspaper.

Let me tell you something, Mr Groenevelt.

But it mustrt go any further. It's a secret.

Will you promise me? - Yes.

Well, I think you're right about that work in High Street.

In fact, I never doubted it.

What do you mean?

But High Street, that is just one thing among many.

One link in a chain.

A conspiracy. - Against you?

I don't know,

but things happen, Mr Groenevelt, awful things.

No, absurd things.

No one seems to notice anything, except me.

No one? - Something...

Yes, somehow...

that doesn't add up.

Yes, Mr Keldermans, I know. - You know, Mr Groenevelt?

God, that noise!

It isn't something you can know, but I think I know what you mean.

No, no, no.

Forget what I said.

What must happen, will happen.

And it was no coincidence

that after my meeting with Mr Keldermans I ended up at Andreas Colijrs.

Either fate or Joachim Stiller had once again provided a surprise.

Look who's here.

Have you come as a friend or to seek shelter?

Don't tell me, I can see.

I've just come from City Hall. - Really?

From the alderman for Public Works. - Keldermans?

Do you know him? - Know him...

In my opinion the man is mad.

That nice man? What has he done to you?

Well, maybe nothing. Maybe it's me.

Imagination still causing you problems? - Yes, I think so.

Have you heard anything about that letter from Stiller?

No, I'm expecting to hear from professor Schoenmakers any day.

Anything there that's won'th reading?

I bought these on the off-chance from an old lady.

As a favour to her, I suppose?

You never know with old junk. It can hold surprises. This, for example.

This may be interesting, even if the first pages are missing.

No title, no author.

Beginning of the 17th? - More likely middle of the 16th.

But probably printed in Antwerp.

I'll find out from Wim in the library.

There may be an article in this for the newspaper.

May I borrow it? - Yes, as long as you return it.

Hey, that good-looking young lady there, is she signalling to me or you?

Someone you know?

Vaguely.

That's enough of books for today. You're coming with me.

But I... - Don't say you didn't get my note.

Yes, I did. - Well?

It's stopped raining.

That's lucky.

ULYSSES BOOKS

They take things too far!

We have to wait a week to discover the secret again.

Yes. Full of suspense.

What'll happen to them? What do you think?

What'll happen to them? - To who?

To Betty and Steven.

Betty and Steven? - Honestly...

Everyone stays home to watch it, crying in front of the TV, and you read a book.

What's it about? - Us.

About what happens if we're not careful.

God, the environment again? - Something like that. The Revelation.

The what?

Let's see.

And St. John spoke, "In those days the people shall look for death

and they shall not find it."

So? What's he complaining about?

"The big star shall fall burning from the sky

and the locusts shall have teeth like lions." Really!

But, John did not tell the entire truth,

because Niniv... - Ninive.

Ninive shall be reduced to ashes, the surface of the earth shall disappear

and Nothingness shall rule for eternity.

So that's the kind of thing you enjoy.

All this shall occur when Uranus is situated in the Mars quadrant

and Leo in the Neptune sextile.

Oh, it's a horoscope, like in the newspaper.

I'm Virgo. And no comments! What are you?

I don't know. - Huh, what a writer!

You're probably Aquarius. Someone who quietly walks away.

That reminds me. Tomorrow I'm off to Knokke to see some people I know.

For a conference. - For long?

Don't pretend you can't do without me. Put that book away.

There.

You didn't feel like it, eh?

I noticed. I felt it in the restaurant.

Thinking about everything and everyone, except me.

And in bed... Well, well, well.

It's not your fault. - I should hope not.

Or maybe it is my fault. I'm not your type.

I've got my feet too much on the ground.

I think, you have to be able to talk to women first.

In your case love is in your head.

Do you think so?

Yes. - Freek!

Freek! - Listen, it's for you.

Freek! - Go and answer her.

What are you looking for? - I can't go naked...

No one can see you.

Simone, it's you. - I need to talk to you.

Now? - Yes, it's urgent.

Freek! - Yes, I... I'll just get dressed.

Come to De Muze. - OK.

I'll wait for you. - Alright.

What are you looking at all the time? - I'm waiting for someone.

Who? - Freek Groenevelt.

Him from the fascist newspaper?

Give it a rest, sweetheart. - I'm not your sweetheart.

Yes, you are. Always have been.

Because we slept together?

Since the one time it happened, I know you're a sweetheart.

Look at that fascist face.

My compliments.

Drop dead.

I'm glad you've come.

She doesn't care what she says to you. - That's enough.

Shall we go somewhere else? - OK, but why?

That guy there is Bert, who wrote that article about you.

Your friend. Should I be scared of your friends?

I'm too much of a coward to fight. Let's find a seat.

Is your phone out of order? - My phone?

You didn't answer and I stood outside shouting for ages. Were you asleep?

Were you asleep? - Yes.

A heavy sleeper.

I'm glad you got me out of bed, but what's so urgent?

No!

As anticipated, the paths of you and Freek Groenevelt have crossed.

The subsequent consequences were not anticipated. Do not be afraid.

Let nothing take you by surprise. Joachim Stiller.

I immediately tried to find out about the sender.

And?

The telegram was sent from a telephone box.

By you. - You don't think I...

No, I don't think that. I think the man used your name.

Then I know who it is. That arsehole over there.

Your friend. - Of course it's not.

He couldn't even make something like that up.

And he's not my friend.

So what is there between you?

Is that important?

Yes.

Why?

Because I...

Because you... - Because you quite like me.

Because I think you're extremely beautiful.

That's not nice for the woman you were in bed with when I was outside shouting.

Simone!

Simone, I'm off.

If you're not home in an hour, you won't get be able to get in.

Come on, let's go.

Are you going too?

You're going with them. Something's up.

I'm going with them to sort a few things out.

Simone.

What, Freek? - Will I see you again?

I want to.

Dominated by the impressive facade of the Carolus-Borromeus church,

the enclosed Conscienceplein looked like a Venetian piazza

when, next morning, I walked to the municipal library in a good mood.

I'd decided to find out all I could about Andreas Colijrs book.

My friend Wim Falckeniers, chief librarian, would be able to help me.

This book just fell into my lap. No title, no author.

No publisher. - And you'd like to know all that?

Yes. - Why?

Ajournalist's inquisitiveness. - Right.

In fact, it intrigues me slightly.

You mean, you're very interested.

That doesn't surprise me, a repressed mystic like yourself.

A freethinker fascinated by this load of superstition.

The whole caboodle: heresies, the scarlet whore,

Heavenly Jerusalem, the Apocalypse.

We'll see what we can do. Judging from the type page,

it was printed in the workshops of Vorsterman around...

Mmmn, let's see. Around 1561, shall we say.

You're amazing. - Amazing.

Maybe I've got something else for you.

Sir.

Your book, that's John from Patmos, isn't it?

More of a long commentary, madam. - Miss. I'm Miss.

Miss Von Kipperfisch, an astrology star.

Oh, Mr Falckeniers, a star.

The precision of her horoscopes is incomparable.

There are astrological references in your book too, aren't there?

Yes, in the last chapter. - Really?

May I?

Thank you. Thank you, thank you.

But...

That's an eschatology.

Sorry. I mean, the end of our world predicted by the stars.

May I? I won't take long. Thank you.

Yes, just a minute. I've almost finished.

Please, one more minute.

One more minute. Please. Thank you.

Thank you very much.

Am I the genius of Flemish libraries or...

did we just get lucky?

And printed in the workshops of Vorsterman.

THE APOCALYPSE

THE VISION OF JOHN ON PATMOS

EXPLAINED BY THE MASTER OF THEOLOGY AT AUGSBURG

JOACHIM STILLER

Freek! Freek, mate! What's the matter?

Freek!

It's okay. I just suddenly felt dizzy. - You gave me a scare.

There's nothing wrong with your heart? - No, it's just stress.

There. I've finished.

The astrological elements in your book

about the end of the world,

I've worked it all out.

The world will end, take note, on 17th August

at 28 minutes past 4 in the afternoon.

But... But that's in a month's time!

Jesus, Mary and Joseph!

That is the day of the comet!

I'd felt that fear, that animal fear, once before.

Right at the end of the war,

when a V-bomb, in disconcerting silence ripped a tram to shreds.

That memory had bubbled to the surface as if Joachim Stiller were the key

that released it from my subconscious.

And yet I continued to resist the reality of his existence.

But he was there.

Strange intertwined events that had pervaded my peaceful existence.

Come back! That's the seventh time you've broken my window!

Bloody hell, damn kids!

Freek.

Simone. What are you doing here? - I'm waiting for you.

It's very untidy, but you know bachelors...

Something wrong, Freek? - It's OK. I felt a bit sick earlier.

That never happens. Do you want a drink? - A drink'll do you good.

Let me. - No. Where is everything?

In the fridge.

Gin, vodka, whisky? - Whisky.

Nice place you live in. What a view!

Where are your glasses? - Up there, on the left in the cupboard.

I'm glad you like it here. - Drink in the fridge.

The best view in the city.

What more can I say?

Simone...

Why did you wait for me?

Because I wanted to, among other things. - Why among other things?

Joachim Stiller. - Has he written again?

This time he phoned. - He didn't!

He did.

Early this morning.

I was still half asleep when the phone went.

First I heard a woman. It sounded like it was coming from a long way away.

You know, from the other side of the world.

Then I was put through.

A hollow sound, like in a large empty house.

There was music in the background and a quiet voice that said that I...

A voice that said that I was talking to Joachim Stiller.

I was so taken aback, or cross, that I didn't really hear what he was saying.

The only thing I remember is that he said

that I shouldn't have left you alone last night.

God, the bastards! - Freek.

It's a conspiracy. I'm sure of it.

It's one big machination, I don't know why, to drive me mad.

It's everywhere, Simone, on trams, in the street,

in the library, in City Hall. No. No, I'm not seeing ghosts.

That letter, Keldermans in that room, Colijrs book.

They're there.

It's everywhere. It's creeping up on me from all sides.

It's getting closer and closer.

I'm scared. I'm scared.

Now they're dragging you into the nightmare.

Come on, Freek. You're not on your own anymore. Freek.

No, don't. For God's sake, it's him. Don't, Simone!

Hello? - Hello, Freek, is that you?

Hello, who's that? - Is that Freek Groenevelt's flat?

Did you want to speak to him? - Yes, no. I didn't understand.

I'll call him. - Yes, put him on.

Hello, Groenevelt here. - Hello. Have you got a secretary now?

Now isn't time for jokes. - What joke?

I... Hello, Freek? Hallo, are you still there?

Listen. You'll laugh at this.

That letter from Stiller, it is 55 years old.

It isn't! - It is. A mistake isn't possible.

They've checked it at least three times, the paper, the ink, everything.

Has that put your mind at ease? - Yes, thank you, Andreas. Thank you.

Hello? Hello? Are you still there? Have you found out anything about that book?

Yes. - Well?

They had another copy in the library. 16th century,

printed by Vorsterman and written by one Joachim Stiller.

You're joking. That's the same name as on the letter.

Strange, eh? - You can say that again.

Did they know anything about Stiller? - Hardly anything.

Only that the man lectured in theology in Augsburg from 1552 to 1556,

that he was thrown out of the university,

that he wandered round Westphalia and the Low Countries as a street preacher.

They don't know when he was born or when he died.

I'm not surprised.

The classic example of the average 16th century heretic.

And you're not surprised that someone from the 16th century

posts a letter in 1919 and I then...?

Come on, Freek. There's more than one Stiller. I...

Hello? See you... Come round, will you? Bye.

Damn!

Sir.

How much is this book?

EXTRAORDINARY JOURNEYS JULES VERNE

Joachim Stiller was right. I should've stayed with you last night.

But you had to see your colleagues. - Yes.

I don't know what you mean by 'colleagues'.

Work. Work I started one time.

I'd known for ages I wanted to stop. The gallery, Zijlstra, The Broken Fist.

Then you came in that day and I knew for certain.

I should end it. And that's what I did last night.

And now?

Now I'm here.

And now you're staying.

If you want me to stay, I'll stay.

I knew that my whole life had been heading unavoidably

towards the perfection of this hour. And for a moment I could believe

that Joachim Stiller, who had so much to do with all of this,

was nothing but a ghost born of my imagination.

Wiebrand Zijlstra, the shrewd art dealer,

had meanwhile set his prot�g� to work in a derelict factory.

Wiebrand Zijlstra here. Yes, about the exhibition preview.

I've written six letters and phoned twelve times. What?

No. Listen, darling. I never argue

and certainly not with the secretary of the assistant private secretary.

I want the minister at my preview, understand?

OK? Then ask him again.

And add:

Zijlstra sends his best wishes from the copper mines of Katanga.

He won't refuse this time.

Back to work you! Quick!

I won't say it again. My hands are itching.

What do you look like?

What do you look like? Eh?

Go on, get to work. We're late as it is, damn you.

Now what?

Bloody hell!

Come on, Arlet, don't be scared. - Scared? I'm not scared of anything.

Now tell me I never spoil you.

His name is Siegfried. He's very sweet.

He's adorable and so distinguished.

Give me the dough now. Plus 10% extra.

And, eh... the quicker the better. He's got work to do.

Remember that.

Hey, steady on!

Come on, hurry up. The exhibition opens in a week.

Get on with it, for Christ's sake. Put that away. Get a move on.

SILENCE PLEASE

What... what...

What are you doing here? - I'm doing my round, like every night.

It's very late.

Yes... I had a lot of work to do.

If you ask me, you should go to bed.

Thank you, Johan.

I still need to do some thinking. Good night.

Good night, sir.

The bells.

It sounded so clear, so unreal.

For a moment I felt like a child, holding my father's hand.

In front of us, the expanse of the training ground.

Above us, the grey outlines of dozens of hot air balloons

like monstrous, swollen, dead fish.

Can you hear them? The bells?

They sound much louder than just now.

Maybe the wind has changed direction or we just didn't notice.

Just now.

That's not the bells. The whole carillon is playing.

So late?

Twenty past one. - Maybe something's wrong with it.

You need a carilloneur to play a carillon like that.

Incredible. The whole of Antwerp must be awake now.

It's like we're the only ones who can hear it.

Look! All the houses are dark.

It's OK. Go back to sleep.

Can't you hear it?

No, I can't hear anything.

Go to sleep.

You're not using your ears.

Don't worry. He's very productive.

But be careful, Edelstein, only release them gradually.

Gradually. We mustrt let the Jews saturate the market.

Just a moment, Edelstein.

Will you shut up?

It's true. You can't hear yourself think.

Where were we? Oh yes, the Jews.

What's the time?

Twenty past one. - Can't be. That's when it started.

It's stopped.

The moment the music died away,

a strange feeling of sadness came over me

to do with my earliest childhood memories again.

What's up, darling? Why are you crying? - I'm scared, Freek.

Why? - Of the music. Of him.

It was him. You were right. He's everywhere, here with us too.

Like a shadow.

Groenevelt here.

This is Joachim Stiller. - Right.

My name should not be a scourge for you.

One day, I will free you of all fear.

But your equilibrium not only depends on me. You have to seek it inside yourself.

From now on I shall remain silent until the day we meet.

Trust me. Nothing is irrevocable.

Hello? Hello?

Simone, darling, listen.

Whoever Joachim Stiller is, whatever he is,

maybe he exists, maybe he doesn't,

or maybe we're both dreaming the same dream,

but if it's a dream, then it's a happy dream.

Mrs Frans, my cleaning lady, who had no idea my life had changed,

came like she did every morning to do the housework in my flat under the roof.

Phew, it's a long way up!

My back!

Oh dear.

IT'S ON ITS WAY!

Hello, Mr Freek! I've brought the newspaper up with me.

Do you want to read it now? - No, not now.

Is that your Mrs Frans? - Yes.

It isn't a disaster. What do you normally do?

I sort myself out.

Do you need anything? - No, thank you, Mrs Frans.

Oh, I thought...

I'll bring you breakfast in bed.

You should take a look at the paper. The comet will be here in a month.

What are you looking for? - You've got to put something on.

Why? - You can't...

This is how I am and how I'll stay. We're together in a dream, aren't we?

We heard the carillon last night.

Not now. She'll hear us.

Not now, Simone.

Are you looking for this?

Not all people are bad.

Did you hear the bells last night? Some publicity stunt, I suppose.

They've got a nerve. My sister, who sleeps next to me, didn't hear a thing.

She normally hears everything. And it was so...

Good morning, Mrs Frans.

Good morning, madam.

Shall I put it here?

You should have told me. I'd have boiled two eggs.

An egg for madam.

I've so much to do. Get a new job. Move. - Don't, Freek.

Shouldrt you do something?

I like people who go to their office on time in the morning.

Home on time in the evening for tea. - No, I know a quiet restaurant.

Where you always go with your actress. - Simone, don't start.

Yes, girl, I know how these things go.

That's it, here.

It became an amazing time for us both.

We didn't talk about Joachim Stiller nor about the future.

Not that we feared the future.

Neither of us doubted the durability of our feelings.

Whenever I could arrange it with my work, I stayed home.

My bachelor attic had become cosier

since Simone had come to live there.

Or I wandered through the city with her, which she didn't know well enough.

Everything seemed... normal again.

Nothing indicated that my fear was still lying in wait

and would show its claws again at the first opportunity.

What's the matter?

STILLER AND SON PALACE OF MIRACLES

It's a coincidence, Freek. Just a coincidence.

He said it was over. And now this. - Come on, Freek. Let's go home.

No, I've had enough of this absurd story. Let's go inside.

No, Freek. - What can happen to us?

It's started. Hurry up. Jiberry and his dogs have just started.

Excuse me, madam. I'd like to talk to Mr Stiller.

Who? - The owner.

My husband is the owner and he's called Van Blankenberghe.

How come...? - That's the name of our business.

Known at all the fairs in Europe and beyond for 150 years.

How... - 100 years ago

my husband's grandfather took over the business from Mr Stiller and son.

Do you know what happened to Stiller and son?

It's so long ago.

I did hear one of the Stillers, the father, I think,

had a chamber of horrors and the son a waxworks museum.

Are you from the police? - No.

Are you going in or not? - It's not won'th it anymore.

Why? - I'd rather go home. Come on.

OK.

Two tickets please.

There was nothing miraculous to be seen

and, inside, the name Stiller lost its frightening sound.

But then the handcuff king appeared.

And now your applause for the sensational attraction Harry Seldon.

The man who escapes from everything.

Harry Seldon, we may tell you, ladies and gentlemen, is the illegitimate,

but full-blooded cousin of the greatest boxer of all time,

Primo Carnera.

Come over specially from America, Harry Seldon will, for you,

carry out his unparalleled experiment once again.

An experiment that made the country of unlimited opportunities

shake on its foundations.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, nothing is proof against Harry Seldon.

Harry Seldon will be out of this sack within ten seconds.

When this experiment was carried out in New York at minus 10 degrees

on the bottom of the Potomac river he only needed two seconds more.

We ask for absolute silence,

because this experiment requires the utmost concentration.

We remind you

that Harry Seldon will be out of the sack in 10 seconds.

One,

two,

three,

four,

five,

six,

seven,

eight.

Hurrah! - Hurrah!

Hurrah!

Unique in the world, no tricks, no accomplices, no helpers.

There is no lock that Harry Seldon cannot open, no door he cannot open,

there is no chain that can stop him. He can get in and out of everything

and no one knows.

Look at the handcuffs, sir.

Will you confirm to the audience that they are authentic?

It was a present from Nick Can'ter, the famous detective.

Sir says yes. Would you be so good and put them on me?

Right wrist.

Left wrist. There.

Now I'm sir's prisoner.

And sir is free.

But everything down here is a sham.

Maybe sir is the prisoner and I'm the one who is free.

And now this kind lady is going to place her soft and gentle hand

on my handcuffs. And...

There.

We thought it was all over but it all started again at the fair.

If I were you, I wouldn't worry about it.

It must interest you. You're up to your ears in occult stuff.

Did you invite me to dinner or to solve puzzles?

Also to meet the sweetest woman in Antwerp.

But we already know each other.

You work on Zijlstra's magazine, The Broken Fist, don't you?

Worked, thank goodness. - Don't be too hard on it.

Without The Broken Fist we'd never have met.

I now work in the 20th Century Gallery.

Where are you going? - I won't run away, darling.

She's adorable. - Yes.

Yes, that carillon.

It could be a case of collective hallucination.

Must be. I went to see the carilloneur the next day

and he was astonished.

He was fast asleep in bed that night.

But how do you explain that some people heard it and others didn't?

I don't know.

Still,

you're wrongly connecting that carillon with Joachim Stiller.

I was thinking of other things that night, not Joachim Stiller.

Come with me, come on. - No.

Andreas, I've brought you some company.

I didn't want to come. Simone had to make me.

I hardly had time to put on something decent.

You don't mind, do you?

This is my contribution to the party.

I'll put it in the fridge.

Sit down, miss. - Freek.

Yes, well, the supernatural.

But where does that start for you, for Simone, for me, for you?

If you're going to start talking about ghosts then I'm off.

Are you scared of ghosts? - No, but talking about them is unlucky.

I assure you there are some very friendly ghosts, miss.

Do you know one? - I'll introduce him to you.

Can you cook?

I can only make burnt fried eggs. - Vol-au-vents � la Simone.

I bought the vol-au-vents.

Andreas, you'll like this. - You're making a real mess.

Who to? - Stiller?

Preferably not.

What are you doing?

That's lucky.

In any case, we don't have to think of Joachim Stiller now,

but just enjoy our food. That'll keep you busy.

Andreas, what do you think about all those books and voices from nowhere?

Messages in a bottle on the waves of time.

I'll show you something else.

Look at this, Andreas.

Yes, yes, I know, I know.

In the 16th century there were thirteen in a dozen,

that all predicted the end of the world.

But that doesn't mean that...

Oh... That's strange.

What's the matter?

Well, what's the matter is that...

that Joachim Stiller from the 16th century knew about the existence

of Uranus and Neptune. - So?

Uranus was only discovered in the 18th century and Neptune in the 19th.

Didrt they exist before then?

You're not asleep. - No.

You're thinking about the book. - No.

About the book and Joachim Stiller. - No.

Freek, there isn't anything... anything to be afraid of.

I'm not afraid. I just wonder how it's going to end.

I love you.

Simone, do you love me?

You know I do. - I want you to say it.

I love you. There, now go to your paper like a good boy and I'll go to work too.

I don't know what you're talking about. - Earning money.

To live off. - We are living.

You're very sweet.

The psychiatrists and, in their own way, the confessors are right.

Cares or worries that you talk about,

are put into perspective, become things we are able to understand.

The next morning everything had assumed normal proportions again.

Mr Groenevelt, you made me jump.

It's not your normal day today, is it? - No, I left my tobacco at home.

You don't usually do that.

These days more and more things are happening that didn't used to.

Have you heard it too? About the world?

Well, they say the world is going to end today.

But as a shopkeeper you hear all kinds of things.

In the end, you don't know what to think.

Mrs Peeters, how can an intelligent woman like you believe such rubbish?

I don't believe anything,

but I do think. Today is the day of the comet.

Are you ready? - Excuse me?

Listen to me. I have a very important message.

Brother, wait. Don't go.

What do you want? Who are you? - It is my task

to remind everyone that, any day, death can call

like a thief in the night.

At the paper, the end of the world attracted more attention than expected.

You can read about it in this evening's edition. Of course there'll be one.

Yes.

You don't believe those absurd stories, do you?

lt'll all be in our evening edition. Yes, definitely.

Goodbye.

No, madam. Goodbye.

Yes, madam, yes. No, goodbye, Mrs Janssens.

I hope the world soon ends, so we're shot of these idiots.

The city is going crazy. - That's in your line.

It's raining mysteries. - Collective insanity has no secrets.

So you won't write an article about it. - No way.

Then I've got something better for you, a preview.

The Leonardo Da Vinci of the public urinals.

My God, Zijlstra's crazy idea.

You can choose, Groenevelt:

the end of the world or an exhibition where nothing will happen.

Damn.

SIEGFRIED EXHIBITION

Unreliable yet calculating, Zijlstra welcomed his guests

in the same factory where he'd housed his prot�g�.

Is he really crazy? - Is he really crazy?

He's totally insane.

Get back! Watch it!

What did I tell you?

You'll get a thump!

lmbecile.

Get back. And I won't say it again.

And if you do it again, you'll get thumped.

He suggested that I came.

You can imagine, he's very busy with the merger...

Thank you, Zijlstra, that was very... eh... very different.

New, shall I say? If I can wheedle some funds,

the department will buy three or four works

for the new arts centre in Zelem.

If it gets too bad, just say so and we'll leave.

I'm glad the whole of Antwerp will know I'm your mistress.

I'm so glad.

I'm so glad you're here. Simone, you look wonderful.

Can she have her hands back? She may need them.

Sir's jealous! I understand, I understand.

Simone, you little traitor. I had to find an instant replacement for you.

Erika. - Hello.

She's totally dedicated to me. - Yes, until my studies are completed.

Right, I'll leave you to yourselves. There's so much to see and admire.

Come on, you.

What? What did you say? Siegfried. Yes, really, he's called Siegfried.

Of course, that's what you get with that Wagner craze here.

Don't laugh. Just write down what I say.

Excuse me. Right.

You can't hang that up in our lounge. - You can if you have to.

If Aunt Jeanne comes, we'll cover it up.

I shouldn't have brought you. - Doesrt matter, darling. I don't mind.

It just makes me sad.

I just feel sorry for the poor soul who did it.

Get back, you.

Mr Zijlstra, when do we... - Oh yes, sir. Just a moment, sir.

Come with me.

Sit here and watch thingy here.

Edelstein, the Americans are here. Come on, quickly.

It's disgusting. It's filthy. It's obscene.

But Lolleke! - Lolleke nothing.

They should forbid things like that. - Hello. Something wrong?

Something's very wrong.

What on earth made you bring me here, to look at these obscenities?

But Lily, it's art. - Excuse me?

I know what art is. I've got paintings at home.

Works of art. I even had the Sunflowers.

I got rid of them, they'd gone out of fashion.

But here, these cocks, these dicks, these cunts, in full view,

is that art? Then my big toe is art too.

Dr�, come on. We're leaving.

D�sir�, do you know what it's made from?

Oak.

A strong lad like you needs that, with a chest like yours.

You can have one. Go on, take a piece.

I don't know. - Is there something you'd prefer?

I know what you're thinking of.

A kiss. - You wouldn't dare.

A plate of chicken or a kiss. You can choose.

He almost murdered a whore... a young girl.

Go on, back to your place! Back to your stool! Bloody hell!

Stupid idiot. Is that how you guard him?

I'll knock your teeth into your stomach, if you're not careful!

Don't write that down.

Wonderful, isn't it? Wonderful. - No.

Don't you like it? You can be honest.

You won't like it. - Whether you do or don't like it,

the most important thing is that you write about my gold mine in your paper.

What you're doing is disgusting, Zijlstra.

Even if the poor wretch were another Van Gogh,

the way you abuse him is just abhorrent.

I've no sympathy with the idiots you're swindling,

but I'm thinking of that piece of human misery you're exhibiting here.

You always have to exaggerate, eh artist?

Come on.

He's a bastard, Freek. An evil spirit.

Tonight? Eight o'clock?

Girls!

Now.

Upstairs!

He got away.

I couldn't follow him.

There! There he is! There!

Bloody hell!

Not now, you silly cow!

He's broken his neck, the idiot!

The bastard!

Still... Still... Still... Stiller.

Christ, he spoke!

Did you hear that? - The sirens were making too much noise.

The comet! The comet!

He'll never paint again.

Now he's dead, his paintings will be won'th ten times as much.

Put all the prices up immediately.

The world didn't come to an end,

but my breakdown definitely started that evening.

It started somewhere between my stomach and my lungs.

An oppressive feeling, a deep-seated fear.

Visions from the past

and the obsessive thought of Joachim Stiller.

My world was about to fall apart.

Things aren't OK, are they?

I don't know.

It's OK, darling. It's alright now.

Freek. - No, no, I told you. I'm fine.

I'm fine. - Don't lie. Are you in pain?

No, that exhibition, that bloody mess. I feel it's my fault.

Try not to always feel that everything is your fault.

It is my fault. I'm involved. - You're not involved, darling.

Don't torment yourself. - I was there.

It feels like a weight on my chest. - Does your arm hurt?

Did you hear what he said as he died? - Don't think about it, Freek.

He said, "Stiller." How come? - He was in pain. The siren.

It wasrt because of the siren. Stiller has come back into my life.

He's pressing down on me, he weighs a ton.

I can't bear it any longer. I'm suffocating.

I'm suffocating.

Freek, Freek, say something! Lily!

He's dead. - No, come on, help me.

It was Simone who took action.

She made the decision for me, that I would see a psychiatrist.

Yes, a bit high, but not alarmingly so.

Your GP said that there's nothing wrong physically.

And that fainting then? - What is fainting, Mr Groenevelt?

The mind faints and the body follows.

Put your shirt back on. An unexpected shock can be enough.

But Stiller isn't an unexpected shock. He's been there for weeks.

For months. To be exact, for centuries and he's tormenting me.

He's an obsession.

What is an obsession, Mr Groenevelt?

How should I know? It's really troubling me.

It's suffocating me. - People don't suffocate that easily.

You're probably suffering from stress.

And that's why I receive letters from someone who knew me before I was born?

There are obsessions, Mr Groenevelt, that live in the mind,

but there are also obsessions that are conjured up externally.

You mean I conjured up Joachim Stiller?

It's possible. Everything is possible, like people conjuring up the dead,

like some people conjure up an enemy,

like the last king of Babylon conjured up the punishing hand on the wall.

Doctor, you're mad.

Of course I am, everyone is mad.

But what is mad, Mr Groenevelt? - What are you going to do?

I want to try to help you.

A traditional analysis seems superfluous

and would take too long.

Have you got any objections to a chemicoanalysis?

I inject you with Pentothal and you tell me everything that's bothering you.

Pentothal, that's truth serum. - Yes, it's truth serum.

That seems a bit creepy. - Do you want me to help you or not?

I don't have to do it. - But will this help?

I don't know.

Are we going to do it or not?

Go on then.

Right.

Concentrate on one thing.

On one name, completely. Joachim Stiller.

Say everything that goes through your mind.

Joachim Stiller. What does that name make you think of?

A book.

A book.

A book that I found in Andreas Colijrs shop.

An old book.

A very old book.

That was falling apart.

It's a very old book.

It lay rotting in a cellar for four hundred years.

It's disgusting. It smells of death.

It sticks to my hands. That smell.

That smell. It smells like that in Andreas Colijrs shop.

The house is very dilapidated, damp plaster, mould.

Dust... on all the books.

Books. Books.

School books.

School.

I have to learn my lessons, do my homework. The others can play outside.

I'm not allowed to go out and play with them. It's not fair.

Do your homework. Learn your lessons.

She's waiting for me. Outside.

She's seven years old and her name is Simone.

Simone.

My light, my bread, my heaven.

I'm going to write a book. I'll write all about it.

The most beautiful story in the world.

I... I... I hate that book. I want to burn it.

No, I... I don't want to!

It's a message from Joachim Stiller.

Written in the 20th century, published in the 16th century.

A message... in a bottle on the waves of time.

That's what Andreas says. Andreas.

Albert. My friend from school.

Albert, Albert. For four years Albert hasn't seen an orange.

We're not hungry, we aren't. Daddy always brings something good with him.

A door. May I open it?

Stiller is powerful.

A giant monkey. He holds me in his large hairy paws.

Above the city, very high.

He drops me. I'm falling.

No more air.

I'm suffocating.

I wouldn't harm a fly.

Daddy took me with him to see the hot-air balloons.

Everyone is happy.

It's beautiful.

They're coming.

Daddy, Daddy, look out!

Daddy! Daddy!

Let my father go! Don't hurt him!

You're hurting my father!

Daddy!

Daddy!

Father, what does that mean? Filthy blackshirt?

I haven't got time now. I've got to go to school.

The broken glass crunches under my shoes.

Bombs fell on the city all night long.

Everything smells of mould, of decay, of death.

It's cold. I mustrt miss my tram.

I've been late for school three times since father has been gone.

There's my tram.

That little girl. Where did I see her?

She smiles at me. It's as if she's calling me.

I'm coming. Wait for me.

Let me go! Let me past! My tram! My tram!

I fall over, I'm suffocating. I'm suffocating.

He's pressing down on me, he weighs a ton.

I can't breathe.

I can't... I can't...

I... can't... breathe.

That blood... isn't my blood.

It's the blood of the man who fell on top of me.

Without him I'd have died that day.

Maybe I'm living a postponed death.

Pieces of flesh everywhere.

Blood is running in the gutter.

And that smell.

That smell.

It's an American soldier.

His face...

He hasn't got a face anymore.

His wallet.

With a name on it.

I didn't steal it. I swear.

The siren, ambulances. I'm really scared.

It smells of mould, of decay.

Of death.

They take him away. They disappear with him.

The wallet!

The name, forgotten!

The wallet. Sir, sir, you've forgotten the wallet!

Mr van Lampen?

The name on the wallet! - No, don't!

The name on the wallet! - I've forgotten.

You don't want to remember it. - Not true. I'm not a thief.

The name! - I'm not a thief! I'm not my father!

The name! The name! - No, don't! No!

Daddy! Daddy! Don't! - The name!

Major

Joachim

Stiller.

I can see the letters on the wallet very clearly, doctor.

I can't see dead bodies. But I can see the explosion.

And the box on the ears, and the neighbour.

But that name, doctor...

According to the books, Mr Groenevelt, you feel responsible

for the death of that officer but you suppressed that event.

You couldn't help him, you couldn't help your father,

two plus two makes four. And what does four mean in my profession?

Correct, guilt. You know that too.

You must've read one of the popular works on psychoanalysis.

But that name, doctor. - Yes, that name.

So you don't know either? - What is know, Mr Groenevelt?

Stiller starts where knowing stops.

Pardon? - Stiller starts where knowing stops.

Exactly. Does that help, Mr Groenevelt?

Maybe I have been helped.

Maybe there's been a breakthrough.

Maybe now everything will start moving towards a fatal conclusion.

And maybe not. Actually, nothing has changed.

I knew it wouldn't help.

Come on.

You look tired. Come and sit down.

A couple of letters and then we'll go home.

Then I'll take a couple of weeks' holiday and we'll go away somewhere.

Paris? - Paris has become so boring.

London. As long as we go away for a bit.

As long as we think of nothing for a while.

Simone.

Freek Groenevelt, Simone Marijnissen.

Tonight Joachim Stiller will be at Dam station at nine thirty.

He has expressed a desire to meet you there.

He's expecting you.

Dam station is located in a deserted part of the city.

I couldn't imagine Joachim Stiller, whoever he was,

arriving here on a slow train.

In fact, I couldn't imagine anything.

And I'd reconciled myself

to getting more than we bargained for.

Freek! Madam! - Who's that?

That's Keldermans, the alderman for Public Works.

Hey! You two!

Nice to see you. What a coincidence!

It's no coincidence. - This is nice. Just like a congress.

We're early. Let's go in.

A strange man comes in and says,

"Stiller's arriving at Dam station this evening, on the nine thirty train.

Don't wait on the platform, wait in the bar across the road."

He came into my office without announcing himself.

Meet here, nine thirty train.

Nine thirty. There isn't a train at nine thirty.

They think they're in Central Station!

About one train a day stops here, at 5 in the morning for the dockers.

You've got a long wait for the nine thirty train.

Let's go, Dr�. We'll just make the film. - We should stay.

You never know. - You never know, eh?

Well, maybe Lily's right. It's an absurd story.

Maybe we're the victims of some madman who won't turn up.

No, no, he's not a madman.

He knows things no one can know.

At first, I thought it was a terror campaign by my political opponents.

Then I wasrt sure.

I didn't trust anyone. It was as if I were paranoid.

And now we'll see him.

I start shaking when I think he may demand an explanation

for goodness knows what. - You don't need to be scared.

You're sweet, Simone

Maybe my daughter would have been like you.

She died just after liberation, during the flying bombs.

On a tram.

She was seven years old.

Hey, in three minutes it's nine thirty.

Shouldrt you go and look for your train?

It's him.

It was him.

It was him who'd given his life for me that day

when the bomb fell on the tram.

We'd been scared unnecessarily.

This man wasrt an enemy, he was a friend.

The bearer of a message that was so important that he had no choice

but to prepare us for it slowly.

I'm Joachim Stiller...

I knew right from the very beginning

that Joachim Stiller wasrt part of our world,

but that his appearance, like a shooting star,

was meant to cross our life,

to then die out like shooting stars usually do.

Hello?

Yes, commissioner.

Yes, true. We had arranged to meet him.

No, we don't know him.

He knows... knew us.

The post-mortem?

Do you think so?

OK, if you insist.

All of us, in three days' time.

THREE DAYS LATER

But... But...

But... - Well, my friend, what's the matter?

But, sir... - What?

He's not there!

He's not there. - What do you mean? Not there?

He's not there.

He's not there. How can he be gone?

Are you sure he was here? - It was number 25, wasrt it?

I'm sorry. I don't know what has happened.

He was here. I really don't know what's happened. He's gone.

TWO YEARS LATER

Hi.

Nice weather today, isn't it? - Wonderful.

Would you like to join us? - That'd be nice.

Have you come far?

Have you got far to go?

Stay with us. Evening is falling and the day is over.

You can come in our car. You'll be a bit further along your way.

No, thank you.

Was that him?

That was him.

We now knew that everything was over for good.

We also knew that, thanks to Stiller's blood,

the white summer clouds,

like large sailing ships with their sails unfurled,

safe in an ever bluer sky,

up above the world, on the edge of an incomprehensible universe,

would continue to float on high forever.

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