Original subtitles

- Is that you? - Yes, it's me.

Where are you? I'm waiting for you.

It's no use.

What do we have to say to each other?

Let me see you at least once before you go.

What good would that do?

I don't know. I've been thinking a great deal, Bernard.

We can't leave it like this. Come to me, please.

- But, why not?

It's better this way, believe me.

I don't want to come back to you again, like a sick man.

Why do you keep saying that?

Yes, like a sick man.

Perhaps I do love you. I would like to, but I just can't.

I already told you, I don't feel anything, not for you, not for me, not for anyone.

I feel empty inside.

I'm finished.

Please, Claudia, forgive me.

Listen to me, Bernard.

I love you, you know?

Yes, I know, I know.

I won't forget you.

I had only emptiness behind me.

I was sick, desperate.

Passing by the lake, I began to feel better.

I told myself that everything was normal. I was going on holiday.

In reality, I was running straight towards disaster.

Mr. Bernard. How are you?

Did you have a pleasant journey?

We were expecting you tomorrow, but you're in luck, it's the off-season.

The hotel is almost entirely yours.

So we can offer you the nicest room in the hotel,

the centre room facing the plaza.

I'd prefer the room from last year, if possible.

What a shame. But if you prefer...

That was Room 29, if I'm not mistaken.

I don't recall. It was at the end of the hall, facing the patio.

Yes, number 29, on the first floor.

You must be tired.

I see they're remodelling the façade.

That's a shame, the hotel will lose its character.

Unfortunately, we've painted the walls, nothing else.

This hotel is old, it needs a decent restoration.

But if I were to follow your advice, my dear Mr. Bernard,

I assure you, I would be ruined.

You are a guest who's... how shall I put it? Somewhat special.

The rest want modern things, everything plastic, television...

Sooner or later, I'll have to remodel everything.

Here you are.

If you have to work to do, you'll be more comfortable here.

The slaughterhouse is run by my son Mario now.

He was married two weeks ago, he's still on his honeymoon.

- Congratulations. - They'll be back any day now.

What can I say?

I had to set him up with a butcher shop to be rid of him.

Plus, we needed another woman around the house.

My daughter Irma has her hands full running the hotel.

And there's no one to do the paperwork.

If I were younger, I would've remarried myself.

But at my age,

women are a closed book.

At fifty, one is now entering maturity.

Perhaps it's the air here.

Well, if you say so...

If you need the maid, the bell's just there.

I'd told myself that the journey was out of loneliness.

But seeing those photographs, I knew I'd been fooling myself.

Hadn't I really come, just because of her?

She was a maid at the hotel. Her name was Tilde.

Is there anything you require?

Yes. Mineral water, please.

Anything else?

Yes, I'd like to know...

Bring a large bottle, I'm thirsty.

Right away, sir.

Seeing that coat was a relief.

Tilde still worked here, in the hotel.

Welcome back, Mr. Bernard.

Were you looking for something?

Yes, I'm looking for the stairs. I can't find them.

All these hallways look the same, it's a real labyrinth.

The layout is rather odd,

but you'll soon find your way around. If you like, I'll show you the way.

- And how are you doing? - Quite well.

Thank the Lord, there's no shortage of work,

and no chance of boredom, at least, not for me.

- Will you be with us long? - Twenty or thirty days.

To finish some work and relax.

You'll see, once out of the city, you'll be back on form in no time.

Look, there's the staircase. I'll be seeing you.

Far from the city and all my secret doubts,

I felt alive again.

The hope of seeing her and the peacefulness of this place

gave me a playful, relaxed feeling which I thought I'd lost forever.

What can I say, Mr. Bernard?

My job is deadly dull, a small-town newspaper man,

always editing stories of no interest.

Once in a while, some tragedy occurs.

The lake is treacherous, you know.

And what happens? A suicide, perhaps.

But then, there's nothing to do but keep quiet

when faced with the mystery of human nature.

Did you know this town has a very interesting history that few know?

The lake hides the ruins of a town.

Yes, I know, Doctor. I used to see it from my boat as a boy.

I didn't know that.

I thought you'd arrived here only a short while ago.

I came here many summers from the age of ten till I was seventeen.

I visited with my mother, my aunt and my cousins.

I don't recall the lake ever appearing in your books.

No, I've never written anything autobiographical.

It's difficult to look inside oneself honestly?

How is it that you're here out of season?

That's exactly why I'm here.

My memories here are the subject of my new book.

Though one never writes the book one wants.

Can I help you?

Francesco, don't you recognise me?

What a surprise. How are you?

- When did you get here? - Just today.

Staying at the lake hotel?

- And you're here to work? - Yes, of course.

Congratulations on the Paris award.

You must be so pleased. It was a great success.

And what do you think of my book? Have you read it?

Of course I've read it. It's very interesting.

But, frankly, I wasn't totally convinced.

It seemed to me you were afraid of not finding an answer for everything.

You're right there. But the critics said just the opposite.

- I'd love to discuss it with you. - Not much I could tell you.

You know, I've always had a strange mistrust of lakes.

But this one has always fascinated me.

Recognise him? It's Mario, the son of the hotel owner.

His wife is very beautiful.

A foreigner.

A lonely and very rich woman.

I waited all day to see Tilde.

I was certain she was going to appear.

But why had that woman I followed been wearing her coat? Why?

There's all kinds, Mr. Bernard. They'll say anything.

How are you? Everything alright?

If you need anything, anything at all...

Perhaps a special dish, a certain wine...

That pretty girl who was here last year, doesn't she work here anymore?

Tilde is dead.

She committed suicide with poison.

One morning last December.

But why would she do that?

We never knew.

She was like a daughter to us.

Father, we have guests.

I thought you'd like some coffee.

Would you like anything else?

I didn't want to leave, but the news tortured me. My peace was gone.

Tilde no longer existed, she had killed herself.

No, I couldn't believe it.

But why? For what reason?

Who had Tilde been?

The memory of that Sunday, last winter, obsessed me all night.

Blast you.

You swine.

I'll see you all in jail.

Blast you all.

Up so early?

Why didn't you tell me that Tilde had died?

You didn't ask me about her. Anyway, I thought you knew.

It was in all the papers.

Why did you hide it from me?

Mr. Bernard, you wouldn't understand.

You don't know the rumours that went around about that girl's death.

I prefer to focus on my display cases and my photographs.

What rumours?

Well, for one thing, the way she died.

She committed suicide with poison.

Not just poison.

What do you mean?

But, Mr. Bernard, everyone knows about it.

They found poison in her mouth and stomach.

But her death was caused by a knife cut that slit her throat.

That is a somewhat strange suicide, don't you think?

It's horrible.

Any why didn't Mr. Enrico say anything to me?

What did he tell you about her death?

Yesterday afternoon I asked him about Tilde.

I wanted to give her some photographs from last year.

I didn't know anything.

But why would she kill herself?

No one knows the truth that lies hidden behind her death. Except Tilde.

And perhaps someone else.

Come with me.

don't tell anyone what I am about to show you.

And anyway, it's no proof that would stand up in court.

Come closer.

Look at this.

This is a photograph that Tilde took with friends.

She brought it in to be developed a few days before her death.

- She's the one in the middle? - Yes, that's her.

Notice anything?

Yes, of course.

The outline of her stomach isn't normal.

Even if she were leaning back.

You're right.

She looks pregnant.

Several months pregnant.

Anyone could see that.

Perhaps it only appears that way.

Tilde wouldn't have killed herself over such a thing.

Actually, I never said she killed herself.

Are you saying that someone may have killed her?

I'm not the only one in town who thinks so.

Though no one dare say a word.

Mr. Enrico is very powerful and very dangerous.

So you think it was him?

I didn't say that. But the knife was his.

It all fits nicely,

if you believe Mr. Enrico was her lover.

Something I suspected even while she was alive.

All told, quite an unpleasant tale.

But the police... there would've been an investigation.

Naturally, they investigated.

But it was found that there was nothing mysterious.

A banal suicide, they said. A woman's crisis.

The autopsy even found that Tilde was still a virgin.

Money talks, my dear Mr. Bernard.

Tilde was no virgin.

You say that because you just saw the photo?

How can you be so certain?

I know.

One Sunday last year, I followed her to the hotel,

and I saw her making love to someone through the blinds.

Who was the man?

I couldn't see his face.

But it couldn't have been Mr. Enrico.

In fact, I'm positive it wasn't him.

- What was he like? - I only saw his hands and his back.

He seemed strong, young.

He wouldn't have been more than thirty, thirty-five years old.

Perhaps it was just her boyfriend.

Perhaps that's why they killed her.

She had no relatives?

Just the father.

An alcoholic who raised her in misery.

He lives in the mountains now, like a vagabond.

He comes into town to get drunk or make a scene in front of the hotel.

Like last night.

Find him, take me to him.

I want to know everything about Tilde.

You've come back for her?

Just for her.

- Is there a problem? - The gentleman says this isn't fresh.

But, Mr. Bernard...

I don't like how it smells. Take it away.

That can't be, it was caught in the lake just this morning.

Let me order you something else. Would you like a steak?

I have no appetite.

I'm sorry, very sorry indeed.

His ambiguous figure, his sensuality, disgusted me.

Tilde couldn't have been his lover. I couldn't believe it.

My apologies for earlier.

These things are important to the hotel and to me personally.

Not all hotel proprietors are honest.

It's nothing. I should apologise.

I don't feel well, I have no appetite.

Must be the change of air or the altitude.

It's quite notable here. Happens sometimes.

Do you need anything in your room?

Did Tilde have a boyfriend?

I don't know. Why do you ask?

She was very beautiful.

Those words, the emotion with which he'd said them,

seemed to bear out the hunchback.

But I couldn't accept that possibility.

I was afraid.

So who was Tilde, then? What was she really like?

Her memory haunted me.

You're sleeping.

But I...

I can't sleep.

Our pride, all our hopes, dashed.

I can't take it anymore.

I'm frightening even myself.

My father didn't kill Tilde, it wasn't him.

There is... There's something...

Something very powerful hanging over me and all my family.

Something that...

is dragging us toward disaster, all of us.

You have seen it. We have no more guests.

Everyone avoids us in this blasted town that we built up from nothing.

You already know why.

Our family name has been dishonoured.

It was me.

Yes, me. I found her.

Help us, please. Our name's disgraced.

Our name, you understand? Our name.

I wanted to see where she was buried,

as if that would help to explain her death.

I felt empty, lost.

But when I saw the photograph, a suspicion came over me,

dark and violent.

I saw her, and at first, I didn't recognise her.

But then I did. It was her, Adriana, Mario's wife.

Mr. Bernard, I've letters for you.

So tell me, are you happy with your stay so far?

How's the work going?

COME TOMORROW MORNING. I'VE FOUND SOMETHING.

A WRITER LIKE YOU SHOULD ENJOY FISHING ON THE LAKE. FRANCESCO.

What did you say?

I asked if your work's going well.

Yes, very well.

I'm so glad to hear it.

She's doing better.

Adriana, my son's wife, she's not feeling well.

The typical newly-wed crisis.

What can you expect? She's foreign, and has to get accustomed.

Your key.

Can I send anything up to your room?

Do you mind telling me what we're waiting for?

You'll see soon enough, and you'll thank me.

There, look.

You asked me to come out here just for this?

You can't tell me that's normal.

Let's go back.

These mysteries are a product of your sick imagination.

Are you sure of that?

You think I talk like this because I'm a poor fool?

Don't fool yourself. We're all hunchbacks of one sort or another.

And Tilde's death, is that just one of my fantasies?

She could have committed suicide for reasons of her own that we'll never know.

More likely you're afraid to see her as she really was.

I've had enough entertainment from your theories,

to the point of almost losing touch with reality.

And another thing... Just leave me alone.

Understand? Let's go back.

You're more of a coward than I took you for.

You blame me for your own impotence and hard-heartedness.

But relax, this situation is more and more pointless,

absurd and unnecessary.

COME TOMORROW MORNING. I'VE FOUND SOMETHING.

A WRITER LIKE YOU SHOULD ENJOY FISHING ON THE LAKE. FRANCESCO.

I made up that note about fishing.

That way, they wouldn't be suspicious about us meeting like this.

It's best to be cautious.

It'd be bad for us if they knew where I was taking you.

This investigation is losing its point for me.

Maybe you threw me off the track with that photograph of Tilde.

But, Mr. Bernard...

You can't blame me for a truth that's this complicated.

I'm only here at your insistence.

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that.

I'm just saying I didn't fabricate Tilde's death.

Or Mario's wife's midnight walks.

Or that she never comes out during the day.

Have you seen her, too?

Not personally.

But the whole town talks about it.

It's incredible that Mario can stand such a thing.

It just invites gossip.

Proof that his marriage is a failure.

He's a strange one.

I've never been able to get close to him. Not last year either.

He's a violent man. The townspeople are afraid of him.

Come on, we're almost there.

Here we are. Tilde's father lives here.

Not a happy place. I warn you, he won't be happy to see us.

Be careful.

You recognise him? It's Mario.

He's drunk.

Saverio, it's me, Francesco.

This gentlemen would like to ask you about your daughter.

He was a friend of hers.

Do you understand?

And what can I tell you? I don't know anything.

Tilde was a good person. Now she's gone.

Who was it? Do you know?

Why won't you speak?

They've been to see you. Did they threaten you?

Do the people from the hotel visit you?

Don't be afraid. Tell this gentleman what you know.

Who are you?

What do you want from me?

I don't know anything.

You see? It's useless.

He's afraid. We won't get anything more out of him.

Perhaps they bought him off, too.

Let's get out of here.

Eat, Adriana.

Just look at Mario, he finishes his plate.

The papers have just arrived.

She's still a little pale, but doing much better.

It's the first time she's been able to come down and eat.

It really hasn't been a very fortunate marriage.

She's not very healthy.

She should have told my son before they were married.

Don't you think?

Well, and how are you?

Have you got used to the climate? Do you feel better?

No. I still feel a little unwell. I must have been a fever.

You probably caught a cold this morning in the mountains.

In this weather, you have to be careful.

Shall I send a thermometer up to your room?

No, thank you. I brought one.

If you'll excuse me.

That night, I waited for her a long time.

She would come, as she always did, and we would finally speak.

What was she trying to tell me with that note?

What secret confidence did she want from me?

The cold and my fever made the wait unbearable.

As always, everything seemed normal on the surface.

But why had Adriana run away?

Why didn't she want to speak to me?

I felt unwell.

Just a case of influenza.

You'll be fine in a few days.

I'll write out a prescription.

The important thing is not to exert yourself.

I'll speak with Irma about food for you.

How many days was I in bed?

I lost all track of time.

Irma's sad presence was my only link

to the world outside my room.

How do you feel?

Who is it? You could've knocked. What do you want?

Police. Our apologies, but it's necessary.

Can you get up?

The truth is... I don't know how I can be of help, I'm not well.

Yes, however, this is something very serious, unfortunately,

and your presence could be decisive.

Will you tell me what this is about?

I'm sorry, but regulations forbid it.

I'll wait for you in the hall.

Take your time getting dressed.

Do you recognise her?

Yes. It's Mario's wife.

We pulled her out of the lake this morning.

Please follow me.

We need a statement from you.

Our apologies, Mr. Bernard.

I know you're not feeling well, but this is just a formality,

although a somewhat unpleasant one. Please, have a seat.

The fact is...

Witnesses claim to have seen the poor lady

walking at night along the lake-shore.

And two of them claim that you can confirm this too.

It was a young couple who often meet

in out-of-the-way places late in the afternoon.

Tell me, Mr. Bernard,

do you recall ever having seen her?

Yes, I remember.

Will you tell me how and under what circumstances?

A few days ago. Two or three times, I don't recall.

I'm not used to going to bed early.

I saw her walking alone along the lake, that's all.

Her presence there at that strange hour always surprised me.

Did you speak to her?

No, never.

Did you notice anything else strange about her behaviour?

Truth is, her behaviour always seemed a little odd to me.

How would you say...? Absent.

Because she seemed to be simply out walking,

never waiting for anyone.

But I'm just guessing.

Did you ever think she could be a somnambulist?

No, I never thought that.

I've never seen a case like that.

But you wouldn't exclude the possibility?

No, I wouldn't exclude it,

though it seems to me a somewhat unwarranted supposition.

But perhaps... it could've been.

I hope I won't have to bother you again.

But... there is something.

What do you mean?

But... do you feel unwell?

Would you like us to escort you to the hotel?

I just need some fresh air.

If you need me, you know where to find me.

Why hadn't I mentioned the note?

I didn't feel a thing anymore. It all seemed futile.

I just wanted out of this absurd story.

But this tragedy was as much a mystery as Tilde's had been.

And I had the strong feeling

that something dark and terrible was still sweeping over that family.

Something that wasn't yet finished.

That white coat, impeccable,

seemed to bear witness to something sinister.

Why, on the night of her death, hadn't Adriana worn it as usual?

IT'S ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY THAT...

ABSOLUTELY...

Why?

It's your fault. Your fault.

Why had he left Adriana's funeral?

Why had he, in desperation, gone to Tilde's room?

What dark truth linked the two deaths?

An idea plagued me.

Perhaps Tilde hadn't been as I had imagined her.

But you're...

You're pregnant?

Yes, I'm pregnant.

It was either you or your son.

And now one of you will have to marry me, so decide who.

Because I'm staying here, and as the lady of the house.

As you promised.

I could ruin you both, and you know it.

Go ahead and call me a whore.

Connect me with the photographic studio, quickly, please.

- Yes, who is it? - It's me, Bernard.

- I heard you've been ill... - I'm better, thank you.

- I have something important to tell you. - Where are you calling from?

From the hotel. I have to talk to you right now.

I'm sorry, but today is impossible for me.

I have a lot of work to do. I don't think I can get away.

I've discovered new things, some new clues.

Do you have real proof?

No, unfortunately. But I must see you right away.

Listen, Mr. Bernard.

I don't want to be involved in this any longer.

I don't want anything to do with such an ugly affair.

I have to live in this town.

You write about these things, and they make you money.

And I've made enough mistakes already. I don't want to know anymore.

I have to go now. I'm late already, I have to go.

Have they threatened you?

Answer me.

Can I help you?

I knocked on your door to see if you needed anything.

I was speaking with the photographer.

I gave him some negatives. I have to collect them.

It's windy and quite cold out.

You shouldn't go out. If you like, I'll handle it.

Thanks, but I feel much better.

I have to speak with you. Please, don't go out.

How are you feeling, Mr. Bernard?

Better, Irma.

Much better, thank you.

Good, I'm very glad. You should eat something.

Turn on the stove, I'll be there in a moment.

Don't trouble yourself. I have to go out.

Our apologies if...

if we haven't attended to you well.

Unfortunately, this new tragedy has caused our other guests to leave.

I've had to dismiss the staff.

Now I have to see to my father. He doesn't seem himself.

All this gossip will be the death of him.

They've said so many things... about my family.

People always kick you when you're down, Irma.

It's as if fate itself has been tormenting us.

I have to take my father far away from here

and close the hotel for several months.

I wanted to ask you, if you feel better, of course...

That is, I wanted to ask you if you could leave now.

Very well. Prepare my bill.

And take that raincoat, it's cold outside.

I NEED TO SPEAK WITH YOU URGENTLY BEFORE YOU GO.

I'LL WAIT FOR YOU AT ELEVEN IN THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE. MARIO.

What could have compelled Mario to write that?

Why did he want to talk to me?

A thousand doubts plagued me.

Thank you, Mr. Bernard. I knew you'd come.

Close the door, please.

No one should know that we're here.

You didn't want to listen to me this afternoon,

when I asked you to stay.

I would've told you everything.

And perhaps you could have helped me.

Like my father, I can't bear keeping this secret any longer.

You see...

I didn't want Tilde to die.

My father ordered me to marry her because she was pregnant.

But I said no.

I couldn't have gone on sharing her with him...

once she was my wife.

But Tilde was blackmailing us.

It was her, she was the one who wanted it.

I didn't want my wife to die either.

One night, in a moment of grief,

I felt the need to confide in her.

I wanted to talk, confess everything.

I tried with you as well.

But I didn't want her death.

It was her. It was...

What's wrong? What's happened?

No one will betray me again.

It's me.

I killed again. I couldn't allow our family name to be sullied.

Let me go. I have to die.

The white coat...

- Calm down. - The white coat.

That afternoon, I had her coat on, you were following me, not her.

She wanted to talk, but she won't now.

My brother had to kill her.

Let me go. I loved them.

I loved them.

Now's it's all over, our name has been spared.

It's all over, all over.

So, Mr. Bernard, your statement.

Please... sign your name here.

All this is just a formality, since there won't be a trial.

- You don't think you'll find her? - Not alive.

And perhaps, not dead, either.

In the exact spot where Irma drowned, the lake is very deep

and the bottom is covered with thick weeds.

We've found only her coat.

But the divers are still searching.

So, with no trial,

we'll arrive at a purely hypothetical conclusion.

Thanks also to your intuition.

Of no use, unfortunately.

Your statement serves at least to satisfy

the journalists' curiosity as well as the public's.

But don't let me keep you any longer, I know you're anxious to go.

Yes, it was all so incomprehensible.

That cold winter morning,

as I left the hotel and all those places filled with memories,

everything around me seemed strange, inaccessible, farther away.

Even more so than I.