Dossier 51 (1978) - full transcript

French diplomat Dominique Auphal is put under surveillance by an unnamed secret service. They wish to find a weakness in his life in order to control him politically. Auphal becomes "File no. 51": his private life is spied, analysed and commented.


Jean de Malarielle,

appointed Ambassador
of France in Copenhagen

will be replaced as head

of the French
delegation to ODENS

by Dominique Auphal.

"October 12, 1977.

"From: Minerva.

"To: Mars.

"Following the announcement of
Dominique Auphal's appointment..."

By the way, did you ask Archives
about the Auphal documents?



"Subject: Dominique Auphal's nomination

"to the Organization for the Development
of North-South Exchange,

"i.e. ODENS.

"We hereby request all available
information on Dominique Auphal."

New line.

"Auphal will be designated
by code name 51."

- Ah, the Senate.
- Exactly.


some footage of the subject,
shot per your October 12 request.

- He's a senator?
- No, diplomat.

Just tell us which one he is.

- The one who just turned around.
- Good. The one with his back to us.

The problem is that his back is to us.
Typical Mars.


He'll have to turn around eventually.



About that "Er..."

OK, let's move on.

Born March 31, 1940, in Paris, to
Lucien Auphal, M.D., deceased in 1970,

and Monique de Servas, no profession.

Married to Liliane de Maupertain, 30,
also without profession.

Here, he's leaving home,

13, avenue Observatoire, Paris 6th.


St?phane, 6 and ?lodie, 4.

- When does he leave for Luxembourg?
- Soon.

- His family coming along?
- No.

They'll join him later.

Go on.

I'll skip over elementary and high school
straight to National School of Management

and on to Foreign Affairs,
which he joins March 1, '67.

Appointed Commercial Attach?
in Madrid, July '68.

That's him in the circle.

April '71, appointed

Second Assistant Ambassador
in Stockholm,

where he pursues a specialty in economic
and financial affairs. No pictures.

First Assistant in Rabat, May '72.
There, our man acted up.

To sum up:
Hassan II escapes assassination.

51 holds back the Ambassador
who wanted to rush to the palace

to congratulate Hassan.

51 reminds him of the lingering
Ben Barka controversy,

explaining, I quote,

"Hasty congratulations would
be inconsistent with France's dignity."

Next document!

Right away, sir.
Just a small glitch.

He was absolutely furious with
the royal clique. I quote...

No, we already saw this!

He made enough waves
to get recalled to Paris.

51 is on the right.
His wife is in the middle.

Things settled down thanks to the esteem
in which 51 is held in some high circles,

notably, that of Michel Debr?.

Report from our agent in Rabat,
from August 25, '72:

"Liliane Auphal,
wife of Dominique Auphal...

"First Assistant at the French Embassy
in Rabat..." -- That's her.

"is mistress to Marcello Comi, Cultural
Attach? at the Italian Embassy in Rabat."


"They meet in the early afternoon
on Tuesdays and Fridays."

- This picture is from a Tuesday.
- You're sure?

- Looks more like a Friday.
- Enough!

"At Comi's villa,
94, Cesario Alley.

"It doesn't appear that
Dominique Auphal knows."

In February '73, finally,

he's promoted to the Foreign Affairs
Office as Director of the

Technical Cooperation Service.
No documents.

No documents.

In the end,
very few documents.

October 12, 8 days ago,
we requested, I quote,

"All available information
on Dominique Auphal."

January 9, '77,
Jupiter ordered, I quote,

"The utmost caution in
operations involving France."

Bad timing.

No, read it yourself.

- It's dated...?
- October 17.

- 3 days ago. From...?
- Jupiter.

"Under the pretense of... etc.,

"ODENS is becoming
the economic spearhead

"of Western Europe in the Third World.

"800 billion dollars worth of contracts
swiped in one year from under our noses."

Are you starting to get it?

Jupiter wants to infiltrate ODENS.

By recruiting one of its members.

So far, we have failed.

A newbie has shown up.
A golden opportunity: it's 51.

We NEED 51.

- Did I make myself clear?
- Quite. But I repeat, he...

"November 5, '77.
Minerva to Mars.

"As soon as 51 leaves Paris,
a close watch is to be established

"on his wife,
designated henceforth as 52.

"You are also to deploy a
surveillance network in Luxembourg.

"Should 51 move into the house
formerly occupied by his predecessor,

"make sure it's permanently bugged."


51 took office on November 16.

He moved into the official residence
left by his predecessor.

As you requested, we've hidden
in it a micro transmitter.

I still maintain it was risky.

The French secret service might well have
inspected the place before 51 arrived.

Anyway, it's not working. A nearby
transformer is jamming transmission.

Paris, November 18, '77.


- The wife...
- Yes, yes...

Rabat, Friday.
Sorry, Tuesday.

- 51's wife...
- I.e. 52.

... To be precise.

35, rue S?vres.


Verified: the person accompanying 52
is her sister, Genevi?ve de Maupertain.

Boulevard Raspail.

29, rue Lieutenant Carr?.


Datsun 260Z.

Unidentified man behind the wheel.

52 is sitting beside him.

November 22.

Same address.

The subject buzzes at the door
of the 2nd floor apartment.

You're early again...

Same car, same driver.

He's been identified:
Philippe Lescarre, 40, single.

52's lover.

Well done!
Let's call him 52b.

And then?

November 21. Paris.
Luxembourg Gardens.

Marguerite Marie, born in Maupertain,
housemaid in the 51 household.

His children.

Our agent.

I had this scene shot to get
footage of the children.

Conversation partially
captured by lapel mic.

What about your bosses?
They're cool?

As you say, cool.

- Does he hit on you?
- He's not the type.

He's pretty cold, if you ask me.
She can't be having a ball...

Maybe she finds solace elsewhere?

That's her business.

What's it to you?

You're nice.
I'd love for us to be friends.

- I like you...
- Drop the violin.

Put a ring on my finger,
you get whatever you want.

So are we on for Sunday?

The same two, the following Sunday,
at a dance hall on the Champs Elys?es:

No, I mean,
maybe they have their fights in private.

No way.
They're all diplomats.

Now stop with
all the talk about my boss.

I really like you.


No more music. And we never even
stopped talking for a second!

Let me tell you one thing...

Our agent noted that Marguerite became
very standoffish during the 2nd meeting.

- She didn't show for the 3rd.
- We'll see.

Very well.
One thing for sure:

52 is having an affair.

What about 51?

What's new with 51?

He still hasn't tried to fill up
his loneliness in Luxembourg?

No, he has not been seen with a woman.

Except for his ODENS secretary,
Sylvie Mouriat.

- Is this her?
- Yes.

Dig around her a bit.
She's not bad.

He's alone.
It might work.

If she's protected by
French intelligence, we risk a lot.

It's worth it
to get 51 under control.

- By the way...
- Just a second.

I also want that guy's apartment bugged,
the Datsun driver, 52b.

Record what they're saying,

52 and him.

If it's interesting,
we'll move on to visuals.

November 28, 1977.
From: Mars. To: Minerva.

Recording of a conversation
between 52 and 52b

by a Mars technician on November 26,

starting at 18:41,
29, rue Lieutenant Carr?.

- How long has he been gone?
- Who?

Your husband, of course.

One month.

Does he wear sleeve guards at work?

That's how I imagine him, with
a leather cushion under his uptight ass.

- He's better at tennis than you.
- With sleeve guards?

Lift up your skirt.

No, higher.

I thought I told you
not to wear panties.

A 49 second silence follows.

The Mars technician in charge
was unable to install a permanent bug

in 52b's apartment.

He introduced himself as
an employee of the electric company.

The recording he finally made
5 days later, was obtained under

difficult conditions,
using a remote KDS listening device.

Resume playback.

Something wrong?

- No, just wondering...
- What?

If he wears sleeve guards or not.

I have to know
once and for all.

- Call him.
- Are you mad?

- Keep moving and call him.
- No!

- Call him now. Otherwise I...
- No!

Then call him.

You're vile.

Is this vile?

Why are you laughing?

Keep moving.

You're falling asleep.


Extension 240.


- I have to hang up. I can't talk.
- Don't forget about the sleeves.

Hello, it's you darling?

Nothing. I just felt
like talking to you.

They're fine.
They're with Marguerite.

No, St?phane's cold is gone.

Yes, I'm starting to pack.

You must be tired of
washing your sleeve guards.

Yes... Yes, I know you don't wear any.
It was just a joke.

Right now?

Very well.

Yes, I think I found the right rhythm.

I said...

Someone's at the door.

I have to go see who it is.

I'm hanging up.


Another silence, of 27 seconds.

Are you really packing?
Pass the cigarettes.

I'll start soon.

Say "Thank you."

What can I say?
I'm running out of excuses.

2 days ago he almost went
berserk on the phone.

Told me if I didn't hurry,
he'd come back to get us himself.

- Luxembourg is pretty nice.
- Yeah, but the house...

He sent a picture.
Nothing like our place in Rabat.

You'll get used to it.

Where do you want to eat?

La Perouse.
Shall I put on a record?

The music drowns out
the rest of the conversation.

3 pictures taken

that same night, between 9 and 10pm,
at the aforementioned restaurant.

Luxembourg, November 22, 16...


Please hold.

- It's for you.
- Me?

- No, you.
- Yes?

- Your wife.
- No.

- You...?
- Yes!

He'll call you back.
That's right.

That's right.

That's right.

As I was saying...

November 22, 16:15.

During the investigation into a possible
affair between 51 and his secretary,

a recording was obtained
with a lapel mic.

So much misery!

People dying on sidewalks,

- skeletal children...
- India, in other words.

Yes, but when you see it in pictures...

I told my boss that ODENS
should try to do something.

He said,

with a little shrug,

"India, my dear, has nothing to sell,

"hence, nothing to buy.
It's of no interest to ODENS."

- Not very sentimental.
- Wait.

I said, all shaken,

"But what about the children, sir?
The children."

I could have sworn I had hurt him.
He said softly,

"Ah, the children of course,
the children."

And then,

he said in a very firm voice,

"Unhappy children are
God's slap in the face of the world."

- He must have suffered a lot.
- It's blasphemy!

Th?r?se, it's a terrible blasphemy!

Listen, Sylvie. You keep
consigning people to hell.

Not at all! He's a good man.
He's very nice at work.

He knows how to keep his distance.

OK, drop Sylvie Mouriat.

You might recognize 747, the housemaid
to 51's predecessor in Luxembourg.

No. Or else she lost weight.

51 rehired her into his service

and we kept her in ours.

She found a letter behind a desk
from 51 to his son,

which 51 thought he had lost.
An inane letter of little interest...

We'll be the judge of that.

747 was also able to copy part of an
unfinished letter from 51 to his wife.

Very career diplomat,
formal in tone.

51 mentions his new secretary.
I quote,

"She's 28, seems serious and
she's a very fast typist.

"As for her looks,

"I suppose one might find her pretty."

Yes, a pretty nun.

It's all very banal, I admit.

But 747 also pulled a nice one.




Also in his wallet,
2 letters.

The first, dated October 2, '77,
from a Jean-Fran?ois.

He's informal with 51 and
mentions he will soon visit Paris.


Very well.

The second letter is from 51's wife,
apologizing after an argument.

747 didn't have time to
copy it whole because 51

sent back his chauffeur
to retrieve his wallet.

Very good. One could almost believe

you're starting to find
this case interesting.

So is the French secret service, alas.

- How do you know?
- From the agent handling 747.

Let me read you his report:

"On 1-12-77,
while doing the cleaning at 51's,

"747 found cigarette butts,
Gitanes and Gauloises

"in the trash bin.

"51 doesn't smoke.

"747 also noticed
that the furniture had been moved..."

So what?

Routine check by
French counter-intelligence.

- I don't see a problem.
- There is one.

The mic.

The one that didn't work?

Its malfunction still
didn't make it disappear.

You mean you didn't remove it?

This is the file. There is no record
that you requested the bug's removal.

- Good God. Well, of course!
- Please!

Every time that we, Mars,
have thought to take the initiative,

you've put us in our place and
reminded us of our role as underlings.

Conclusion: the French technicians
have obviously found the mic.

We might as well close the 51 file.

- That decision is not up to you...
- What did I just say?

First, I'd like to know more about 747.

That woman of yours
is starting to interest me.

Mediocrity incarnate for years,
and suddenly, wham:

an expert informant.

- I order that her handling agent...
- No, Minerva. No more orders.

I refuse to operate under
the watch of French intelligence.

Very well. Jupiter will settle this.

December 2, '77.

From: Jupiter.

To: Minerva.


I assign all blame to Minerva and order
a stop to all actions relating to 51.


I order a security check on 747.

"Minerva to Jupiter."

Type this impeccably.

"Minerva will give
full consideration to your censure,

"and will strive to
respect all security protocols."

- What flavor are your candies?
- Mint.

No, thanks.

"The fact remains that Operation 51

"has allowed us to assemble
some significant material.

"We beg...

"We ask..."

"We beg

"for permission to transfer
the file to Asclepius,

"in order to determine if
the material collected on 52

"could allow us
to take control of 51."

Go ahead and send it.
We'll see.

From: Jupiter.

To: Minerva.

I authorize the transfer
of the 51 file to Asclepius.

Please, remain seated.

I'm not here to make a report.

I'm bringing you back the file.

It's empty, hollow.

It's botched.

Your working hypothesis is absurd.

You want to blackmail this man
by threatening

to reveal his wife's flings
to his diplomat peers.

It's childish.

I'll tell you what 51 will do.

He'll inform his superiors
and he'll resign.

No need to be a psychiatrist
to know that.

You just had to re-read
his file and the report

of how he acted in Morocco.

The attempt on Hassan II.


Did he hesitate

between his career and
what he considered his duty?

He chose his duty,
sacrificed his career.

And he always will.

A man of order

and of duty.
That is 51.

Do you understand?

A rigid, firm, austere character.

The exact opposite
of a man you can blackmail.

That said, he's not made of marble.

There's surely a dark side,

and probably, private conflicts.

But all of that, you pushed aside.

It would have meant
doing a little bit of work.

Take, for example,

that torn and taped photo
he so carefully keeps in his wallet.

The woman with her eyes punched out.


Because it's not at all like him.

It doesn't fit with his personality.

You should have dug
around that woman a bit.

And you just might have...

Oh well.

Jupiter will receive my report tomorrow,

along with a formal protest
against your work methods.

Thank you for your attention.

We're in it now.

And that son of a bitch 51
will get off easy.

I'm not so sure.

Yes, it's called Project Zephyr,

conceived by the best brains from Mars.

- They have brains in Mars?
- Enough.

What's this all about?

Project Zephyr, sir.

It involves learning the contents of
51's weekly reports to his minister.

He prepares them at home
on Thursday nights.

From what I gather, Mars is resting
the whole operation on 747,

the housemaid who...

You there! What are you doing
with these photos?

- Tidying up, sir. I thought that...
- Put them back.

... and they have Jupiter's support.

Very well.

Our last chance is
the investigation into 747,

the miracle agent
Mars pulled out of its hat.

If Security dismantles 747,

I have a small chance
of dismantling Mars.

December 20, '77.
From: Security. To: Jupiter.

Subject: Procedure No. 3 on 747.

Our agent 8446
visited 747 on December 18.

The goal was to determine if 747
was a double agent for another service,

or if she was susceptible
to become one.

Attached: A copy of his verbal report.

So, very briefly:

She took the bait,
hook, line and sinker.

I introduced myself as a TV employee
doing a poll on our programming.

But I should have stuck with
the old appliance salesman trick.

Hilarious to think that all the money
she's squeezing out of the service

is sunk into a model kitchen.

We gab about the latest soaps
and about a tacky anchorwoman.

And I finally work my way to the
wonders of modern appliances, saying,

"Forgive me, but
this must all be quite expensive!

"You must have a good job
to afford all this."

Heavy silence while
I smile conspiratorially.

I gather we understand each other
so I show my cards.

She doesn't blink,
an old hand at this.

She just retorts:

How much?

Just like that,
no beating around the bush!

I try to do some probing
as to how and why.

But the only thing on her mind is:

How much?

Here's one who hasn't been infected
by the romance of espionage.

Then, as agreed, I broach
the subject of exclusivity.

She fires back,

- You're all the same.
- (Good enough to frame!)

She's from the "anything for 100 bucks"
school of espionage.

In my opinion, a drudge, period.

As incompetent
at intelligence work as at cleaning.

An hour here for one,
two hours there for another.

Why shouldn't everyone be happy?

You know, I really believe
she thinks we're private sector,

and all this is about some
kind of morals scam.

It's important.

Try to remember exactly
what she told you about that incident.

Incident, incident...
For her it really wasn't an incident.

She just happened to mention it.

All the time we were talking, I could
tell she was simply busy figuring out

if she could afford to buy
the latest egg beater.

I just casually mentioned 51,
just to see.

She said, "Nothing bad
I can say about him, a real monk."

I insisted a bit,

and that's when she told me about it.

Cigarettes in the trash, dirty glasses,
furniture that had been moved around.

She deduced that 51
had had himself a little party.

So she teased him a bit about it,
just for fun.

Well, there really hadn't been a party.
At least not for 51.

Some of his ODENS colleagues
from Senegal,

he took them out to eat, then invited
them home for drinks with their dates.

Diplomats or not, they of course have
dancing in their blood.

So they push the tables aside, roll
up the carpet, and hoot "Let's tango,"

or whatever their music is.

Apparently, 51 was...

From: Minerva.
To: Jupiter.


Our security check of 747
has allowed us to establish

that the furniture
displacement at 51's house

can in no way be attributed to
the work of French counter-intelligence.

We request that Mars
be formally reprimanded

for the inaccuracy
of its information,

and hence, the cancellation
of its Zephyr project.

We urgently request

that 51 be restored
to our list of targets.

Based on the analysis of all
documents collected about him,

we propose a full exploration
of 51 and of his past.

The operation will be
code-named Dead Leaves.

To be specific,

an essential objective of
Operation Dead Leaves

will be to identify and to locate
the woman with her eyes punched out,

whose torn and
reassembled picture,

was described by 747

as part of her inventory
of 51's wallet.

Jupiter to Minerva.


I am canceling
Mars' proposed Zephyr project.

Two: I authorize
Operation Dead Leaves.

- Ladislas School Alumni Association -

Posing as PR chief
for a real estate firm,

Agent 8047 obtained
access to the file.

At a cost of...?

... the printing fees for the
association's next 3 bulletins.

And that is how
I unexpectedly joined the bank.

And Louvain?

- Marc Louvain?
- Yes.

No idea what became of him.

In 8th grade, he wanted to be a fireman.
I bet he's a public official like us all.


- Auphal...
- Dominique.

Even worse.
I can't even remember him.

Say, since our class was chosen as focus
group for your poll, maybe you could...

Fairly introverted, you know,
not really friendly, a teacher's pet.

You're an actor?

- Yes.
- Doing well?


Say, would you know any directors?

- Can I talk to your daddy?
- No one can.

Oh? Why not?

He's dead.

As a result of his car accident.

Very strong in French, I remember.
But shy, not chatty.

He got into things like
the Boy Scouts, Catholic Youths...

I was about to say he was into unholy
things, but in fact it was all very holy.

Ah yes! Auphal!

Yes, they threw him out for 8 days.

- Junior year.
- Oh?

He'd brought in a skin mag.

It must have been around '55 or '56.

I was a chaplain in the Catholic Youths.

For Easter I had asked my charges to do
something special for our Lord Christ,

and to write about it.

The results were nice and safe.

Except for Dominique Auphal's report

which stunned me.

It was the longest and,
I thought, very well written.

It told of his meeting with a boy who,
like him, was on vacation in Senlis,

and who had lost his faith.

He recounted
his conversations with him, his efforts

to bring this lost sheep
back into the Lord's flock.

I assure you, I was touched
to the depths of my soul.

The end was especially moving.

It was Easter Sunday. Dominique and his
friend, whom he had reconciled with God,

knelt together at the altar.

I read his tale in front of the group.

Everyone was awed,
I, most of all.

They looked at Dominique
with respect and envy,

and that little son of a bitch
lowered his eyes, flustered.

You see, Father. Even 20 years later,
the memory of being ridiculed

leads me to use such language
as I hope you can forgive.

It was all made up, Father.
All of it.

For a moment I thought
he had sought glory, but

Dominique was
a strange boy, unstable,

who feared
not fitting in with others.

That insecurity, I think, led him
to invent his conversion story.

He must have thought such a feat would
finally get him accepted by our group.

That's often the case
with young people.

They irk us, trying to impose themselves
when all they really want is to fit in.

I never saw him again.
You say he's married with children?

I'm happy to hear
that material wealth was not denied him.

Here, Father. Please accept
this token of our devout labor.

- My God, I don't know how...
- No need.

These are misprints that we can't sell.

Mars to Minerva.

I protest.

It has always been recommended to use
Agent 810 only in his particular field:

Intelligence on the French Church
and Vatican politics.

- The end.
- No. Go on.

Simone Derelle:

Perfect. I'll be expecting you.

One of the directors
from your polling firm.

- He's also a friend. He's on his way.
- OK, fine. I sell life insurance.

At least, I try.
The polling story opens doors.

Be nice. Give me back my card
and forget about me.

Absolutely not.

All right, it'll be the police.

Of course,
you'll recall your guy immediately.

He's back already.

How did you find this Simone Derelle?

Her first name appeared
in a letter 51 wrote his wife.

The young maid identified her.
She said,

- Simone? It's old Derelle.
- Tell me about her.

- No.
- Why not?

I don't like her.
She's dirty, smelly, annoying.

Your bosses socialize with her.
They must like her.

No way.
They're always bad-mouthing her.



Why would people ever
call a duck odd?

- Odd...
- Duck!

And so on...

Wait. Didn't she go to
Luxembourg with 52 and the kids?

She went and came back, sir.

We needed her for Dead Leaves.
She could help us

identify a number of targets.

So I had her called back
to Paris by our agent.

- She came running back.
- Excellent idea.

The trouble is that
he had to propose to her.

We'll see about that later.

- Who's replacing her over there?
- 747's daughter.

Well done. Which one?

Not the invalid.

- The vamp?
- Yes.

Then say so. The vamp.

- What about 51's wife?
- 52. Yes?

- So?
- So what?

- Flings, lovers?
- One lover?

Not yet.
Of that, we're sure.

What are you waiting for?

You find that we're overflowing
with information on 51 in Luxembourg?

From: Minerva.

To: Venus.


Choose a male agent with
the following characteristics:

Pronounced masculinity,

sadistic possibilities,

strong horsemanship,

familiarity with high society etiquette.

Two, his mission: to begin
an affair with the subject known as 52.

- Skills: combat sports,
good results with bourgeois women -

Contact will take place at a riding
school which the subject attends.


The operation will be
code-named Jumping.

Let's get back to Dead Leaves.

Any brilliant ideas?

- 51's mother, Mrs. Auphal.
- No, too dangerous.

What cover will you
use to approach her?

One false move, she'll contact her son.

Her apartment must be interesting.
I insist.

51 lived there until he got married.

- A full sweep might well...
- That's a different story.

- Does she ever go out?
- 3 afternoons a week.

She volunteers at
an association for camp survivors.


Then sweep, my dear.

Start by writing up
the instructions for Mars.


- You want photos of what?
- First the portraits, then an overview.

"Gaston Auphal, died for France,
Verdun, August 17, 1916."

"Jacques Auphal, died for France,
Chemin des Dames, February 19, 1918."

"Marcel Auphal, died for France,
July 21, 1916."

Wow, they have no luck in this family.

Ah, at least one civilian.

"Bernard Auphal, died for France,

- "Paris, February 6, 1934."
- I don't get it.

A riot.

"My country must be
the greatest in the world."

Did you see this box?

Keep digging instead of staring at me.

Take an overview shot
and a separate photo of each object.

First the mausoleum room,
then the museum room.

"Lieutenant, Sir,
Please forgive my coming..."

"Dearest* Dominique,"
(*feminine spelling)

From another army buddy.

What do they teach them in the army?

Listen up.
This is written to a Jacqueline.

It's a poem.

"Summer loves are swept by the wind
Yet my heart aches along the Seine, etc.

"Your hair forms an ebony helmet

"Roman legionary
or Athenian hoplite

"Or even a ship boy
beloved of sailors."

And it ends, "Your first kiss...
A leaf fell."

How sweet.

See? That wasn't so hard.

Well, well!

The trash room.

- Want a drink?
- Come on, get to work.


8848, listening.

- Everything OK?
- OK. We've got about another...

hour to go.
And on your end?

It's raining. Hurry up.

- So?
- Interesting.

- Intriguing.
- Yes, intriguing.

We're sitting on a gold mine.

But only one person can
unlock its doors.

- Mrs. Auphal?
- Precisely.

- Really? 15 days ago, you said just...
- Find the right agent, I'll clear it.

What cover?

Start with the photo
hanging above her bed.

That photo of a Nazi camp.
Start there. You'll find your cover...

- Shall we start?
- Ready.

- Where do I start?
- With yourself.

(With an accent)
I'm English of course. Pamela Newman, 23.

Working on my thesis at the Royal
Institute for Social Research.


The physical and psychological
reactions of British subjects,

most often Protestants,

arrested by the Gestapo during the war

and deported to German camps.

I'm contacting Mrs. Auphal in
her capacity as administrative officer

for the Camp Survivors
Support Association.

Tell me about her.

She's 60.

At 19, married Lucien Auphal, M.D.,

deceased in 1970.

You know...

our talk is giving me
a weird feeling.

It's chilling me.

No, it's not you, dear child.
Would you mind if I said

that I find you absolutely adorable?

So serious,
so composed, so...

so well informed
on that terrible subject.

That's just it.
You are history, you understand?

History that brings
its necessarily cold look

on something that for us is still
burning, heart-rending.

When you come to visit, you will see sad
wretches forever marked body and soul.

Already, we treat them as scientific
subjects, classified into categories.

Protestant, Catholic,

Latin, Anglo-Saxon.

Back at the camps, things were much
simpler, with just the triangles.

Red for political, green for
social rights, yellow for Jewish.

It's normal.

It's as it should be.

Worst of all
would be to forget.

I think it's great that young people
like you have a passion for it.

But why?

- Why you? Someone in your family...?
- Not at all. A chance meeting.

I met a former SOE,
Special Operations Executive.

He was fascinating.

In 4 years, he had lived 10 lives.
It made me want to know more.

Surely you don't spend your life
listening to people my age. It would be

a bit austere, no?

Young people are so dull,

Their cars, their cricket tests.
Their money.

Their loves.

- Not planning on marrying?
- No!

I live with a girlfriend,
and we like it fine.

- Maybe she'll get married...
- June? Definitely not!

She's... decidedly on the other side.

- You say it so casually.
- I'm not saying it casually.

I'm just telling you.

You're so nice.

Wouldn't you like to drink
something a bit... stronger?

- No, thanks. Don't go to any trouble.
- It's my pleasure.

- What's the matter?
- I'd like to ask you the same question.


Why do you do it?

All this volunteering for the survivors?

Simple charity?

The man I loved died in Mauthausen.

My husband...

died at Mauthausen
in July 1943.

That's why...

What was he like?

He was not interested
in money, barely in cars,

and not at all in cricket tests.

He was a wonderful man.

Was he handsome?

Well... Yes, very handsome.

Here, let me show you.
Come and sit.

- Aren't you drinking, child?
- Oh I am.

- Who's that?
- Lucie.

Born after a year of marriage,
died at 7 months.

I thought I would never get over it,
but with time...


Here he is.

Your husband?

Isn't he handsome?

Very. He seems true blue.

Loyalty incarnate.


He was the victim
of the basest treason.

This is our child,
all that's left of my happiness.

But it's immense.

Dominique is the best of sons.

If you knew how close the two of us
were before he got married.

He's my only reason for going on.

But I'm boring you.

- No more ice.
- I'll go.

- No, let me.
- No.

Down the hall, to the left.

Have you found it?

It's all dark

and the light doesn't work.

My husband's room.

Exactly like him.

Yes, I lied.
The other man wasn't my husband.

My lawful husband slept here,

amidst his dead brothers,

as dead as they were,

and as dead as he wished me.

When you're buried alive, you find the
power to bang against your coffin lid.

That's what I did.

I stole 5 years of happiness.

For 5 years I escaped... his pessimism,

his contempt for everything
and everyone, his bitterness.

You can't understand.

We were the slaughtered generation.
Like many others, he never got over it.

They hated the world
that mocked their sacrifice.

The roaring twenties.

Bernard, his youngest brother,

got himself killed by the Garde Mobile
at Place de la Concorde.

My husband...

He's the one who told the Gestapo
about the man I loved.

Not only because he was in the
Resistance, but because I loved him.

I know, I have proof.

And he knew that I knew.

And still we lived
face to face for 27 years,

I, with hatred
and he, with contempt.

Why didn't you leave him?
Because he was Dominique's father?

He wasn't Dominique's father.

Roland is his father.

But he was married himself,
and had children.

They were very sick.
He couldn't abandon them.

No, I mean after the war,
after Mauthausen.

Why stay with that... murderer?

I don't know.

Do we always know why
we act as we do?

Lie back, relax.

But I must confess something.

The ice was a bit of an excuse.
I really need to use the bathroom.

Why didn't say so? You're still very
English, despite your liberated air.

- You'll get lost again.
- No, I'll find it.

It's the first door on your left.

On the left. To the right is a closet.

A closet? That won't do.

The closet...

The door on the left.

Dominique, my darling, I beg you.

Forgive me for the harm I've done you.

For him, you were nothing.
You didn't exist.

You could never understand
why your father didn't love you.

I'm begging you, Dominique.

When you learn the truth someday,
you'll want to forgive me.

I wasn't always this old, you know?

I once inspired desire in a man.

But I had to pay for it.

I paid.

27 years in this prison of hatred.

No, that's not true.

Later on of course, it was for material
reasons: How to live, on what.

And he still helped
to raise Dominique.

But it was also...

Above all, it was
not to break off with the past.

Because that monster, that man,
remained my only link to the one I loved.

Can you understand that?

No, you can't.
You're too young, too unmarked.

And that's as it should be.

So here you are.
This is my Dominique's bedroom.

I left it...

as it was when he forever left it.

You'll see, the old have nothing to
look forward to, except the inevitable.

And the only happiness to be found
is in happy memories.

He's very handsome.

Yet he doesn't look like Roland.
I was so disappointed.

He gets his looks from my mother's side.

But his passion for music,
that's Roland.

We often went to concerts...

I've even kept his little secrets
in their hiding place.

He's forgotten all that.

Val?rie Rossignat.

Well, not then. That was before she
married Dominique's friend Philippe.

They were all studying
Political Sciences.

Dominique and Val?rie
liked each other a lot and...

I think that...

- They were sleeping together?
- That's it.

I even thought they'd end up getting
married. But they didn't. Too bad.

I... I do like Liliane.
His wife.


at her home, I mean her family's,
the Maupertain manor.

Rustic, quaint people from Varende.
Can you picture it?

No, of course you don't know Varende.

So they spend
all their vacations there and...

I never see them.



He ended up marrying her,
on a whim.

Like a fool who jumps into the sea
to keep out of the rain.

Poor Dominou.

He couldn't get out of...
a horrid affair... with a girl...

a girl...

Val?rie referred to her as the
anarcho-whatever, Trotskyist, Maoist...

A fanatic...

Jewish. But that...

Dominique was so infatuated with her.

It's the only time
I ever agreed with his father...

well, my husband.

She acted terribly, just terribly.

When she found out he was to marry
Liliane, she wrote a letter, to her,

fresh from her backwater.

The letter was...


with senseless details about...

About what?

About my son.

She dragged everything
through the mud. She...


They were all young...

- I'm boring you with my old tales.
- But not at all.

I'm lonely, you know, very lonely.
Despite my work for the Association...

Because I don't exist over there.
I mean...

For the others. I...

I listen.
I try to help.

But it's your fault.

It's just...
That a young woman like you could...

listen to a 60 year-old woman...
I didn't think that was still possible.

You're my friend.
Would you like that?

And friendship knows no age.

Little girl,

you'll forget all these friendships once
you find love, there on a street corner.

- On a street corner?
- It's an image.

Go on, hurry off.


Forget all the silliness
I might have told you.

January 17, '78.

Mars to Minerva.

747's daughter...
in parenthesis,

err no, in quotation marks,
"The Vamp,"

describes 51's family as
quiet and apparently tight knit.

She maintains 51's
marital fidelity.

We've deduced that she has
put said fidelity to the test.

She thought at first his wife

had to cheat on him routinely.
But she is

no longer sure of it.

According to her

52 told 51 about a man's advances

at the riding school
she attends twice a week.

51 and 52 make fun
of the man, said to be

tall and strong,
with a thick brow and

a wild air.
They call him King Kong.

Minerva to Venus.
Operation Jumping is canceled.

We asked you for an Errol Flynn,
not an orangutan.

TWA Flight 308
is now boarding.

January 30, '78.
Mars to Minerva.

Following your instructions
of January 16,

all resources deployed
for Operation Dead Leaves

are focused on the search for the young
Jewish woman described by 51's mother

as "the anarcho-whatever."

The goal is to verify if that woman
matches the one kept in 51's wallet

in the photo with the eyes punched out.

Dear fellow, you'll agree we're in
a recession for productive investments.

I'd even go further, Rossignat.

We're facing the onset
of a British-style stop go.

The problem as I see it is that the
Bretton Woods system has collapsed.

Philippe Rossignat, 38,

Deputy Director for Foreign Markets
at the Treasury,

was 51's friend at the time of 51's
relationship with the unknown woman.

Rossignat was approached
on January 25 by Agent 9000,

who was selected because of
his past relationship with him.

- What about you?
- Today's special.

- Two specials.
- And some house wine? - Very well.

So Saint-Varjoux gave us one of his
patented talks on the Eurodollar.

A brilliant guy. I even think
Giscard was a bit jealous of him.

There has been talk of his nomination
to ODENS, or to Euratom perhaps...

Certainly not ODENS. Auphal got
the post barely 6 months ago.

Saint-Varjoux at Euratom?
Strange job for a financier.

- Auphal? The one from Rabat?
- He left the embassy a while ago.

- In the wake of the Ben Barka affair?
- He's just like you:

fanatical about the dignity
and sanctity of the State.

I know him well. We studied
political sciences together.

- His wife is a knockout, isn't she?
- You really haven't changed.

- Liliane is indeed charming.
- I hope I didn't commit a faux pas.

Not at all.

It's just that I was once
very close to Dominique,

but our wives didn't get along.
It happens.

I'm sorry.

That's all in the past.

Did you know that Merlot was named
to the International Monetary Fund?

- Don't you know him?
- He was in my class.

It seems he's on great terms with Burns.

Since that contact did not allow any
progress in identifying the target,

Agent 9000 initiated on his own
a new approach the next day.


It's not up to Agent 9000
to take any initiatives.

9000 is not an easy agent.

Doesn't look like your friend's home.

Wait a bit longer.


- Mr. Rossignat?
- Yes.

Mr. Philippe Rossignat?

Yes, speaking.

I'm sure you don't remember me.

Catherine, is that you?

Hello? Is it you, Catherine?

- Stop being ridiculous.
- No, it's not Catherine.

Am I bothering you?

No, not bothering. Disturbing.

And who are you?

You don't know me.
We've never met.

Then what can I do for you,
my dear lady?

It's about Dominique.

I'm looking for a current address.

- Who is she, this Dominique?
- No, Dominique's a HE.

- Dominique Auphal.
- Ah! You know him?

Very well, yes.

I was his friend about 10 years ago.

- You were both in business school.
- You too?

Business school? No, not all.

Even if I had had the means,

- my political beliefs would...
- Ah, that's it! You're Sarah.

Sarah who?

Sarah the Trotskyist.

You can't even remember my name.

My dear, I never knew it.

- Dominique didn't talk about me?
- Not to me. To my wife.

They knew each other very well.
He told her some things.


Like what?

Oh, nonsense.

For example,

your complex, unjustified, I'm sure,
about... your breasts.

But tell me, do you know that
Dominique is now married?

- What do you want from him?
- It's personal.

I see. Maybe he doesn't want
to start things up again.

That's not at all my intention.

- And what exactly are your intentions?
- It's hard to explain over the phone.

Listen. I'm a widower, it's true.
But I'm not free. Not at all.

But... we could still meet,
no strings attached.

You would be disappointed, my dear.
Our preferences do not mesh.

What do you mean,
"our preferences?"

Well... I prefer
my women on their back.

I'm not in the habit of treating them
like boys. Get it?

I get that you're being ridiculous.

My dear, do you know
the line by Paul Val?ry?

"Women are trouble starters,
trouble makers, or just plain trouble."

I think you're exceptionally qualified
for that last category.


Are you Sarah?

This is Minerva.

Subject: Sarah X.

Pythia, do you hear me?

What in God's name
are they doing to the computer?

Hello, Pythia?

Very well. I repeat.
Subject: Sarah X.

We ask you to identify a subject who
is likely to be part of your archives

given her extremist political views.

The need is urgent.

Information gathered
thus far on the subject:

First name: Sarah.

Sex: Female.

Present age: Between 25 and 45.

Distinguishing mark:

It was indicated the subject
has a complex about her breasts.

Race: Presumed white.

Racial sub-classification: Jewish.


Presumed French.

Resided in Paris in '67.


In '67,


with no guarantee of exclusivity.

Political Views:

In '67,

Trotskyist sympathizer or militant,

or else,
anarchist sympathizer or militant.

Always the same thing...

February 7.
Mars to Minerva.

747's daughter,
51's maid in Luxembourg,

was surprised by 51's son while having
sexual relations with the chauffeur, and

was fired that very night.

We deem it possible that 51 and 52
may try to bring back their old maid,

Marguerite Marie.

Urgently requesting instructions.

- No! Shit.
- I'm fed up with this.

I didn't come back to wait on you
and field your stupid questions.

"You know B?rasse? Who's Jean-Fran?ois?
What do you know about Mrs. Champon?"

Enough. I've had it.
What's with you and all those old farts?

- Marguerite, I have a game on...
- And I have the dishes on!

What do you want?

Will you marry me or not?
I won't waste my life here.

But we're engaged!

Then go inform my parents!

Minerva to Mars.

One: Marguerite Marie must stay in Paris
for the ongoing Operation Dead Leaves.

It would be risky to let her
go back to Luxembourg.

She might tell 51 and 52
about your agent's investigations.

Two: Establish for your agent
a special line of credit

to be used for an expensive gift
for Marguerite Marie.

This might be considered an
engagement present.


To be considered as a last resort is
the impregnation of Marguerite Marie

who would then become completely
dependent on your agent.


... end of the match, with a...


A computer search was performed, based
on the information gathered on Sarah X.

Pythia has named 18 subjects
who fit our profile.

You are to begin
the research required to

definitively identify Sarah X,

as soon as Archives
send over the files

on the selected subjects.

February 15, '78.
Mars to Minerva.

After extensive further research

requiring the deployment
of numerous agents,

we have located,
only 5 days after

the launch of Operation Sarah X,

the tracks of Sarah Robski,

who had moved 3 times
in the last 4 years.

Agent 7014's report
allows us to confirm

she is the subject we're looking for.

We immediately stopped investigations
into the remaining 7 subjects.


is our agent's report.

7014 to Mars.

Subject: Sarah Robski.

Born on July 15, 1943
in Krakow, Poland,

of David Robski and
Golda Liberstein, store owners.

She moves to Paris in '65 where
she begins studying literature.

She becomes immediately active
in left-wing organizations.

Her political activities
intensify after May '68.

Simply put,

it seems that the subject's behavior
is strongly tinged with

a generous romanticism.

Her reactions place her
instinctively on the side of the victim.

The subject has pursued little
in the way of professional activities.

She's a teaching assistant at
Vincennes University.

Of note:
a trip to Cuba during the summer of '74.

End of the demonstration at 17:00.

Return home with the subject.

Complete and satisfactory
sexual relations.

Was able

to verify,
as per Minerva's instructions,

that the subject agreed
to anal intercourse.

What are you doing?

I'm drawing.

No, don't do that.

Why not?

I don't like it.


No, it reminds me of something.

Something bad?

Tell me.


It's funny. Since we met...

How long ago?
5... 6 hours?

7 hours and 14 minutes.

It's the second time
I've thought about it.

When was the first?

Was it...
was it a man?

A long time ago?

Let me guess.

30 years ago.


You're not that old.

15 years.

No answer.

2 years? 2 months?

I hid him in the cupboard!

What's his name?

Not his last name, of course.

Why do you care?

Jealousy, comrade.

His first name is Dominique.

Like you.

Ah, that's what made you think of him.

Is that it?



- You don't find them too small?
- No. Perfect.



- Everyone finds them too small.
- Liar.

OK, not everyone.
Dominique found them very sufficient.

Again with him?

You still love him, right?

No, of course, not anymore.

It was a long time ago.

But you did love him?

A little.

He loved me a lot.

You always love a little
someone who loves you a lot.

He got married, fell in line.

A man saved by family.

Family, work, country.

In any case,

cohabitation with a young woman...

a "revolutionary", doesn't exactly
open the doors to the halls of power.

So you accept the inevitable.

"Yes, dad. Yes, mom."
And, snap!

You marry the first little
bourgeois bitch that comes along.

Isn't that... a nice recovery?


Why am I telling you all this?

The eyes I was punching out...

Ah, yes.

I still don't see the connection.

We met again by accident 2 years ago.

He told me he regretted
not having had enough courage.

Poor idiot.

He showed me a photo of me
he keeps in his wallet.

Holes punched through the eyes.

He said he did it when he left me.

- A bit childish, no?
- He's not happy.

- The number of problems he has!
- Like anyone else.

He's got them all.

When I met him,
he was in a strange state.

- He was just getting out of the army.
- Algeria?

No, that was over.

They had been...

you... you can't imagine...


The paratrooper type, see? Too happy to
have their way with a young intellectual.



When it happens to a woman,

some men find it funny.

I could introduce you to girlfriends
who are still trying to cope.

Your girlfriends can wait...

You love me a little?


You love me a little.

I don't know.

You do.

Because I...

I love you a lot.

A lot.

A lot.

Separation the following morning at 8

for the writing and
recording of this report.

Contact having been made in a
politico-sentimental context

particularly satisfying to the subject,

it is likely this relationship can
continue for a certain amount of time,

which would allow the gathering
of additional information.


February 24, '78.
Mars to Minerva.

from 51's wallet

was identified by Marguerite Marie.

- He is...
- Brauchite, old Brauchite!

Salesman, living on
rue Guillaume in Houdan.

- He is...
- An army buddy

of 51.

He'd call during his Paris trips
to come over.

Which annoyed the Mrs.

Our agent introduced himself
as an insurance salesman.

Negative, sir.

Hearing stuff like that
gives me fits!

Here, in '68, nothing happened.

If they had tried any shit here,
they'd have had to deal with me.

I know how to use a rifle.
I did my military service.

- I even took fire.
- Oh yeah? Where?

Haute Provence.

A forest fire because of
some idiot tourist or asshole leftist.

We were in commando training
near Canjuers.

And presto,
45 days playing firefighter!

Good one. A client was telling me
about this recently.

We were talking
about fire insurance.

Let me think...

Ah, yes, Auphal. Dominique Auphal.

It's really a small world! Auphal?

We were in the service together.
How's old Auphal doing?

Great. Married with children.
Since he's a responsible man,

he took out some life insurance.

You're quick on your feet.

I can appreciate that. After all,
we're both in the same racket.

Whether it's insurance or calculators,
you've always got to sell your ware.

Good old Auphal!
That's so funny!

We really had
some good times over there.

Well, he rather seemed to
remember the bad.

When he almost shot me
while cleaning his rifle?


No surprise. Back then, we hushed up
the whole thing to protect him!

Good old Auphal.

No, he vaguely alluded
to a terrible story, a bit...

The rape?

That business really
turned him upside down.

The day we got to Canjuers in fact,

or rather the night.

Bam! A young recruit raped by a para
who thought he was still in Algeria.

2 or 3 guys held him down
in a dark corner while their officer...

That one really woke us up.

After that, we got
armored underwear.

And for cause.

But Auphal, wow,
you know what he did?

He wrote a story about it.
I swear!

A well written story,
like a novel, but shorter.

We all had a great laugh reading it.

He kept it hidden in his trunk but...

But note that
he didn't hesitate to exaggerate.

After the rape,
described in minute detail,

-- always precise, old Auphal --
a dramatic reversal

if you'll allow me the expression.

The recruit cuts the para's dick off
with the guy's own knife.

- The para's? No!
- Verbatim.


Careful, though!

The "whack" was

Added by Auphal.

He used to say,

"To appreciate a situation, you must
push it to its logical conclusion."

That's Auphal for you.

He'd tell me, "You're lucky.
Nothing troubles you."

Affirmative. But I don't like
others to make trouble.

A little punk robs me, I go...

They fondle my kid...

They smash up my car...

Well... almost.

- Am I right or not?
- I'm sure much of what you say is true.

So you're just like me.
The customer is always right.

It's okay. I know the drill.

OK. Let's get back to business.
Here's what we'll do.

We'll ask Nicole.

My wife.
Let's see what she thinks.

After all, she's got
the most to gain.

- Honey?
- Get the arsenic and come down.

This man is offering you
a lot of money for offing me.

March 3, '78.
From: Minerva. To: Jupiter.

Subject: 51.

Operation Dead Leaves is over.

We have gathered
considerable intelligence

which lets us foresee
taking control of 51.

Our working hypothesis aims to reactivate
the relationship between 51 and Sarah R.

This reactivation could be eased
by having Sarah Robski reveal

to 51 his adulterous parentage.

The resulting emotional shock

would facilitate the resumption
of a carnal relationship.

We emphasize

that 51 would not collaborate
with us consciously.

He would be used without his
knowledge by Sarah Robski.

The latter

properly manipulated
by her handling agent,

might accept to play this part

given her extremist
personal views.

We request authorization

to submit to Asclepius

this double manipulation project

and to transfer the file over.

- Is Miss Robski in?
- She's out.

Tell her the Anti-Terrorism Bureau
wishes to speak to her

on rue Saussaies.

- You live with her?
- No, I'm just hanging out.

Highest urgency.

Minerva to Asclepius.
Subject: 51.

Sarah Robski is under police
surveillance as a dangerous person.

Her manipulation is dropped,
voiding our working hypothesis.

Requesting the return of the 51 file.

Well, yes, I kept it.

I mean...

since you've sent me
a juicy file for a change.

So, 51.

Asclepius' psychological

whom you've met,

devoted a lot of time
and attention to it.

The results are interesting.

They might even surprise you.

You're on.

His parents.

No need to dwell on Lucien Auphal,
51's stand-in father

who maintained around him
a destabilizing atmosphere.

51's mother was subject to her husband's
manic-depressive influence,

but I'd say her own personal history is
itself studded with emotional disasters.

Death of her first born, Lucie.

Adulterous relationship
and illicit pregnancy.

Indirect assassination of the lover
by the husband, via the Gestapo.

Here we have to pause.

Why doesn't this woman leave a husband
who murdered the man she loved?

Her explanations don't hold.

The truth is more sinister.

The truth is, this woman
had only her son to love,

and she tried to force him
to love no one but her.

As it happens, the best way

was to expose him
to the constant hatred of her husband

in order to keep him
attached to the maternal breast.

All in all,
a powerfully neurotic family unit.

Thus, a source of neurosis.

This is crucial

or trivial.

It depends on how the subject reacts.

Take me for example. I'm the product
of a powerfully neurotic family.

So what?

Now we get to 51 himself.

What does this
bring to mind?

51 keeps this reproduction
in his wallet.

Therefore it has value.


Well, it shows a woman,
a woman lying on a rock.

And up there in the sky?


The painter is
most probably a surrealist.

He is.

These objects.
Do they have anything in common?

They are childhood memories.


Perhaps insufficient, but correct.

Now if I may, I will read
the opening of the poem

which 51 wrote at the age of 17
for a certain Jacqueline.

"Summer loves are swept by the wind
Yet my heart aches along the Seine

"Crossing indifferent vagabonds

"Your hair forms an ebony helmet

"Roman legionary
or Athenian hoplite

"Or even a ship boy
beloved of sailors."

Your reaction?

- I think I could do better at 17.
- Bravo.

What else?

If I was the girl, I'm not sure
I'd like to be compared to a legionary.

Not bad. Not bad.

Look. It might be simpler
to cut to your conclusions.

We're getting there.

Innocent pleasures.

I want to sleep with my brother's wife.

But he is my brother.

I'll dream that I make love to her.

I'll have had the pleasure -- my sheets
will bear witness -- but not the guilt,

since I am not responsible
for my dreams.

Extreme example.

But there are myriad ways
to achieve guiltless pleasure.

And our 51 knows a few.

A woman.

Is that so?

If I must draw a woman,
what do I do?


A vagina.

Where are the breasts
or the vagina?

Long hair, true,
but nowadays...

This so-called woman
finally comes down to what?

A rump.

Firm, shapely.

Not Rubenesque.

The butt crack. I'd say frankly
that it's strongly underlined.

Now if I try to link this rump,
perhaps female, perhaps not,

to these mountain peaks,

to these flaming tridents,
which evoke...

which evoke what?

They might evoke
male organs.

Of course.

So maybe you're beginning
to see the light.

I have in my wallet

a harmless little reproduction,

officially showing a woman.

There's no guilt.

Yet it still evokes sodomy.

I have the pleasure,

without the guilt.

Jacqueline or Jacques?

Because, as you noticed,
what am I comparing her to?

"A Roman legionary, an Athenian hoplite,
a ship boy beloved of sailors."

I have the pleasure with my legionary,
my hoplite, my ship boy,

but not the guilt.
The poem is dedicated to Jacqueline.

You'll say, all this is...

All right.

Let's go on.

The imaginary conversion.
Do you remember?

The young atheist whom
51 brought back to God,

with things ending on a side by side
communion on Easter Sunday.

Why make up such a story?

That guy said it,
the chaplain.

- It was to fit in.
- And he was right.

51 needs to fit in all the more
because he feels different

and he rejects that difference.

But that project of conversion,

blasphemous since it's
a complete fabrication,

I call it a project of seduction.

And I say it culminates
in a carnal union

via the proxy of
the Easter communion wafer.

I have the pleasure,
but not the guilt.

Quite the contrary, I'm supposed
to bring back lost souls to God.

Val?rie Rossignat.

With Jacqueline we don't know.

But we know he did sleep with Val?rie.

There again, an artifact.

The one artifact which 51 keeps, hides,
as a memento of that relationship.

Strange: a man.

And not just any man,
Val?rie's future husband.

We can guess easily that
this Rossignat was drawn to Val?rie.

Is that what made Val?rie
attractive to 51?

I ask you:

Wasn't this a homosexual union
via the proxy of a mistress?

You know... men who make their wives
sleep with another man,

whether in front of them or not,

they're not perverts, poor devils.

They simply want to
sleep with another man.

So they use tricks.

Let's move on if you will
to his military service.

The happiest time of our 51's life.

Everyone said the opposite.

Blessed time.

Because he found himself immersed
in a purely masculine environment.

Speaking of which...

Childhood memories, fine,

but with one thing in common.

All these objects belong to,
and evoke, a masculine world.

It's even clearer in the letters.

Not a single letter from a woman,
yet many from old army buddies.

But the exciting episode,

the fascinating one,

is of course the rape.

We worked a lot on that one.

You worked a lot.


As Brauchite told us,

51 was especially
affected by this rape.

"Turned upside down."

You must understand why.
What's interesting

is the use 51 would make of that rape

to allow himself
a literary and verbal release

- as a form of therapeutic displacement...
- Keep it simple.



He cranks out a piece on that rape.

He describes it in detail

and finds great pleasure
in that description,

a pleasure which he begins to notice
and worry about.

Because it might force him
to recognize what he is:

a repressed homosexual.

- So he piles it on.
- So to speak...

I mean that

he gives the story

a completely imagined ending.

The young recruit castrates
the para who raped him.


Because 51

is ashamed of the pleasure he
derives from retelling the rape.

And because he wants to
eradicate the guilt

by eradicating the penis,
the source of pleasure.

It's ultimately a pacifying gesture.

- He erases.
- But that's not all.

That episode haunts 51 so strongly,

that he later relates it
to his mistress, Sarah Robski.

And again he distorts the story,

but in an even more... illuminating way,

since he becomes the victim.

Never had he dared go this far
into what for him is pleasurable.

But at the same time,
there's no guilt.

Pleasure was forced upon him.

It was rape.

The essence of innocent pleasure.

Sarah Robski was entirely wrong thinking
that 51 got out of the army traumatized.

He was traumatized, but
precisely because he was out.

Because he was leaving
an exclusively masculine world

to go back to
a sadly heterosexual universe.

Please note

that Sarah made
the transition much easier.

A militant,
not a kitten.

a discreet femininity,

serious look, small breasts.

And especially the fact that she agrees
to be treated like a boy, sodomized.

The typical alternative
for repressed homosexuals.

There again, guiltless pleasure.

I'm sleeping with a woman, but if
I close my eyes, it could be a boy.

All right, all right,
that's an oversimplification.

It's still very clear that with Sarah R,
51 came the closest to being fulfilled,

to see himself as he really is.

But he backed away from the truth.

He refused to take the last step.

And he left Sarah.

Because of family pressure, sure.

But also,

because he sensed
she would push him all the way.

Hence the futility
of your working hypothesis:

to reactivate the relationship
between 51 and Sarah Robski.

51 wouldn't have agreed.

He's too fearful of Sarah's lucidity.

And like any drowning man,

51 grabbed on to the first buoy
that happened by:

52, who became his wife.

Classic flight reaction.

I don't know what 51's
feelings for her are exactly.

I don't know if they make love, and how.

Nothing in the file,
a sign in itself.

I'd bet anything

that our man speaks of her the same way
he spoke of his Luxembourg secretary.

You may recall:

"I suppose one might find her pretty."

He doesn't find her pretty.

"One" does.

"I" suppose.

The truth is,
he doesn't give a damn.

And it's normal
that he doesn't,

given that 51,

as I think we have demonstrated,

is a repressed homosexual.

Very well.
It's convincing enough.

And now?

Now what?

How do we take control?

Whoever can reveal
51's homosexuality to him

will have him under control.

But how?

Given that he resists.

Given that he refuses
this homosexuality.

That's true.

That wall needs to be blown up.

But you have the dynamite.

Reveal to him that he's a bastard?

There you are.

Reveal to 51 that he's a bastard,

and you will open in his defenses
a large enough breach

for everything else to follow.

This of course requires you to dig up
an agent of the highest caliber.

March 17, '78.
Minerva to Jupiter.

We are submitting for approval
the Hymen project.

It consists of involving 51
in a homosexual relationship.

Venus has pre-selected
3 agents from 28 possible candidates.

These 3 agents underwent
refined testing

during which Hades, an agent from Venus,
played the role of 51.

The 3 agents
were not aware this was a rehearsal.

They believed
they were dealing with the real 51.

Agent Pylos managed to
establish contact deftly

and was especially brilliant
in physical interaction,

managing a seduction palpable
even to a heterosexual observer.

Pylos was therefore selected

and sent to training by Venus
under Asclepius' supervision.

Hades continued to play the role of 51.

The idea was to provide
Pylos with a way into

the initial phase of the seduction:

the disclosure of illegitimacy.

Your father had been
in Mauthausen for 6 months

when mine was transferred in
from Buchenwald.

That was in... 1943.

34 years ago.


34 years.

Why did you wait so long
before coming to tell me?

I... I hesitated a lot.


Yes, indeed.

It's quite simple, Pylos.

Your father didn't tell you
when he came out of the camp.

You weren't even born.

He only just told you...

here's a thought,

on his death bed.

Let's pick it up again.

Yeah, well...

My father has just died, last minute
revelations, etc. I'll skip ahead.

No! Don't skip!

You're unbelievable.
I was just explaining...

One moment.

Let me remind you this phase of the
operation is under Venus' authority.

My authority.

We'll only make progress
if everyone remains calm.

- Agreed?
- Of course.

But get this clearly:

this phase is crucial.

Worse still:

it's dangerous.

We're blowing up at once all the
psychological barriers 51 has built up.

I sensed it since my first report:

This man... in order to control
and suppress his homosexuality,

has built himself a personality
in reinforced concrete.

We want to bend someone
who might break in half,


What use would a disintegrated 51 be?

That is the risk you're taking.

But we're working on limiting it.

By the way, one word of advice.

Pylos can make first contact
with him anywhere

except in Luxembourg.

Use for example one of 51's
business trips to Paris.

He'll be alone,




And, don't forget, he loves children.
That could be useful.

Let's go on.

Pylos, try to inject
as much emotion as possible

into the relationship
between the 2 fathers.

Don't forget,

you're in a death camp.

The S.S.,
the crematorium...

And get closer to Hades.

You know that physicality
is your main asset.

Just before he died in the camp,

your father made mine promise
to look after the woman he loved,

your mother,

and after his son,


Very good.

But why...?

Why... didn't he keep his promise?


He was sure your mother
would get a divorce

when she found out
her husband was an informer.

But she stayed married.

- But then, why...?
- Stop!

Something very interesting is happening.
We are going to try to perfect it.

These revelations,
their dramatic historical context

will inevitably kindle in 51
an extreme curiosity.

This will lead him
to ask questions, just like Hades.

The initiative in the dialog
will thus fall to 51.

Revelations will
no longer be inflicted by Pylos.

They will be requested by 51.

Go on.

It's true.
My mother didn't get a divorce.

But why did your father wait so long to
make these revelations to me... to you?

Just before he died,
he became tormented.

He wondered if he shouldn't
have tried to contact you,

to tell you about your real father,

to tell you
what kind of man he had been.

And how he died.

And how he died.



Pylos, I suggest
you tell him at this point

why you came to
make these revelations.

Why did you come?

- To respect my father's wishes.
- No.

Your father expressed no wishes.

He merely spoke of his regrets,
of his remorse.

You came, because in 51's place,

you'd want to end all those lies
and know the truth.

Do you understand?

If you put yourself in 51's shoes,

it creates between you
an atmosphere of trust.

Let's pick it up
at the father's death.

Well done, the surge of affection
and the hand squeeze.

You know, the physical approach
won't be a problem for Pylos.

The last training phase focused on
an analysis of 51's possible reactions

when faced with Pylos' revelations:


shock, anger,

incredulity, etc.

Clearly, there is still
a margin for uncertainty.

There will be one, no matter
how extensive our preparation.

But we believe we have reduced it
to its absolute minimum.

March 20, '78.
Jupiter to Minerva.

I consent to the Hymen project.

The Operation will take place
as soon as feasible.

April 4, '78.
Mars to Minerva.

51 has been summoned
to Paris on April 11

to attend meetings
with a delegation

from the Republic of Mali,
scheduled from April 11 to 13.


- Mr. Dominique Auphal?
- Speaking.


Who is this?

My name wouldn't mean much to you.

Christophe, please.
Daddy's on the phone.

My son. I'm sorry.

I must see you.

April 12.


Venus to Minerva.

Contact established as planned.

April 13.

Venus to Minerva.

Pylos reports that Operation Hymen was
conducted during the night of April 12.


was positive

under circumstances
favorable to future use.

April 13, '78.
Mars to Minerva.

51 is dead.

It happened on the road
this morning at 10am,

as the conference he was scheduled to
attend at Foreign Affairs was starting.

He was alone in a car he had rented
in Paris 30 minutes earlier.

The road was dry at the time.

No mechanical failure was found.

There are no signs of braking.




- Featuring the voices of -

- Also starring -

Original translation by Drone139x CG
Revised for Karagarga by rentboy