Home Front (2020) - full transcript
In a village where everyone knows everyone, four veterans of the Algerian War are haunted by their past.
What about the rabbits?
Hi, Feu-de-bois.
So you came?!
Why wouldn't I come?
It's my sister's birthday!
Hi, Marcel.
Solange...
Solange!
Solange...
Happy birthday, Solange.
Didn't need to, Bernard.
Well, open it.
You're nuts.
He's nuts!
No need.
Like it?
Yes.
I wasn't sure about a flower...
but as you like birds so much,
I figured...
Put it on.
Yes, of course...
I'll put it on.
There.
So!
I'll give you a kiss.
You do like it, then?
Of course I like it.
That's not the problem.
So what is the problem?
Bernard, it's worth a fortune.
Don't you worry about that.
How could you afford it?
None of your business!
It's beautiful...
It's certainly beautiful!
Well, I'll take it off now.
No, don't!
Why are you taking it off?
Because it's too nice.
It's not.
How could it be
too nice for you?
No, it's too nice for this dress.
Don't you agree?
Where did you find the money, then?
How did you manage it?
That's no one's concern.
It does concern us!
You never had anything.
We've given you
everything you have.
Like this suit...
It was Roland's.
And that shirt, too.
You forgot?
We always helped you
as best we could, and you...
How could you?
With what money?
He robbed the old lady!
You robbed the old lady!
That's enough now!
Right? That's enough.
You all shut up!
Of course, that was it.
He'd gone and helped himself...
when Solange and Evelyne
had taken her to the retirement home.
He was well accustomed
to stealing from his own mother.
But to him, it was not theft.
No...
He was just recovering
what was his.
It was easy...
he knew all the hiding places.
He'd found them.
I don't give a damn
about those idiots.
Should've seen them turn!
Like rats... vultures...
All of 'em.
It's because of them
she removed the brooch.
Not because of the dress.
It's a nice dress.
My heart would've farted
if I'd stayed there...
Farted in my throat.
It's because of them,
not because of the dress.
It's a nice dress.
What is Solange doing?
How would I know?
Stop being pissed off,
and come and sit down.
Someone's actually
talking to me!
Talkin' to me!
Coz people are watching, eh?
They're all there
Except for the dead.
The dead didn't come.
That's a good thing.
Better they didn't come.
Imagine if they'd come?
And Reine?
What'd she 've said...
Reine? Eh?
And the dead infant? All gone.
It's a pity the dead infants
didn’t come.
With Reine, they were the only ones
who meant anything.
Yeah...
So... the bachelor?
With his bachelor's degree.
Something between
him and me.
I would have liked
to try for uni...
and he thought that
was pretentious.
It is true, that here,
at the time...
and also...
in our family...
But I would've liked it.
Where's my sister?!
Where's Solange?
Oh, Rabut! Where's my sister?!
Still in the kitchen?
Most likely.
It's her party...
and she's the one in the kitchen.
Aren't you ashamed
to let her do everything?
Bunch of slackers!
Bunch of slackers!
What does the bachelor
have to say?
And him there!
Him! He can be there, he can.
He can be there,
while I...
Bernard, stop it!
That dirty Arab can be there.
You get out now... get out!
Ignore him, Sayid, it's nothing.
For years I've wanted
to punch you in the face!
Your goofy face!
Shut up!
That's enough!
Now you're leaving.
Go on, get out!
Go on... Get out!
Rabut, help me!
- Go, Feu-de-bois!
- Okay!
Stop your raving...
None of that here.
No dirty Arabs.
Understood?
None of that in our place.
Well, you didn't always
spit on the Arabs, did you?
Who said that?
Who said that?
The Algerian French
are not Arabs!
They're not Arabs!
Take this back,
and get out of here!
No.
Get out of my sight!
Solange...
Fuck off!
Now now...
It's what everyone dreaded
and it's happening.
As if it had to happen,
of course.
As if it were written.
So the men rush in.
The strongest.
The bravest.
Those who are least
afraid of him.
Roland, Marcel, Roger, Alex.
Not me.
Impossible for me.
My body refuses.
Nobody hits him.
They know his strength.
They know he'll remember...
that he'll know exactly
from who each blow came.
So no one dares...
and everyone protects himself
as best he can.
She was the first girl
that I'd held in my arms.
20 years old
Rabut... Another record.
Here...
Look at this.
What are you doing here?
Nothing.
Just visiting.
I have the right, don't I?
I think you've
been drinking.
No matter, but you
can't stay here.
You need to leave.
And why should I leave?
I'm fine here.
It's cool, I'm fine.
There are cakes... I'm fine.
You need to go home, Sir.
I am at home, here!
More than you, Arab.
More than your Arab husband
and Arab children.
I'm at home everywhere,
If I want to stay, I stay.
And I get blotto if I want to.
And you just shut your mouth!
And if you're not happy,
go home.
You dirty Arab!
Yes... this is my home...
my village...
In my village!
My village, you dirty Arab!
It's over.
Who was he?
Who was he, Mum?
Don't talk.
Oh, fuck!
Bourlem, stay quiet here.
Shut up!
Close your eyes!
Shut up!
Close your eyes! Close your eyes!
- OK, Rolland?
- All's well.
- Hi, Marcel.
- Hi.
- A small wine?
- No, thanks. I'm looking for Rabut.
Sorry to disturb you,
but since he's your cousin...
and you're on the municipal council...
- What's the matter?
- Not here. I'm with the police.
What are you going to do?
What do you expect?
We don't have a choice.
No one's been killed.
So he fucked up. So what?
- You call that a fuck-up?
- Yeah.
Tomorrow he'll apologize...
of his own free will.
Being sorry isn't good enough.
Too easy..
I'm fed up with these guys
who get drunk on our taxes.
He has to stop
pissing us off.
That thing with the brooch
was premeditated.
The problem is
what happened afterwards.
We just can't let it pass.
It'd be better if you
came with us, Rabut.
It's not a good idea
to go there now...
pissed as he is.
He's not a bad person...
It's probably bad wine.
Does he have a gun?
Like everyone.
Best to let him sleep it off.
We'll go down in the morning.
Rabut?
I agree.
OK. 7.30 tomorrow...
in front of the police station.
Don't worry, we won't be alone.
I arrange what's necessary.
No, it's on me.
Thanks.
Goodnight.
Mayor...
Yes?
Do you remember the first time
you saw an Arab?
No, nothing.
See you tomorrow.
What I wanted to ask him, was,
if he'd been there.
Where? In which unit?
What he's seen.
If he'd been frightened.
I knew he was too young.
It didn't make sense.
Shit, Rabut...
He's your cousin...
you could've defended him.
What'll happen now?
Get off my back!
You don't know who he is.
He's not a poor guy.
He's not a nice person...
He's never been nice.
The things I could tell you!
Like when he used to
throw kittens against a wall.
Or when he weighted frogs,
so they'd drown.
No I won't talk about them...
Just boyhood pranks.
Come close to me, Solange.
Don't cry, little sister.
Will you take care of her?
Yes.
Will you love her
as if she was me?
Yes.
Her name was Reine.
She died, leaving the child
of an unknown father.
Get out of here!
Get out of here,
you bastard!
I'm not making this up...
I was there.
I'd answered Nicole's questions.
Night was falling.
I was cold.
And now,
I had to tell Solange.
I told everything.
I saw the anger
and sadness came over her.
She didn't want to
leave the children.
This time,
she knew she couldn't
do anything against
what others would say.
The police were going there.
The old resentments
would fall on him.
What did he actually
do to her?
No idea.
She couldn't stop the hate.
Until we get his statement,
we don't know.
She wouldn't even try.
She'd let things be.
Well, there's still...
meat and cakes in the fridges.
You can share them.
It'd be a shame otherwise.
I know it's not you, Sayid,
who's making up stories...
You never have.
No, I want him to come
to see you, and apologize.
He has to, because ...
Yes.
Yes. I understand.
Yes. Yes.
'Bye for now.
He won't file a complaint.
He doesn't want
to make a fuss.
He never has.
One day, we had to choose
an employee representative.
No one wanted to do it.
It's work, responsibilities...
It takes up time.
Then eventually, Sayid has said...
"I'd like to do it."
There was stunned silence.
No one dared say a thing .
People looked at each other...
But no one was
looking at him.
Then...
big Marcel said...
"Very well, in that case,
I'll do it myself."
"Everyone OK with that?'
I don't know if
everyone agreed...
but no one objected.
Not even me.
And Sayid stood there...
without saying a word.
I would've said what?
I'd believed that by being forced
to work with you...
to live with you... that we
would've become the same.
I think you were brave.
I didn't understand...
...that I couldn't speak
for you.
I couldn't represent you.
I was wrong,
and it embarrassed you.
What did you do with the brooch?
I put it in the spare room.
I'll take it back to the jeweler,
and get the money back.
He'll be obliged...
it was stolen money.
I agree.
And I'll return their part
to the others.
They're right... it's true.
Such a brooch!
What made him do it?
It was to shame them.
Anyway,
you always said it.
- What?
- That he was like that.
You too.
You knew.
He's always been like that.
Not always, no.
Yes, he didn't even write to you
when he got married.
Stop, Rabut.
You know he always wrote to me.
Otherwise how would you
know he was married?
And when he had his boys,
he also wrote to me.
And before, from Algeria, he wrote
to me at least once a week.
But not to our mother,
that's true. Oh no!
Not from Algeria or Paris.
Ah yes, the telegram to say
that he'd never come back
when you two finished in the army.
Other than that,
nothing for 17 years.
All because of a lottery ticket.
For him, it wasn't
just a lottery ticket.
It was about him making
a new life for himself.
She bought 2 cows with it,
that's all.
Oh yes... And fixed the barn roof.
No problem for him
to make a new life.
In any case,
he never forgave her.
Well for her, it's the 17 years
without news that she's not forgiven.
She should have!
A son is a son.
If one of my sons...
I don't know... a son,
for a mother... Nicole?
Yes, I think so.
How could she?
He didn't even introduce
his wife to us.
Never!
And we don't know his children.
We don't even know
what's become of them.
Do YOU know?
- No.
- How is such a thing possible?
We were their family!
Nothing to do with you.
At his place, there's not even
a photo of his sons.
And when Dad died,
he didn't come to the funeral.
Does that also have
nothing to do with us?
How could she have
forgiven that?
He ended up coming back anyway.
Anyway,
she never loved him.
Always saying awful
things about him.
To his face,
without embarrassment.
That he was
a worthless brat.
Even in front of people
we barely know.
It didn't bother her.
And he's just smile...
as if it was quite normal...
as if he agreed with her.
And the more she said
bad things about him...
the more stupid things he did,
to prove her right.
That one's always had
a big mouth, that's all.
It's not all!
You were there when Reine died.
You heard.
No, stop with that now, Rabut!
Stop it!
You know nothing.
You can't know the remorse
he felt afterwards.
He was so young.
He knew nothing about anything.
He only listened to the priest.
You don't remember
how he was?
Raving mad.
Inflexible.
He has his prayer-book with him
while tending the cows.
No... What he said to Reine...
We shouldn't even
think about it.
But he understood afterwards.
He understood.
He never forgave himself.
But the words
have been said.
He'll die with them.
But the others, there...
always spitting on him...
What were they thinking, eh?
Think they lost any sleep? No.
Because for a 17-year old girl
to be dying like that...
It was what she deserved...
It was like that in those days.
Everyone thought that.
Not me, Solange.
You neither.
Alright!
Come on, it's OK.
What's the point of
talking about it, now?
Bernard is how he is...
but he was always nice to me.
And when he talks about Sylvie,
he doesn't say "the bastard".
Never.
A family of crazies,
that's what it is.
A family of crazies.
The Lord is with you.
You are blessed among all women.
Cease fire!
And Jesus,
the fruit of your womb, is blessed.
Cease fire!
Cease fire!
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us poor sinners...
- Poiret, is that you?
- Yes, lieutenant.
At the hour of our death.
Fevrier, you OK?
Yeah, what is it?
It was dogs!
We found two, full of lead,
next day.
Our battle was not Verdun!
What was it we heard?
Seven or eight years later,
we heard from Fevrier.
It was in 1969 or '70,
one or the other.
The year when the Americans
went to the moon.
He'd decided to see some friends again
that he'd kept in touch with.
He was asking around.
Nicole has gone to bed.
He's had a few too many.
We don't tell ourselves the same
things after a few too many.
She isn't so pretty.
She's sort of faded.
She shouldn't have to live
on a council estate.
They're expecting their 2nd child,
yet no longer look at each other.
Or just a sidelong glance.
And the words...
The same.
Complaints.
Eternal complaints.
They were living in Clamart.
A hate-filled place.
Bernard worked at Renault.
Mireille did housework
occasionally.
She no longer saw her family.
She'd lost everything in 1962.
To set up a garage,
you need dough.
If you believe that her father
would lend us...
Maybe you should ask him!
For that, he'd have to
agree to see us.
I never asked for anything...
I'm not going to start.
I gave 28 months of my life
to protect your fucking orange trees.
And I have to go begging
to your father?
Fevrier, aren't I right?
When we got married,
I told you he wouldn't forgive me...
that we should no longer count
on even seeing them again.
You regret now, do you?
Admit you regret!
You were poor
when I married you.
You weren't marrying me
for financial gain, were you?
Listen to her!
I'm not ashamed.
What I've earned's with my sweat,
no one else's.
If you're ashamed of working,
go home to your mother.
What are you thinking about?
I was thinking of Solange,
when she took us home.
And that we'd left her alone.
I wondered what she was going to do
with the whole night ahead of her.
Is she going to collapse
from fatigue?
Go to the bathroom...
put on a nightgown?
Will she turn on the TV?
Stay there, in front of it,
without watching it?
Is she going to bed?
Switching off?
Hoping that fatigue
will knock her out till morning.
Will she imagine her brother
at Sayid's place?
Imagine her actions...
Those of the woman
defending herself.
Her body which resists.
Tears, screams, fear.
Will she let herself be invaded
by a host of jostling images...
one chasing the other?
Will she endure them?
No, she won't endure them.
Then she'll start again.
She'll wait for sleep to come.
But it won't come.
I know those sort of nights well.
They feel darker than usual.
Darker and darker
as the hours pass.
We start to hope
that we'll stay awake
because of the images
waiting for us to return.
But we doze off briefly...
and there they are...
...like flashes.
We wake up with a start...
gasping.
We're not sure
where we are.
There's sweat... and cold.
Tears, sometimes.
Going to bed.
Nicole's words to soothe me.
Mine to excuse me.
Don't worry.
It'll work out.
I know...
I know only too well.
I saw Rabut.
He came on the mail-train.
He's very fit.
You can tell his mother
if you see her.
He won a camera
in a contest.
He doesn't stop
taking pictures.
We seem to be lucky
in this family.
Him in particular!
His mother didn't steal
from him what he won.
At first I count the hours,
then I count the days.
It's been so long without you.
When I know the date
of your furlough...
I could count backwards.
I'd be happier counting
the days that bring us closer.
Fortunately, from time to time,
I see your cousin.
We met at the Meteor twice.
He's a nice guy.
He made me dance.
He's better than you!
We weren't that fond of each other,
but we stayed together if we met.
It had always been like that.
Since we were kids,
and there, even more.
There was an unknown thing,
that seemed to connect us.
Maybe something
from the country.
We'd sit in the shade
without saying anything,
then walk around the post.
He didn't ask about family news,
or about Nicole...
as to if we were still engaged.
About Mireille too... Never.
He said nothing.
Me neither.
Hello, Miss.
Hello, Bernard.
Smile at Rabut.
- His name's Rabut?
- Yes.
Can you tell me your name?
Fatiha.
How come I haven't seen him?
Good question.
Coz he's got
a cushy job.
He's stuck in the barracks.
Isn't that right, uni boy?!
Are we going to see the tortoise?
I don't know,
have to ask your father.
Mr Engineer!
Yes?
May we see the tortoise?
Yes, but Fatiha mustn't
enter the tents.
No problem.
Look at Rabut.
Just 35 days to go!
And demob!
Shut up! Some of us have
18 months to go!
Or 25!
Oh, Bergonnier!
Pics of your wife in the nude?
No.
You wish?!
I wrote to you
about all of it.
The boredom of chores.
Those who drank
till they fell apart.
I wrote of the sameness
of one hour after the other...
day after day,
night after night...
into weeks and months
and lost years.
I told you about guard duty...
the heat of the sun, the dust.
But most of all, boredom.
Weariness.
Your mind slowly emptying,
like an hourglass.
Waking up and eating
surrounded by others.
Evenings with others.
The same jokes,
the same games of belotte,
the same memories of back home
told a hundred times.
The letters that don't arrive.
The girls who've stopped writing.
And the food.
The things I told you
about the food!
It's not awful,
but there's never enough,
and it's always the same.
corned beef,
canned tuna, rice...
Always rice or beans.
I know, I hear that everywhere,
but it's not up to me.
Not too much alcohol?
I never drink it.
Makes me a laughing stock.
I didn't tell you he'd been kidnapped
while returning to town.
You can get dressed.
You're fit for service.
The MPs with him were found...
with their throats cut.
But not the doctor.
He was found later.
I didn't tell you about
the operations in the mountains.
The hunt for Fellagha bandits.
Raids into Douar and Mechta.
We never found anything,
but it calmed the nerves.
I didn't tell you about
the prohibited areas...
People expelled...
displaced by the million
into camps.
The silent villages...
like cemeteries.
Nothing living
in 100s of square kilometres.
Nothing at all.
Not one human.
Not one animal.
Nothing that would enable
a Fellagha to eat.
Nothing.
And napalm... as soon as
a trace of life is spotted.
We were pacifying.
Why do I remember
this clay jar?
How do the peasants here manage
to grow wheat in this sort of land?
It's not possible.
Anyway, now it's
in the forbidden zone...
There'll be no one
left to harvest.
It's not just Fellaghas
who are going to starve.
Empty these shacks, damn it!
Get on with it!
Get everyone
into the square!
What are you
still doing here?
Why aren't you outside
with the others?
Shut up!
What are you hiding?
Where are all your weapons?
The Fellagha, where are they?
Where's your father?
Are you a Fellagha?
Answer me!
Put your hands
on your head.
Where is Idir?
With the lieutenant.
Are there any weapons?
Rifles?
Where is it? Eh?
Is that what you're hiding?
I asked you a question!
Where are the guns?
Do you take us for idiots?
What are you hiding
under there?
Fevrier, stop!
Fuck you!
Stay out of it, Chatel.
Go search the old man
if you like.
Come here!
Hey... You know you're pretty,
don't you?
Yes, she knows it.
I didn't write
about all of it.
I told you about Rabut, Mireille,
the little girl.
I told you about the tortoise.
News about cousins, friends...
but the rest, no.
Maybe I should have.
But I didn't.
And I never will.
Because there are no words
capable of telling it.
Want my photo?
It'd make me
want to vomit.
- I make you vomit?
- You make me vomit.
Like what was done
makes me want to vomit.
Like the massacre at Oradour...
What's the difference?
Are you calling me a Nazi, Chatel?
Is that what you're saying?
I'm saying what happened
to them.
was the same.
My uncle was in the Resistance.
He was 18 when he was shot.
So you take it back,
right now.
And who are the Resistance
fighters here?
Go fuck yourself!
Defend yourself!
Defend yourself,
you piece of shit!
Stand up!
Get up, you little bitch.
Try to be a man for once.
For once!
Fight back!
Fight back!
Fight back, you piece of shit!
Fucking fight back!
Kastendeuch, that's enough.
That's enough now!
Three days later,
it happened with a Harki
[Arab in the French army.]
Because Chatel told him
Harkis were traitors to their country.
The Harki didn't like it.
He told him
he is French, like us.
That his family needs to eat.
And that the army,
is a job like any other.
Chatel didn't want to fight...
and he took a hammering
without saying anything.
That's your pacifist for you.
Jesus, have mercy on us.
Jesus, son of God, have mercy on us.
Jesus, son of the Virgin Mary,
have mercy on us.
Jesus, have mercy on us.
Jesus, God of mercy,
have mercy on us.
Jesus who loves chastity,
have mercy on us.
Jesus, who loves us,
Jesus, our refuge, have mercy on us.
Do you want us to pray together?
No.
I always pray alone,
except at Mass.
You don't think that prayer
is stronger when we share it?
We don't share anything, Chatel.
We don't believe in the same things.
You believe in forgiveness,
I believe in punishment.
You believe in the love of God,
I fear his wrath.
You believe that men are brothers,
and I already have too many.
You turn the other cheek,
I'll always hit back.
I didn't like what you said.
We're not Nazis.
Do you think people have
the right to self-determination?
No, and I don't give a damn.
What would you do if someone
prevented you from working?
If it was decreed that your village
was to be a prohibited area?
That you were forced out
and put into a camp?
What would you do if someone
occupied your country?
This is France right here,
in case you didn't know.
We're fighting for France.
We're doing our duty.
Get slaughtered like a sheep,
if that turns you on...
but let me pray how I wish to.
"Little sister,
for the 14th of July,
I'm getting a proper perm.
"I'll leave with the supply convoy
"and I'll be back with the next convoy.
"It will take four days.
"It is a beautiful city.
"Everything is blue and white.
"The sky, the sea, the walls.
"The streets smell of
grilled sardines and sausages.
"In the Casbah there are women
with red hair
"and tattoos on their hands...
"and others who show
nothing but their eyes.
"When peace returns, it would
be wonderful to live here.
"I'll tell you about it.
Love, your brother."
Love, your brother.
Little sister...
I slept at the hotel.
I hadn't thought about
where I was going to sleep.
And once I got here...
I followed Kastendeuch and Fevrier
to a street next to the station.
You have to register
and pay in advance.
There was a sink
with hot water...
and a shower on the same floor.
I told you that I slept
at the hotel...
but in fact,
I haven't really slept.
I was listening.
From my window,
I was listening to the port...
Sirens on the boats, engines.
The noise of the city, as well.
I'd never really listened
to that noise.
In a city, there's even sound
in silence.
But it's pleasant...
It's regular, soothing.
I'd never slept alone.
Always two or three brothers
in the same room.
Always someone coughing,
sniffling or crying.
That never stopped me
from sleeping.
That's how it was.
I never imagined it could
be otherwise.
But then, suddenly,
I felt light.
As never before.
Strong.
I felt I was a man.
I left aimlessly.
I walked in the city, alone.
I didn't know where I was going.
The streets decided for me.
My legs followed the slope.
I was no longer afraid,
no more enemies.
The war and the doctor
forgotten.
The world was lovely.
The people were beautiful...
Their faces, their smiles.
The sky, the sea,
the sound of the lapping waves...
...of the sand, of the wind.
I didn't know that beauty
could make you cry.
I wonder why.
No one had ever taught me.
I knew nothing.
I've thought of you,
over there, in the village.
I thought of pals when we laughed
about niggers and wogs...
when we'd never seen any.
I thought back to the stories
of Grandpa in 1914...
The Senegalese infantrymen
who were sent as the first wave
to terrify the Krauts
and who fell by the dozens.
They died for France, too...
but there's no monument
showing their names.
I would have been Harki.
Yes. In their place,
I would've been Harki.
Because the Fellagha slaughtered
poor guys like me
who understood nothing...
Just that it was good for France.
And France has lasted
a long time.
Hi!
(Arabic)
It was a butchers shop.
During artillery barrages,
it went on for hours
and hours.
On one occasion...
it went for more
than 100 hours....
...without ever stopping.
Over 4 days.
We were waiting to die.
There was nothing
we could do.
Bodies were blown
into the air.
Then flesh fell like rain.
It was raining blood.
The blood of the dead
mixed with ours.
And sometimes the whole trench
was covered...
and the guys were buried alive.
We were like statues...
made of mud.
It was everywhere.
Mud.
Like a yellow sea of mud.
I saw a captain
who'd gone mad.
He was looking for clumps of grass,
and when he found one...
he dressed it with his comb.
I saw it.
(Arabic)
I had a bad conscience
and I didn't understand why.
The shells...
They were French.
French people who were fighting with us.
Sometimes it was just bones.
Sometimes, it still looked
like a man.
Sometimes it was a friend.
No one can know.
The cold... The rain... The mud.
And the fear.
And the madness.
There are those
who commit suicide...
there are those who go mad...
because they're sick
of being afraid of dying.
That was Verdun.
So, were your grandfathers
at Verdun?
Not in Verdun,
but in the Somme.
It was the same.
In 1940, my father
was taken prisoner at Douai.
When he came back,
I no longer recognized him.
I was told to kiss my dad...
All I saw was a tall,
bearded, skinny guy...
who looked nothing like the one
who I'd been shown in photos.
I was scared of him.
Like your father,
when I came back...
he always asked me when
are they giving me back my arm!
Thanks for coming.
- Thank you.
- Come back another time.
I wouldn't tell my pals
that I'd come here.
I didn't know why...
but I knew I wouldn't tell them.
Let's go!
Bring the stretcher.
It was lying
in a strange way...
the right arm hidden,
the head in profile...
pulled back.
But the throat wasn't cut.
That was the main thing.
His throat wasn't cut.
His mouth was open, eyes black,
hair grey with sand.
His skin the same... grey, taut...
not yet burned by the sun.
We could still see
that it was a human being.
We could just recognize him.
But a few days later,
we would have found carrion.
They'd left a photo
in his pocket.
We used to see it on the wall.
They looked at the camera.
It was still working.
They'd cut his flesh.
Scraped everything
down to the bone...
from the wrist to the shoulder,
with knives.
They had done this
to a living man.
Where was he?
Down the hill...
500 metres past the pass.
They wanted to be sure
we'd find him quickly.
- You saw his body?
- Yes.
- How was it?
- Not pretty.
They castrated him?
Shut up!
They always do it.
No, he wasn't castrated!
Want to know what they did to him?
Want to know? Want to know?
Calm down. Leave it.
He's an idiot.
Only dogs would do
stuff like that.
Fucking Arab dogs.
Don't take it personally...
they're just angry.
I'm not an Arab...
I'm Berber.
Can you give me another one?
Come on! We're boarding.
Hurry up!
That night,
reinforcements have arrived...
and we went there.
Come on... get a move on!
We could do nothing
for the guys' morale.
They needed to avenge the doctor...
Do that, both for him....
and for us.
So that every Arab would know
that it could happen to them...
they were going to kill 10 of them.
Maybe even 100!
So we did what had to be done.
I thought of that night, in 1944...
when an old woman
took us in the woods...
because an SS division were
on there way back to Normandy
and they'd been burning villages
along the way.
And you, the tiny infant...
who dared not cry.
Maybe you knew she wouldn't
hesitate to smother you...
so as to save us all.
And I thought of Oradour
as well.
And I thought if I'd been from here,
I would have been a Fellagha.
I didn't tell you, Solange.
I won't tell you.
Oh Bernard! Come here,
we were talking about you.
A beer for the soldier-boy!
Greetings!
How about spearfishing?
My father has a hut on the beach.
We're there all the time.
I guess so.
Hi cousin.
Where were you?
Wandering the streets.
I got a bit lost.
Ask me for a dance.
I'll never set foot
on the farm again... ever!
I'm finished with them. I'll have
nothing to do with them anymore.
It's your family, Bernard.
Now my family
consists of you.
You're enough for me.
With Solange.
We'll bring her to Paris with us.
Will your parents agree?
Sure they will...
because it'll save them money.
That's all that matters
to them.
It's going to be fine.
I think about it every night.
Selling American cars
would work out.
Parisians want Cadillacs
and Chevrolets..
not tin lizzies, understand?
And you'd do the books.
You'd be good at that.
Not here, Bernard...
Everyone knows me.
At least, everyone
knows my father.
Sorry.
We could go to the beach
tomorrow, if you like.
Don't scowl.
I'm not scowling.
I don't like the end
of furlough, that's all.
I'd like to live
near Monceau Park.
It seems very pretty.
And a park is important
for children.
Alright, we'll set up house
near Monceau Park.
I don't care where...
so long as it's in Paris.
Tomorrow... 2 o'clock at the Meteore?
Can't you make it earlier?
I have to be back at
the barracks before 5.
We have to be back at the post
before dark.
I can't make it earlier.
2 o'clock then.
Yes.
Till tomorrow.
Till tomorrow.
I've thought of the priest.
Of his sermons.
Of his lies.
Loving wasn't a crime.
I thought of Reine.
Of the harm that I'd done her.
That she was no longer there
to forgive me...
and that no one
could take her place.
You'd have been less miserable
if you'd come with us.
Fevrier saw his blonde again...
She lifted his spirits.
Wow, she lifted your spirits!
Her tits drive me crazy...
I could spend my life with them.
What?
Nothing.
I know what you're thinking.
Using whores is not cheating.
- I didn't say anything.
- You're judging me.
You don't have to judge me!
Calm down!
You're wrong, Dabenoc.
Think about it.... There are blondes,
fatties, niggers...
A woman for every taste.
This is cock-heaven.
It'd be a shame to have it
cut off before it was used.
Next time we'll take you
with us to get laid.
After that, you'll
never stop wanting it.
Here's to being demobbed!
Here's to the demob...
Happy days can't come too fast
Here's to the demob...
As the oldies say... what a blast!
- Ready?
- Yeah.
- Hi, Jose.
- Hi, guys.
Hi.
Aren't the others here?
They took the girls to the beach.
They'll be back later for a drink.
- Was Mireille with them?
- I really don't know... maybe.
Jose!
If your father is a farmer,
we're the same.
Not quite, though.
The soil is the same everywhere.
When we work it, we love it.
How many acres
does your place have?
- 30.
- 30?
Yeah.
- You'll go back to it?
- I don't think so, no.
I've a lot of siblings,
so after the army,
I'll open a garage in Paris.
I don't want to have a boss.
It's good to have ambition.
How stupid I am...
Of course you're never going to
let me marry your daughter.
I'm just good enough to die
protecting your vines...
your olive and orange trees.
It's for you, and your fucking 1000s
of acres, that we risk our lives.
I'm so stupid.
We're all so stupid.
Hi, cuz.
Hi.
Are you waiting for someone?
- No, why?
- Nothing.
Are you going back to barracks soon?
Yeah.
Another one?
3 beers.
Come and dance...
They're short of guys.
It's too hot.
It always is, in this fucking country.
Come and have a bit of fun.
Yours. My shout.
See that? He's making progress.
Come and rub yourself
against the forbidden fruit.
I told you...
Don't feel like it.
No fruit to your taste?
Or it is because the priest
forbids sampling before marriage?
"Forgive me, Father,
for I have sinned."
What's wrong, uni-boy?
What do you want from me?
Don't call me that.
Louder, uni-boy, I can't hear you
over this fucking music.
Are you setting out
to piss me off here?
Louder, uni-boy.
I wanted to ask you...
did you abuse the doctor, too,
when you collected his body?
And cleaned your nails
with your knife?
Stop it!
Bernard!
Come here!
Let go of me!
Let me go!
Smash his face in!
Do you want to kill him?
Finished!
He can't defend himself.
I don't know what he did to you,
but he doesn't deserve to die for it.
What got into you?
Aren't there enough deaths already?
What's bugging you?
I never thought I'd this
between two Frenchmen.
How would your mother feel
if she heard her son had
been killed by a comrade?
Do you think of your mothers?
It upsets me to see this.
We should be going.
You'll go when I decide
you're OK to go.
Our convoy must leave
before dark.
If it goes without us,
we'll be AWOL.
That's serious.
The convoy hadn't left.
The lieutenant had decided
to wait for us.
No one knows why.
Maybe he feels he has to come back
with the same number he left with.
That must have been it.
Or something else, unknown.
It was his decision.
Gentlemen, follow me.
I was expecting to get the usual...
Days of detention, military court...
assignment to an
even shittier zone.
But that would be nothing
compared to what awaited us.
I'm not responsible!
I brought them back to you.
Shut up! You'll explain
yourself tomorrow.
You two are a pain in the arse
with your bullshit.
Can't you get drunk nicely?
At that moment, we knew.
We didn't say anything.
It's afterwards we tell ourselves
that we already knew.
But here, no.
We didn't want to know.
Dabenoc, Fevrier, Khodja, Breniere,
to scout!
Of course, Bernard's name, mine,
because it all happened
because of us.
Because they'd had to wait for us,
and that somehow we'd done
the work for the Fellaghas.
Some have said that. Well...
No, they didn't.
Not quite like that.
They said, "That's your bullshit."
It wasn't even worthwhile.
We knew that if the convoy
had returned normally...
before nightfall...
it wouldn't have happened.
We knew that the post
was at half strength.
The Fellaghas wouldn't have attacked
if we'd been there.
But we stayed in town.
And they were aware of it.
The tower door
was not closed, not damaged... nothing.
The lock was intact.
It had been opened with the key.
Someone had opened it,
that was for sure.
So we thought of Abdelmalik
because he wasn't lying
with the others.
Idir also thought it...
even before we did.
They had done it without guns...
With axes, knives.
Then they left
with our weapons.
Dabenoc, Fevrier.
Dabenoc, Fevrier!
Fevrier, this is an order.
It was indescribable.
How to tell it?
There are no words...
It was beyond imagination.
And yet they had done it.
Some men...
Some men had done it.
We can always say
that it's Bernard's fault...
or yours or mine,
or anyone's.
Above all, it's the fault
of those who did it.
That's all he was thinking.
He might have taken tranquillisers
or be exhausted from work...
it didn't change anything.
He wasn't sleeping.
He thought about
what he'd seen.
About what he had done, too.
Afterwards . Elsewhere.
How many times did I tell myself
that I should've separated you...
come down on you harder.
Bernard especially.
Did I ever give a damn
about you getting home on time?
But him, yes.
And me.
Because if we'd returned
on time...
Not sure it would have
changed anything. No one knows.
Yes, we know.
I knew.
Bernard knew.
We all knew, and didn't need
to tell each other again.
No need to judge us, either.
We took care of it.
In perpetuity. Guaranteed.
Till the last breath.
After the death of the doctor,
the others stopped saying Fellaghas.
It was 'dirty Arabs' or 'rodents',
'darkies', 'wogs', 'boongs', 'melons'.
(Arab speaking)
They weren’t talking to us.
They didn't turn their backs to us,
fearing for their lives.
They spoke softly
so that we didn't hear them.
They laughed, looking at us.
It was them and us.
They gave us orders,
and that was it.
Abdelmalik couldn't take it anymore.
How could he have done it?
He said that 23,000 francs
to betray...
To watch them cut the throats of those
who he'd been living with for months.
He’d eaten with them,
laughed with them, played football...
They'd shown him their photos.
The worst is that... now it's over...
It’s not about betraying...
we wouldn’t be real Algerians, either.
To watch the guys you know,
get their throats cut...
yet not really give a damn
about independence.
But there were even
some French who were for it.
All they wanted
was to go home.
Like the engineer and his wife.
- That's what he thought.
- And the baby too.
- It was going around in his head.
- And the little one.
He didn't stop them.
And yet...
I didn't take it seriously.
What do you think?
I am French, Colonel.
He betrayed me too.
Idir died in 1962...
executed with his family.
He was left there with the others.
Those were the orders.
I saw those who were trying
to get into our trucks.
I saw their eyes...
I heard their cries as I banged
their hands with my rifle butt.
You've seen them too.
Those were the orders.
I saw their tears...
their rage, their despair.
Those were the orders.
I saw a captain weep,
leaving his men behind.
He knew what was going
to happen to them.
So did I.
You too, Rabut, you knew.
We all knew...
and we let it happen.
They'd been sure they'd
never be left behind...
being brothers in arms.
And Idir is dead.
Like the others. Everyone.
His parents, his brothers,
his nephews...
His grandfather
who survived Verdun.
And we stay alive.
"This wasn't Verdun."
Even I ended up believing it...
that it wasn't war.
What do call it,
if it's not war?
How do we talk about the prisoners
that we released, before killing them?
The ones we cast in concrete?
The ones we threw into the sea
from helicopters?
Who do we tell?
The woman we love?
Our mother?
Would you tell your mother?
We were all finding
that we'd changed...
that we were hardened...
that we'd become men...
that it was time it all ended,
as the farm was in need of hands.
But that someone
would listen to us? No.
Even friends didn't want
to hear about it.
Not a single one.
Because they'd turned
a new leaf.
Because life goes on.
Do you think life goes on?
One day, it ended.
There was jubilation...
overflowing joy.
Algerian flags everywhere.
The people in the streets, the children,
women, parrots, songs...
And the furniture thrown
out of the windows...
chopped up with an axe,
to leave nothing behind.
Not a plate, not a bath, nothing.
Cars overturned, burned,
or pushed off the top of cliffs.
The noise of crashing metal.
The cries of children,
frightened for their lives...
as if they knew what was
happening around them.
Those who leave are traitors!
Traitors are put up against a wall!
De Gaulle's troopers are traitors!
Dad has gone crazy.
They let them
kill us!.
He saw Bernard's letters,
he knew I was leaving.
I didn't ask where
the bruise came from.
Slaps didn't do that.
You wouldn't tell me anything.
I couldn't even write to Bernard
to explain to him.
It was only afterwards,
when you told me.
We left, and left everything behind.
All our possessions, our memories,
our cemeteries, our dead.
What did my daughter understand
about this suffering?
She was at that tender age...
The age at which you can
start a new life anywhere...
so long as you're with
the ones you love.
The chaos, the hatred.
The never-ending attacks.
The mutilated bodies.
The screams. The tears.
The madmen of the OAS...
who wandered the streets
to eliminate Europeans
who wanted to leave
or Muslims who came to work.
Stop shooting!
Stop shooting!
Lieutenant, please order them
to stop shooting!
The massacres, the mass graves...
The French colonials, lynched,
kidnapped, gone forever.
Nobody wanted to know.
We knew.
We didn't say anything.
We're back.
We brought gifts, flowers,
coffee cups and saucers.
The others didn't ask questions.
Or stupid questions.
If it's as big as a camel.
If it's bigger than a cow.
If it's true Muslim women
shave their pubic hair.
The old people still said
that it wasn't Verdun.
We'd reply, "You said it, grandpa!"
And laugh.
We acted as if we could forget.
We turned a new leaf
and got back to work.
We barbecued a sheep
on Saturdays.
Veterans' meetings.
Went to the war memorials.
Sang the national anthem.
And at night, walked in the woods,
talking to our dogs.
I won't go.
I don't want to see
what I couldn't prevent.
I'll stay here.
I'll wait for the police
to tell me that it's over...
that they had no choice,
and it's closed to discussion...
that in these cases,
you can't take any risks.
That if I'd been there, maybe
it could have ended otherwise.
Or else it'll be Solange
who'll come and tell me
that everything that I did
worked out well.
And maybe even
if I had been there...
And come to think of it...
it was a total bloody shambles
about nothing much!
She will thank me and...
And I won't know why.
Then she'll breathe a sigh of relief...
and say, "It's over now...
"It's ancient history."
A story of the past, yes.
An unimportant story
that will be forgotten...
and will join the heap
of all the stories
of no importance
that we've wanted to forget...
which pile up to make the walls
of a house in which we lock ourselves...
With doors that we don't know
what they might lead to...
and others that we'll never open,
for fear of what might
be hidden behind them.
How long have you been up?
Not long.
Come back to bed.
You don't need to be up for an hour.
I'll come... you go.
No, I'm not going.
I don't have to.
What on earth would I be?
It's been so long
since I last called you "cousin".
It's not because of Reine.
I don't hate you
for that anymore.
Nor for the "uni boy".
Or that fight over there
where you almost killed me.
None of that.
I won't go,
because I can't stand you any longer.
I can no longer
bear your presence.
I can't stand what you've become.
I can't bear the ghosts
that accompany you.
I can no longer bear
to think of you there...
alone with your dog,
your memories, your hatred...
and all the old resentments
that stopped you from living and loving.
Above all, I can no longer bear
to see what I should have become...
if I hadn't accepted things...
accepted to live with them...
make do with them.
No, I won't go.
I won't go to Patou's for a coffee...
nor to anyone else's, who wants
to explain something or other.
I already know
all I want to know.
I know everything.
I think of Solange who must be
waiting for me with the police.
But I won't go.
I'll stay here.
I'll move as little as possible,
in whatever time I have left.
That's how I'll wait.
I'll think of Feu-de-bois.
I'll think of Bernard and Mireille
when they danced together..
I'll think of Algeria.
Of the sea
I'll think of Idir.
I'll think of Fevrier.
I'll think of us at 20.
Subtitles by FatPlank for KG
Hi, Feu-de-bois.
So you came?!
Why wouldn't I come?
It's my sister's birthday!
Hi, Marcel.
Solange...
Solange!
Solange...
Happy birthday, Solange.
Didn't need to, Bernard.
Well, open it.
You're nuts.
He's nuts!
No need.
Like it?
Yes.
I wasn't sure about a flower...
but as you like birds so much,
I figured...
Put it on.
Yes, of course...
I'll put it on.
There.
So!
I'll give you a kiss.
You do like it, then?
Of course I like it.
That's not the problem.
So what is the problem?
Bernard, it's worth a fortune.
Don't you worry about that.
How could you afford it?
None of your business!
It's beautiful...
It's certainly beautiful!
Well, I'll take it off now.
No, don't!
Why are you taking it off?
Because it's too nice.
It's not.
How could it be
too nice for you?
No, it's too nice for this dress.
Don't you agree?
Where did you find the money, then?
How did you manage it?
That's no one's concern.
It does concern us!
You never had anything.
We've given you
everything you have.
Like this suit...
It was Roland's.
And that shirt, too.
You forgot?
We always helped you
as best we could, and you...
How could you?
With what money?
He robbed the old lady!
You robbed the old lady!
That's enough now!
Right? That's enough.
You all shut up!
Of course, that was it.
He'd gone and helped himself...
when Solange and Evelyne
had taken her to the retirement home.
He was well accustomed
to stealing from his own mother.
But to him, it was not theft.
No...
He was just recovering
what was his.
It was easy...
he knew all the hiding places.
He'd found them.
I don't give a damn
about those idiots.
Should've seen them turn!
Like rats... vultures...
All of 'em.
It's because of them
she removed the brooch.
Not because of the dress.
It's a nice dress.
My heart would've farted
if I'd stayed there...
Farted in my throat.
It's because of them,
not because of the dress.
It's a nice dress.
What is Solange doing?
How would I know?
Stop being pissed off,
and come and sit down.
Someone's actually
talking to me!
Talkin' to me!
Coz people are watching, eh?
They're all there
Except for the dead.
The dead didn't come.
That's a good thing.
Better they didn't come.
Imagine if they'd come?
And Reine?
What'd she 've said...
Reine? Eh?
And the dead infant? All gone.
It's a pity the dead infants
didn’t come.
With Reine, they were the only ones
who meant anything.
Yeah...
So... the bachelor?
With his bachelor's degree.
Something between
him and me.
I would have liked
to try for uni...
and he thought that
was pretentious.
It is true, that here,
at the time...
and also...
in our family...
But I would've liked it.
Where's my sister?!
Where's Solange?
Oh, Rabut! Where's my sister?!
Still in the kitchen?
Most likely.
It's her party...
and she's the one in the kitchen.
Aren't you ashamed
to let her do everything?
Bunch of slackers!
Bunch of slackers!
What does the bachelor
have to say?
And him there!
Him! He can be there, he can.
He can be there,
while I...
Bernard, stop it!
That dirty Arab can be there.
You get out now... get out!
Ignore him, Sayid, it's nothing.
For years I've wanted
to punch you in the face!
Your goofy face!
Shut up!
That's enough!
Now you're leaving.
Go on, get out!
Go on... Get out!
Rabut, help me!
- Go, Feu-de-bois!
- Okay!
Stop your raving...
None of that here.
No dirty Arabs.
Understood?
None of that in our place.
Well, you didn't always
spit on the Arabs, did you?
Who said that?
Who said that?
The Algerian French
are not Arabs!
They're not Arabs!
Take this back,
and get out of here!
No.
Get out of my sight!
Solange...
Fuck off!
Now now...
It's what everyone dreaded
and it's happening.
As if it had to happen,
of course.
As if it were written.
So the men rush in.
The strongest.
The bravest.
Those who are least
afraid of him.
Roland, Marcel, Roger, Alex.
Not me.
Impossible for me.
My body refuses.
Nobody hits him.
They know his strength.
They know he'll remember...
that he'll know exactly
from who each blow came.
So no one dares...
and everyone protects himself
as best he can.
She was the first girl
that I'd held in my arms.
20 years old
Rabut... Another record.
Here...
Look at this.
What are you doing here?
Nothing.
Just visiting.
I have the right, don't I?
I think you've
been drinking.
No matter, but you
can't stay here.
You need to leave.
And why should I leave?
I'm fine here.
It's cool, I'm fine.
There are cakes... I'm fine.
You need to go home, Sir.
I am at home, here!
More than you, Arab.
More than your Arab husband
and Arab children.
I'm at home everywhere,
If I want to stay, I stay.
And I get blotto if I want to.
And you just shut your mouth!
And if you're not happy,
go home.
You dirty Arab!
Yes... this is my home...
my village...
In my village!
My village, you dirty Arab!
It's over.
Who was he?
Who was he, Mum?
Don't talk.
Oh, fuck!
Bourlem, stay quiet here.
Shut up!
Close your eyes!
Shut up!
Close your eyes! Close your eyes!
- OK, Rolland?
- All's well.
- Hi, Marcel.
- Hi.
- A small wine?
- No, thanks. I'm looking for Rabut.
Sorry to disturb you,
but since he's your cousin...
and you're on the municipal council...
- What's the matter?
- Not here. I'm with the police.
What are you going to do?
What do you expect?
We don't have a choice.
No one's been killed.
So he fucked up. So what?
- You call that a fuck-up?
- Yeah.
Tomorrow he'll apologize...
of his own free will.
Being sorry isn't good enough.
Too easy..
I'm fed up with these guys
who get drunk on our taxes.
He has to stop
pissing us off.
That thing with the brooch
was premeditated.
The problem is
what happened afterwards.
We just can't let it pass.
It'd be better if you
came with us, Rabut.
It's not a good idea
to go there now...
pissed as he is.
He's not a bad person...
It's probably bad wine.
Does he have a gun?
Like everyone.
Best to let him sleep it off.
We'll go down in the morning.
Rabut?
I agree.
OK. 7.30 tomorrow...
in front of the police station.
Don't worry, we won't be alone.
I arrange what's necessary.
No, it's on me.
Thanks.
Goodnight.
Mayor...
Yes?
Do you remember the first time
you saw an Arab?
No, nothing.
See you tomorrow.
What I wanted to ask him, was,
if he'd been there.
Where? In which unit?
What he's seen.
If he'd been frightened.
I knew he was too young.
It didn't make sense.
Shit, Rabut...
He's your cousin...
you could've defended him.
What'll happen now?
Get off my back!
You don't know who he is.
He's not a poor guy.
He's not a nice person...
He's never been nice.
The things I could tell you!
Like when he used to
throw kittens against a wall.
Or when he weighted frogs,
so they'd drown.
No I won't talk about them...
Just boyhood pranks.
Come close to me, Solange.
Don't cry, little sister.
Will you take care of her?
Yes.
Will you love her
as if she was me?
Yes.
Her name was Reine.
She died, leaving the child
of an unknown father.
Get out of here!
Get out of here,
you bastard!
I'm not making this up...
I was there.
I'd answered Nicole's questions.
Night was falling.
I was cold.
And now,
I had to tell Solange.
I told everything.
I saw the anger
and sadness came over her.
She didn't want to
leave the children.
This time,
she knew she couldn't
do anything against
what others would say.
The police were going there.
The old resentments
would fall on him.
What did he actually
do to her?
No idea.
She couldn't stop the hate.
Until we get his statement,
we don't know.
She wouldn't even try.
She'd let things be.
Well, there's still...
meat and cakes in the fridges.
You can share them.
It'd be a shame otherwise.
I know it's not you, Sayid,
who's making up stories...
You never have.
No, I want him to come
to see you, and apologize.
He has to, because ...
Yes.
Yes. I understand.
Yes. Yes.
'Bye for now.
He won't file a complaint.
He doesn't want
to make a fuss.
He never has.
One day, we had to choose
an employee representative.
No one wanted to do it.
It's work, responsibilities...
It takes up time.
Then eventually, Sayid has said...
"I'd like to do it."
There was stunned silence.
No one dared say a thing .
People looked at each other...
But no one was
looking at him.
Then...
big Marcel said...
"Very well, in that case,
I'll do it myself."
"Everyone OK with that?'
I don't know if
everyone agreed...
but no one objected.
Not even me.
And Sayid stood there...
without saying a word.
I would've said what?
I'd believed that by being forced
to work with you...
to live with you... that we
would've become the same.
I think you were brave.
I didn't understand...
...that I couldn't speak
for you.
I couldn't represent you.
I was wrong,
and it embarrassed you.
What did you do with the brooch?
I put it in the spare room.
I'll take it back to the jeweler,
and get the money back.
He'll be obliged...
it was stolen money.
I agree.
And I'll return their part
to the others.
They're right... it's true.
Such a brooch!
What made him do it?
It was to shame them.
Anyway,
you always said it.
- What?
- That he was like that.
You too.
You knew.
He's always been like that.
Not always, no.
Yes, he didn't even write to you
when he got married.
Stop, Rabut.
You know he always wrote to me.
Otherwise how would you
know he was married?
And when he had his boys,
he also wrote to me.
And before, from Algeria, he wrote
to me at least once a week.
But not to our mother,
that's true. Oh no!
Not from Algeria or Paris.
Ah yes, the telegram to say
that he'd never come back
when you two finished in the army.
Other than that,
nothing for 17 years.
All because of a lottery ticket.
For him, it wasn't
just a lottery ticket.
It was about him making
a new life for himself.
She bought 2 cows with it,
that's all.
Oh yes... And fixed the barn roof.
No problem for him
to make a new life.
In any case,
he never forgave her.
Well for her, it's the 17 years
without news that she's not forgiven.
She should have!
A son is a son.
If one of my sons...
I don't know... a son,
for a mother... Nicole?
Yes, I think so.
How could she?
He didn't even introduce
his wife to us.
Never!
And we don't know his children.
We don't even know
what's become of them.
Do YOU know?
- No.
- How is such a thing possible?
We were their family!
Nothing to do with you.
At his place, there's not even
a photo of his sons.
And when Dad died,
he didn't come to the funeral.
Does that also have
nothing to do with us?
How could she have
forgiven that?
He ended up coming back anyway.
Anyway,
she never loved him.
Always saying awful
things about him.
To his face,
without embarrassment.
That he was
a worthless brat.
Even in front of people
we barely know.
It didn't bother her.
And he's just smile...
as if it was quite normal...
as if he agreed with her.
And the more she said
bad things about him...
the more stupid things he did,
to prove her right.
That one's always had
a big mouth, that's all.
It's not all!
You were there when Reine died.
You heard.
No, stop with that now, Rabut!
Stop it!
You know nothing.
You can't know the remorse
he felt afterwards.
He was so young.
He knew nothing about anything.
He only listened to the priest.
You don't remember
how he was?
Raving mad.
Inflexible.
He has his prayer-book with him
while tending the cows.
No... What he said to Reine...
We shouldn't even
think about it.
But he understood afterwards.
He understood.
He never forgave himself.
But the words
have been said.
He'll die with them.
But the others, there...
always spitting on him...
What were they thinking, eh?
Think they lost any sleep? No.
Because for a 17-year old girl
to be dying like that...
It was what she deserved...
It was like that in those days.
Everyone thought that.
Not me, Solange.
You neither.
Alright!
Come on, it's OK.
What's the point of
talking about it, now?
Bernard is how he is...
but he was always nice to me.
And when he talks about Sylvie,
he doesn't say "the bastard".
Never.
A family of crazies,
that's what it is.
A family of crazies.
The Lord is with you.
You are blessed among all women.
Cease fire!
And Jesus,
the fruit of your womb, is blessed.
Cease fire!
Cease fire!
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us poor sinners...
- Poiret, is that you?
- Yes, lieutenant.
At the hour of our death.
Fevrier, you OK?
Yeah, what is it?
It was dogs!
We found two, full of lead,
next day.
Our battle was not Verdun!
What was it we heard?
Seven or eight years later,
we heard from Fevrier.
It was in 1969 or '70,
one or the other.
The year when the Americans
went to the moon.
He'd decided to see some friends again
that he'd kept in touch with.
He was asking around.
Nicole has gone to bed.
He's had a few too many.
We don't tell ourselves the same
things after a few too many.
She isn't so pretty.
She's sort of faded.
She shouldn't have to live
on a council estate.
They're expecting their 2nd child,
yet no longer look at each other.
Or just a sidelong glance.
And the words...
The same.
Complaints.
Eternal complaints.
They were living in Clamart.
A hate-filled place.
Bernard worked at Renault.
Mireille did housework
occasionally.
She no longer saw her family.
She'd lost everything in 1962.
To set up a garage,
you need dough.
If you believe that her father
would lend us...
Maybe you should ask him!
For that, he'd have to
agree to see us.
I never asked for anything...
I'm not going to start.
I gave 28 months of my life
to protect your fucking orange trees.
And I have to go begging
to your father?
Fevrier, aren't I right?
When we got married,
I told you he wouldn't forgive me...
that we should no longer count
on even seeing them again.
You regret now, do you?
Admit you regret!
You were poor
when I married you.
You weren't marrying me
for financial gain, were you?
Listen to her!
I'm not ashamed.
What I've earned's with my sweat,
no one else's.
If you're ashamed of working,
go home to your mother.
What are you thinking about?
I was thinking of Solange,
when she took us home.
And that we'd left her alone.
I wondered what she was going to do
with the whole night ahead of her.
Is she going to collapse
from fatigue?
Go to the bathroom...
put on a nightgown?
Will she turn on the TV?
Stay there, in front of it,
without watching it?
Is she going to bed?
Switching off?
Hoping that fatigue
will knock her out till morning.
Will she imagine her brother
at Sayid's place?
Imagine her actions...
Those of the woman
defending herself.
Her body which resists.
Tears, screams, fear.
Will she let herself be invaded
by a host of jostling images...
one chasing the other?
Will she endure them?
No, she won't endure them.
Then she'll start again.
She'll wait for sleep to come.
But it won't come.
I know those sort of nights well.
They feel darker than usual.
Darker and darker
as the hours pass.
We start to hope
that we'll stay awake
because of the images
waiting for us to return.
But we doze off briefly...
and there they are...
...like flashes.
We wake up with a start...
gasping.
We're not sure
where we are.
There's sweat... and cold.
Tears, sometimes.
Going to bed.
Nicole's words to soothe me.
Mine to excuse me.
Don't worry.
It'll work out.
I know...
I know only too well.
I saw Rabut.
He came on the mail-train.
He's very fit.
You can tell his mother
if you see her.
He won a camera
in a contest.
He doesn't stop
taking pictures.
We seem to be lucky
in this family.
Him in particular!
His mother didn't steal
from him what he won.
At first I count the hours,
then I count the days.
It's been so long without you.
When I know the date
of your furlough...
I could count backwards.
I'd be happier counting
the days that bring us closer.
Fortunately, from time to time,
I see your cousin.
We met at the Meteor twice.
He's a nice guy.
He made me dance.
He's better than you!
We weren't that fond of each other,
but we stayed together if we met.
It had always been like that.
Since we were kids,
and there, even more.
There was an unknown thing,
that seemed to connect us.
Maybe something
from the country.
We'd sit in the shade
without saying anything,
then walk around the post.
He didn't ask about family news,
or about Nicole...
as to if we were still engaged.
About Mireille too... Never.
He said nothing.
Me neither.
Hello, Miss.
Hello, Bernard.
Smile at Rabut.
- His name's Rabut?
- Yes.
Can you tell me your name?
Fatiha.
How come I haven't seen him?
Good question.
Coz he's got
a cushy job.
He's stuck in the barracks.
Isn't that right, uni boy?!
Are we going to see the tortoise?
I don't know,
have to ask your father.
Mr Engineer!
Yes?
May we see the tortoise?
Yes, but Fatiha mustn't
enter the tents.
No problem.
Look at Rabut.
Just 35 days to go!
And demob!
Shut up! Some of us have
18 months to go!
Or 25!
Oh, Bergonnier!
Pics of your wife in the nude?
No.
You wish?!
I wrote to you
about all of it.
The boredom of chores.
Those who drank
till they fell apart.
I wrote of the sameness
of one hour after the other...
day after day,
night after night...
into weeks and months
and lost years.
I told you about guard duty...
the heat of the sun, the dust.
But most of all, boredom.
Weariness.
Your mind slowly emptying,
like an hourglass.
Waking up and eating
surrounded by others.
Evenings with others.
The same jokes,
the same games of belotte,
the same memories of back home
told a hundred times.
The letters that don't arrive.
The girls who've stopped writing.
And the food.
The things I told you
about the food!
It's not awful,
but there's never enough,
and it's always the same.
corned beef,
canned tuna, rice...
Always rice or beans.
I know, I hear that everywhere,
but it's not up to me.
Not too much alcohol?
I never drink it.
Makes me a laughing stock.
I didn't tell you he'd been kidnapped
while returning to town.
You can get dressed.
You're fit for service.
The MPs with him were found...
with their throats cut.
But not the doctor.
He was found later.
I didn't tell you about
the operations in the mountains.
The hunt for Fellagha bandits.
Raids into Douar and Mechta.
We never found anything,
but it calmed the nerves.
I didn't tell you about
the prohibited areas...
People expelled...
displaced by the million
into camps.
The silent villages...
like cemeteries.
Nothing living
in 100s of square kilometres.
Nothing at all.
Not one human.
Not one animal.
Nothing that would enable
a Fellagha to eat.
Nothing.
And napalm... as soon as
a trace of life is spotted.
We were pacifying.
Why do I remember
this clay jar?
How do the peasants here manage
to grow wheat in this sort of land?
It's not possible.
Anyway, now it's
in the forbidden zone...
There'll be no one
left to harvest.
It's not just Fellaghas
who are going to starve.
Empty these shacks, damn it!
Get on with it!
Get everyone
into the square!
What are you
still doing here?
Why aren't you outside
with the others?
Shut up!
What are you hiding?
Where are all your weapons?
The Fellagha, where are they?
Where's your father?
Are you a Fellagha?
Answer me!
Put your hands
on your head.
Where is Idir?
With the lieutenant.
Are there any weapons?
Rifles?
Where is it? Eh?
Is that what you're hiding?
I asked you a question!
Where are the guns?
Do you take us for idiots?
What are you hiding
under there?
Fevrier, stop!
Fuck you!
Stay out of it, Chatel.
Go search the old man
if you like.
Come here!
Hey... You know you're pretty,
don't you?
Yes, she knows it.
I didn't write
about all of it.
I told you about Rabut, Mireille,
the little girl.
I told you about the tortoise.
News about cousins, friends...
but the rest, no.
Maybe I should have.
But I didn't.
And I never will.
Because there are no words
capable of telling it.
Want my photo?
It'd make me
want to vomit.
- I make you vomit?
- You make me vomit.
Like what was done
makes me want to vomit.
Like the massacre at Oradour...
What's the difference?
Are you calling me a Nazi, Chatel?
Is that what you're saying?
I'm saying what happened
to them.
was the same.
My uncle was in the Resistance.
He was 18 when he was shot.
So you take it back,
right now.
And who are the Resistance
fighters here?
Go fuck yourself!
Defend yourself!
Defend yourself,
you piece of shit!
Stand up!
Get up, you little bitch.
Try to be a man for once.
For once!
Fight back!
Fight back!
Fight back, you piece of shit!
Fucking fight back!
Kastendeuch, that's enough.
That's enough now!
Three days later,
it happened with a Harki
[Arab in the French army.]
Because Chatel told him
Harkis were traitors to their country.
The Harki didn't like it.
He told him
he is French, like us.
That his family needs to eat.
And that the army,
is a job like any other.
Chatel didn't want to fight...
and he took a hammering
without saying anything.
That's your pacifist for you.
Jesus, have mercy on us.
Jesus, son of God, have mercy on us.
Jesus, son of the Virgin Mary,
have mercy on us.
Jesus, have mercy on us.
Jesus, God of mercy,
have mercy on us.
Jesus who loves chastity,
have mercy on us.
Jesus, who loves us,
Jesus, our refuge, have mercy on us.
Do you want us to pray together?
No.
I always pray alone,
except at Mass.
You don't think that prayer
is stronger when we share it?
We don't share anything, Chatel.
We don't believe in the same things.
You believe in forgiveness,
I believe in punishment.
You believe in the love of God,
I fear his wrath.
You believe that men are brothers,
and I already have too many.
You turn the other cheek,
I'll always hit back.
I didn't like what you said.
We're not Nazis.
Do you think people have
the right to self-determination?
No, and I don't give a damn.
What would you do if someone
prevented you from working?
If it was decreed that your village
was to be a prohibited area?
That you were forced out
and put into a camp?
What would you do if someone
occupied your country?
This is France right here,
in case you didn't know.
We're fighting for France.
We're doing our duty.
Get slaughtered like a sheep,
if that turns you on...
but let me pray how I wish to.
"Little sister,
for the 14th of July,
I'm getting a proper perm.
"I'll leave with the supply convoy
"and I'll be back with the next convoy.
"It will take four days.
"It is a beautiful city.
"Everything is blue and white.
"The sky, the sea, the walls.
"The streets smell of
grilled sardines and sausages.
"In the Casbah there are women
with red hair
"and tattoos on their hands...
"and others who show
nothing but their eyes.
"When peace returns, it would
be wonderful to live here.
"I'll tell you about it.
Love, your brother."
Love, your brother.
Little sister...
I slept at the hotel.
I hadn't thought about
where I was going to sleep.
And once I got here...
I followed Kastendeuch and Fevrier
to a street next to the station.
You have to register
and pay in advance.
There was a sink
with hot water...
and a shower on the same floor.
I told you that I slept
at the hotel...
but in fact,
I haven't really slept.
I was listening.
From my window,
I was listening to the port...
Sirens on the boats, engines.
The noise of the city, as well.
I'd never really listened
to that noise.
In a city, there's even sound
in silence.
But it's pleasant...
It's regular, soothing.
I'd never slept alone.
Always two or three brothers
in the same room.
Always someone coughing,
sniffling or crying.
That never stopped me
from sleeping.
That's how it was.
I never imagined it could
be otherwise.
But then, suddenly,
I felt light.
As never before.
Strong.
I felt I was a man.
I left aimlessly.
I walked in the city, alone.
I didn't know where I was going.
The streets decided for me.
My legs followed the slope.
I was no longer afraid,
no more enemies.
The war and the doctor
forgotten.
The world was lovely.
The people were beautiful...
Their faces, their smiles.
The sky, the sea,
the sound of the lapping waves...
...of the sand, of the wind.
I didn't know that beauty
could make you cry.
I wonder why.
No one had ever taught me.
I knew nothing.
I've thought of you,
over there, in the village.
I thought of pals when we laughed
about niggers and wogs...
when we'd never seen any.
I thought back to the stories
of Grandpa in 1914...
The Senegalese infantrymen
who were sent as the first wave
to terrify the Krauts
and who fell by the dozens.
They died for France, too...
but there's no monument
showing their names.
I would have been Harki.
Yes. In their place,
I would've been Harki.
Because the Fellagha slaughtered
poor guys like me
who understood nothing...
Just that it was good for France.
And France has lasted
a long time.
Hi!
(Arabic)
It was a butchers shop.
During artillery barrages,
it went on for hours
and hours.
On one occasion...
it went for more
than 100 hours....
...without ever stopping.
Over 4 days.
We were waiting to die.
There was nothing
we could do.
Bodies were blown
into the air.
Then flesh fell like rain.
It was raining blood.
The blood of the dead
mixed with ours.
And sometimes the whole trench
was covered...
and the guys were buried alive.
We were like statues...
made of mud.
It was everywhere.
Mud.
Like a yellow sea of mud.
I saw a captain
who'd gone mad.
He was looking for clumps of grass,
and when he found one...
he dressed it with his comb.
I saw it.
(Arabic)
I had a bad conscience
and I didn't understand why.
The shells...
They were French.
French people who were fighting with us.
Sometimes it was just bones.
Sometimes, it still looked
like a man.
Sometimes it was a friend.
No one can know.
The cold... The rain... The mud.
And the fear.
And the madness.
There are those
who commit suicide...
there are those who go mad...
because they're sick
of being afraid of dying.
That was Verdun.
So, were your grandfathers
at Verdun?
Not in Verdun,
but in the Somme.
It was the same.
In 1940, my father
was taken prisoner at Douai.
When he came back,
I no longer recognized him.
I was told to kiss my dad...
All I saw was a tall,
bearded, skinny guy...
who looked nothing like the one
who I'd been shown in photos.
I was scared of him.
Like your father,
when I came back...
he always asked me when
are they giving me back my arm!
Thanks for coming.
- Thank you.
- Come back another time.
I wouldn't tell my pals
that I'd come here.
I didn't know why...
but I knew I wouldn't tell them.
Let's go!
Bring the stretcher.
It was lying
in a strange way...
the right arm hidden,
the head in profile...
pulled back.
But the throat wasn't cut.
That was the main thing.
His throat wasn't cut.
His mouth was open, eyes black,
hair grey with sand.
His skin the same... grey, taut...
not yet burned by the sun.
We could still see
that it was a human being.
We could just recognize him.
But a few days later,
we would have found carrion.
They'd left a photo
in his pocket.
We used to see it on the wall.
They looked at the camera.
It was still working.
They'd cut his flesh.
Scraped everything
down to the bone...
from the wrist to the shoulder,
with knives.
They had done this
to a living man.
Where was he?
Down the hill...
500 metres past the pass.
They wanted to be sure
we'd find him quickly.
- You saw his body?
- Yes.
- How was it?
- Not pretty.
They castrated him?
Shut up!
They always do it.
No, he wasn't castrated!
Want to know what they did to him?
Want to know? Want to know?
Calm down. Leave it.
He's an idiot.
Only dogs would do
stuff like that.
Fucking Arab dogs.
Don't take it personally...
they're just angry.
I'm not an Arab...
I'm Berber.
Can you give me another one?
Come on! We're boarding.
Hurry up!
That night,
reinforcements have arrived...
and we went there.
Come on... get a move on!
We could do nothing
for the guys' morale.
They needed to avenge the doctor...
Do that, both for him....
and for us.
So that every Arab would know
that it could happen to them...
they were going to kill 10 of them.
Maybe even 100!
So we did what had to be done.
I thought of that night, in 1944...
when an old woman
took us in the woods...
because an SS division were
on there way back to Normandy
and they'd been burning villages
along the way.
And you, the tiny infant...
who dared not cry.
Maybe you knew she wouldn't
hesitate to smother you...
so as to save us all.
And I thought of Oradour
as well.
And I thought if I'd been from here,
I would have been a Fellagha.
I didn't tell you, Solange.
I won't tell you.
Oh Bernard! Come here,
we were talking about you.
A beer for the soldier-boy!
Greetings!
How about spearfishing?
My father has a hut on the beach.
We're there all the time.
I guess so.
Hi cousin.
Where were you?
Wandering the streets.
I got a bit lost.
Ask me for a dance.
I'll never set foot
on the farm again... ever!
I'm finished with them. I'll have
nothing to do with them anymore.
It's your family, Bernard.
Now my family
consists of you.
You're enough for me.
With Solange.
We'll bring her to Paris with us.
Will your parents agree?
Sure they will...
because it'll save them money.
That's all that matters
to them.
It's going to be fine.
I think about it every night.
Selling American cars
would work out.
Parisians want Cadillacs
and Chevrolets..
not tin lizzies, understand?
And you'd do the books.
You'd be good at that.
Not here, Bernard...
Everyone knows me.
At least, everyone
knows my father.
Sorry.
We could go to the beach
tomorrow, if you like.
Don't scowl.
I'm not scowling.
I don't like the end
of furlough, that's all.
I'd like to live
near Monceau Park.
It seems very pretty.
And a park is important
for children.
Alright, we'll set up house
near Monceau Park.
I don't care where...
so long as it's in Paris.
Tomorrow... 2 o'clock at the Meteore?
Can't you make it earlier?
I have to be back at
the barracks before 5.
We have to be back at the post
before dark.
I can't make it earlier.
2 o'clock then.
Yes.
Till tomorrow.
Till tomorrow.
I've thought of the priest.
Of his sermons.
Of his lies.
Loving wasn't a crime.
I thought of Reine.
Of the harm that I'd done her.
That she was no longer there
to forgive me...
and that no one
could take her place.
You'd have been less miserable
if you'd come with us.
Fevrier saw his blonde again...
She lifted his spirits.
Wow, she lifted your spirits!
Her tits drive me crazy...
I could spend my life with them.
What?
Nothing.
I know what you're thinking.
Using whores is not cheating.
- I didn't say anything.
- You're judging me.
You don't have to judge me!
Calm down!
You're wrong, Dabenoc.
Think about it.... There are blondes,
fatties, niggers...
A woman for every taste.
This is cock-heaven.
It'd be a shame to have it
cut off before it was used.
Next time we'll take you
with us to get laid.
After that, you'll
never stop wanting it.
Here's to being demobbed!
Here's to the demob...
Happy days can't come too fast
Here's to the demob...
As the oldies say... what a blast!
- Ready?
- Yeah.
- Hi, Jose.
- Hi, guys.
Hi.
Aren't the others here?
They took the girls to the beach.
They'll be back later for a drink.
- Was Mireille with them?
- I really don't know... maybe.
Jose!
If your father is a farmer,
we're the same.
Not quite, though.
The soil is the same everywhere.
When we work it, we love it.
How many acres
does your place have?
- 30.
- 30?
Yeah.
- You'll go back to it?
- I don't think so, no.
I've a lot of siblings,
so after the army,
I'll open a garage in Paris.
I don't want to have a boss.
It's good to have ambition.
How stupid I am...
Of course you're never going to
let me marry your daughter.
I'm just good enough to die
protecting your vines...
your olive and orange trees.
It's for you, and your fucking 1000s
of acres, that we risk our lives.
I'm so stupid.
We're all so stupid.
Hi, cuz.
Hi.
Are you waiting for someone?
- No, why?
- Nothing.
Are you going back to barracks soon?
Yeah.
Another one?
3 beers.
Come and dance...
They're short of guys.
It's too hot.
It always is, in this fucking country.
Come and have a bit of fun.
Yours. My shout.
See that? He's making progress.
Come and rub yourself
against the forbidden fruit.
I told you...
Don't feel like it.
No fruit to your taste?
Or it is because the priest
forbids sampling before marriage?
"Forgive me, Father,
for I have sinned."
What's wrong, uni-boy?
What do you want from me?
Don't call me that.
Louder, uni-boy, I can't hear you
over this fucking music.
Are you setting out
to piss me off here?
Louder, uni-boy.
I wanted to ask you...
did you abuse the doctor, too,
when you collected his body?
And cleaned your nails
with your knife?
Stop it!
Bernard!
Come here!
Let go of me!
Let me go!
Smash his face in!
Do you want to kill him?
Finished!
He can't defend himself.
I don't know what he did to you,
but he doesn't deserve to die for it.
What got into you?
Aren't there enough deaths already?
What's bugging you?
I never thought I'd this
between two Frenchmen.
How would your mother feel
if she heard her son had
been killed by a comrade?
Do you think of your mothers?
It upsets me to see this.
We should be going.
You'll go when I decide
you're OK to go.
Our convoy must leave
before dark.
If it goes without us,
we'll be AWOL.
That's serious.
The convoy hadn't left.
The lieutenant had decided
to wait for us.
No one knows why.
Maybe he feels he has to come back
with the same number he left with.
That must have been it.
Or something else, unknown.
It was his decision.
Gentlemen, follow me.
I was expecting to get the usual...
Days of detention, military court...
assignment to an
even shittier zone.
But that would be nothing
compared to what awaited us.
I'm not responsible!
I brought them back to you.
Shut up! You'll explain
yourself tomorrow.
You two are a pain in the arse
with your bullshit.
Can't you get drunk nicely?
At that moment, we knew.
We didn't say anything.
It's afterwards we tell ourselves
that we already knew.
But here, no.
We didn't want to know.
Dabenoc, Fevrier, Khodja, Breniere,
to scout!
Of course, Bernard's name, mine,
because it all happened
because of us.
Because they'd had to wait for us,
and that somehow we'd done
the work for the Fellaghas.
Some have said that. Well...
No, they didn't.
Not quite like that.
They said, "That's your bullshit."
It wasn't even worthwhile.
We knew that if the convoy
had returned normally...
before nightfall...
it wouldn't have happened.
We knew that the post
was at half strength.
The Fellaghas wouldn't have attacked
if we'd been there.
But we stayed in town.
And they were aware of it.
The tower door
was not closed, not damaged... nothing.
The lock was intact.
It had been opened with the key.
Someone had opened it,
that was for sure.
So we thought of Abdelmalik
because he wasn't lying
with the others.
Idir also thought it...
even before we did.
They had done it without guns...
With axes, knives.
Then they left
with our weapons.
Dabenoc, Fevrier.
Dabenoc, Fevrier!
Fevrier, this is an order.
It was indescribable.
How to tell it?
There are no words...
It was beyond imagination.
And yet they had done it.
Some men...
Some men had done it.
We can always say
that it's Bernard's fault...
or yours or mine,
or anyone's.
Above all, it's the fault
of those who did it.
That's all he was thinking.
He might have taken tranquillisers
or be exhausted from work...
it didn't change anything.
He wasn't sleeping.
He thought about
what he'd seen.
About what he had done, too.
Afterwards . Elsewhere.
How many times did I tell myself
that I should've separated you...
come down on you harder.
Bernard especially.
Did I ever give a damn
about you getting home on time?
But him, yes.
And me.
Because if we'd returned
on time...
Not sure it would have
changed anything. No one knows.
Yes, we know.
I knew.
Bernard knew.
We all knew, and didn't need
to tell each other again.
No need to judge us, either.
We took care of it.
In perpetuity. Guaranteed.
Till the last breath.
After the death of the doctor,
the others stopped saying Fellaghas.
It was 'dirty Arabs' or 'rodents',
'darkies', 'wogs', 'boongs', 'melons'.
(Arab speaking)
They weren’t talking to us.
They didn't turn their backs to us,
fearing for their lives.
They spoke softly
so that we didn't hear them.
They laughed, looking at us.
It was them and us.
They gave us orders,
and that was it.
Abdelmalik couldn't take it anymore.
How could he have done it?
He said that 23,000 francs
to betray...
To watch them cut the throats of those
who he'd been living with for months.
He’d eaten with them,
laughed with them, played football...
They'd shown him their photos.
The worst is that... now it's over...
It’s not about betraying...
we wouldn’t be real Algerians, either.
To watch the guys you know,
get their throats cut...
yet not really give a damn
about independence.
But there were even
some French who were for it.
All they wanted
was to go home.
Like the engineer and his wife.
- That's what he thought.
- And the baby too.
- It was going around in his head.
- And the little one.
He didn't stop them.
And yet...
I didn't take it seriously.
What do you think?
I am French, Colonel.
He betrayed me too.
Idir died in 1962...
executed with his family.
He was left there with the others.
Those were the orders.
I saw those who were trying
to get into our trucks.
I saw their eyes...
I heard their cries as I banged
their hands with my rifle butt.
You've seen them too.
Those were the orders.
I saw their tears...
their rage, their despair.
Those were the orders.
I saw a captain weep,
leaving his men behind.
He knew what was going
to happen to them.
So did I.
You too, Rabut, you knew.
We all knew...
and we let it happen.
They'd been sure they'd
never be left behind...
being brothers in arms.
And Idir is dead.
Like the others. Everyone.
His parents, his brothers,
his nephews...
His grandfather
who survived Verdun.
And we stay alive.
"This wasn't Verdun."
Even I ended up believing it...
that it wasn't war.
What do call it,
if it's not war?
How do we talk about the prisoners
that we released, before killing them?
The ones we cast in concrete?
The ones we threw into the sea
from helicopters?
Who do we tell?
The woman we love?
Our mother?
Would you tell your mother?
We were all finding
that we'd changed...
that we were hardened...
that we'd become men...
that it was time it all ended,
as the farm was in need of hands.
But that someone
would listen to us? No.
Even friends didn't want
to hear about it.
Not a single one.
Because they'd turned
a new leaf.
Because life goes on.
Do you think life goes on?
One day, it ended.
There was jubilation...
overflowing joy.
Algerian flags everywhere.
The people in the streets, the children,
women, parrots, songs...
And the furniture thrown
out of the windows...
chopped up with an axe,
to leave nothing behind.
Not a plate, not a bath, nothing.
Cars overturned, burned,
or pushed off the top of cliffs.
The noise of crashing metal.
The cries of children,
frightened for their lives...
as if they knew what was
happening around them.
Those who leave are traitors!
Traitors are put up against a wall!
De Gaulle's troopers are traitors!
Dad has gone crazy.
They let them
kill us!.
He saw Bernard's letters,
he knew I was leaving.
I didn't ask where
the bruise came from.
Slaps didn't do that.
You wouldn't tell me anything.
I couldn't even write to Bernard
to explain to him.
It was only afterwards,
when you told me.
We left, and left everything behind.
All our possessions, our memories,
our cemeteries, our dead.
What did my daughter understand
about this suffering?
She was at that tender age...
The age at which you can
start a new life anywhere...
so long as you're with
the ones you love.
The chaos, the hatred.
The never-ending attacks.
The mutilated bodies.
The screams. The tears.
The madmen of the OAS...
who wandered the streets
to eliminate Europeans
who wanted to leave
or Muslims who came to work.
Stop shooting!
Stop shooting!
Lieutenant, please order them
to stop shooting!
The massacres, the mass graves...
The French colonials, lynched,
kidnapped, gone forever.
Nobody wanted to know.
We knew.
We didn't say anything.
We're back.
We brought gifts, flowers,
coffee cups and saucers.
The others didn't ask questions.
Or stupid questions.
If it's as big as a camel.
If it's bigger than a cow.
If it's true Muslim women
shave their pubic hair.
The old people still said
that it wasn't Verdun.
We'd reply, "You said it, grandpa!"
And laugh.
We acted as if we could forget.
We turned a new leaf
and got back to work.
We barbecued a sheep
on Saturdays.
Veterans' meetings.
Went to the war memorials.
Sang the national anthem.
And at night, walked in the woods,
talking to our dogs.
I won't go.
I don't want to see
what I couldn't prevent.
I'll stay here.
I'll wait for the police
to tell me that it's over...
that they had no choice,
and it's closed to discussion...
that in these cases,
you can't take any risks.
That if I'd been there, maybe
it could have ended otherwise.
Or else it'll be Solange
who'll come and tell me
that everything that I did
worked out well.
And maybe even
if I had been there...
And come to think of it...
it was a total bloody shambles
about nothing much!
She will thank me and...
And I won't know why.
Then she'll breathe a sigh of relief...
and say, "It's over now...
"It's ancient history."
A story of the past, yes.
An unimportant story
that will be forgotten...
and will join the heap
of all the stories
of no importance
that we've wanted to forget...
which pile up to make the walls
of a house in which we lock ourselves...
With doors that we don't know
what they might lead to...
and others that we'll never open,
for fear of what might
be hidden behind them.
How long have you been up?
Not long.
Come back to bed.
You don't need to be up for an hour.
I'll come... you go.
No, I'm not going.
I don't have to.
What on earth would I be?
It's been so long
since I last called you "cousin".
It's not because of Reine.
I don't hate you
for that anymore.
Nor for the "uni boy".
Or that fight over there
where you almost killed me.
None of that.
I won't go,
because I can't stand you any longer.
I can no longer
bear your presence.
I can't stand what you've become.
I can't bear the ghosts
that accompany you.
I can no longer bear
to think of you there...
alone with your dog,
your memories, your hatred...
and all the old resentments
that stopped you from living and loving.
Above all, I can no longer bear
to see what I should have become...
if I hadn't accepted things...
accepted to live with them...
make do with them.
No, I won't go.
I won't go to Patou's for a coffee...
nor to anyone else's, who wants
to explain something or other.
I already know
all I want to know.
I know everything.
I think of Solange who must be
waiting for me with the police.
But I won't go.
I'll stay here.
I'll move as little as possible,
in whatever time I have left.
That's how I'll wait.
I'll think of Feu-de-bois.
I'll think of Bernard and Mireille
when they danced together..
I'll think of Algeria.
Of the sea
I'll think of Idir.
I'll think of Fevrier.
I'll think of us at 20.
Subtitles by FatPlank for KG