Les routes du sud (1978) - full transcript

They phoned.

Really, Jean, it's no problem.

They said you or me, one of us.

You have work,

you stay.

This pisses me off. Especially now!

Why didn't they give any details?

They never give details, you know that.

Who knows, maybe it's nothing.

A letter to deliver, escorting someone.

Routine.



What about Laurent?

He's still sleeping. I'll tell him.

In any case,
you're the one he came to see.

Me?

He needs you.

Can't you imagine?

Laurent.

Laurent.

Oh, it's you?

How's it going?

What time is it?

It's still early.

I have to leave, Laurent.
An unexpected trip.

Spain again?



You'll stay with your father.

Promise me you'll try to be nice?

You know I have to go.

Yes. I don't know.

You know, it's 1975, Mom.

I'm a little sick of your antics.

The world's turned on its head.

The men stay home while
the women are off crusading.

It's June 21, 1941. We're in Poland,

along the demarcation line

that separates the
German and Soviet armies.

At a slow trot, a Russian cavalry squad

skirts the no-man’s land that
separates them from the Wehrmacht.

Note, in parentheses:

the duration of the film
must coincide exactly

with the actual duration of the events,

meaning from the moment of
soldier Korpik's desertion

and his meeting with the Russian cavalry,
all the way to the ending.

So, suddenly, a shadow
appears in front of the horses,

in the cloudy light of the
fading summer evening.

I found my rifle.

I'm off to shoot a bit.

Bye!

Bye!

Do you want some ice, Egon?

Oh yes! Plenty of ice cubes, please.

Could I have some, Jean?

What's Laurent up to?

-Why's he alone?
-He wants to fly solo!

So, you're here to play with me?

Want to try this?

Remember how to do it?

Yes.

Say, instead of taking tracts and
illegal newspapers to Spain for 20 years,

you should've organized
an attack on Franco.

Way more efficient!

Of course!

Why didn't I think of that?

No, seriously, listen to me.

Why do you still carry
suitcases for the Spaniards?

Habit?

Nostalgic loyalty for your comrades?

I know you don't believe anymore.

You know nothing of Spain, Laurent.

I don't mean Spain, I mean you.

Me?

I was 13 years old,

it was summer.

The civil war had just started.

In our village,
there was an abandoned palace.

We turned it into a military hospital.

In Spanish,
it was called hospital de sangre.

Hospital of blood.

We took the first wounded there.

One day, I saw a man on a stretcher,

blinded, with a band around his head.

He was going to die, no doubt.

But he raised his fist, all alone,
the salute of the Popular Front.

I've had dreams about it for 40 years.

You see? It's your slice of heaven.

You've already told me
ten stories like this!

No, never this one!

True, not this one, another.

Another one, so what?

You know, generally,
heaven's in the future.

For you, it's in the past.

A heaven of memories.

You'll see,
the day Franco is really gone,

the day when problems really arise,
it won't interest you anymore.

You're talking nonsense,
Laurent, nonsense!

Without memories, there is no strategy.

If we don't know the past,
it's impossible to dominate the future.

What are you dominating?

You piss me off, Laurent!
I can't talk to you.

You don't listen, you're a know it all.
So piss off.

Shit!

Ah, Egon!

-Cheers!
-To 20 years.

Come here boy, come.

Tiger. Tiger. Come on.

And Franz Joseph said:
"Welcome to Vienna, my lady!"

Oh, leave the dog,
sit with us a bit! Come back!

Ah, shit!

You working right now?

Yes, as usual.

It's nothing to brag about.

No, Laurent. I just meant…

It's fine, I get it!

Don't you ever buy cigarettes?

Nope, not this kind. Too expensive.

What are you working on?

A book? A movie?

A movie.

Can you tell me about it?

It's the story of soldier Korpik.

Ah! Korpik?

The brave soldier Korpik?

It's a true story, you know.

A German soldier, a communist.

The night before Hitler's offensive
against the Soviet Union,

soldier Korpik deserted the German lines
and went to warn the Russians.

From staff to staff,

news of the imminent German
offensive reached the Kremlin.

But Stalin refused to believe it.

This deserter isn't a communist,
Stalin decided.

He's an agitator.

He ordered the man to be shot.

Soldier Korpik was shot dead at dawn.

That's it?

That's enough, isn't it?

The film is the same
duration as the events.

But what events?

Nothing happens!

No, no, my friend,

there's no surprise, no suspense!

Stalin ordering your
innocent Korpik be shot

won't impress anyone!

That's why he exists,
it's his role in history.

And there are producers
who pay you for this?

Yes, you little shit,
there are producers who pay me for this!

And a lot!

Those guys must be masochists!

Laurent!

Laurent! Get a move on. It's ready!

Yeah, I'm coming.

-You sleep okay?
-Not bad.

Oh, so you're still unrivalled
when it comes to coffee?

Yes.

It's too bad that Eve left yesterday.

I hate it when you call her that!

I always call her that.

Well, I've always hated it.

Well.

I'll try again.

It sucks that my mother left yesterday.

Or better, that your wife left yesterday.

She told you why she left, right?

You're normally the one who goes.

It's either me, her, or both of us.

This time, she was as good as I.
So she took my place.

Ah, so you're replaceable, comrade?

Admit it's not boring.

You last saw me six months ago.

Eve… I mean, my mother,

scheduled a meeting.

Meetings need to be scheduled with you.

They don't just happen.

One week together: Dad,
Mom and the prodigal son.

Nothing but tolerance and understanding.

The Holy Family.

And when I arrive,
resigned to family happiness,

ready to let you talk my ear off
about the evil of Stalin,

Eve runs away.

So?

So.

Your political tourism made us miss
this lovely family reunion.

And while we're at it,
I'd rather be alone with Eve!

Same here, imagine that!

Hey, I've got stuff to buy in town. You…

think you can spot me some cash?

That's what I thought.

You've typecast me as the rich father.

The only thing you'll
accept from me is money.

What else are you offering?

Well, we could talk, for instance.

Since you left home,
you never come talk to me anymore.

Right?

I've nothing to say to you.

Fine, get out of here.

Go back to Paris, I'm done with you. Go!

Good morning, Charles!

Good morning, Mr. Larréa!

Ah!

I botched my little surprise!

The house was empty! How are you?

-Well, and you, Egon?
-Very well.

Ten more minutes and I was
going to drink my bottle in Switzerland.

You know that's the last straw
for a Hungarian Jew.

I'll help you, Egon. I sure could use it.

Good!

-You're alone? Eve's not here?
-No.

-The screenplay's ready?
-Yes.

-Here it is!
-Good.

-I'll leave you to it.
-See you later!

Jean! That's it, I'm done!

Okay, I'm coming!

Well?

It's great, Jean!

Really great!

It's great, but you're not interested.

I'm interested.

But I won't produce this film, honestly.

You could write a 30-page novella

or a 500-page novel on Soldier Korpik.

But you'll never make a movie about it.

I mean, a real movie.

With real actors, real distributers

who advance real money.

In short, you're not really a masochist.

What was that?

Sorry, private joke.

Far too private, my dear Jean!

Have faith in my extensive experience.

I started as a gagman
for Cecil B. DeMille, in Hollywood.

Cecil B. DeMille made comedies?

No, that's the point.

That's why I changed careers.

In any case, there's no rush.

We have another month to find
a subject we agree on.

Yes.

We'll end up with a detective film.
With a social message, of course.

Laurent left too?

Yes.

Could you give me his address in Paris?

Laurent's address?

Of course.

You didn't know he sent me a screenplay?

I need to talk to him about it.

And he didn't leave his address
with my secretary.

No, I don't have Laurent's address.
But Eve should have it.

No problem, Jean. I'll figure it out.

-Goodbye!
-Goodbye!

-You know the way, right?
-Of course!

He won't stop killing.

He's a walking cadaver
and he's still killing.

Do you want a little brandy?

Yes, please.

I'm sure he died,

last summer, when he had that
thrombophlebitis attack.

They put him in the fridge.

They're hiding it from us,
so no one moves,

so they can keep killing in his name.

But tell me, Garcia, what does
Spain mean to you now?

Well, shit!

It's still where my father
was shot dead, right?

-The last news bulletin's on.
-Yes, go on.

As night falls, violence broke out
in response to this morning's execution

of five young Spaniards.

These acts of violence have doubled in the
Champs-Élysées neighborhood in Paris.

Dozens of shop windows were shattered,
shops looted,

cars burned.

A bomb even exploded in the
Simca-Chrysler showroom

right by the Arc de Triomphe.

Police forces have
arrested numerous young protesters

who will be brought before
the criminal court.

Franco, murderer!

Franco, murderer!

Franco, murderer! Franco, Giscard, Ponia!

Giscard, Ponia complicit.
Franco, murderer.

Isn't that Laurent?

My car, Garcia. I'm going to Paris.

-You okay, Laurent?
-What's it to you?

Say, I thought Spain was folklore,

outdated nostalgia.

And now look at you, picked up
outside Franco's embassy,

protesting like a brave little soldier!

How do you explain that?

You're mixing it all up!

Am I, now?

The guys they shot were 20 years old.

Nothing to do with your crap.

In any case, I saved him
from criminal court.

I'll make sure the court forgets his case.

Thanks.

I never asked for any of this!

You want to go back?

No use, I've had my fill.

It's as fun as a weekend with family.

What were you expecting?

Did you want me to thank
you for being famous?

That impresses the judges.

Thanks, thanks a lot!

You're Laurent's father.

Laurent who?

We lost him last night
in front of the embassy.

Don't worry. Last I saw him,
he wasn't lost at all!

The cops didn't arrest him?

They did. But Daddy fixed it.

So now he's a free man.

Is he back at his place?

His place? I have no idea where he lives!

I know nothing about him.

It's simple, really.

If you want, I'll tell you.

Come in!

What do you want to drink?

Coke with lemon.

Here you go, coke with lemon.

So I hear you make great breakfast?

We here to talk about me or Laurent?

Same difference.

You're Laurent's problem.

You're clouding his vision.

He wants to write, you write already.

He wants to get into politics,
you've been there already.

And the only woman he cares about,
you're sleeping with her.

What can I do? Kill myself?

That's not a bad idea.

Another solution is for
him to become an adult.

Tell me, does he talk about us?

I mean, his mother, or me?

Hi, it's Michelle.

Don't forget to come for dinner Monday.
See you soon.

Mr. Jean Larréa,
This is the Foreign Affairs Ministry.

We have a message for you
from the French consulate in Barcelona.

An urgent message.

Your wife was in a car accident
near Girona, early this afternoon.

A very serious accident.

Please call us immediately at 555-95-40.

I repeat: 555-95-40. Thank you!

Franco! Franco! Franco!

I know it's cold comfort, Mr. Larréa.

But medically, we tried everything.

Was she driving very fast?

No. At least, not very fast.

She lost control of the car.

Maybe she felt faint or was
blinded by the glare, who knows?

Franco! Franco!

Franco! Franco!

It's October 1st.

Thirty nine years ago, to the day,

General Franco was named
Head of State by the grace of God.

To prove to us that he's still alive,

last Saturday, he ordered the death
of five young antifascists.

So the good people were called upon
to celebrate two events:

the charismatic leader's birthday
and the death of the dissenters.

The ritual of dictatorships.

My mother, you know, she…

Nothing, sorry.

Another time, maybe.

Another time.

I'll be happy to see you again!

Like I said. Castilian folklore.

I was commissioned to drive

just one person to the appointment.

Speak French. This is Laurent, my son.

That's not my concern.

They only mentioned you.

He's my son, I tell you!

It was his mother who died.

Fine. I'll take you both.

But…

but he'll stay with me, at first.

Okay.

So… where do I start?

At the beginning, I don't know.

The comrades told me to tell you

how sorry they are for
everything that happened.

As for me, I regret…

I'm sorry to meet you in
this kind of situation.

Listen, Miguel,

I'd like to talk about all this
in front of Laurent, please. Okay?

How's it going?

-Stay here!
-Yes.

Well...

Eight days ago,

the police came to arrest Martorell.

You know Martorell?

During the arrest, he managed to get away
by fleeing across the rooftops.

He camped out in a hideout
that's been set up a long time

in another apartment in the place
where he lived clandestinely.

But…

the police continued
to stake out the neighborhood.

They were convinced
that Martorell wasn't able to leave.

So, we had to get him out of there.

To do that,
we needed someone Martorell knew

and the police didn't know.

Eve or you, for example.

You should've said! I'd have come myself.

Over the phone?

Said all that over the phone?

And I mean, Eve or you, same thing.

For me, I think Eve was
even more credible.

And she managed very well.

Then, Eve…

escorted Martorell to a country house,

in Empordà.

She was perfect!

Martorell's freedom against
my mother's death. You think that's equal?

There's no comparison, you know that.

Martorell's a boss, I presume?

Yes,

Martorell is a pseudonym
for one of our leader's, it's true.

He's worked clandestinely for 15 years.

But that has nothing to do with it.

Listen, Laurent,

it's not because Martorell
is a "boss" like you said,

that your mother had a stupid accident.

She died anyway.

So the only one who won't die is Franco.

Wait!

I'm not sure how to tell you, Laurent.

Don't tell me, it's better.

By the way, I understand.

You understand?

Understand what?

Loyalty.

I don't agree, but I understand.

I wasn't thinking of myself.

Me, neither.

Of you, I mean. I don't know.

Of loyalty… your loyalty!

Eve found an expression.

I'm not surprised!

"We lost our certainties,

but kept our illusions."

Not bad!

But they are illusions, you know.

Is Laurent back?

Listen. Once and for all,
I'm not Laurent's keeper!

You're not his keeper, you're his father.

So?

If you must know, I don't
respect bonds of kinship.

Did you read Laurent's screenplay?

What's it about?

Well, it's the story of a suicide.

A man and woman who are in love,

who decide to die together, at age 60.

Ah yes, the story of the Lafargues.

Well, that's cheerful!

About as cheerful as Korpik's execution.

You're a pain in the ass,
knowing everything about everyone!

Why the hell are you here?

Well you know, we've come home. Like you.

And the girl?

We've been trying to call for days.

You weren't answering, we were worried.

Really?

You poor things.

You came to play Mom and Dad.

Here to pamper the unhappy old man, huh?

But I don't need you!

Get out of my sight!

See that?

A Smith & Wesson 1143.

The orange paint isn't original.

Did I tell you my dad
is a hero of the Resistance?

Look. A memory of the former hero.

Former fighter in the Resistance.

Former fighter for communism.

Twenty years dedicated to Stalin's cult,

and 20 more years to wondering

why and how he fell into this trap.

Stop it, Laurent.

Former fighter for avant-garde novels.

Former fighter for political films.

Stop it, Laurent!

And the day when death was really there,

on the street corner,

you let Eve take your place.

What are you doing with that thing?

Here, old boy. I'm terrified!

Shit!

Laurent!

Oh, my boy!

What are you doing?

Making the bed.

You're not staying with Laurent?

What's it to you?

You get to decide who I sleep with now?

Goodnight.

Bye!

It's just us two.

Laurent left.

This morning, his room was empty.

He left me a note.

Saying what?

It was for me.

Are you staying?

It's been a rough year.

I think a bit of rest would do me good.

No, but really, I don't have
enough money to go back.

Even hitchhiking.

Never mind that!

I'd be happy to pay for your trip.

One more time won't hurt.

That's one too many!

I don't take you for a rich daddy!

You really know everything, huh?

You've got a neurotic
relationship to money!

What?

And yet, it's simple.

You want to be loved, accepted as you are.

But your money is you.

You're the one who chose to have it.

And why shouldn't one love your money?

In short, you refuse to grow old.

Why has this year been rough?

I won't say anything before eating.

Hey, Mister!

I need clean sheets.
I'm moving to Laurent's room.

You've made your bed, now lie in it.

What's that mean exactly?

It means you must suffer
the consequences of your actions.

Suffer, I don't like that.

Accept, then. That's even better.

"Accept," that's more modern.

Julia. My name is Julia.

I'd prefer you know my name
if we're going to sleep together.

Seventy. Thanks!

It's happening, it's happening.

Have you heard? Yes. He's dying.

Some say he's already dead!

Thank you.

…disease from last year, suffering…

Don't you find it depressing
that he's dying in his bed?

Listen, Jean. Dictators always
die in their beds, don't they?

Look!

Salazar and Chiang Kai-shek
and Peron and the others.

Mussolini?

That's the exception that
proves the rule! And even then.

If the war never happened,
he surely would have died in his bed, no?

If the people were capable
of hunting dictators,

they'd stop them from
rising to power first.

It's simple enough, right?

So tell me, there's nothing to do?

Of course there is. We need to
fight, whatever happens.

But dreaming's useless.

-Cheers!
-Cheers!

Why do you keep all this?

Old habit. It's easier to
remember this way.

Oh, yeah?

You're scared you'll forget
the endless agony of General Franco?

It's been going on a week now.

And if they keep him
alive like this, for months,

what will you do then?

Me?

Yes, you. All of you. The Spaniards.

Oh. It's for me. I'll get it.

Any news from Laurent?

Ah, you're both so childish!

Is that so!

No. I mean, separately,
you're both basically adults.

It's your relationship that's childish.

Go on.

You're so assertive toward each other.

Always competing,
always something at stake.

But you don't play the same way.

You play double or nothing,
and he turns his loss into a win.

The only one who won't die is Franco.

Where are you from, really?

"I know not where I'm from,
I know not where I'll go,

I find myself surprised at
my joyful glow."

That's very beautiful.

Very, very beautiful.

But you didn't write that,

Walter Benjamin did.

Shit!

My lovers aren't normally this cultured.

It impresses them.

I'm too old to hear
about your lovers, Julia!

You don't know where I'm from,
you won't know where I'll go.

But you're free.

Thank you for this gift, my kind lord.

No more yes, Dad, yes, boss, yes, honey!

At the appointed hour,
the general appeared.

He appeared.

But no, he thinks, it's not a general.

It's a generalissimo.

Maybe even the last living
generalissimo in the whole world.

Because Chiang Kai-shek
died not long ago, in Taiwan.

It didn't make the front pages,

but, Chiang Kai-shek was indeed dead.

Stalin, too.

The news, at least,
of Stalin's death spread,

in the 1950s.

And despite appearances,
it seemed he was really dead.

So, at the appointed time,

the generalissimo appeared.

Yes.

I'll love again who ever that is

I'll love don't you know my heart

Nights are waiting, days are waiting

Waiting high in the sky above

Follow me to love orphan

I wanna love again

Arja. Francine.

I just met them in the village
as mass was ending.

It's a reference, isn't it?

They're going to stay with me a few days.

We're hungry.

Bye.

In all your films,

in all your screenplays,
and in all your books,

Spain has a very important place,
or it serves as a backdrop.

Is it really your primary preoccupation?

Well yes,
it's the country where I grew up,

and it's where I hope to die one day.

-Yes.
-Well, that's a bit solemn,

but it means what it means.

So you hope to die there,
but you don't live there now!

That's true.

But I think there's a reason
for that, you know.

Firstly, I'm from a family of exiles.

Do you think an exile
is well-equipped enough

to judge the domestic
situation in a nation like Spain?

The truth is,

for a long time, I was an
exile who came and went.

That means I had an overall view

from out in the field, if I may.

Do you agree with your husband?

I don't always agree with Jean,
but in this case, yes.

At what point did you become French?

No, I didn't become French…
not "administratively speaking."

However, your true homeland is language.

Little by little,
my childhood tongue faded.

It receded little by little.

I started writing in French.

And I became doubly exiled,

from my childhood homeland,
from my childhood language.

No, in the end, you see,
your homeland isn't one word. It's words.

And would you move to Spain
if Francoism disappeared?

Of course.

And it wouldn't bother
you to be an exile, then?

You wouldn't find that scary?

Not at all! It would be wonderful!

You join us now from Jean Larréa's home…

What do you think you're doing?

Everyone out!

Go on! Get out! Go!

Author of many books…

Julia!

Julia!

Julia!

SO, WAS I FREE?

I TOOK SOME CASH FOR THE TRIP.

KISSES. JULIA.

Ah, you're the one who took it.

I looked everywhere for it!

I didn't take it. I'm bringing it back.

Well, that's perfect then!

You return items,
even those you didn't take yourself.

I hear you're working.

That's what you'd call a successful
reintegration into society, huh?

You want something to drink?

Remember? Long ago, you told me there's a…

a false bottom in Mom's travel bag.

Yes, I remember well.

I wanted you to know everything.

Yesterday, for some reasons,
I showed Julia.

This was in the false bottom.

Laurent!

Laurent, where you going?

Laurent!

Laurent!

I'm good with locks.

We talked all night, Laurent and I.

He said you needed to know.

I didn't want him to
bring you the red journal.

But I know it's my fault.

If I hadn't stolen the bag,

you might never have known,

maybe.

What's your game? What do you care?

We'd have discussed Miguel,
Eve and I, if she was still alive!

I spent 25 years with Eve.

Day after day, night after night.

We shared everything,

including our failures,
aversions, boredom, betrayals.

Including the distance that grows slowly

and the urge to escape
the relationship prison,

this sacred performance of family.

So don't bother me with your grand airs!

Now beat it! Go on, beat it!

Take me to Barcelona.

I'll explain it to you.

Take me.

Attention, Spaniards,
the president of Spain,

Don Carlos Arias Navarro, will now speak.

Spaniards,

Franco is dead.

Franco is dead!

Before God,
and the history of our country,

I assume this immense responsibility.

Franco is dead!

He gave his life for this country

day after day,

and with great sacrifice.

Take whatever room you want,
it's easy, the hotel is empty.

You should come back next summer.

Now, everything will change.

All the Francoists aren't dead.

You'll see! They'll become democrats.

They'll change it all themselves,
so nothing moves.

Will they succeed?

They have the power.

Just give them some time.

I don't understand.

What do you want?

To suffer, erase yourself, revenge?

Revenge? Certainly not.

Erase myself, yes, maybe.

But everything's already erased.

Pleasure erases itself.

Was it pleasure?

You have been living for centuries
with the same man.

You don't even know if you have a body.

You crave sensations
that come from your desire,

that aren't the reflection of the other.

You're burning her last letter.

Apparently, you're done listening to her.

"It's like I lost my body.

But finding it for a few hours
doesn't lead me anywhere.

It's losing it with you that's important,

that's what matters."

FRANCO IS DEAD

Why are they like this?

-How?
-Silent.

Forty years is a long time, you know!

Goodbye!

It's the best meal I've made in 40 years.

It's true.

He died in his bed, Miguel.

We're not the ones who overthrew him.

Yes, but who cares.

-Nuria, get me an ashtray, please.
-Good.

The natural death of the dictator
means the political death of his regime.

And that… the actions of
the masses provoked that.

No!

The actions of the masses,
in alliance with Parkinson's disease.

Tell me, what's the deciding factor?

The masses, or Parkinson's?

Parkinson's, probably.

Keep that to yourself!

If you want, we can find
a theoretical formula:

Parkinson's disease greatly
determines the action of the masses.

In any case, now the people will move.

We need you with us.

Yes we do!

We're here, stronger than ever.

Each year of fighting has strengthened us.

Sure, our predictions
haven't always come true.

But we exist, that's the main thing!

If Franco had survived three more years,
you'd be even stronger.

Didn't he die too soon?

No, he didn't die too soon.

The ones who died too soon are ours.

Excuse me.

Laurent didn't come this time?

No, Laurent didn't come.

He brought me the red journal
but he didn't come.

The red journal?

It's nothing. It's already an
old story in the past.

-You want some cognac?
-Yes.

Is Martorell well?

Yes, he's well.

Two months ago, when Eve
came here to Barcelona,

did she know she would see you?

No, she knew nothing.

How long since his wife died?

Should we get out of here?

Whenever he talks politics,
it's the prayer wheel.

We've all been there.

Not me.

Wait.

You can tell,
he's a bourgeois intellectual.

Stop. Lenin wasn't
the son of a janitor, as far as I know.

Miguel's been taking all the risks
for a decade.

So what?

Brave bourgeois intellectuals exist,

as well as heroic public servants.

Soon, they will be MP's.

Here comes the ultra-left stomping in!

Not at all!

It's good, democracy, MP's.

It's a thousand times better
than fascism, at least.

It doesn't get me hard, that's all.

"Physiologically contradictory."

You didn't say that, Malraux did.

Let's get to work.

Jean, you know Dr. Casamitlana.

Mr. Larréa,
I'm very happy to see you again!

Now, I can tell you.

I more or less understood
what your wife was doing in Spain.

I met her the night before her accident,
on the road to Girona,

she was with someone I knew well, once.

We used to call him Martorell.

Cognac?

Yes, thank you.

Sit down, please.

For me, you understand,

she was one of the last
deaths in the civil war.

My first death was July 19th, 1936,

in Catalonia Square.

Thank you.

Nearly 40 years of this.

I was studying medicine.

Julia.

You're a woman, after all.

But don't let us sink into oblivion.

But you live only through memories!

How can we live with you, all of you! How?

I can't take it.

I'm leaving.

Your key!

I'm here to get Julia.

Too late.

She came with you, no?

Tell me, in October, when you left home,

why did you leave me Julia?

Was it a game, a provocation,

to trap me?

A bit of all that, yeah.

So she'd talk to me for you?

So she'd love me for you?

The opposite.

So you'd try to love me, through her.

So you'd talk to me, through her.

What happens to us now?

You'll get old, like everyone else.

You'll die, like everyone else.

No.

No.

I'm starting over.

You see,

you often spoke a lot of nonsense,

but you were right about one thing:

the heaven of memories.

But…

you know where to find me.

Subtitle translation by: Anca Ulea