Gentlemen & Gangsters (2016): Season 1, Episode 3 - Kapitel III - full transcript
CHAPTER V
BLACKOUT
Okay. It's 1975.
- Leo found Hogarth dead...
- Shush!
...in his house in Bromma.
Got scared. Uncertain about
taking it further. Asked you.
I should have stopped
the whole thing.
But sometimes it's like pulling a cork.
Once Leo had decided,
there was no way back.
He went right in
and started asking questions.
Hey, are you Berka?
He's over there.
- Hey, are you Berka?
- What?
I found your name
in some old ledgers.
So?
You started here in 1941, didn't you?
Might have.
What's that for?
If it's about Janne Gunnarsson
and that bleeding car,
I know nothing.
He took off. I'm in the clear!
Listen, I want to know
what happened to Tore Hansson.
I'm a friend of his son Verner.
We grew up together.
He's a pretty tormented soul.
Finding out what happened
would mean a lot to him.
We've done a lot of boozing
in this factory.
Three years ago,
a man was squashed under a container.
The driver was drunk.
Now, alcoholic beverages
are strictly forbidden here.
But walk a kilometer
along the factory road
and head towards the lake.
There you'll find a narrow path.
On the side of the lake is a barrack.
There, you can drink as much as you want.
- You haven't got the heating going?
- Is there any?
There, on the table in front of you.
Hansson worked at building sites
as a lad...
and some scaffolding fell on him.
He had a stutter and a limp.
When I got here,
he was one of the best.
He retrained as a lathe worker.
He was a bit special, he was.
Fussy as hell, almost obsessive.
People kept their stuff in order,
but he was more particular than most.
When the whistle went,
his tools were lined up.
Each in its place.
One morning, he noticed
his things had been shuffled about.
He thought someone
had been buggering about,
but then he found swarf and spill
where he knew he'd cleaned up.
There were no other shifts,
so he talked to the foreman about it.
Of course, he knew nothing.
Things improved then, but not enough.
Anyone else would have let it go...
but Hansson was the way he was.
He couldn't stand it.
He had to know.
He stayed behind one night,
to find out what was going on.
They made parts for weapons.
Bolts and barrels.
Our workshop
was suddenly a weapons factory.
A German weapons factory.
And he told you?
The following day.
He was going to a newspaper, but...
He never got there?
And you?
I'm still here. Dead soon, though.
It's the dust.
Hogarth's in today's paper.
"A fighter
for uncomfortable truths
passed away at home
after a period of illness."
Illegal arms exports
to the Third Reich.
A truth so bloody uncomfortable
that people still die because of it.
Hogarth's officially considered
to have died after a long illness.
Do you believe that?
No. Besides, I have evidence.
Where did you get these?
From contacts.
Wilhelm Sterner
is going to have problems.
- Have you spoken to Verner?
- No.
But he has to know
before it goes to press.
He'll hit the roof.
Easy now, Leo.
As you know,
this magazine isn't doing that well.
This would boost circulation a bit,
then it'll be as slow as always.
I know you'll be angry
and hate me and all, but...
I wanted to tell you
that I'm not printing this.
There.
That's where
they will be at their most useful.
We have a golden opportunity.
Sterner doesn't want trouble.
He'll pay anything for our silence.
When did you get like this?
Leo, it's not 1967 anymore.
What about Verner? What do I say?
Whatever you want.
Buy him a crate of booze.
He's sick,
but you're a damn sight sicker.
- Go home. You'll get it.
- What?
That you're a fucking blackmailer?
Verner,
I had set my hopes on this, too.
It didn't pay off.
And the old guy in Bromma?
Hogarth.
He drops dead,
just like that?
He was a bit senile, to be honest.
So my dad just fucked off?
Well, no one knows for sure.
Apart from him.
A limping, stammering
useless piece of shit.
When a pedantic person disappears,
he does it properly.
Yeah. You could see it like that.
What? Hey you...
Hey, this is no place to lie.
Do you know anyone here?
Do you know where you are?
I can't go home.
- You'll freeze to death.
- We'll have her picked up.
I don't want to.
I'll only sit here a while.
- I promise.
- I've seen her before.
She'll come around soon.
Grab one arm.
Oh, no. Not again.
There, legs up. Oops! Sorry.
I hope Leo hasn't found anything, now.
All of it.
Oh, well, I suppose
it was a good deed.
Or a bad omen.
CHRISTMAS EVE
Henry, I can't take this! I'm off!
- What about your present?
- I can't take any more!
Leo.
Just have
some mulled wine, then.
- Did he leave?
- Yes.
What the hell, never mind.
Let's open our presents.
Merry Christmas!
Yesterday, I felt a bit generous.
I thought we weren't doing presents.
Well, no, but I got one anyway.
Oh, well. Me, too. Merry Christmas.
"When crisis is at hand
Hang yourself in this Parisian band"
"Merry Christmas, Henry!"
This isn't true.
This is just too much!
- Thanks.
- Thanks so much.
- Merry Christmas.
- Merry Christmas.
This is bloody gorgeous!
Let's eat!
Franzén's advance was gone.
I hadn't delivered
one line of "The Red Room".
I didn't yet know that I was going
to tell a completely different story.
Grandfather used to tell me
about Shackleton,
his Antarctic expedition.
It was 45 degrees below,
the boats got iced in
and they continued on foot.
When they made camp in the evening
and it was dark,
they counted each other
to check no one was missing.
Then it often felt like
there was one man too many.
It was as if every one of them
felt an inexplicable presence
of someone unknown at their side.
Four names are mentioned as possible
ministers in a new government.
Your good friend Wilhelm Sterner
is in pole position.
Why does he want to do shit like that?
He's been talked into it.
He doesn't want to be a minister at all.
He isn't doing it free of charge.
He's asked for certain benefits.
Access to certain services.
And I think that means
you should be quite careful.
The Bahamas.
When are you leaving?
Tomorrow morning.
And you?
Are you spending New Year at home?
Yes, well, I've got Leo.
And your tenant?
- Is he still there?
- Yeah.
Oddly enough.
Start emptying it, then.
Get that bike out.
Let's get to the wood.
Thirsty?
There's that bugger, blowing away.
- Have you ever heard Bill play?
- Nope.
Put this down. Let's have a beer.
We've spoken about you.
You should come back.
We've got some gigs.
Oh? When would that be?
One week at Fasching in March.
And a tour.
I'll be damned.
You need to get going again.
I'm going full steam.
Ask him. This is Klas, my tenant.
I asked Maud, but she knew nothing.
I don't shoot my mouth off about it.
A solo concert. At the Södra Theatre.
Okay.
What are you doing with that?
- Collecting wood.
- Alright.
Think about it, though.
Happy New Year!
Hey, you should accept his offer.
Klas, you just don't get
these things.
Just keep sawing.
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky
The flying cloud, the frosty light
The year is dying in the night
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die
A bad year came to an end,
and an even worse one set in.
And it was as if Henry knew it.
He, the unyielding optimist,
sat in silence this New Year's Eve.
As if waiting for fateful news.
He hardly said a word until it came.
Hello.
This could get difficult.
I think it calls for overalls.
He called in the middle of the night.
It was creepy.
I didn't recognize his voice,
but something was up.
"Who is this?"
I was shouting on the phone.
Finally, I got it out of him:
"It's me."
I didn't hang up, but went across
to my neighbor to trace the call.
You got the map?
It's supposed to look like this.
That's not exactly
a wealth of information.
Apparently, it's close to
a military shooting range.
It's probably some old summer house
they've helped themselves to.
Who's "they"?
Did you have an argument, or what?
No, he just left.
He can't... stand Christmas.
He's not alone.
And he's been boozing since then?
Most likely.
Are you sure you'll manage this?
Yes. At least I think so.
A cry for help. What else do you do?
Some people just cover their ears.
And that's bloody terrible.
How long's he been out?
This time it's two months.
It's so sad.
It never gets any better.
Turn it up a bit, please.
What the hell are you doing here?
We haven't done anything.
You can't just walk in.
Who have you spoken to?
I haven't got anything.
It's my gear, but I ain't got none.
You can't nail me for anything.
I'm Leo's brother.
Do you get me? His brother.
Is that true? Leo?
- He's not that good.
- No, I can see that.
Please sit down.
We're good. Friends.
Klas and Kerstin and I'm his brother.
- He's coming back to town with us.
- Not now.
You're drinking yourselves to death
out here, my dear.
- Has Leo taken anything?
- He just drinks.
- Shit. Shit.
- Klas, get me some snow!
- As fast as you can!
- We had a thing going.
Shit, it was so far out!
You've got to see what we've done.
You've just got to see.
Everything sucks!
Hey, you! Stop!
This is how we put our foot down!
Come on. Leo!
For God's sake,
this must wake you up!
Stop, for fuck's sake!
Watch out, Klas!
This is how we put our foot down.
Easy, now.
Jump.
What?
Go on, then. Jump!
Klas!
This is how we put our foot down.
This is how we put our foot down!
...put our foot down!
Let me go. Let me go!
Hold him down.
Stop! Stop fucking struggling!
Where did all that booze come from?
There's too much
that's unsaid here.
Which of his mates want him
to drink himself to death?
This time,
I won't let him ruin things.
I will have my concert
whatever happens.
I don't know
how you put up with it.
It could be pure coincidence.
Nothing's a coincidence.
Cold turkey periods
can vary in length.
Anyway, we went back to
a sort of routine.
Calm was restored.
A deceptive calm.
We stocked up on kerosene
to last for six months.
Other stores were depleted,
once and for all.
Henry tried not to let anything slip.
And we handed in our betting slips...
as if things were back to normal.
Shall I open the curtains?
No, leave them.
In this apartment,
night exists
as a constant possibility.
- Sorry.
- For what?
For the shit you've ended up in.
- Where's Henry?
- At Maud's.
What do you think about that, then?
Don't know. I've never met her.
It's sick.
It's sicker than I am.
I need a beer. What?
Will you punch me if I try to run?
We haven't discussed
that possibility.
Watch out.
This flat is unhealthy.
- What's your bed called?
- Goering's Old One.
- Do you know why?
- No.
See?
If I were you,
I'd get out of here.
Shit, take a look around.
What's really happening here?
- So much you don't know.
- I don't want to know.
- You can't avoid it.
- What?
I don't know.
The madness, perhaps.
It tries to get a hold everywhere.
- I have to try and protect myself.
- You can't.
It seeps through the concrete.
There are positive signs, too.
Are there?
Resistance.
Some kind of anti-citizens
refusing to accept evil.
Punk rockers defending Kurds.
Teens chasing Nazis
in posh schools.
Action groups. It's always something.
Indeed. Always something.
But there is so much you don't see.
Selective vision.
What do you want to see?
I don't need utopia to survive.
- I can afford to be pessimistic.
- Utopia is indestructible.
You've listened to Henry
for too long.
Henry is a living, walking,
blue-eyed utopian dream.
- Henry is harmless.
- Don't be too sure.
- You don't know his lies.
- I don't want to.
I have a soft spot for mythomaniacs.
One day, you'll see.
You might as well be prepared.
Here, Spinks.
There, there.
I'll show you how I put up with it.
Stuff like this
helps me put up with it.
Alcoholics don't convert before God.
They've already got the right idea.
They already stoop willingly
before a supreme authority.
I met him in London in '63 or '64.
He basically just sat there,
hammering the keys.
Should your relationship with Elton
John go in the concert program?
No. But I should have told Kerstin.
In those days
he had a different name.
Have you ever thought about that?
Changing your name?
No. Never.
Starting from scratch.
Somewhere else.
How's Maud?
I should've been there now.
She wanted a word.
Something has to happen.
Something good.
Hell, lots of good things
could happen, right?
You have your book.
I have my record.
"Recorded live in the Södra Theatre."
This could be a good year.
Excuse me.
Today's fucked anyway.
See you later.
We'll see.
True. You never know.
Leo?
Leo!
Yes?
"Don't believe what they say."
You'll be wondering where you are.
You're in hospital.
You fell and hurt yourself.
"You were knocked out
and Leo was taken away."
A friend of yours was here.
He left you a letter.
"I know who they are.
I'm sick of them.
I'll get even, once and for all.
I advise you to go home.
Stockpile enough food, barricade
the door. Don't answer the phone.
Don't let anyone in
unless you trust them.
Crying, I wish you success.
Your friend Henry Morgan."
Who is it?
Shirt delivery
from the dry-cleaner's.
Oh, it's you. The brother.
That's 170 crowns.
Call the concert hall
- Södra Theatre.
- Hello.
I'm writing the program for Henry
Morgan's concert at the end of May.
I was wondering when you need it.
- What was the name?
- Henry Morgan.
He's a pianist. A solo concert.
Jörgen, do we have
a booking in May for a Henry Morgan?
Sorry, no one here
has heard of a Henry Morgan.
Hello?
Shall I charge it to Morgan?
If so, I'll have a few more.
Of course. As many as you like.
- So sad about Leo.
- What?
That he had to be re-admitted.
That he couldn't
take care of himself.
I'd been well and truly conned.
But I still did exactly what he said:
stockpiled food.
Built a barricade.
"The Red Room" was pointless.
Other things
were more important to tell.
More important, eh?
And what might that be?
AUTUMN 1978
A still spring rain
was whispering over Horn Street.
The Year of the Child,
election year, 1979.
My friends had disappeared. One by one.
Maybe it would be my turn soon.
All I could do was wait and stay alert.
Make time pass by telling my story.
To explain things.
Maintain my sanity...
and everything else
that was slipping away.
Of erecting a monument for Henry Morgan.
And it did turn into a monument.
Or at least some form of justice
in case they remained lost.
In case it was said:
"Those people never existed.
Those crimes never took place."
In that case, I was a witness.
And there were more of us.
You must be the tenant?
CHAPTER VI
You must be Maud.
You must be the tenant.
- Have you heard from Henry?
- No. Have you?
It's a long time since I was here.
And he says he's so poor
and has sold everything he owns.
This isn't poor, exactly.
- But it is lugubrious.
- It's supposed to be.
Everything's still here.
Just a lot of bric-a-brac.
Truth and Falsehood.
Why are the curtains drawn?
That's how it's supposed to be.
Here, night is a constant possibility.
It's midsummer soon.
When were you last out?
Is that wise?
They almost beat me to death.
I'm not with them.
- What's he said?
- He's said a lot about you.
Like what?
- Here.
- A new book?
Henry spoke a lot about you.
I got curious.
Jesus Christ.
- Are you nervous?
- No. Why?
- What's that, then?
- A work-related injury.
You don't trust me.
I can feel it.
Do you want anything? A drink?
- A gimlet? I found a bottle of gin.
- No, thanks.
I'd love a glass of water.
Thanks.
They call this bed Goering's Old One.
I still don't know why.
And you've slept well in it?
Not for a while.
A sedative? You might need it.
You mean I'll have to trust you?
Sometimes, there's no choice.
If so, you have to be very clear.
If so, I will be very clear.
I've made some decisions.
Difficult ones.
I've put an end to things,
and started a new life.
It might sound pathetic,
but it's true.
So why did you come here?
I've got some information for you.
Oh, I see.
Another blackmailer.
That's not how I see it.
The Hogarth affair is history.
There are new things.
Worse things.
Going on all the time.
Things Henry doesn't know about.
Regard it as an opportunity.
A cry for help.
- Some just cover their ears.
- That's bloody terrible.
How long's he been out?
This time it's two months.
So sad. It never gets any better.
- Has he taken anything?
- What? No.
- Don't worry.
- Has he?
- We've been drinking.
- Henry? Henry!
- Dammit! Help me!
- We've only been drinking.
Don't worry.
Where did all that booze come from?
Hell, what are you so miffed about?
...for real... Real war!
Yes!
You don't necessarily believe someone
just because she's crying.
But if she cries because she reads
about her beloved,
it comes easier.
Particularly if you are
the one who wrote the book.
God, it's so sad.
But you still have a lot to do.
Henry...
He's too much.
- Sort of not quite feasible.
- But it's true.
"Smoke your cigarettes slowly,
comrade"
Isn't he capable
of absolutely anything?
Geographical directions are never...
...vertical
Yes, sadly.
And you...
and I know that.
But if you don't know him,
he seems too much.
- That's my problem.
- I can help you.
Give him a brother.
- A brother?
- A classical method. Two brothers.
Faith and doubt.
Truth and falsehood.
It wasn't.
It was a Tuareg name.
Happy and sad.
I'm just out from Långbro.
He's enough for two people.
A pianist and a binge drinker.
And a blackmailer.
How did all that add up for you?
I had to really make an effort.
Just as you are, right now.
I'll give you information.
Facts.
About terrible things.
About people with very dirty hands.
The Hogarth affair
is bigger than that.
Do we dare?
I wouldn't dare keep quiet.
Ladislaus.
Lenin.
Leopold. Leo.
- Leo Morgan.
- Leo Morgan?
You need a truth-teller.
Now I'm hungry.
Look. My old stereo.
The one that got stolen?
I thought that was make-believe.
It must have been badly written.
I haven't been here since last winter.
We were out looking for firewood.
Ran into Bill.
I don't want to meet him now.
- I never go south of the center.
- I know.
You think I am like I am in your book?
An unreliable upper-class broad?
Leave it like that.
It's Henry's fault.
Everything is Henry's fault.
- Let's drink to that.
- Hear, hear.
What was the last you saw of him?
We had a coffee at the Wimpy bar.
There was an Elton John track
playing in the background.
He had just come out of
one of his periods.
That twinkle was back
in his eye, you know.
He showed a tourist the way on a map.
Then we went our separate ways.
He was just going down town.
He left with a "Cheerio, old chap."
Alone?
Yes.
He was going to your place.
He never showed up.
- If he should come.
- We'll notice.
Can I stay overnight here?
- In Goering's Old One?
- Is there another?
It's probably just a turn of phrase.
Here. My number.
Are you planning on staying here?
I don't think it's a very good idea.
Can you let me out?
If Henry came back,
he'd see through me.
That something had happened.
Sooner or later, it would come out.
So I had to get away from the flat.
It really was an unhealthy place.
To Lilla Essingen, please.
Why don't you
stir that food clockwise, instead?
If you do everything, I can read.
That's not what I meant.
It makes for more harmonious food.
- This is Klas.
- Hello, Klas!
- Hi, Klas.
- Hello.
- Excuse me.
- Sure.
Once, she'd been stoned and seen
wild animals on the motorway.
Now, she was done with drugs
and saw wild animals for real.
She thanked the sun every morning.
We had forgiven each other.
Breakfast.
Listen.
A larva. Under the bark.
Next summer, it'll be a butterfly.
Watch out
so it doesn't crawl into your head.
You should watch out
for those people.
Stay here instead.
Autumn here is totally magical.
Hunky-dory. You can live on nothing.
Pick mushrooms.
Eat lentil stew.
Take a hunting license.
You could do your writing upstairs.
I want written confirmation
that our son won't be called Bilbo.
Never!
We pretended it was possible
to simply start afresh.
That I was ready for this silence.
It lasted a few weeks.
I didn't say where I was going.
No one understood me.
Not even myself.
There was only one place
I could see myself.
A Singapore Gin Sling.
Once you end up here,
you never get away.
What happened to that book?
There was a lot of talk about it.
It fell through.
- I'm doing another one.
- More fun?
Here and now?
Yes, you could put it like that.
Interesting to find you here.
I thought you'd given up.
You just disappeared.
You as well. You never called.
- I made you an offer.
- Is it still on?
It depends.
Are you just going to stand there?
I'm not sure I can trust you.
Are you two back together?
I have to leave now.
He can't afford a scandal
a month before the election.
Have you heard from Henry?
No.
Have you?
No.
I just wanted to say I'm pregnant.
Easy now, it's not yours.
It's Henry's.
Wilhelm doesn't know.
He can't have children.
Damn you!
Ten thousand, and not a single line.
It didn't work.
- A bad idea.
- "The Red Room"?
It was good enough for Strindberg.
Your idea was better.
I did what you said.
I wrote about this.
About a man
who acts behind the scenes
and has to clean things up.
I've had information about certain
dealings from a very reliable source.
- Dealings?
- You'll see.
- When?
- Soon.
Very soon.
You're a dead man.
THE ENVOY - AUTUMN 1979
Autumn came.
Sterner's party was on the winning side.
He didn't get a government position,
why he'd ever want that,
but things got cleared up around him.
The film Henry and I were extras in
premiered in October.
Henry'd been edited out.
They wanted to wipe out every
trace of him, as a display of power.
I don't know what's worse:
To miss someone who's disappeared
or see him disappear again?
He's been edited out.
Every frame.
Did you go for a drink?
You could have called.
You're just like Henry.
You want anything?
There's a special public servant
they call the Envoy.
"The Grafter" to Wilhelm
and his friends.
He's got his own security service.
He cleans up for people
in high places after people
who've ended up in the shit.
When Henry disappeared
I asked straight out.
Being a ministerial candidate,
Wilhelm had use of those services.
He denied it.
Promised.
But...
Well...
I want nothing to do with them.
They've ruined everything.
Henry as well.
I suppose he got what he deserved.
They reflect each other.
One mimics the other.
Sweden sells arms to fascists.
Henry and his so-called
journalist friend have evidence.
And Wilhelm Sterner, the capitalist,
has to pay for their silence.
Great friend, huh?
Rotten.
To the very core.
In the end,
he didn't even need money.
A crate of Smirnoff was enough.
Can you understand why I don't want
anything else to do with them?
I was probably
more in love than I knew.
What Maud told me
went straight into the book.
Wilhelm Sterner's arms deals
with corrupt dictatorships.
Bribes ending in Swiss bank accounts.
Good and bad switched places.
Like truth and lies.
Like money.
In a world
full of darkness and war...
and absolutely impossible love.
Do you remember this bastard?
Unbelievable.
- Why, hello.
- I say. Hello!
Damn.
- What's that?
- Records I borrowed.
- When? In 1965?
- Pretty much.
So you're the sod who had this.
Hell, sit down.
I've booked the laundry.
Should you be doing that?
Yes, it's exercise.
Hell, in the old days
birds just lay there and swelled up.
Get hitched, why don't you?
She's done with Sterner.
And Henry will never
pull his finger out.
Last time,
he was gone for five years.
No, thanks.
You could have sprogs of your own.
Don't be such a stiff.
I've seen how she looks at you.
Might be bad conscience.
About what? Him?
Oh, get real.
I'd forgotten how good this one is!
- So you're not coming?
- Bill...
- See you around.
- Okay.
You're absolutely not coming?
Are you leaving?
You don't have to.
- Stay if you want.
- Would you like that?
What are we pretending for?
Are we trying to fool someone,
or what?
He thought we should get hitched.
Bill... Always in favor of
"doing the right thing".
At least according to...
Thinking of anyone special?
His grandfather
used to talk about Shackleton.
Some expedition to the South Pole.
They lay in their tent at night
and it was minus fifty outside.
- They used to do a head count.
- That's Eliot.
A footnote to "The Waste Land".
I wrote an essay about it at school.
"Who is the third one
walking beside you all the time?
When I count,
it is only you and I together,
but when I look up on the white road
there is always someone else
walking beside you.
Gliding along in a brown hood.
I don't know
if it's a man or a woman.
Who walks on the other side of you?
You don't need to say
that you love me.
You only have to say
if you want me to love you."
Klas here.
What? Is it the baby?
Look.
"Zum Schwartzen Kameel, 1/12."
What does that mean?
It's a bar in Vienna.
It's from Henry.
- How do you know?
- We've been there.
Vienna's great for hiding.
So... So he wants you
to go there, or what?
He doesn't know I'm pregnant.
He's gone underground.
No way.
Aren't you glad he's alive?
Yes.
Of course I am.
Well, someone's got to go there.
Darling...
She had her way, of course.
Henry had to know about his baby,
so I, the messenger, took the train.
Passport control!
Passports, please.
I don't know who arrived, though.
One swindler, to meet another?
Good day.
I couldn't tell him about me and Maud
or the book.
He'd wonder why,
but I couldn't
without showing my guilt.
And that might lead to anything.
If anyone was in for a surprise
in Vienna, it was me.
I was surprised and shaken.
Are you waiting for someone?
I'm sorry, I don't speak German.
Are you Swedish?
Yes.
A fellow Swede, how nice.
May I...?
Please.
I have the impression that you,
like me, are waiting for someone.
A friend.
Who hasn't shown up?
Nope.
The careless kind.
And this place about to close.
Can I buy you a drink?
I know a good place.
Thanks, but I think I've had enough.
You seem so familiar.
You wouldn't happen to be a journalist?
No, I'm not a journalist.
What about you?
Me? Good Lord, no.
I'm merely a humble subject.
A phantom of the Crown.
It was nice to meet you.
I should really get back.
Of course. Tomorrow is another day.
Klas!
You've been waiting for Henry
and I've been waiting for Maud.
We have a good deal to talk about.
You should probably come with me.
I am very pleased that you came,
and not Maud.
She can dictate,
but you are the writer, after all.
Having talent is one thing,
making use of it quite another.
Maud will consume your talent.
She is using you for her own purpose.
- What's that?
- Revenge.
She's been abandoned, twice.
It's a mutual exchange.
Amateurs.
You're an instrument
for a vengeful, pregnant woman.
Through you and your book, she
wants to reveal certain information.
My task is to make sure
this does not happen.
- Understand?
- And if I don't give a damn?
You will.
- You're sensible.
- What do you know?
I know what I need to know.
You have never committed
a serious offence.
Oh, you're the Envoy?
Soon there.
And if I...
should suddenly prove to be...
not very sensible?
If common sense doesn't do it,
fear will.
Threats and intimidation.
Is that what you do?
This way.
It so happens
that in this excellent city
there's no need
for threats and intimidation.
You get the best view upstairs.
All one has to do
is go to one of these balls.
There. That's your old friend.
Who?
The one you call Henry Morgan.
A broken gentleman.
Here you go.
What have you done?!
If I hadn't stepped in,
they'd have killed him.
- How is he?
- Good.
- Good.
- Disappointed I wasn't there?
- Devastated.
- What did he say?
- About what?
- Becoming a dad.
You know what he's like.
Every barman in Vienna knows.
Is he coming home?
We didn't get that far.
You sound strange.
I've been drinking.
I was worried about you both.
Have you slept on it?
What do you want?
To be the first one
to read your book.
Before it goes to print.
Sit down.
I want no compromising information
about Swedish arms exports.
That's all.
You must have heard
about the Hogarth affair.
Please feel free to use it.
Sweden's wartime affairs
no longer upset anyone.
But current affairs are more...
sensitive.
- And then?
- You'll live in peace.
- Happily ever after.
- How do I know that?
You have my word.
I don't let people down.
Unlike me, you mean?
Being mindful of
your and Maud's safety
isn't letting you down.
It's being wise.
Oh, one minor thing.
I'm also being watched.
A small receipt?
Acknowledging my services.
Three little words anywhere in
your book. In any context you like.
And what would they be?
"Fleur du mal".
- "Fleur du mal"?
- "The flowers of evil". My hallmark.
Are we agreed?
Now, go home and finish the job.
- There.
- Mum?
Hello. Maud has spoken
so much about you.
- It's him. The writer.
- Oh? Right. Hello.
- He's been to Vienna.
- Vienna? I say, I say.
- All that fantastic music.
- We went after the war.
It was just like in that film:
in ruins, completely.
I've read one of your books.
Makes me think of Graham Greene,
whom I met in Jakarta.
He said it takes a lifetime
to learn to write well.
He had a step named after him.
He'd come up with a new take on some
turn, fabulous in cramped places.
He could dance the foxtrot.
Did you get the clothes?
Come, Sailor.
Let's leave the youngsters.
Bye, darling.
So nice to meet you. See you soon.
- Maud is so taken with you.
- Stop it, mom.
Very nice.
- Was it really hard?
- Yes.
So, Henry knows he's becoming a father?
He knows we are together,
and has no intention of coming home.
What more can one do?
Nothing.
Think about yourself.
What did he look like? The same?
I can see you in that bar.
You drank. You got sentimental.
He's not coming home now.
Later, maybe.
But I can travel there in the spring.
Or in the summer.
Or some other time.
We entered into a pact, a tacit agreement.
Based on a faulty assumption.
A lie, if you like.
One person's wishes
and another one's fears.
The only way at the time.
No one would have thought that pact
would last for twenty-five years,
NOT EVEN THE FLOWERS OF EVIL.
BLACKOUT
Okay. It's 1975.
- Leo found Hogarth dead...
- Shush!
...in his house in Bromma.
Got scared. Uncertain about
taking it further. Asked you.
I should have stopped
the whole thing.
But sometimes it's like pulling a cork.
Once Leo had decided,
there was no way back.
He went right in
and started asking questions.
Hey, are you Berka?
He's over there.
- Hey, are you Berka?
- What?
I found your name
in some old ledgers.
So?
You started here in 1941, didn't you?
Might have.
What's that for?
If it's about Janne Gunnarsson
and that bleeding car,
I know nothing.
He took off. I'm in the clear!
Listen, I want to know
what happened to Tore Hansson.
I'm a friend of his son Verner.
We grew up together.
He's a pretty tormented soul.
Finding out what happened
would mean a lot to him.
We've done a lot of boozing
in this factory.
Three years ago,
a man was squashed under a container.
The driver was drunk.
Now, alcoholic beverages
are strictly forbidden here.
But walk a kilometer
along the factory road
and head towards the lake.
There you'll find a narrow path.
On the side of the lake is a barrack.
There, you can drink as much as you want.
- You haven't got the heating going?
- Is there any?
There, on the table in front of you.
Hansson worked at building sites
as a lad...
and some scaffolding fell on him.
He had a stutter and a limp.
When I got here,
he was one of the best.
He retrained as a lathe worker.
He was a bit special, he was.
Fussy as hell, almost obsessive.
People kept their stuff in order,
but he was more particular than most.
When the whistle went,
his tools were lined up.
Each in its place.
One morning, he noticed
his things had been shuffled about.
He thought someone
had been buggering about,
but then he found swarf and spill
where he knew he'd cleaned up.
There were no other shifts,
so he talked to the foreman about it.
Of course, he knew nothing.
Things improved then, but not enough.
Anyone else would have let it go...
but Hansson was the way he was.
He couldn't stand it.
He had to know.
He stayed behind one night,
to find out what was going on.
They made parts for weapons.
Bolts and barrels.
Our workshop
was suddenly a weapons factory.
A German weapons factory.
And he told you?
The following day.
He was going to a newspaper, but...
He never got there?
And you?
I'm still here. Dead soon, though.
It's the dust.
Hogarth's in today's paper.
"A fighter
for uncomfortable truths
passed away at home
after a period of illness."
Illegal arms exports
to the Third Reich.
A truth so bloody uncomfortable
that people still die because of it.
Hogarth's officially considered
to have died after a long illness.
Do you believe that?
No. Besides, I have evidence.
Where did you get these?
From contacts.
Wilhelm Sterner
is going to have problems.
- Have you spoken to Verner?
- No.
But he has to know
before it goes to press.
He'll hit the roof.
Easy now, Leo.
As you know,
this magazine isn't doing that well.
This would boost circulation a bit,
then it'll be as slow as always.
I know you'll be angry
and hate me and all, but...
I wanted to tell you
that I'm not printing this.
There.
That's where
they will be at their most useful.
We have a golden opportunity.
Sterner doesn't want trouble.
He'll pay anything for our silence.
When did you get like this?
Leo, it's not 1967 anymore.
What about Verner? What do I say?
Whatever you want.
Buy him a crate of booze.
He's sick,
but you're a damn sight sicker.
- Go home. You'll get it.
- What?
That you're a fucking blackmailer?
Verner,
I had set my hopes on this, too.
It didn't pay off.
And the old guy in Bromma?
Hogarth.
He drops dead,
just like that?
He was a bit senile, to be honest.
So my dad just fucked off?
Well, no one knows for sure.
Apart from him.
A limping, stammering
useless piece of shit.
When a pedantic person disappears,
he does it properly.
Yeah. You could see it like that.
What? Hey you...
Hey, this is no place to lie.
Do you know anyone here?
Do you know where you are?
I can't go home.
- You'll freeze to death.
- We'll have her picked up.
I don't want to.
I'll only sit here a while.
- I promise.
- I've seen her before.
She'll come around soon.
Grab one arm.
Oh, no. Not again.
There, legs up. Oops! Sorry.
I hope Leo hasn't found anything, now.
All of it.
Oh, well, I suppose
it was a good deed.
Or a bad omen.
CHRISTMAS EVE
Henry, I can't take this! I'm off!
- What about your present?
- I can't take any more!
Leo.
Just have
some mulled wine, then.
- Did he leave?
- Yes.
What the hell, never mind.
Let's open our presents.
Merry Christmas!
Yesterday, I felt a bit generous.
I thought we weren't doing presents.
Well, no, but I got one anyway.
Oh, well. Me, too. Merry Christmas.
"When crisis is at hand
Hang yourself in this Parisian band"
"Merry Christmas, Henry!"
This isn't true.
This is just too much!
- Thanks.
- Thanks so much.
- Merry Christmas.
- Merry Christmas.
This is bloody gorgeous!
Let's eat!
Franzén's advance was gone.
I hadn't delivered
one line of "The Red Room".
I didn't yet know that I was going
to tell a completely different story.
Grandfather used to tell me
about Shackleton,
his Antarctic expedition.
It was 45 degrees below,
the boats got iced in
and they continued on foot.
When they made camp in the evening
and it was dark,
they counted each other
to check no one was missing.
Then it often felt like
there was one man too many.
It was as if every one of them
felt an inexplicable presence
of someone unknown at their side.
Four names are mentioned as possible
ministers in a new government.
Your good friend Wilhelm Sterner
is in pole position.
Why does he want to do shit like that?
He's been talked into it.
He doesn't want to be a minister at all.
He isn't doing it free of charge.
He's asked for certain benefits.
Access to certain services.
And I think that means
you should be quite careful.
The Bahamas.
When are you leaving?
Tomorrow morning.
And you?
Are you spending New Year at home?
Yes, well, I've got Leo.
And your tenant?
- Is he still there?
- Yeah.
Oddly enough.
Start emptying it, then.
Get that bike out.
Let's get to the wood.
Thirsty?
There's that bugger, blowing away.
- Have you ever heard Bill play?
- Nope.
Put this down. Let's have a beer.
We've spoken about you.
You should come back.
We've got some gigs.
Oh? When would that be?
One week at Fasching in March.
And a tour.
I'll be damned.
You need to get going again.
I'm going full steam.
Ask him. This is Klas, my tenant.
I asked Maud, but she knew nothing.
I don't shoot my mouth off about it.
A solo concert. At the Södra Theatre.
Okay.
What are you doing with that?
- Collecting wood.
- Alright.
Think about it, though.
Happy New Year!
Hey, you should accept his offer.
Klas, you just don't get
these things.
Just keep sawing.
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky
The flying cloud, the frosty light
The year is dying in the night
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die
A bad year came to an end,
and an even worse one set in.
And it was as if Henry knew it.
He, the unyielding optimist,
sat in silence this New Year's Eve.
As if waiting for fateful news.
He hardly said a word until it came.
Hello.
This could get difficult.
I think it calls for overalls.
He called in the middle of the night.
It was creepy.
I didn't recognize his voice,
but something was up.
"Who is this?"
I was shouting on the phone.
Finally, I got it out of him:
"It's me."
I didn't hang up, but went across
to my neighbor to trace the call.
You got the map?
It's supposed to look like this.
That's not exactly
a wealth of information.
Apparently, it's close to
a military shooting range.
It's probably some old summer house
they've helped themselves to.
Who's "they"?
Did you have an argument, or what?
No, he just left.
He can't... stand Christmas.
He's not alone.
And he's been boozing since then?
Most likely.
Are you sure you'll manage this?
Yes. At least I think so.
A cry for help. What else do you do?
Some people just cover their ears.
And that's bloody terrible.
How long's he been out?
This time it's two months.
It's so sad.
It never gets any better.
Turn it up a bit, please.
What the hell are you doing here?
We haven't done anything.
You can't just walk in.
Who have you spoken to?
I haven't got anything.
It's my gear, but I ain't got none.
You can't nail me for anything.
I'm Leo's brother.
Do you get me? His brother.
Is that true? Leo?
- He's not that good.
- No, I can see that.
Please sit down.
We're good. Friends.
Klas and Kerstin and I'm his brother.
- He's coming back to town with us.
- Not now.
You're drinking yourselves to death
out here, my dear.
- Has Leo taken anything?
- He just drinks.
- Shit. Shit.
- Klas, get me some snow!
- As fast as you can!
- We had a thing going.
Shit, it was so far out!
You've got to see what we've done.
You've just got to see.
Everything sucks!
Hey, you! Stop!
This is how we put our foot down!
Come on. Leo!
For God's sake,
this must wake you up!
Stop, for fuck's sake!
Watch out, Klas!
This is how we put our foot down.
Easy, now.
Jump.
What?
Go on, then. Jump!
Klas!
This is how we put our foot down.
This is how we put our foot down!
...put our foot down!
Let me go. Let me go!
Hold him down.
Stop! Stop fucking struggling!
Where did all that booze come from?
There's too much
that's unsaid here.
Which of his mates want him
to drink himself to death?
This time,
I won't let him ruin things.
I will have my concert
whatever happens.
I don't know
how you put up with it.
It could be pure coincidence.
Nothing's a coincidence.
Cold turkey periods
can vary in length.
Anyway, we went back to
a sort of routine.
Calm was restored.
A deceptive calm.
We stocked up on kerosene
to last for six months.
Other stores were depleted,
once and for all.
Henry tried not to let anything slip.
And we handed in our betting slips...
as if things were back to normal.
Shall I open the curtains?
No, leave them.
In this apartment,
night exists
as a constant possibility.
- Sorry.
- For what?
For the shit you've ended up in.
- Where's Henry?
- At Maud's.
What do you think about that, then?
Don't know. I've never met her.
It's sick.
It's sicker than I am.
I need a beer. What?
Will you punch me if I try to run?
We haven't discussed
that possibility.
Watch out.
This flat is unhealthy.
- What's your bed called?
- Goering's Old One.
- Do you know why?
- No.
See?
If I were you,
I'd get out of here.
Shit, take a look around.
What's really happening here?
- So much you don't know.
- I don't want to know.
- You can't avoid it.
- What?
I don't know.
The madness, perhaps.
It tries to get a hold everywhere.
- I have to try and protect myself.
- You can't.
It seeps through the concrete.
There are positive signs, too.
Are there?
Resistance.
Some kind of anti-citizens
refusing to accept evil.
Punk rockers defending Kurds.
Teens chasing Nazis
in posh schools.
Action groups. It's always something.
Indeed. Always something.
But there is so much you don't see.
Selective vision.
What do you want to see?
I don't need utopia to survive.
- I can afford to be pessimistic.
- Utopia is indestructible.
You've listened to Henry
for too long.
Henry is a living, walking,
blue-eyed utopian dream.
- Henry is harmless.
- Don't be too sure.
- You don't know his lies.
- I don't want to.
I have a soft spot for mythomaniacs.
One day, you'll see.
You might as well be prepared.
Here, Spinks.
There, there.
I'll show you how I put up with it.
Stuff like this
helps me put up with it.
Alcoholics don't convert before God.
They've already got the right idea.
They already stoop willingly
before a supreme authority.
I met him in London in '63 or '64.
He basically just sat there,
hammering the keys.
Should your relationship with Elton
John go in the concert program?
No. But I should have told Kerstin.
In those days
he had a different name.
Have you ever thought about that?
Changing your name?
No. Never.
Starting from scratch.
Somewhere else.
How's Maud?
I should've been there now.
She wanted a word.
Something has to happen.
Something good.
Hell, lots of good things
could happen, right?
You have your book.
I have my record.
"Recorded live in the Södra Theatre."
This could be a good year.
Excuse me.
Today's fucked anyway.
See you later.
We'll see.
True. You never know.
Leo?
Leo!
Yes?
"Don't believe what they say."
You'll be wondering where you are.
You're in hospital.
You fell and hurt yourself.
"You were knocked out
and Leo was taken away."
A friend of yours was here.
He left you a letter.
"I know who they are.
I'm sick of them.
I'll get even, once and for all.
I advise you to go home.
Stockpile enough food, barricade
the door. Don't answer the phone.
Don't let anyone in
unless you trust them.
Crying, I wish you success.
Your friend Henry Morgan."
Who is it?
Shirt delivery
from the dry-cleaner's.
Oh, it's you. The brother.
That's 170 crowns.
Call the concert hall
- Södra Theatre.
- Hello.
I'm writing the program for Henry
Morgan's concert at the end of May.
I was wondering when you need it.
- What was the name?
- Henry Morgan.
He's a pianist. A solo concert.
Jörgen, do we have
a booking in May for a Henry Morgan?
Sorry, no one here
has heard of a Henry Morgan.
Hello?
Shall I charge it to Morgan?
If so, I'll have a few more.
Of course. As many as you like.
- So sad about Leo.
- What?
That he had to be re-admitted.
That he couldn't
take care of himself.
I'd been well and truly conned.
But I still did exactly what he said:
stockpiled food.
Built a barricade.
"The Red Room" was pointless.
Other things
were more important to tell.
More important, eh?
And what might that be?
AUTUMN 1978
A still spring rain
was whispering over Horn Street.
The Year of the Child,
election year, 1979.
My friends had disappeared. One by one.
Maybe it would be my turn soon.
All I could do was wait and stay alert.
Make time pass by telling my story.
To explain things.
Maintain my sanity...
and everything else
that was slipping away.
Of erecting a monument for Henry Morgan.
And it did turn into a monument.
Or at least some form of justice
in case they remained lost.
In case it was said:
"Those people never existed.
Those crimes never took place."
In that case, I was a witness.
And there were more of us.
You must be the tenant?
CHAPTER VI
You must be Maud.
You must be the tenant.
- Have you heard from Henry?
- No. Have you?
It's a long time since I was here.
And he says he's so poor
and has sold everything he owns.
This isn't poor, exactly.
- But it is lugubrious.
- It's supposed to be.
Everything's still here.
Just a lot of bric-a-brac.
Truth and Falsehood.
Why are the curtains drawn?
That's how it's supposed to be.
Here, night is a constant possibility.
It's midsummer soon.
When were you last out?
Is that wise?
They almost beat me to death.
I'm not with them.
- What's he said?
- He's said a lot about you.
Like what?
- Here.
- A new book?
Henry spoke a lot about you.
I got curious.
Jesus Christ.
- Are you nervous?
- No. Why?
- What's that, then?
- A work-related injury.
You don't trust me.
I can feel it.
Do you want anything? A drink?
- A gimlet? I found a bottle of gin.
- No, thanks.
I'd love a glass of water.
Thanks.
They call this bed Goering's Old One.
I still don't know why.
And you've slept well in it?
Not for a while.
A sedative? You might need it.
You mean I'll have to trust you?
Sometimes, there's no choice.
If so, you have to be very clear.
If so, I will be very clear.
I've made some decisions.
Difficult ones.
I've put an end to things,
and started a new life.
It might sound pathetic,
but it's true.
So why did you come here?
I've got some information for you.
Oh, I see.
Another blackmailer.
That's not how I see it.
The Hogarth affair is history.
There are new things.
Worse things.
Going on all the time.
Things Henry doesn't know about.
Regard it as an opportunity.
A cry for help.
- Some just cover their ears.
- That's bloody terrible.
How long's he been out?
This time it's two months.
So sad. It never gets any better.
- Has he taken anything?
- What? No.
- Don't worry.
- Has he?
- We've been drinking.
- Henry? Henry!
- Dammit! Help me!
- We've only been drinking.
Don't worry.
Where did all that booze come from?
Hell, what are you so miffed about?
...for real... Real war!
Yes!
You don't necessarily believe someone
just because she's crying.
But if she cries because she reads
about her beloved,
it comes easier.
Particularly if you are
the one who wrote the book.
God, it's so sad.
But you still have a lot to do.
Henry...
He's too much.
- Sort of not quite feasible.
- But it's true.
"Smoke your cigarettes slowly,
comrade"
Isn't he capable
of absolutely anything?
Geographical directions are never...
...vertical
Yes, sadly.
And you...
and I know that.
But if you don't know him,
he seems too much.
- That's my problem.
- I can help you.
Give him a brother.
- A brother?
- A classical method. Two brothers.
Faith and doubt.
Truth and falsehood.
It wasn't.
It was a Tuareg name.
Happy and sad.
I'm just out from Långbro.
He's enough for two people.
A pianist and a binge drinker.
And a blackmailer.
How did all that add up for you?
I had to really make an effort.
Just as you are, right now.
I'll give you information.
Facts.
About terrible things.
About people with very dirty hands.
The Hogarth affair
is bigger than that.
Do we dare?
I wouldn't dare keep quiet.
Ladislaus.
Lenin.
Leopold. Leo.
- Leo Morgan.
- Leo Morgan?
You need a truth-teller.
Now I'm hungry.
Look. My old stereo.
The one that got stolen?
I thought that was make-believe.
It must have been badly written.
I haven't been here since last winter.
We were out looking for firewood.
Ran into Bill.
I don't want to meet him now.
- I never go south of the center.
- I know.
You think I am like I am in your book?
An unreliable upper-class broad?
Leave it like that.
It's Henry's fault.
Everything is Henry's fault.
- Let's drink to that.
- Hear, hear.
What was the last you saw of him?
We had a coffee at the Wimpy bar.
There was an Elton John track
playing in the background.
He had just come out of
one of his periods.
That twinkle was back
in his eye, you know.
He showed a tourist the way on a map.
Then we went our separate ways.
He was just going down town.
He left with a "Cheerio, old chap."
Alone?
Yes.
He was going to your place.
He never showed up.
- If he should come.
- We'll notice.
Can I stay overnight here?
- In Goering's Old One?
- Is there another?
It's probably just a turn of phrase.
Here. My number.
Are you planning on staying here?
I don't think it's a very good idea.
Can you let me out?
If Henry came back,
he'd see through me.
That something had happened.
Sooner or later, it would come out.
So I had to get away from the flat.
It really was an unhealthy place.
To Lilla Essingen, please.
Why don't you
stir that food clockwise, instead?
If you do everything, I can read.
That's not what I meant.
It makes for more harmonious food.
- This is Klas.
- Hello, Klas!
- Hi, Klas.
- Hello.
- Excuse me.
- Sure.
Once, she'd been stoned and seen
wild animals on the motorway.
Now, she was done with drugs
and saw wild animals for real.
She thanked the sun every morning.
We had forgiven each other.
Breakfast.
Listen.
A larva. Under the bark.
Next summer, it'll be a butterfly.
Watch out
so it doesn't crawl into your head.
You should watch out
for those people.
Stay here instead.
Autumn here is totally magical.
Hunky-dory. You can live on nothing.
Pick mushrooms.
Eat lentil stew.
Take a hunting license.
You could do your writing upstairs.
I want written confirmation
that our son won't be called Bilbo.
Never!
We pretended it was possible
to simply start afresh.
That I was ready for this silence.
It lasted a few weeks.
I didn't say where I was going.
No one understood me.
Not even myself.
There was only one place
I could see myself.
A Singapore Gin Sling.
Once you end up here,
you never get away.
What happened to that book?
There was a lot of talk about it.
It fell through.
- I'm doing another one.
- More fun?
Here and now?
Yes, you could put it like that.
Interesting to find you here.
I thought you'd given up.
You just disappeared.
You as well. You never called.
- I made you an offer.
- Is it still on?
It depends.
Are you just going to stand there?
I'm not sure I can trust you.
Are you two back together?
I have to leave now.
He can't afford a scandal
a month before the election.
Have you heard from Henry?
No.
Have you?
No.
I just wanted to say I'm pregnant.
Easy now, it's not yours.
It's Henry's.
Wilhelm doesn't know.
He can't have children.
Damn you!
Ten thousand, and not a single line.
It didn't work.
- A bad idea.
- "The Red Room"?
It was good enough for Strindberg.
Your idea was better.
I did what you said.
I wrote about this.
About a man
who acts behind the scenes
and has to clean things up.
I've had information about certain
dealings from a very reliable source.
- Dealings?
- You'll see.
- When?
- Soon.
Very soon.
You're a dead man.
THE ENVOY - AUTUMN 1979
Autumn came.
Sterner's party was on the winning side.
He didn't get a government position,
why he'd ever want that,
but things got cleared up around him.
The film Henry and I were extras in
premiered in October.
Henry'd been edited out.
They wanted to wipe out every
trace of him, as a display of power.
I don't know what's worse:
To miss someone who's disappeared
or see him disappear again?
He's been edited out.
Every frame.
Did you go for a drink?
You could have called.
You're just like Henry.
You want anything?
There's a special public servant
they call the Envoy.
"The Grafter" to Wilhelm
and his friends.
He's got his own security service.
He cleans up for people
in high places after people
who've ended up in the shit.
When Henry disappeared
I asked straight out.
Being a ministerial candidate,
Wilhelm had use of those services.
He denied it.
Promised.
But...
Well...
I want nothing to do with them.
They've ruined everything.
Henry as well.
I suppose he got what he deserved.
They reflect each other.
One mimics the other.
Sweden sells arms to fascists.
Henry and his so-called
journalist friend have evidence.
And Wilhelm Sterner, the capitalist,
has to pay for their silence.
Great friend, huh?
Rotten.
To the very core.
In the end,
he didn't even need money.
A crate of Smirnoff was enough.
Can you understand why I don't want
anything else to do with them?
I was probably
more in love than I knew.
What Maud told me
went straight into the book.
Wilhelm Sterner's arms deals
with corrupt dictatorships.
Bribes ending in Swiss bank accounts.
Good and bad switched places.
Like truth and lies.
Like money.
In a world
full of darkness and war...
and absolutely impossible love.
Do you remember this bastard?
Unbelievable.
- Why, hello.
- I say. Hello!
Damn.
- What's that?
- Records I borrowed.
- When? In 1965?
- Pretty much.
So you're the sod who had this.
Hell, sit down.
I've booked the laundry.
Should you be doing that?
Yes, it's exercise.
Hell, in the old days
birds just lay there and swelled up.
Get hitched, why don't you?
She's done with Sterner.
And Henry will never
pull his finger out.
Last time,
he was gone for five years.
No, thanks.
You could have sprogs of your own.
Don't be such a stiff.
I've seen how she looks at you.
Might be bad conscience.
About what? Him?
Oh, get real.
I'd forgotten how good this one is!
- So you're not coming?
- Bill...
- See you around.
- Okay.
You're absolutely not coming?
Are you leaving?
You don't have to.
- Stay if you want.
- Would you like that?
What are we pretending for?
Are we trying to fool someone,
or what?
He thought we should get hitched.
Bill... Always in favor of
"doing the right thing".
At least according to...
Thinking of anyone special?
His grandfather
used to talk about Shackleton.
Some expedition to the South Pole.
They lay in their tent at night
and it was minus fifty outside.
- They used to do a head count.
- That's Eliot.
A footnote to "The Waste Land".
I wrote an essay about it at school.
"Who is the third one
walking beside you all the time?
When I count,
it is only you and I together,
but when I look up on the white road
there is always someone else
walking beside you.
Gliding along in a brown hood.
I don't know
if it's a man or a woman.
Who walks on the other side of you?
You don't need to say
that you love me.
You only have to say
if you want me to love you."
Klas here.
What? Is it the baby?
Look.
"Zum Schwartzen Kameel, 1/12."
What does that mean?
It's a bar in Vienna.
It's from Henry.
- How do you know?
- We've been there.
Vienna's great for hiding.
So... So he wants you
to go there, or what?
He doesn't know I'm pregnant.
He's gone underground.
No way.
Aren't you glad he's alive?
Yes.
Of course I am.
Well, someone's got to go there.
Darling...
She had her way, of course.
Henry had to know about his baby,
so I, the messenger, took the train.
Passport control!
Passports, please.
I don't know who arrived, though.
One swindler, to meet another?
Good day.
I couldn't tell him about me and Maud
or the book.
He'd wonder why,
but I couldn't
without showing my guilt.
And that might lead to anything.
If anyone was in for a surprise
in Vienna, it was me.
I was surprised and shaken.
Are you waiting for someone?
I'm sorry, I don't speak German.
Are you Swedish?
Yes.
A fellow Swede, how nice.
May I...?
Please.
I have the impression that you,
like me, are waiting for someone.
A friend.
Who hasn't shown up?
Nope.
The careless kind.
And this place about to close.
Can I buy you a drink?
I know a good place.
Thanks, but I think I've had enough.
You seem so familiar.
You wouldn't happen to be a journalist?
No, I'm not a journalist.
What about you?
Me? Good Lord, no.
I'm merely a humble subject.
A phantom of the Crown.
It was nice to meet you.
I should really get back.
Of course. Tomorrow is another day.
Klas!
You've been waiting for Henry
and I've been waiting for Maud.
We have a good deal to talk about.
You should probably come with me.
I am very pleased that you came,
and not Maud.
She can dictate,
but you are the writer, after all.
Having talent is one thing,
making use of it quite another.
Maud will consume your talent.
She is using you for her own purpose.
- What's that?
- Revenge.
She's been abandoned, twice.
It's a mutual exchange.
Amateurs.
You're an instrument
for a vengeful, pregnant woman.
Through you and your book, she
wants to reveal certain information.
My task is to make sure
this does not happen.
- Understand?
- And if I don't give a damn?
You will.
- You're sensible.
- What do you know?
I know what I need to know.
You have never committed
a serious offence.
Oh, you're the Envoy?
Soon there.
And if I...
should suddenly prove to be...
not very sensible?
If common sense doesn't do it,
fear will.
Threats and intimidation.
Is that what you do?
This way.
It so happens
that in this excellent city
there's no need
for threats and intimidation.
You get the best view upstairs.
All one has to do
is go to one of these balls.
There. That's your old friend.
Who?
The one you call Henry Morgan.
A broken gentleman.
Here you go.
What have you done?!
If I hadn't stepped in,
they'd have killed him.
- How is he?
- Good.
- Good.
- Disappointed I wasn't there?
- Devastated.
- What did he say?
- About what?
- Becoming a dad.
You know what he's like.
Every barman in Vienna knows.
Is he coming home?
We didn't get that far.
You sound strange.
I've been drinking.
I was worried about you both.
Have you slept on it?
What do you want?
To be the first one
to read your book.
Before it goes to print.
Sit down.
I want no compromising information
about Swedish arms exports.
That's all.
You must have heard
about the Hogarth affair.
Please feel free to use it.
Sweden's wartime affairs
no longer upset anyone.
But current affairs are more...
sensitive.
- And then?
- You'll live in peace.
- Happily ever after.
- How do I know that?
You have my word.
I don't let people down.
Unlike me, you mean?
Being mindful of
your and Maud's safety
isn't letting you down.
It's being wise.
Oh, one minor thing.
I'm also being watched.
A small receipt?
Acknowledging my services.
Three little words anywhere in
your book. In any context you like.
And what would they be?
"Fleur du mal".
- "Fleur du mal"?
- "The flowers of evil". My hallmark.
Are we agreed?
Now, go home and finish the job.
- There.
- Mum?
Hello. Maud has spoken
so much about you.
- It's him. The writer.
- Oh? Right. Hello.
- He's been to Vienna.
- Vienna? I say, I say.
- All that fantastic music.
- We went after the war.
It was just like in that film:
in ruins, completely.
I've read one of your books.
Makes me think of Graham Greene,
whom I met in Jakarta.
He said it takes a lifetime
to learn to write well.
He had a step named after him.
He'd come up with a new take on some
turn, fabulous in cramped places.
He could dance the foxtrot.
Did you get the clothes?
Come, Sailor.
Let's leave the youngsters.
Bye, darling.
So nice to meet you. See you soon.
- Maud is so taken with you.
- Stop it, mom.
Very nice.
- Was it really hard?
- Yes.
So, Henry knows he's becoming a father?
He knows we are together,
and has no intention of coming home.
What more can one do?
Nothing.
Think about yourself.
What did he look like? The same?
I can see you in that bar.
You drank. You got sentimental.
He's not coming home now.
Later, maybe.
But I can travel there in the spring.
Or in the summer.
Or some other time.
We entered into a pact, a tacit agreement.
Based on a faulty assumption.
A lie, if you like.
One person's wishes
and another one's fears.
The only way at the time.
No one would have thought that pact
would last for twenty-five years,
NOT EVEN THE FLOWERS OF EVIL.