Almost Peaceful Page #4

One day. In '42,

they knocked at our door.

It was the police.

I was still in bed.

My father picked me up

and hid me in the cupboard.

He said,

"Don't move, don't say a word."

I'd never seen him so pale before.

He closed the door again

but I could see through a crack.

There were three officers.

My father took a suitcase

and started packing.

I couldn't see my mother,

as if my father

was standing between us on purpose.

They left.

An officer carried their case.

After that,

I stayed a long time

in the cupboard.

I think I was crying.

Then I noticed the jar of jam

next to me,

so I opened it

and ate it with my fingers.

Then, much later, I got dressed.

I had nothing to do at home,

so I went down to the street

and, right away, I threw it all up.

A lady that I knew

looked after me

and took me home with her.

Are you asleep?

It was Raphael!

To test my resistance to pain.

I forbid you to suffer!

Betty, go and see your father!

Not bad.

Warm up the cocoa.

I won't be long!

I'm a schlimazel!

What's that?

If I spill the pins on the table,

I'm clumsy.

But if they fall

between the floorboards,

as they have done,

and I prick my fingers

picking them up, as I have done,

and I get blood on my new shirt,

which I haven't,

then I'm a schlimazel.

You know Yiddish?

No.

Yes, I know a song

we learnt at summer camp.

Sing it for me, then.

Schlimazel!

Can we catch the train alone?

Yes, it's not too far away.

But mother and I want you

to take care of Betty.

Next!

You have all the papers.

You lived in the 18th district

before the war?

Did your parents

request naturalization?

They wanted to live here.

They weren't naturalized.

Sent to the camps?

July 16, 1942.

Have you forgotten, Inspector?

I'll do my utmost to make sure

you won't get what you want.

Next!

You let a Jew leave

a police station? That's progress

I know you, Inspector.

I recognize you.

You arrested my parents

at 27, rue Marcadet

on July 16, 1942.

My parents and me.

But, just before we reached

the stadium, I ran off.

A 14-year-old runs fast.

I didnt stop to turn and look

at my parents.

I just ran faster.

And I know now

that they didn't turn

to avoid attracting attention.

Courage...

That's true courage, Inspector.

Not watching your son flee

to give him a chance of survival.

A nice little story, Joseph Mintz.

Feel free

to tell it.

Your ideas can't change history.

I can enter and leave this place

as I please now.

Maybe I'm stateless but I'm free.

I'll write this story of mine

one day, however long it takes me.

You don't like my name,

you don't like me,

you don't like us,

but I'm alive!

And I'll write. In French.

I'll be a writer.

I came back to tell you...

"Thank you, Inspector."

What's the news?

Press debates.

Two collaborationist reporters

risk the death penalty.

The Resistance paper's reporter

says it's unfair,

that there's no blood

on their hands.

I feel I agree.

A militia member is guilty,

but if they hadn't written,

"Death to the Jews",

maybe he would never have joined

the militia.

I feel no pity for them.

Let's see what we can do

to salvage Joseph's work.

I didn't say I felt pity,

just that their hands

weren't bloody.

But they are. An intellectual

is the first one responsible.

We ought to get to work.

The ladies will soon be back and

we haven't finished one piece yet.

- Hello, Andree!

- Hello, Jacqueline!

What's the big rush?

You're not late.

Habit, comrades.

Albert. I have

an excellent bargain for you.

Art is a first-rate investment.

Why talk about investment?

Can't I buy a painting

just because I like it?

Unfortunately, painters

sell little during their lifetime,

but, after they die,

their paintings are worth a fortune.

Why don't they do paintings

to make a living?

Do I make clothes

to sell after I die?

Artists are ahead of their time...

If they're so smart,

why don't they try

painting something for their time

that will help them live?

I have paintings "for their time",

as you put it.

You think I'm a schmuck?

Sorry, but first you talk

about priceless paintings

and now you'll sell me one

without a future?

Why do these artists

need a representative?

When a painter paints, he paints.

He doesn't handle his sales.

I do it for art's sake,

I don't take a commission.

Do you know why I do it, Albert?

Look at these canvases.

If your children ask

what life was like there,

you can tell them,

if you want to talk about it.

But painters like this one

can show them their past.

That's six memberships.

No, five...

I'm already a member.

Do you like painting, Joseph?

As much as sewing?

I do, you're making fun of me!

Excellent choice, Albert.

You won't tire of it.

I'm very angry, Sarah.

I have been all along.

As soon as I saw you,

I know I'd buy a painting.

And I knew I'd choose this one!

And you're convinced

you convinced me.

It's-very annoying!

The artist could accept

a tailored suit as payment.

That bothers me.

I like it and I'd rather pay for it.

Lea,

I just got a real bargain!

Remember these villages?

Yes, but I was only little.

The musician's all alone.

Where are the others?

After we left,

we never even wrote anymore.

Except for the New Year or births.

It will be a good model for Raphael.

Think the children will like it?

Will they ask us about the old life

one day?

If I wanted to forget

what it was like there,

I couldn't with this painting.

Let's face the facts:

Raphael is an artist.

You can face the facts

with a sound trade behind you!

A tailor like you?

It's tailor or artist with you!

I want him to be happy!

If they're going to be happy,

they need a trade.

A boy does especially.

There's already an artist

called Raphael.

So what?

It could be lucky.

Check in their encyclopedia.

Your Raphael died at 37.

You can leave luck like that

in the encyclopedia!

Since we have time

to make our minds up,

we can go to bed if you want.

I want to look at this.

Go to bed, I'm not sleepy.

Am I disturbing you?

I was awake

and since there's work...

Did your son draw it?

Bravo, it's well done.

His mother says he'll be an artist.

He won't be a tailor anyhow.

I work so much

to make sure he won't be a tailor.

- It's a poor man's job?

- You said it.

We come from nowhere, we're nobody

and we own nothing.

With a lot of luck, we survive

and, with time...

With a lot of luck.

Is this yours?

While I was hiding,

I invented a cutting method.

An emergency method

that you can fit in you pocket.

One basic principle:

for an item to hang well,

all the seams and pleats,

have to pass

through certain points of the body.

Such as the chest,

the hollow of the neckline,

the slope of the shoulder,

the belt line,

the armpit...

This diagram is for size 16.

I worked out the distances

between the points.

The conversion table for other size

is on the back.

But remember...

It's only to be used

if all the real tailors vanish.

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