Arch of Triumph Page #5

- I'll go with you.

- What about your idiots?

- I told them you were waiting for me.

- Good. Get in.

Better put this around you.

Must be the air.

Oh, don't be angry with me, Ravic.

This is the first time

I've been on the Riviera.

First time. The first time.

Oh, forget what happened today.

Don't think about it.

You're a wonderful driver, Ravic.

You know that?

Those idiots were saying the same thing.

You're uncanny. You have no past.

Nobody knows anything about you.

I know a hundred times more

about the life of those idiots

than I know about yours.

Too fast?

No. Drive fast.

I love you, Ravic.

Let's never go back to Paris.

Let's steal a trunk

full of jewels or rob a bank,

take this car, and never come back.

Careful.

If you want that Calvados,

you'd better let me drive.

That's fine.

Come. We'll get your Calvados here.

Two Calvados.

How much have you had already?

How much have you had to drink?

Too much.

Too much because of you,

because I was away from you.

- Then why didn't you come to me?

- I did come to you.

Yes, when you saw me leave.

Did you win?

Yes.

Then let's go to the most

expensive restaurant

and have caviar and champagne.

Let's be like our parents were

before all these wars...

carefree and sentimental and without fear.

Full of bad taste and tears,

and the moon, oleanders, violins,

and the ocean and love.

I want to believe that I'm married to you,

that we have children

and a garden and a house.

I've given up a great career for your sake.

And we still love each other...

after 20 years.

And you still think me beautiful.

And I can't sleep

when you're not at home for one night.

That's all part of it...

part of that bad taste.

There is no use in our planning, Joan.

I know.

No. No, you don't know.

It's not what you think.

It's something I should

have told you before.

I can't marry you.

I'm a refugee without a passport,

and I can't get one.

I have no proof of my identity.

I live illegally here.

On paper, I don't exist.

If they should catch me,

l... I'd be deported.

Deported? Deported from France?

No, but, Ravic, Ravic, Ra...

I'd be back. I know the borders.

It wouldn't be the first time.

Nor the last.

Oh, it isn't that bad.

They haven't caught me in over a year.

Oh, there is nothing

for us, Ravic, nothing.

Tears solve nothing.

Look. Our Calvados is here. Come.

What if I could close my eyes

and... open them

and find all danger gone...

at last alone in the past?

All I can give you

is my love in this bitter present.

To the present.

It's a comfort to have you

back in Paris, Ravic.

It's good to be back and alive

and happy and working.

And well fed.

Well, so long.

I'll come by this evening.

I looked up and saw the cable snap.

He was riding a steel beam

and never had a chance.

Oh, no, no. Don't lift him.

Leave him where he is.

What are you, a doctor?

- Yes.

- All right.

Unconscious, isn't he?

Dead.

But we've just been eating lunch together.

Somebody call an ambulance.

The cable hit the woman.

She's bleeding.

- You.

- Where is she?

Over here, sir.

Bring her over here.

Careful.

Now, don't worry.

You'll be all right.

Has anyone called for an ambulance?

Here come the police.

They'll get one.

Well, I've got to go.

Back, please.

The woman is half dead,

and you want to leave?

Who put this bandage on?

He did. He says he's a doctor.

I've tied up the artery.

Better get her to a hospital fast.

Phone for the ambulance.

One moment, Doctor.

May I have your name?

Police.

Woyczek.

You're a German.

No, a Czech.

I don't think you're a Czech.

- Listen, General...

- I think you're a German.

Have you a license to practice here?

I don't practice here.

I'm a tourist. A Czech tourist.

- May I?

- Certainly.

Hold it.

- Have you a passport with you?

- Is that necessary?

- The gentleman's helped a woman.

- I'm interested.

Have you a passport with you

or your identity card?

- No, not with me.

- Where is it?

At the consulate.

It has to be extended.

Which consulate?

The Czech Consulate.

- All right, I'll call them up and ask.

- Of course.

You won't mind staying here

until this is cleared up, Dr. Woyczek?

You see that he does.

- I'm sorry, Doctor.

- Never mind.

You must understand, sir.

Fernand's father was hanged

by the Germans in the last war.

That's why he's crazy on the subject.

I'm awfully sorry, sir.

If it was up to me...

I understand.

Uh, may I use that telephone

before your friend returns?

Why, certainly.

Yeah.

All right.

All right, Monsieur Woyczek.

Of course I will remember.

So long, Woyczek.

The world should be

executed for murder.

Ravic.

Ravic?

Arrested. They have arrested him.

When? Where? No!

Joan.

Where did they take him?

We can bribe them.

We can get the money.

- You must not go to him, Joan.

- I must! I must! They will deport him.

He said no one must go to him.

All the police have now is a man

they have found in the street...

a face with no papers, no identity.

But I'll find some way of getting him out.

They have to believe

whatever that face tells them.

And since there is no proof

that he has been in France before,

that means deportation

after two weeks in jail.

But I must... I must see him.

I must go to him.

There must be some way, somebody.

Where did they take him?

Joan, if you go to Ravic now,

you will open a door into his past.

I knew they would catch him! I knew it!

The minute the authorities find out

that he has been deported before...

not once, but many times...

that means six months

in jail before deportation.

And then they'll catch him again

when he goes back,

and I won't be able to live for fear of...

I wish I could say something

comforting, cheerful, pleasant.

But history has no special

accommodations for lovers.

I'll do as he asks.

I won't go near him.

I'll stay here for the two weeks,

and then I'll go wherever he goes.

It is possible to share

all of the happiness of someone else,

but only so much of the despair.

Pity is a pleasure

for comfortable people only.

It will not last long

in cold border towns,

filthy cellars, without money,

not enough food.

Not one place where you can sleep safe.

And each day the struggle

for mere survival becomes worse.

- Each day...

- Spare me the rest.

Tell me he'll be pushed

from prison to prison,

shoveled back and forth

over the borders like dirt.

Tell me he'll be shot one day,

running like an animal,

always running and no place to go to.

Damn it!

Go on, tell me that we're talking

about a dead man!

A refugee without passport

has lost his membership

in the human race.

Those who remain alive must go on living.

I can't live like this.

I can't go back to one room

and four walls, alone.

And the darkness of night, and nothing...

I can't go back to that.

Alone, without hope.

Hope.

Hope is luxury we cannot afford this year.

Why didn't he call me?

He should have called me.

He had only a minute.

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