Frida Page #6

But the leg...

the leg is the worst.

But I'm all right.

At the end of the day,

we can endure much more

than we think we can.

That's what I loved

about your paintings...

that they carry that message.

You said that nobody

would care about them,

but I think you are wrong...

because your paintings express

what everyone feels...

that they are alone in pain.

Maybe.

Leon...

tell me about your children.

My children.

We knew the girls had been

murdered and one of the boys.

We thought the other

was still alive in the prison.

But that letter came.

He was executed, too.

They are all gone.

I have condemned my family...

as I am condemned.

You mustn't say that.

But it's true.

Stalin has more power

than any tsar.

I'm alone with few friends

and no resources

against the world's biggest

killing machine.

So what can I do

but keep on working... living.

You cannot imagine what a joy

it is for me to be here,

to see all this.

It is the first time I felt

like a real person in years.

In his book

"State and Revolution,"

Lenin purged from the genuine

teaching of Karl Marx

all the spurious ingredients

introduced

by the social democracy.

John, I am picking it up

from "social democracy."

Frida.

This is the book I mentioned.

Tell me what you think.

Thank you.

I'll be back in an hour.

No, no, no, no, no.

It is better this way.

We will stop disrupting

your lives.

We're not going far,

just around the corner.

I wish you would reconsider,

if only for security.

We will be more than safe.

Trust me.

Do svidaniya.

Many thanks, my friend.

We'll see you soon.

Natalia...

It makes no sense.

It was for his own well-being.

He's not thinking

of his well-being.

He's thinking of hers.

What are you talking about?

I'm talking about somebody

willing to sacrifice a little

of their own pleasure

rather than go on hurting

the woman who loves him.

Have you lost your mind?!

Go to hell, Diego.

You know what the consequences

of this could be?

He's not scared.

Why should you be?

Oh, dear, God, Frida,

of all people, why?!

Because we wanted to.

You've broken my heart, Frida.

It hurts, doesn't it?

But why?

It was just a f***,

like a handshake.

I told you who I was

when you married me.

Yes, you did,

and I married you anyway,

and you promised to be loyal.

You've been my comrade,

my fellow artist,

my best friend.

But you've never been

my husband.

Fridocha...

"Dear Diego,

how are you, panzon?

Why didn't you tell me Paris

was such a nightmare?"

"The French are the most

pretentious bores in the world.

"I'd rather sit on the floor

of a market in Toluca

"selling tortillas

"than have to listen

to the prattling

of the artistic b*tches

of Paris."

"There really hasn't been

as much interest

in the exhibition

as Breton promised."

"Mexican artists are nothing

but an exotic curiosity here."

"All in all,

it's been lonely,

and I crave news from home."

"Diego, this letter is a lie.

"Paris has been good to me.

"But without you,

it means nothing.

"All the rage of our 12 years

together passes through me,

"and I'm left knowing that I

love you more than my own skin.

"And though

you may not love me as much,

"you do love me a little,

don't you?

"If this is not true,

"I'll always be hopeful

that it could be.

"I adore you.

Frida."

There are rumors going around

that I wanted Trotsky killed.

We fought lately, it's true,

but...

They may try

to arrest me again.

Talk to the president.

No.

No, I'm going to California.

- California?

- Yes.

And, Frida...

I want us to divorce.

For who...

that American actress?

Jesus, Diego.

No, Frida, no.

It will be better this way.

We have both done better

as friends.

- I haven't.

- You have.

You're doing very well

on your own.

I'm proud of you.

You don't need...

If you want to go, just go.

Listen to me...

I don't particularly care

for Mr. Trotsky,

but we can't go around

having political refugees

murdered in our country.

Now, can we?

Once more,

where is your husband?

I don't have a husband.

Frida?

Oh, my God.

Cristi.

I'm so sorry.

Oh.

It was not your fault.

It was mine.

I should have never put you

in the room with him.

What did you do

to get me out of here?

Diego. He went crazy

when he heard.

He called President Cardenas

immediately.

Ay.

Diego.

Not much more.

How long has your foot

been like this?

Who knows? Let's take

one disaster at a time.

Just patch me up

so I can paint, please.

These are gangrened.

They'll have to come off.

You're lucky it hasn't spread

to your leg.

You've lost weight.

Ah.

You've lost your toes.

Is that why you're here...

to offer your condolences?

I'm here to see how you are.

How do you feel?

Tired of answering

that question.

Otherwise, like sh*t.

How are you?

I'm...

I'm here to...

ask you to marry me.

I don't need rescuing, Diego.

I do.

I've lost the toes

of one foot.

My back is useless.

I have an infection

of the kidneys.

I smoke. I drink. I curse.

I can't have children.

I have no money,

and a stack of hospital bills.

Should I keep going?

That's practically a letter

of recommendation.

Frida...

Frida...

I miss... us.

They say you should never

believe a limping dog

or the tears of a woman.

They're wrong.

Cristina!

Come on!

Aaah!

"Feet, what do I need you for

if I have wings to fly?"

I want you to burn

this Judas of a body.

I don't want to be buried.

I've spent enough time

lying down.

Burn it.

Frida...

No, I don't think

I'm Frida anymore.

I think all the Frida in me

has disappeared.

Look at what's left.

Why do you stay?

You stupid girl.

Are you crazy?

I forbid it!

Stop it, Diego!

You can't force me to stay!

- Oh, yes, I can!

- Give it to me!

No, Frida!

No, we've been through

all this before!

I'm going, damn it!

Give me back my f***ing leg!

Doctor, please help me.

What's going on here?

I told her

she had to stay in bed.

She demanded we call you.

- I'm going to my exhibition.

- Frida...

I've waited for a show in

my own country my whole life.

I'm not going to miss it.

If the bronchitis gets worse,

it will turn into pneumonia.

Frida, under no circumstances

are you to leave this bed.

I'll bring you back

all the gossip, I promise.

Cristina!

There was this skinny kid

with these eyebrows

shouting up at me,

"Diego, I want to show you

my paintings!"

But, of course,

she made me come down to her.

I did, and I've

never stopped looking.

But I want to speak about Frida

not as her husband,

but as an artist.

I admire her.

Her work is acid and tender...

hard as steel...

and fine

as a butterfly's wing.

Loveable as a smile...

cruel as...

the bitterness of life.

I-I-I don't believe...

that ever before has a woman

put such agonized poetry

on canvas.

Shut up, panzon.

Who died?

Where is the music?

You see, doctorcito,

I followed your orders.

I didn't leave my bed.

Frida.

Ay, doctor, if you let me

have this tequila,

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