Henry & June Page #4

No one will ever know these things...

but you.

You're becoming all the things | you wished to be as a little girl.

- I had a cricket. | - What?

A little cricket in a cage.

I love your accent.

I carried it everywhere with me.

But when we arrived in America, | they took it away at immigration.

The only thing they let me keep | in America was my diary.

And my accent.

I love you at 11.

I love you now.

I will love you at 100.

Here. Take a look.

What have you got here?

This is good. | Powerful.

Yours, too.

You tell the truth with such...

delicacy.

- I hope you don't mind. | - Mind?

Why should I mind? | I welcome constructive criticism.

Good.

If it's constructive.

- What are you doing? | - Just a few things.

Here it's all shrieks...

and abstracts.

It's too melodramatic.

You gotta take time to expand.

You're enjoying this.

- What? | - Cutting me up.

I don't want to write | the way you write.

I don't want you to write | the way I write.

You've got to write in your own voice. | I'm just making a few suggestions.

It's tight in places. | Here.

Read it out loud | and see how it sounds.

- I won't give you that pleasure. | - Pleasure?

Hold on a minute here.

Can't you take it? | You gotta take a few taps on the chin.

A few taps on the chin?

Amuse yourself with someone else.

A prizefighter, for instance.

You're right exactly. | A prizefighter.

You've got to get knocked down | occasionally to acquire ring tactics.

The strategy, | the art of fighting.

You can't just shadowbox in your room.

You wouldn't last two minutes | when you step into the ring.

I am not interested | in stepping into a ring with you.

The world will give us | plenty of beatings.

We need each other's support.

Should I criticize you | like an outsider?

Should I say you write | caricatures?

That you write only from a man's point | of view and can't understand women?

Should I say that sometimes there's | a touch of the brute in your writing?

That you're too much of a realist?

What's the matter? | Can't you take it?

Like a prizefighter.

Knock it off.

You want to fight, huh?

Don't.

Leave it. It looks nice that way.

Wild.

Loose.

You never like the way I look.

I do love your hair.

I just think it shouldn't be so severe.

So tight.

Like my writing?

No, not like your writing. | I love your writing.

I believe in you.

Last night I thought that you were | the woman I should've been married to.

You're always ironizing with me.

"Ironizing"? There's no such word. | It's "to be ironic. "

Look it up.

Then he steals my ideas | and puts them in his novel.

Henry wouldn't do that.

I'm sure of it. | Somehow...

he got into my briefcase | and swiped my ideas.

Those phrases are mine.

That way of expression, | that rhapsodizing, it's mine.

Nietzsche? | I introduced him to Nietzsche.

I introduced him to Hugo and you. | He stole you from Hugo.

- Don't, Richard. | - He stole you from me.

That's true.

It was my idea to become your lover.

He betrayed me by stealing you from me | and from my best friend, your husband.

This man is treacherous to the core.

This Neanderthal from Brooklyn | is trying to murder me.

For all his pretended friendship, his | most intimate friends are only fodder...

for the unrolling of his own sanctified | destiny, his own creative urges.

I leave the two of you | to your destiny.

And one more thing.

No more sex in my apartment. | I won't stand for it.

I won't stand for it.

I love that guy.

He understands me, | even though he is...

Pas maintenant. Later.

Even though he is ironizing.

I have only three desires now:

To eat...

to sleep...

and, uh...

And?

- Jerks out there. | - It's just the Art Students Ball.

Maybe you just don't want it tonight.

It's fine.

I understand.

It's natural.

I've read about such moments.

It happens to women, too, | only women can conceal it.

Sorry.

Don't be.

You feel that you have to f*** me | or I'll be disappointed.

But you don't always | have to f*** me.

Don't say that word.

What word?

F***?

It just bothers me now.

Maybe it's the accent.

Maybe it's just because you can't f***.

It's important not to imagine | terrible things...

like being impotent from now on.

It's nothing. | We should just laugh about it.

I love you, P*ssy Willow.

I love you, too, Hugo.

I gave myself with such feelings | against Henry...

that I experienced | a great physical pleasure.

My first infidelity to Henry...

was with my own husband.

I've changed.

I feel restless, spirited...

adventurous.

To be truthful, I hope secretly | to meet someone else.

I have erotic imaginings.

I want pleasure.

Every time I go out with you | I love you more than ever.

You seem so wild tonight.

Tonight I could do anything.

I could, too.

We need to think of something | that will stimulate us both.

Anything you say, kiddo.

Henry told me about this place.

This ought to be something.

Wait here.

- I'm with you. | - We'll just look.

What's an exhibition?

Then you must choose two.

An exhibition is...

us watching a man and a woman | doing it?

No man. Only women. | One pretends to be the man.

It is better that way. | N'est-ce pas?

Of course.

You will not be disappointed. | You will see everything.

And now you must choose.

Her.

And...

There are 66 ways | in which to make love.

Oh? Really?

They will show you love | in a taxi.

Love when one of the partners | is sleepy.

Love in the street. | Etcetera, etcetera.

You like something else?

Yes. Stop pretending to be a man.

Would you like to join us?

As you wish. You're the boss.

Anais, what?

I love your green eyes, Eduardo.

I want to show you things.

Teach you things.

I want you to relax.

Relax, Eduardo.

I had a dream. | A nightmare.

June had suddenly returned.

We shut ourselves in a room.

I began to undress.

I begged her to undress.

I asked to let me see between her legs.

As she lay over me...

I felt a penis touching me.

Aren't you glad?

Aren't you glad?

I'm passing through a crisis, Eduardo.

Be careful, Anais.

Abnormal pleasures kill the taste | for the normal ones.

I hate you, Henry...

because I now realize I love you | as I have never loved anyone.

I miss your voice, | your hands, your body...

your tenderness, | your bearishness and your goodness.

Most of all, | I miss our friendship.

I'm finished.

P*ssy Willow! | I'm home!

I'm home!

Henry's exhausted. | Hasn't slept for two days.

He's just finished his novel.

Henry.

This is wonderful.

Stupendous.

- Come and join us. | - Lay down with us, Henry.

I hope you don't mind. | Anais was reading this.

I'm a nosy guy, | so I took a peek.

I love it.

I've been trying | to write something about it.

About how necessary this book is | for our times.

You give us a blood transfusion.

- Beautiful. | - Thanks.

Wait till June reads this.

She'll be so thrilled | that you've finished your book.

Each mention of her name...

each page I read is painful.

Well, this was a swan song.

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