Jules et Jim Page #4

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- What do you want to know?

- Nothing. I want to listen.

- To judge me?

- Certainly not.

I have nothing to tell you.

I want to question you.

The question is:

tell me about Jim.

- Okay, but tell you what?

- Anything, but tell me point-blank.

Jim told of two young men

which he didn't name...

and told the story

of their friendship in Paris...

and how they met a certain girl.

He told of... Not that one, Jim.

There, he had to say his own name.

He told of their friendship,

of their trip by the sea.

Catherine saw that Jim

remembered everything about her.

She argued on a few points

and added other details.

He described their date, told her

how he perceived all three of them.

He said he always knew that

Jules could never keep Catherine.

- You'd have said that in the caf?

- Yes.

- Go on.

- That's all there is.

There was the war...

my joy to see Jules again,

my seeing you at the station...

the happy days

I've spent with you here...

what I have seen, what I have learned,

what I have guessed...

that pending cloud, I mean Albert.

- Are you against me?

- No more than Jules is.

Let me tell

my side of the story now.

Jules conquered me

with his generosity...

his innocence, and his vulnerability.

He was such a contrast to other men.

I hoped to cure him

of his insecurities...

but I learned

they were part of him.

We were happy,

but our happiness did not last...

and we became two people, not one.

His family was torture for me.

At a reception before our wedding...

Jules' mother

offended me very deeply.

Jules said nothing.

I punished him by spending a few hours

with an old lover, Harold.

Yes, a lover.

So I was able to marry Jules

with all accounts squared.

Luckily, his family moved away.

The war broke out.

Jules went to the Russian front.

He wrote me love letters,

wonderful letters.

I loved him more at a distance.

He became a saint again.

Things really went wrong

during his first leave.

I felt as if I was

in the arms of a stranger.

He left:
Sabine was born

nine months later.

She doesn't look very much like Jules.

Believe what you want,

but she's his.

I said, "I've given you a child.

That's enough.

I want my own bedroom.

I want my own freedom."

Remember our friend, Fortunio?

He was free. So was I.

He was a sweet partner.

What a vacation.

But he was too young to be serious.

One day, to my surprise...

I missed Jules and his indulgence.

My daughter attracted me

like a magnet.

I left.

I've been back for three months.

Jules is no longer my husband.

Don't feel sorry for him.

My presence alone satisfies him.

Then there is Albert.

He told me of that statue you loved

which resembles me.

I flirted with him.

He can be strange, but he has

a natural strength that Jules doesn't.

He wants to leave everything,

marry me and take me and my daughter.

So far, I like him. That's all.

He's coming to lunch tomorrow.

I'll see.

I talked more than you did.

I didn't say everything.

Neither did you.

Perhaps I've had other men.

That's my business.

I spoke only of what you mentioned.

- I understand.

- I don't want you to.

It's almost dawn.

Jim desired her,

but he kept repressing that desire.

She had to stay.

Was Jim acting for Jules?

Or for himself?

He would never know.

Perhaps she was seducing him,

although Jim was unsure.

But she revealed her goals

only when she achieved them.

- Hello, Sabine.

- Hello, Albert.

- How are you? How is your mother?

- Fine.

Hello, Albert.

- You sacrificed your moustache?

- Yes, everyone did.

But I don't like it.

Now I feel naked.

I'll let it grow back.

Albert was wounded...

in the trenches.

I'm all right now,

but when I woke up...

and saw the doctors probing inside

my skull, I thought of Oscar Wilde.

God, spare me physical pain.

I'll take care of the moral pain.

What's revolting about war...

is that it deprives man

of his own individual battle.

Yes, but even in the midst of war,

he can fight it.

I knew a soldier in the hospital.

On leave, he met a girl on a train.

They talked between Nice and Marseilles.

She left and gave him her address.

Well, he wrote her every day

for two years from the trenches...

by candlelight, during battles.

His letters became more intimate.

At first, he wrote: "Dear Miss,"

and ended with, "Yours truly."

Soon he called her "My little lamb"

and asked for her picture.

Then she became "My adorable lamb."

First:
"I kiss your hand."

Then:
"Your forehead."

She sent him a picture...

and he wrote that he could see

her breasts through her robe.

He became more blunt.

"I love you terribly."

He wrote to her mother

and proposed marriage.

He became her fianc

without having seen her again.

As the war continued,

his letters became more intimate.

"I take you, my love.

I hold your adorable breasts.

I hold you naked against my body."

She wrote a cold letter,

and he begged her to be serious...

for he could die at any time,

and he was right.

This mad affair

by correspondence could exist...

only in the violence

of trench warfare...

with death always nearby.

So this man fought the war...

but he fought

his own battle as well...

and he won a woman by mail.

He had a head wound, too,

when he arrived at the hospital...

but he was less lucky.

He died the day

before the Armistice.

In his last letter, he wrote her...

"Your breasts are

the only bombs I've loved."

I'll show you some photos of him.

If you flip through them quickly,

he seems to be moving.

Pretty story.

Jules wrote me

beautiful letters too.

Hello, Albert.

Have you finished my song?

Let's go upstairs

and work on it together.

A rocking chair

has a rhythm of its own.

- What about the song?

- It's almost ready.

Yes. Let's go.

It's too good for them...

but we've no other audience.

She wore rings on every finger

More bracelets than I can tell

And she was the kind of singer

To put me under a spell

She had eyes, eyes of opal

They fascinated me

Her pale face was an oval

What a fatal femme fatale

We met with a kiss

A hit, then a miss

It wasn't all bliss

And we parted

We went our own ways

In life's whirlpool of days

I saw her again one night

Again she was an enchanted sight

I recognized her after a while

By her mysterious smile

Her face in an oval

Her eyes of opal

Affected me more than ever

I drank as I heard her sing

Alcohol lets time lose its sting

I drank far too much

I awoke to her touch

We met with a kiss

A hit, then a miss

It wasn't all bliss

But we started

We went our own ways

In life's whirlpool of days

Again I saw her one night

Again her smile was a light

When you kiss

Why miss

When you return

Why be stern

Together, we make our ways

In life's whirlpool of days

We go round and round

Together bound

Together bound

Each saw her in his own light.

She couldn't please them all.

Jim could only admire

Catherine alone.

He felt he was in the way.

- Good night.

- Good night.

Our affection is new. We should

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