Loving Vincent Page #6

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The next time my father saw him,

he had a bullet in his belly.

Are you satisfied now?

You can blame me.

You can blame my father.

You're not to blame.

You've not part in it.

He was shot by some boys.

Some boy named Rene Sacretain.

I'm serious.

I can see that.

Rene':
an idiot for sure,

but he's not a murderer.

An idiot who

drank, who had a gun,

who walked around

all summer with it

waving it in people's

faces, who bullied Vincent,

who was seen with Vincent

on the day of his death,

and his stuff disappears.

He didn't disappear it himself,

so there must have been

someone else.

It must've been.

So lonely Vincent

resorts to hanging around

with drunken teenagers,

and he gets shot.

Or, he shoots himself in

despair at his lonely life.

The result is the same.

Either way, instead

he could've been

at our place painting if

I'd behaved differently,

if him and my father

hadn't argued.

But, don't you care

that some bastard

may have gotten

away with murder?

You want to know so

much about his death,

but what do you

know of his life?

I know that he

tried hard to prove

he was good for something.

Yes, he did.

That's why Hake

flowers to his grave.

That's all I can do for him now.

He would appreciate the

delicate beauty of their bloom

even each blade of

their grassy stems.

No detail of life was too

small or too humble for him.

He appreciated and loved it all.

Let you out of jail did they?

On account of my

winning personality.

It's like trying to out

disgrace your friend Vincent.

I'm working on it.

You must be the young man

who's been waiting to see me.

Armand Roulin.

Son of the great Joseph

Roulin, giant of the South

with Dostoevsky': soul.

What?

That's what Vincent

called your father.

He told me all about him.

He did?

Yes, and your mother,

whose lullaby

could sooth even the souls

of Icelandic fisherman.

Come now, Armand of the

Roulin clan, take a seat,

be welcome.

Louise, drinks.

What'll you have, wine?

No, thank you.

I had my fill last night.

Ah, tea then.

I have just the recipe.

Louise, you know

the one, chop-chop.

So young man, I hear

you've been making

something oi a name for

yourself these past two days.

Believe me that

wasn't my intention.

I just wanted to

deliver a letter.

From a dead man lo a

dead man I understand.

Yeah, well I didn't

Know that when I set out.

A guy I met in Paris

thought you might have

the address for Theo's widow.

Seems right the family

should have the letter.

That's what my father reckons.

Your father sounds

like a responsible man.

I sympathize.

I have to look after the

health of great artists.

It is a burden.

They are not peaceful souls.

I understand because

I am an artist too.

That is why they trust me.

And, Vincent (rusted you too?

Yes, he did.

Does it mailer now?

I was hoping you'd tell ma.

Tell you what exactly?

Vincent wrote to my father

six weeks before he died,

and he said he fell

absolutely calm

and in a normal slate.

So I came here hoping

you could explain

how he went from absolutely

calm and in a normal state

to suicidal.

But, I reckon I know

the answer to that.

Oh do you now?

You're familiar with

melancholia are you?

I wouldn't say so.

Sufferers can change

from feeling life

is a wondrous joy to

being stuck in a pit

of despair within six hours.

So think what changes are

possible within six weeks.

But, I don't reckon that's it.

Ravoux girl said

he was happy here.

She's obviously qualified

to make such a diagnosis.

She saw him everyday,

said he was calm

and seemed normal.

Maybe he did seem that

way, maybe he was that way

in the beginning.

There he is.

He's arrived.

Leaving the asylum had

given him fresh hope.

He didn't want for

much just his work

from day to day.

It's good to meet you.

Find a little friendship.

I've heard so much about you.

All will be well.

And, did he find

a little friendship?

He had it from me.

His friend Tanguy said

his star was finally rising.

And, it was.

With each new canvass, he

painted a shining star.

But, all of those stars were

surrounded by unfathomable,

empty loneliness.

You said he had your friendship

and his brother's love.

I mean it seems like

everything was all right.

Underneath he was deeply

afraid of the future.

To the baby, yes.

Of his own and Theo's.

Time to meet you little boy.

I don't think he's

responding to your medicine.

He knew that Theo had spent

a small fortune on him.

The knowledge oi this

tore into Vincent.

Excuse me.

Theo could've

had a house like this

with all the money he'd spent

on Vincent over the years.

But, instead what did he have

for his new wife and baby'!

Rooms full of paintings

that no one wanted to buy.

Vincent's biggest fear

was that the burden of him

would bring down his brother.

So Vincent worried

a little about money.

It's not like they

were starving is it?

Listen I don't reckon

he committed suicide.

I reckon he was shot.

Have you been talking to Mazery?

You heard his tale of how

the angle of the bullet

was all wrong, that nobody shoots

themselves in the stomach?

Well yeah.

What's to stop Vincent from

doing something improbable?

I mean cutting a piece of

your ear off and making

a present of it to a whore

is hardly probable now is it?

But, there was this

lad Rene who had a gun,

who bullied Vincent and was

seen with him on that day.

I was at Vincent's

bedside on that day,

and he said he had shot

himself and told me

not to blame anyone.

Not to blame anyone?

Doesn't that sound

to you like he was

trying to cover for someone?

He wanted to die I know that.

Why would he say

there's no one to blame

unless he thought

someone might be blamed?

He said that because

there was someone, me.

I think he

took his life to

try and save Theo

because of something I'd said.

You see there was an

argument, and I said

something to Vincent

that as his doctor

I should never have said.

But, he'd made me so angry.

You know nothing about art!

He called me an artistic fraud.

And, you are lying

especially lo yourself.

In a way I am.

You are an artistic fraud.

I desperately wanted

to be an artist,

but my father made

me study medicine,

and I failed to stand up to him.

Vincent said I was living

a lie whilst he lived

and struggled for the truth.

So I thought in the heat of

our argument, okay Vincent

I'll give you your

precious truth.

I knew that Theo was in the

tertiary stages of syphilis,

any stress financial,

emotional or physical

could kill him.

I said to Vincent,

"What do you think

"the burden of

worrying about you

"is doing to your brother?"

It's quite likely killing him.

That is the price of

your truth, the price

of your path as an artist.

Is it worth it?

That stopped the argument dead.

Vincent?

Vincent!

Vincent come back!

Vincent!

Two weeks later, I am

sitting at his bedside,

and he is dying.

The only words he said, "Maybe

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