My Old Lady Page #5

Exactly.

I drink too much

and I have no self-esteem.

Do people like you and my

father ever wonder why?

Do you think self-esteem is

some kind of birthright,

that the baby's born, and the doctor

slaps him on his ass, and he says,

"Look! He's got all of his fingers!

He's got all of his toes.

He's got his little dick.

He's got his self-esteem."

It doesn't work that way.

No. If you wanna kill a kid,

you don't shoot him.

You just do nothing.

You just keep your distance

and watch the kid wither...

and devote his miserable life

to trying to please you.

To displease you.

At some point, the kid decides,

"Oh, I've just got to stop trying."

But you can't stop trying.

You think everyone else in the

world is loved, but not you.

You've got this terrible secret.

I can't imagine that my parents

spent a good deal of time...

organizing my birth.

I can only imagine my mother

desperately unhappy,

sobbing in the night, my father,

home from travel, home from your bed,

throwing in a little

midnight mercy hump.

Then my mother's pregnant with me,

with this constant,

- permanent reminder of this man!

- Just stop talking. Just stop talking.

You don't want to hear

about the other woman?

Absolutely not!

Just... stop talking.

- Fine.

- Now, I knew your father...

better than any person on

the face of this planet.

Better than your mother.

Certainly better than you.

And he was not your enemy.

You just need someone to blame

for your misery, so you blame him.

Well, your father is not

the source of your failure,

not the source of your poverty.

And he's certainly...

not the reason for your

unthinkable sadness.

You have life left, Mathias.

There is no greater wealth.

Now, I'm an old woman. There is...

There's nothing...

more tiring than exasperation.

And you... you've exhausted me.

Would you please...

please just leave me alone?

Fine.

You!

You better start packing,

'cause I'm selling.

I'm selling!

- Excuse me, Jim. Business.

- Do you have anything for a headache?

I do.

This works quickly.

I'm very pleased by your decision, Jim.

Good. When do I get the money?

As soon as the contract is signed.

And how soon do I get the contract?

Oh, is tomorrow noon all right?

Yeah. That'll be fine. I...

I'm gonna need another

small bouquet as a binder.

3,000 euros.

You'll have much more than that tomorrow

when you sign the contract.

Yeah, but I need the 3,000

euros today. In cash.

I'm afraid it won't be possible.

Oh, well. Then I won't be

able to sign the contract,

and you won't be able to ever

have the apartment. Cheers.

It is a threat, Mr. Gold?

No, Mr. Wah-Wah. This is a fact.

Vous tes Monsieur Gold?

Wrong Monsieur Gold. That one's dead.

Tell me about these.

That's Chlo, isn't it? Right?

Yes, that's Chlo.

Your father took that in the garden.

You were beautiful children.

He brought you here once.

He never came back here

after your mother died.

He wrote some beautiful letters to me,

but he never came back.

Mrs. G, it's really not easy...

for me to process this

fabulous love story of yours.

I get that my father loved you.

What I don't get is that he never loved me.

Of course... Of course he loved you.

He just thought you were more

your mother's child than his.

Oh, that's sweet.

What about when I was 20

and living on my own?

Or when I was 40,

near death at Lennox Hill Hospital?

Six blocks from his house.

Why were you in hospital?

I had an accident. I...

I was taking a bath, and I...

Well, my razor blade slipped...

and cut both my wrists rather badly.

You tried to kill yourself?

I'm not very adept.

You saw that right away.

Remember the first day? You said,

"Don't jump in the Seine.

You'll just get a head cold."

Mathias, you must get help.

Help!

What sort of help were you

thinking about? Psychoanalysis?

I tried that. My doctor told me that

I should put the child that I was...

on the knee of the man I had become...

and comfort the child.

But I keep having these dreams

where the child that I was

is on my knee

and my hands are around his throat.

Speaking of children,

where is your daughter?

Isn't she usually home by now?

Philippe?

Chlo?

I've stopped teaching, Philippe, so you'll

have to find yourself another teacher.

But I hope you don't

because your English is perfect.

And if you stop taking classes,

you'll be able to spend

more time with your wife...

and your children.

Well...

Well...

No. Chlo, don't. Don't. Don't!

- I don't know what... what to say.

- Say good-bye.

Say this is a mistake.

Say, "I've got two beautiful daughters

waiting for me at home. This is crazy."

Chlo...

Do you really want to put your

beautiful family at risk?

No.

Heavy date tonight?

Excuse me?

I don't think I will.

Oh, I've got your rent. Here you go.

One, two, three, four, five.

600 for me...

and 2,400 for you.

Paid in full.

Thank you.

You better keep your mother alive for a

long time because as soon as she's dead,

there goes the neighborhood.

How can soul "clap its hands"?

What?

"An aged man is but a paltry thing,

a tattered coat upon a stick...

unless soul clap its hands and sing."

How can a soul clap its hands?

My book.

Well, all right. Fine.

So, in the face of that...

As it is your book, I'll ask you again.

How can soul clap its hands?

Don't know. Don't care.

I don't care. Nique ta mre.

Nique ta mre. I don't care.

A Yeatsian couplet in golden franglais.

It's a pity my father didn't know you.

In what sense?

He would have had your head on

the wall next to the other beasts.

In the carnage sense? Yes.

Isn't it lovely when things make sense?

You think your dad knew about my dad?

How could he not?

And you?

You-You knew what was going on?

I was 10 years old when I discovered

what was... going on.

That's very precocious.

I was 57 when I found out.

So what did you do?

What did I do about what?

If I'd have known what was going on,

I would have done something about it.

And what should I have

done that I didn't do?

- Stopped it!

- I was 10!

You could have told

your dad what you knew.

I hardly think that was my place.

And what would have been your place,

ma chre demoiselle?

I suppose my place was

to watch my father suffer.

- Oh, your father suffered?

- Oh, please.

What do you think?

Is that why he shot and stuffed

all those animals?

So he wouldn't have to shoot

and stuff your mother?

- Or your father?

- Or my father.

Did...

Did you ever...

Did your father ever ask

you about it, directly?

He didn't need to ask. He knew.

But he did ask, didn't he?

- Yes.

- And you lied.

- And I lied.

- How often did they see each other?

Often.

And your mother used you for an

excuse to get out of the house?

Why didn't your father try to stop it?

My father was totally discreet.

So, he suffered discreetly?

- That's the way French people do it.

- Yeah.

Vive la French people!

Vive la French people!

Now, that is truly sad.

I mean, all this we talk

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