Nightwatching Page #3

for another bloody painting...

- There are chalk marks

all over the sheet!

...that ends up

in a dealer's window

for the whole world to see!

Oh!

My body reproduced

in a thousand prints

seen all over Holland!

- Holland?

How dare you!

You mean Europe?

- Oh, f*** you

and your painting!

- You are not needed.

Take you stuff and get out!

- Yes, yes!

- Get out!

- I think we married

to make babies,

and to make a fortune

for her cousin -

and for her, and for me.

- We did? Hmm.

We certainly needed

to make some money.

- Good at keeping the books.

She was very good with figures.

Geertje, please.

Look after her, will you?

- Bastard! Get out!

You smelly little runt!

(exclaiming in pain)

- Take my hand!

- Out!

- I pay you!!

- We really needed

to make some money.

- And creating a nice, snug,

and very Dutch comfortable

business.

She was a great companion.

Oh, f***.

F***. F***!

I cannot lose her,

and I'm not going to go down

and f***ing pray.

There's no goddamn

superstitious angels,

no visitations!

This sort of goddamn thing

is happening all over Amsterdam

at this moment.

God.

(women shouting in distance)

What... what are you doing?

You're not going to jump, are you?

- No.

I'm an angel.

Least they say so,

when I dance for them

in my angel's costume.

- Angel's costume?

- Like when I was born.

No clothes on.

Only I'm nine now.

Well...

nine going on 10.

Perhaps 11.

I could be 12.

Maybe even older.

Horatio says

that's what excites them.

Am I a woman,

or am I still a girl?

What do you think?

I don't think

I'm a woman yet anyway.

Least, I haven't bled yet.

They say

that as soon as you bleed,

you become a woman.

You are no longer a child

and you can go with men.

Sometimes,

they become impatient,

and they cut you

to make you bleed.

I'm nearly as old as my mother was

when she died.

She jumped off the roof

of the Westerkerk.

- What was she doing up there?

- Watching the night, I expect.

Like you.

(woman screaming in distance)

They will tell you

that babies are made up there,

the stars in the sky,

but it's not true.

Fathers make the babies.

They are out there,

doing it,

between their legs.

In the streets.

In the Kerkendam

and the Kloosterstraat

and the Doelenplein.

And then the mothers bring them

to the house downstairs.

- I live downstairs.

- It's not so bad really.

Most of the babies die

and go to heaven.

Least, I think they go to heaven.

So it's less a burden

than you think.

(in distance):
Take my handl

Take my handl

- Think about it.

- Oh, I will.

(screaming in distance)

- Why are your hands red?

It looks like blood.

- Oh, no, it's, um, chalk.

I've been drawing.

- What are you looking at?

- Uh, the night.

I was watching the night.

I see churches and...

- Over there,

in that church,

is where your wife will be buried.

(coughing)

- Really? How do you know that?

- And over there, in that church,

is where you will be buried.

She stays there,

and you get to disappear.

- Really?

- Yes.

- Are you an Angel of Death?

- No. I'm an Angel of Birth.

(woman screaming)

Kemp says.

- Birth? Really?

Rombout Kemp?

- I bring babies.

- Whose babies?

- I can bring you a baby

if you want.

- You can?

How's that?

- How much will you give me?

- That depends.

- Girl or boy?

(screaming)

- Bring me a boy.

- Kemp will be pleased.

He charges more for a boy.

What will you call him,

because as yet these babies

don't have names,

and it's important for baptism.

- Hmm.

Well, I had thought of Titus.

- All right,

but you must look after him

very carefully.

Babies need to be provided for,

for life. Always.

(screaming)

What happens

if you lose your eyes,

become blind.

What then?

- Did you say Rombout Kemp?

- Yes, I did.

He's my father.

(cheering)

(baby crying)

(women singing)

- Thank you. Ladies...

Ladies, please, please.

Thank you so much,

but leave us now.

Thank you.

- Let us change the sheets.

- No, no! Leave them!

It's blood, chalk. It's us.

(baby crying)

Geertje.

And thank you.

We're parents now.

At last, we can be trusted

to be alone together.

Hold that.

Hold that Roman gesture

for a moment!

- Surely we're going

to wake up the baby!

It's meant to be a Nativity

in Bethlehem, isn't it?!

- Matthias, I'll decide, thank you

very much, what the scene is.

It could be

"The Visit of the Three Kings."

The baby's name this time is Titus.

- That's not a Jewish name.

It's Roman.

- Pompey?

Caesar?

Anthony? Augustus?

That's not bad.

Just hold that one more minute.

(music)

(drums playing)

(chatter)

- The queen.

I am the queen.

(applause)

- Is this wise?

- I've given her something to drink.

She's a little bit tipsy.

- Aren't you being

f***ing irresponsible?

- Like you, she's celebrating.

Let her be.

- She's just out of childbirth,

the baby's sick,

and you're making them both

f***ing drunk!

- Rembrandt, I came to see

what you were doing,

but it's all so noisy in here.

- Oh...

- Careful, he's just been fed.

You'll make him sick.

- Oh. Okay...

Oh...

Mm.

(kissing)

Hasselburg.

Meet...

Titus van Rijn.

Painter's son.

(laughing softly)

(kissing)

Carl, here, hold him.

Come on, he won't bite.

Or sh*t on your hands.

- But he might throw up

on your shoulder.

- Ah... There.

There he is.

Look at this lot.

Tramps, beggars,

Amsterdam riff-raff!

Never could be Romans.

- Romans?

Is that what we're meant to be?

- I thought we were in Bethlehem.

- There were Romans in Bethlehem?

- There were Romans everywhere.

Just like now.

- I'm not playing a Roman Catholic!

You never said

we were Roman Catholics!

- No one would mistake you

for a Roman, or a Catholic.

You're too raggedy-arsed.

- Soldiers are soldiers everywhere.

Make them the Dutch Militia,

you will have your crowd.

Wave a few banners.

Swing a few pikes.

(baby crying)

Let the Romans become

the Amsterdam Musketeers.

- All right, you pathetic

rabble, take a break.

Come on, take them

to the kitchen for a beer.

Carl, give me back my son,

and, uh, take your father

into the house,

show him my armour.

I could equip a regiment

for him.

Yes! Couldn't I?

Couldn't I?

Ah, so beautiful.

(kissing)

I don't want to do this thing.

- Are you so sure?

You prepare a Nativity

to celebrate your son,

and you fill it with soldiers.

I think you're halfway

to accepting the commission.

- And there's no women.

There has to be some women

in this painting.

Maybe you could be in it.

- Oh, no, thank you.

All happy roistering,

bad breath, bad jokes,

buttock pinching.

- Buttock pinching? So who's up

to buttock-pinching, then?

(giggling)

- Stop it!

(Rembrandt sighing contently)

No, don't put your hand there.

I'm still bleeding.

- Women always bleed

after childbirth.

That's normal.

- Up to a point.

We have gone beyond that point.

- It's two months.

You should be on the mend by now.

What's happened to our love life?

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