Persona Page #3

Were you in my room last night?

Shall I take your mail as well?

Can I have a taste?

Bye.

My dear:
I'd always like to live

like this. This silence, living cut off -

- this feeling of the battered soul

finally beginning to straighten out.

Alma's spoiling me

in the most moving manner.

I think, by the way, that she's enjoying

herself and is quite taken with me -

- even smitten in an unconscious and

delightful way. It's fun studying her.

Sometimes she cries over past sins -

- an episodic orgy with a totally

strange boy followed by an abortion.

She complains that her notions of life

don't accord with her actions.

I see you're reading a play? That's

a healthy sign, I'll tell the doctor.

Don't you think we should leave soon?

I'm starting to miss town.

Aren't you?

Would you like to make me

really happy?

I know it's a sacrifice,

but I need your help right now.

It's nothing dangerous.

But I want you to talk to me.

Doesn't have to be special.

Anything, what we're having for dinner -

- or if you think the water's cold after

the storm. If it's too cold to swim.

We only need to talk a few minutes.

One minute.

You can read from your book.

Just say a few words.

I must try not to get angry. You

remain silent and that's your business.

But now I need you to talk to me.

My dear woman,

can't you say just a single word?

I knew you'd refuse.

You can't know how I feel.

I always thought great artists felt

great compassion for other people.

That they created from a sense of

great sympathy and a need to help.

That was stupid of me.

You've used me. Now that you don't

need me you just throw me away.

Yes, I hear very well how it sounds,

how false it sounds!

You've used me, now you're

discarding me. Every word!

And then these glasses!

You've really hurt me. You've

laughed at me behind my back.

I read the letter you sent to the doctor.

Just think, it wasn't sealed!

And I read it thoroughly!

You got me to talk. You got me to

tell you things I've never told anyone.

And you hand it on.

What a study, huh?! You're not...

You're going to talk now! If you've got

anything to say, you're bloody well...

No, stop it!

You were really scared now, huh?

For a second you were

genuinely scared, not so?

A genuine fear of death, huh?

Alma's gone crazy, you thought.

What kind of person are you, really?

Or do you think like this:

I'll remember that face.

That tone of voice, that expression. I'll

give you something you won't forget!

You're laughing, are you?

It's not so simple for me.

Not so funny, either.

But you've always got your laugh.

Must it be like this?

Is it really important not to lie,

to speak the truth -

- to talk with a genuine tone of voice?

Can one live at all

without talking freely?

Lie and deviate and evade things.

Isn't it better to allow yourself

to be lazy and sloppy, untruthful?

Maybe you become a little better if

you just let yourself be what you are.

No, you don't understand. You don't

understand what I'm saying.

You are inaccessible.

They said you were mentally healthy,

but your madness is the worst.

You're acting healthy. You do it

so well everyone believes you.

Everyone except me,

because I know how rotten you are.

What am I doing?

Elisabet! Elisabet, forgive me.

I behaved like an idiot,

don't know what got into me.

I'm here to help you.

Then there was that awful letter.

I was so disappointed.

You asked me to talk about myself.

It was nice, you looked so understanding,

I'd drunk a lot...

It was so nice to talk about it all.

I was also flattered that a great actress

cared to listen to me.

Somehow I thought it would be nice

if it was of some use to you.

But it's terrible, isn't it?

Sheer exhibitionism.

Elisabet, I want you to forgive me.

I like you so much,

you mean so much to me.

I've learned so much from you,

I don't want to part as enemies.

You don't want to forgive me.

You're too proud!

You won't lower yourself

because you don't need to!

I won't, I won't...!

We don't talk... don't listen...

understand...

- Elisabet?

- What means should... to enable...

When you sleep your face is slack.

Your mouth is swollen and ugly.

You have a nasty wrinkle

on your forehead.

You smell of sleep and tears.

I can see the pulse on your throat.

You have a scar you normally cover

with make-up.

Elisabet!

He's calling again.

I'll find out what he wants from us.

Out here, far away in our loneliness.

Elisabet?

Elisabet? Sorry if I frightened you.

- I'm not Elisabet.

- I don't have any demands.

I didn't want to disturb you.

Don't you think I understand?

The doctor explained

a number of things to me.

The most difficult thing is explaining

to the little boy. I'm doing my best.

There is something that lies deeper,

that is hard to catch sight of.

You love someone, or more correctly,

say you love someone, it's...

It's understandable.

Tangible as words are, that is.

Mr Vogler, I'm not your wife.

You are also loved.

You build a little fellowship.

It generates security. You see

the possibility of enduring, not so?

How can I say everything I've thought

without losing my way, boring you?

I love you, as much as I did before.

No, don't be so anxious, my darling.

We have one another.

We have faith,

know each other's thoughts.

We love one another.

It's true isn't it?

It's the effort that's most important,

not what we achieve. Isn't it?

To see each other as children.

Tormented, helpless, lonely children.

- Elisabet.

- Tell the boy that I'm coming soon.

Mummy's been sick,

but she's longing for her little boy.

Remember to buy a present for him.

From Mummy, don't forget.

You know I feel

such tenderness for you.

It's difficult to bear.

I don't know what to do

with my tenderness.

I live from your tenderness.

Elisabet, do you like being with me?

Is it nice?

- You're a wonderful lover. You know.

- My darling...

Anaethetise me... throw me away!

No, I can't, I can't take any more!

Leave me alone!

It's shame, it's all shame!

Leave me alone!

I'm cold and rotten and indifferent!

It's all just lies and imitation,

all of it!

Elisabet, what have you got there?

What are you hiding

under your hand? Let me see.

It's the photo of your little boy.

The one you tore up.

We must talk about that.

Tell me about it, Elisabet.

Then I will.

It was one night at a party, isn't

that so? It got late and quite rowdy.

Towards morning

someone in the group said:

Elisabet, you virtually have it all in

your armoury as a woman and artist

But you lack motherliness

You laughed

because you thought it sounded silly.

But after a while you noticed

you thought about what he'd said.

You became more and more worried.

You let your husband impregnate you.

You wanted to be a mother.

When you realized it was definite,

you became frightened.

Frightened of responsibility, of being

tied down, of leaving the theatre.

Frightened of pain, of dying,

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