The Diary of Lady M

Diego came into the "Kismet"

because of a thunderstorm.

He knew nothing

about the place.

That night, a women's group played.

"Lady M",

rather warriors than women.

He was in Paris...

to exhibit a painting.

He didn't visit the "Kismet"

out of boredom.

It was a stroke of fate.

For him. For me.

Stop it, I'm counting.

Yes, we want our money.

Silence, Please...

It will go bad.

Give me my dough.

It's thousand francs,

Only 1000 francs?

That wasn't the deal.

Are they comfortable?

I didn't mean to scare you.

I've never knelt in front of a man,

What a strange feeling.

I forgot to say goodbye.

See you tomorrow.

If he doesn't behave...

the Devil will shaft him in the arse!

What's that? A prophecy?

It must hurt terribly!

You find that funny, huh? You

don't have to perform every night,

with a broken Speaker system...

lousy contracts...

advertising,

that must be paid...

girls who never earn enough...

and an owner, who is a vampire.

Damn it!

These guys drain you

for all your energy.

And you're giving and giving...

a real bruise.

I saw the show,

I mean a part of it...

I often walk home.

I like it.

Paris looks like an

Operetta scenery.

I agree about the scenery,

"Operetta" sounds a little exaggerated.

It had stopped raining.

We were encircled by the night.

Each followed his steps,

and sometimes they met.

H e asked me for my perfume.

I stammered...

I couldn't say...

it was the smell of a woman who

had sweat too much on stage.

He smiled and said,

it reminded him of his childhood,

of the patio of his grandfather,

where he acted as if he

followed the conversation,

but where he enjoyed...

all smells from the earth...

and jasmine at dusk.

What's your name?

Wait...

I have no name.

My name is...

Lady M,

like the group.

When I was small,

I never slept...

before my mother put

something at the bed end.

This is good...

He looked at me.

And you,

how were you as a child?

I looked at this stranger who

seemed to know more than me...

about my child secrets,

my woman's secrets...

and the black sky of Paris.

What is it?

The sounds of Paris.

I walked through Paris today

and recorded it.

You don't paint with the eyes,

but with the ears?

Exactly.

What is it?

The bell of Pre-Lachaise

when it closes.

You also walk through the cemeteries?

Everywhere.

Life's for walking.

And if you don't walk?

I wait for the dust to fall down.

What does that mean?

I think it was Leonardo da Vinci,

or another oddball like him,

always entered his studio

through a trapdoor.

That made the dust...

and the color pigments wirl up.

Then he waited an hour,

absolutely motionless,

until it had fallen down again.

I spend most of my time

in my studio in Barcelona.

I came to Paris for three days,

for an exhibition.

I exhibit in a group of painters,

but I'm not member of a group.

I thought the morning

would never come.

I was wrong,

even if we didn't

notice it coming.

We didn't feel sleepy,

although we had walked all night.

We were simply... stunned.

We were completely high.

You have a beautiful coat.

I stole it from a painter,

who's successful than me.

So you're a thief.

- Yes.

- But you're not a soul thief?

- We'll see.

Because there such people...

There are many soul thieves.

There are many small

soul thieves, you know.

Have you met many?

Yes.

Open your mouth.

My life's best breakfast.

If you come to Barcelona

you know where to find me.

I followed his head

hovering over the crowd,

like the head of a swimmer

over the water.

Then he was gone.

Then I bought flowers

and went home.

In the Kismet nothing happened.

Lady M had 15 days free.

I tried to kill the time, while...

my guardian angels Acropoli

and Roquette mockingly...

watched me,

they didn't like it when...

I let myself go as long

as there was enough to eat.

I would have called Diego,

but on the paper slip was only

a drawing and an address.

I could have left it there.

But an irresistible force drove me...

so that one day I stood

at the door of a humble...

little house in Barcelona.

Do you know Diego, the painter?

Yes.

You see the door over there?

That's it.

Thank you.

That door?

Did you find it easily?

I wandered around a little first.

I walked.

I looked.

I love this town.

I'm a daughter of

the Mediterranean ports.

This is good,

The Mediterranean is our big mother.

I'd like to take you on a trip.

A trip?

Yes.

Where to?

To my home area.

But...

why?

Just like that.

You make me feel like it,

to go away from here.

Are you coming?

I'll pick you up tomorrow.

Where will you be?

Hotel Nouvel.

I had 28 hours until

my rendezvous with Diego.

Perhaps out of fear

I wanted to hold back the time...

I didn't own much.

I didn't even have a name.

If it's true that we are

the children of our landscapes,

then I'm the heir of huge treasures.

Barcelona, Genoa, Marseilles,

Tangier, Cairo...

As Calais' Queen Bloody May,

when I once die, your names

will be engraved in my heart...

and nobody can take that from me.

- Have you brought your truck?

- A friend has it lent to me.

I can't drive anyway.

Oh, so you count on me.

No. I have a license,

but I drive rarely.

It takes a few kilometers before

it comes back. You're scared?

My eyes rested on

his forehead...

where the little hairs

become fluff and first...

are bleached by the sun.

I realized that I previously only

had loved people's clichs.

I knew nothing about him...

but I knew he wasn't a soul thief.

I had always been clumsy.

You know what clumsy means?

Don't move!

For the first time,

I see you in my light.

And how's the show?

Not so bad.

I ordered all that for you.

How is it?

Not so bad.

Not so bad?

It's marvellous!

It scared me more to be

under his gaze...

than being in hall ahead of

I wanted to go towards the light.

I was used to the floodlights...

but under the gaze of this man...

my legs became soft.

My desire was to

to feel a great energy.

And I had the feeling

that my body dispersed.

I lay in Diego's arms, in that hotel

in Calla San Cristina.

While I was

those blooming almond trees,

that had touched Van Gogh

so much on a Spring morning.

I was here and now,

and yet in another place.

I loved everything, enjoyed everything,

even my own death.

The love for him was different

from anything I had known.

It was a slow ascent,

with pauses...

with phases...

At the very top a flash

goes slowly through me...

and burns the meaning of things,

even their own meaning.

I felt almost like being placed

in the world of fairy tales,

sheltered by

that warm yellow blanket.

On a background of purple clouds

and croaking ravens...

appeared the outlines of

the Castle of The Evil Queen.

I never forgot that picture book...

every day I eagerly added

new pictures.

They were all devoted

to The Evil Queen.

This admirable woman,

who polished her mirror...

every day, in order

to look beautiful.

The desire to look beautiful

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