The Patience Stone Page #2

Your husband was alive.

Because you were alive.

If you had been dead...

One of your brothers

would have married me.

Perhaps they wished you were dead.

They could have f***ed me...

At last.

Your brothers have

always wanted me.

The three years you were away,

when I washed,

they watched me through

the bathhouse fanlight.

I could hear them panting.

They were masturbating.

I don't know what I'm saying.

I'm sick.

You're listening to me for once.

You've never listened to me.

We've been married 10 years.

How long have we

actually lived together?

Two years?

Three years?

You were never there.

Even at the wedding!

Like all heroes, you were absent.

At our engagement,

a photo stood in for you.

I was proud.

Proud to be engaged

to a hero at 17!

Your mother would say,

"Victory is coming soon!

"My son will return!

"Victorious!"

When she saw

that victory was still

a long way off,

she must have said,

"Leaving a fiance so long at

her parents' is dangerous.

"She has to marry."

That's why you got

married to his dagger.

I got married

to you

without you.

In the meantime, I had to

sleep with your mother.

She watched over my virginity.

The day you returned

from the front,

when I saw you for

the first time...

I remember it so well

like it was yesterday.

You were just like you are now.

Not a word, not a look.

You sat down next to me,

indifferent.

But me,

I was watching you on the sly.

I knew nothing about men,

about husbands...

I watched your every gesture.

But you...

You were still thinking

about the war.

I wonder if you even

noticed me that day.

I have to leave.

I've talked a lot.

I have to see to the girls.

My only example of married

life were my parents.

What an example!

The only thing that my father

was ever interested in

were his quails,

his fighting quails.

I would often see him

kiss his quails,

but never my mother,

my sisters,

Me.

Never.

He would always sit cross-legged,

take his quail in one hand and

rest it against his lower belly.

With his other hand,

he'd stroke it...

He'd stroke it for hours.

Even if we had visitors,

he'd keep on doing it.

If he lost at a quail fight,

he would go mad.

As soon as he got back,

he would look for any

excuse to beat us.

As if it were our fault.

He would hit my mother,

my sisters.

I hated his quails.

But he was so proud of them.

It was as if they were

all he lived for.

I remember...

I was nine or 10.

It was very cold.

I saw my father

put one of his quails

in his trousers.

Be gone with you!

For a long time, I thought

all men had a quail

between their legs.

One day, he must have won

a lot of money at a fight.

Well, I suppose so.

He had bought a quail,

a very expensive one.

He trained it for weeks on end.

But he lost.

There you are at last!

Hello. May I?

- Brought your quail?

- Yes, I have it with me.

Your bird's running off!

That's it, you lose!

Come on, hand over the money!

He had staked too much.

He couldn't afford to pay.

So he gave away my elder

sister to honor his bet.

My sister, aged 12,

left with a man of 40.

I was scared

of becoming the stake

in a bet, too.

I was really scared.

Guess what I did.

A cat used to come to our garden.

One day,

I took the quail from its cage.

I gave it to the cat.

It carried it off to a

corner to eat it in peace.

I followed it.

But the cat turned on me.

It scratched my face.

Right here.

You never asked me about this scar.

Why am I telling you all this?

I never wanted anyone to know,

not even my sisters,

not even my aunt.

It's because of you.

You're compelling me to talk.

You hear everything I say.

I'm sure of that!

You just want me to talk,

to tell you everything.

Go to hell!

Dear God, forgive me.

Leave us.

What's happened?

Are you scared?

Scared?

No, I have a strange feeling.

I have the impression...

A bad feeling?

A diabolic sensation?

Diabolic?

No.

Ever since he was wounded

and I tell him everything,

I feel delivered of a burden.

Strange, isn't it?

What you're saying reminds

me of my childhood.

My father talked about a stone.

A magical and legendary stone.

He'd say, "If you find this stone,

set it down before you,

"tell it of your suffering

and your secrets.

"The stone listens.

"Everything you never

dare say to others,

"say it to the stone. Talk to it.

"It listens to all your secrets.

"It hears everything.

"And, one day,

"the stone shatters.

"It falls to pieces.

"And, that day, you're delivered,

"delivered of all your pain."

What's it called?

The stone?

The patience stone.

The patience stone.

Yesterday, I nearly abandoned you.

I had the impression that

you wanted that, too.

That idea comforted me,

relieved me.

But, this morning, I realized

that it wasn't your

death that relieved me.

It was something else.

It was the fact of talking,

talking to you,

revealing my secrets,

revealing all my secrets to you.

You have stayed alive

just to listen to me.

You've been living for three weeks

with a bullet in your neck.

You're living to deliver

me of all my suffering,

of everything I've kept in my

heart in 10 years of marriage.

In 10 years!

You've grown old so fast!

I've never kissed you.

Never.

And now...

I can do anything with you.

I can do everything.

I can talk about everything...

Everything.

My patience stone.

Do you remember our first night?

Without a word, you pounced on me,

excited,

panicked.

Your mother

was keeping an eye out.

She was dying to know if the

virgin had been deflowered,

if she could have a

grandson or not.

A few months later,

when she saw that

I wasn't getting pregnant,

she started complaining,

thinking I was sterile.

Sterile!

She'd always come looking for me.

She'd pester me.

She'd urge you to

take a second wife.

And you...

You don't know what I had

to do to make you keep me.

If you had known,

you'd have killed me.

I didn't want you to abandon me.

If you had abandoned me,

everyone would have rejected me.

My father, my mother...

Everyone.

I still have so much to tell you.

Someone's in the yard!

They're burying the

neighbors in their garden.

Sister?

Hello, sister.

Hello.

Are you well?

I'm alive.

How is your husband?

He's alive.

They'll be launching more rockets.

Stay indoors.

May God preserve you.

May God preserve you.

There'll be more bombing tonight.

I have to leave.

The militia are everywhere.

They're searching houses.

If they find you, they'll kill you.

The cellar is flooded.

I won't let them kill you.

Your head!

Just a second.

I won't let them kill you.

Go back in!

Sit down!

Sit down!

Are you alone?

Are you alone?

No.

God is with me.

Hey, you. It's me!

Come in!

What's going on?

Ceasefire.

What?

Ceasefire.

- Until when?

- I... I don't know.

Go and stand guard.

We'll camp here tonight.

- Go on!

- Cigarette.

Here! Go!

Go!

All alone...

Aren't you afraid?

Don't you have anyone?

No, I'm a widow.

Do you have children?

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