Voyages Page #2

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You have children?

No, unfortunately.

I'm here for my wife.

- Not eating, Dad?

- Not hungry.

- Heartburn?

- No, I'm not hungry.

Are you in trouble?

Yes, big trouble.

Cracked radiator.

Definitely.

Look! Spare seats!

We could get a ride.

No, I'm staying here.

Why? They have empty seats.

I came with the group,

I stay with the group.

They're lucky.

- Not too cold?

- No, it feels good!

What did I tell you? Snow!

So there were 71 of us.

Two of us had pistols.

A friend and I.

The rest were untrained.

They weren't soldiers.

I'd been in the army...

It won't last. It'll melt.

Henri!

Come on!

A lulav. For Sukkoth prayers.

It was a beautiful country, nonetheless.

Come on! All aboard!

Something wrong?

Your asthma?

I knew we shouldn't have come.

What's the point?

You'll never understand.

You're at it again?

You push me to the limit,

time and time again.

Me?

I want no more to do with you.

You made me unhappy.

You always were unhappy.

All your life, always moaning!

Living with ghosts!

While I do what? Listen?

Do you ever think about me?

What I put up with?

You're self-obsessed.

Here we go!

I'm sick of you,

sick of living with you.

I'm going to stay

in Paris with my cousin.

No way I'm going back

to Tel Aviv with you!

Maybe this isn't the right time...

You disgust me.

Your breath disgusts me.

You never loved me.

Now it's my turn.

I don't love you anymore.

What are you saying?

Enough.

- Go away.

- Where to?

Sit down.

Behave.

Don't worry.

Everything will fall back into line.

It's too late...

to change anything now.

Was any family not afflicted?

All were afflicted.

Those sons of b*tches

and their minions in Europe

who helped to destroy us!

Curse them forever!

I forgot my name was Samuel Grinbaum.

I was a number!

"126-751! Do this!"

What were we?

Nothing!

They wanted my birth certificate!

From Poland!

I don't know where I was born.

Or even when!

Friends, friends! Quiet please.

Let me thank you all

for being here this afternoon

to watch this film

Please come again

- I mean the season! -

on the absorption

You know how much our Club

I see some of you are already asleep!

So I'll end on a lighter note.

Ladies and gentlemen...

Jo Bernstein!

Hi, honey.

I'm fine.

I just got back.

From the Club.

They showed the film.

How's the baby?

Tonight? Get going, then.

Yes, speaking.

Landsman.

Just one N.

Before that?

Why?

Graneck. C,K.

A sister? Yes.

But who are you, Monsieur?

What?

Who do you want to talk to?

Yes, in Paris. Belleville.

Until 1942.

How do you know all this?

Where are you now?

Vilnius?

I was waiting for you to call.

Listen.

I've been thinking all night.

Are you sure about this?

You can't be. My father's dead.

You're mistaken.

With my mother and sister.

You realize what you're saying?

What a commotion!

You know,

I never thought I'd be back here.

I have the letter.

You want to see the letter?

I can't read Yiddish.

You can't?

Did your parents

teach you nothing?

You know,

I didn't recognize you at first.

I didn't know what to think.

You have an old dad!

It's been so long.

You were just a little child!

Aren't you hot in your coat?

All the Germans had left the camp

but people still died every day.

We started walking.

After, maybe, ten days

we were only 60 miles

from the Russian border

and there I stopped.

I couldn't take another step.

No strength.

I couldn't go on.

Good. That's better.

And there I stayed.

I fell sick.

They sent me to a hospital in Danzig.

I stayed there

four, five months, maybe six.

I remember nothing about it.

Not one memory of the hospital.

A mental blank.

Danzig became Polish,

Poland became Soviet

and I, as an ex-Lithuanian citizen,

was sent back to Vilnius.

And there I stayed.

I wasn't allowed to leave.

I found nothing there.

Nothing. Nobody.

No poppa, no momma... nobody.

Nobody.

I couldn't even remember

where I was born!

That's the story.

Nothing we can do about it.

Grandma said you went to Israel

and we'd join you there.

What could I do?

I was 7. A child.

After I met my husband,

I asked around.

Clubs, friends...

I even wrote to America.

In '56

I heard you'd all been rounded up

and deported together

to Auschwitz in late July.

I have the convoy number.

But it's not true!

Your mother and I,

right after the roundup,

lost each other.

As soon as we arrived, we got split up.

The same day!

I can sleep on the couch.

I first came to Paris on February 12th.

That I remember.

Memory, memory, that's my problem.

In Paris...

the early days were hard.

I worked very hard.

We finally got papers

and lived as well as we could.

We scraped by.

When did you meet Mom?

We met at a wedding party.

She spoke no French.

Good looking, too.

That makes you laugh?

You can't imagine me

being good looking?

A present for you.

I hope you like it.

It's only a small thing.

Very pretty!

The Grands Boulevards!

And these?

Pictures of my second wife.

My wife, again.

She was beautiful.

You smoke too much.

It's nothing new.

Aren't you cold?

I'll turn up the heating.

Good looking kid!

How old is he again?

He was four last month.

Four.

The oldest girl is 10.

They live in Strasbourg.

You'll see them next Sunday.

When Dora heard you were coming

she wanted to jump on a train!

Your daughter looks incredibly like you.

That's not Dora.

It's Michele, Raymond's niece.

Michele?

This wasn't addressed to you.

I know. Go on.

The sender's address is on it, here.

I'm not interested in that.

How are you doing?

He's riddled with cancer.

"Three women born Graneck

in Paris.

Hard to find out their first names.

One of them never married.

She was buried in Paris

under her maiden name."

Is that a 7?

Looks like it.

So she died in '78.

"Another one married,

became Mrs. Landsman.

Still living in Paris."

That's you?

Yes.

"There's a record of a third.

She became Mrs. Adler

in 1959."

And then?

"Suggest you look beyond Paris.

Maybe in Israel."

Thank you.

Such bad handwriting!

You're tracing your family?

You know how cold it is

back home right now?

We couldn't sit outside like this.

We'd catch pneumonia

just by yawning!

I need to change some money.

Can I ask you something?

Do you have commitments

back in Vilnius?

Commitments?

I told you, I'm alone.

Dad?

Do you remember our house?

Our house?

The address where we lived.

Do you remember it?

When they rounded you up,

do you remember

what you said to me?

To make sure that I would run away?

What are you after, sweetie?

What do you want me to say?

You're wrong!

Wrong all along.

What are you saying?

I'll help you search.

Meanwhile you can stay here.

I can fend for myself.

Why go?

Unpack your bag.

Only 95/60.

I have no more gall bladder.

Breathe in.

Thank you.

Asthma in the family?

I don't know.

Is it a chill? He coughs.

Could be both.

Can I get dressed?

Go ahead.

A full week of antibiotics.

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