Pandora and the Flying Dutchman

What did we just caught? A whale?

Eh Père, viens donc nous aider, on a pêché une baleine !

Ah... les jeunes, si seulement j'avais votre âge !

Oui, t'as moins de mal a attraper des bouteilles de vin !

M'en parle pas, hier,

j'ai tellement bu que

j'ai enfermé ma femme à la maison !

Geoffrey.

Uncle Geoffrey.

Yes, Janet?

What is it, Janet?

The fishermen.

We've been afraid they would, afraid they wouldn't.

Get the car out, Janet.

Stephen, darling, don't look.

Please, don't look.

Go with him, Janet.

Stephen!

Stephen!

"The measure of love is what one

is willing to give up for it."

Who said that?

To understand one human soul is like...

like trying to enter the sea with a cup.

When I first met Hendrik van der Zee,

it never occurred to me that he was not like other men.

Even now, my reason rebels at what it

is required to believe in him.

If I could fit the events together,

incident by incident...

I've spent my life piecing together

the fragments of old mysteries, perhaps I can make

a new one surrender its secret.

It began one night in early spring.

I had stumbled on a curious manuscript,

written by hand in 17th century Dutch

and purporting to be the confession

of the Flying Dutchman.

I was having some difficulty with the translation.

It was not a night for work.

The moon was at the full, high over the sea,

erotic, and disturbing.

I could hear the voice of the gypsy

singer coming up from the Tavern of the Two Turtles.

I knew I might find Pandora there

with Reggie Demarest, who was drinking himself to death,

for Pandora, people said.

And Stephen Cameron, who lived for two things...

Pandora and the racing car with which he hoped to break

the world's speed record.

I was as much her slave as either of them.

Hello, Geoffrey.

Geoffrey, hello.

You heard the news, Geoffrey?

The social register's appeared without my name in it.

Congratulations.

You owe that to me, Reggie.

That's not all I owe to you.

Celebrating an anniversary.

Met Pandora for the first time a year ago tonight.

I suppose you made up some verses for the occasion.

Ephemeral, doggerel, stillborn.

She was singing at the Hanover Club in London.

She's promised to sing the same song for me tonight.

I'm not very much good without a microphone...

I'll say it for you, Janet... or with one.

Come over to the piano, Reggie.

This is strictly between us.

She never could sing.

It was just publicity and personality.

So sorry.

How am I to know if it's really love that found its way here?

How am I to know?

Will it linger on and leave me then?

I dare not guess at this strange happiness,

for, oh, how am I to know?

Can it be that love has come to stay here?

You sang that as though you meant it.

I do.

But not for me.

No, Reggie, not for you.

For Stephen, perhaps?

No, not for Stephen.

For whom, then?

I don't know.

You haven't met him yet?

Will you marry me?

No, Reggie.

I thought not.

Please don't drink anymore tonight.

Not tonight or any other night.

I know death hath tens thousand several doors for men

to make their exits, and they move

on such strange geometrical engines,

you may open them both ways.

Any way so I were out of your whispering.

He passed out again.

He's dead.

Pandora.

I'll walk back to the hotel, Stephen.

You don't want me to come with you?

No.

I'll be all right.

He's beyond doctors, but I'll fetch one.

It'll look better.

Pandora.

Do you think what Reggie did was because he found out about us?

What Reggie did had nothing to do with us, dear.

Only with me.

Stephen.

Coming.

Pandora made a brief appearance

at the inquest, but it was several days

before she would see any of us.

We imagined her moping in morbid solitude.

Come in and toast yourself a marshmallow.

Marshmallows?

Where on Earth did you get marshmallows in Esperanza?

Oh, I have an old admirer back in Indianapolis.

He hopes they'll make me homesick.

Do they?

A little.

I was a Girl Scout once, in Indiana,

toasting marshmallows around a campfire,

and singing "Juanita" in close harmony.

How can you forget Reggie so easily?

Have you no feelings at all?

Yes, I have.

I feel relieved.

Why didn't you stop him?

It was his life.

He loved you.

What is love?

You're old enough to know.

Oddly enough, I don't.

Everyone knew about you and Reggie

when you left London together.

Do you mean to deny...

I'm not denying anything.

I was sorry for Reggie, and I was fond of him.

How many times do you think Pandora

kept that miserable young man from suicide?

Why do you make yourself out so bad?

I don't have to.

I leave that to others.

Reggie was always talking about suicide.

I coaxed him out of it night after night.

You finally get fed up with alcoholic self-pity and threats

of self-destruction.

I was bored with it.

It's over now, and I'm not sorry.

Anyhow, life is not important.

Not when it's somebody else's life.

Can you truthfully say that it matters to you in the least

whether Reggie Demarest is alive or dead?

You're not honest.

You're not concerned about Reggie, but about yourself.

What do you mean?

You're afraid that now Reggie is out of the way,

I might turn my attentions to Stephen.

I wish you would.

Perhaps I will.

Would you take me for a drive in the big car, Stephen?

What, now?

Mm-hmm, right now.

There's nothing I'd like better.

Take me home, Uncle Geoffrey.

Do, Geoffrey.

Take your niece's beautiful and slightly blue nose home,

and leave me to my marshmallows.

I like you, my dear.

Thank you, Geoffrey.

But life is important.

You will discover that some day.

This car wasn't built to hold two people.

I don't mind, Angus.

Think it over, miss.

It never was intended to climb mountains.

Don't worry, Angus.

You take the hills all right.

Keep it in second, or you'll find yourself in the ocean.

Remember you've only got a hand brake.

Women.

It was wonderful, Stephen.

There's a strange yacht in the bay.

It doesn't take much to set you reeling.

I suppose you imagine your destiny

is on board that boat, along with Nelson, or the Flying Dutchman.

Who is the Flying Dutchman, Stephen?

Haven't the vaguest idea.

Geoffrey could tell you.

You know, there are lots of girls

who think that a fellow who can build and drive a racing car

is pretty romantic.

Janet, for instance.

Why don't you marry Janet, Stephen?

She's a wonderful girl, and she adores you.

But I adore you.

Is there any reason in the world why you shouldn't marry me now?

Why don't you come down to Earth, Pandora?