Claire's Knee (Le genou de Claire) (Le genou de Claire)

SIX MORAL TALES

CLAIRE'S KNEE

Monday, June 29th

Jerome!

Aurora!

Anything is possible. - With me it is.

I expected to run into you when I was in Paris, but not here!

Do you live here now?

I found a room in a village. I'm on vacation.

Where? Near the lake?

Talloires.

We're neighbours. Are you in the town?

The end of the lake.

I have a house there, where I spent vacations as a child.

I'm here to sell it. I plan to stay three weeks.

I've looked all over for you.

I couldn't find you. You're not in Paris?

Yes, but I moved. Are you still in Morocco?

No, I'm in Sweden. What are you doing on this bridge?

It's called the "Bridge of Love".

My coffee grounds predicted a meeting, and it was only you.

You hadn't even noticed me. Have I changed so much?

Not at all! You're prettier and younger than ever.

But I was steering...

Besides, I don't look at women any more.

I'm getting married.

I'll tell you everything over lunch,

then I'll take you home, if you're not afraid.

Strange I haven't seen you since.

Since 1945, we've been spending vacations in Brittany.

I last played with your brothers when I was 12.

Philippe was very nice, but Bernard wasn't.

You were never there. - I was 15 and despised little boys.

And you never paid attention to me.

Excuse me, but I remember very well. You had bouffant hair,

and a blue bicycle.

I always had flat hair, and a black bicycle.

That was Bernadette Paccard.

That's right. I didn't look at big girls. They scared me.

And little ones?

I only remember having one girlfriend. She was 8 and blonde.

Poupinette.

Poupinette, that's Marie-Thérèse Charvet.

She's my sister-in-law. She married Bernard.

Oh really, I suspected she was deceiving me with him.

That's Laura, my daughter.

This is Mr. Montcharvin, who owns the Villa Catalpas.

"The Catalpas"?

Do you know it? - Tea dear?

You know the house?

She spent her vacations there until she was 12.

It's a beautiful house.

Yes, but I'm selling it.

I hope they won't tear it down.

No, I think they'll just restore it. You used to play there?

One year we ate all the pears in the garden.

The new owner might be less indulgent.

That's sad.

Aren't you sorry to sell it?

I'm never in France anymore.

We met in Bucharest, Jerome and I.

He was the cultural attaché, 6 years ago.

I went to Paris, and you...

To Stockholm. Now I'm in...

And you didn't tell me! You promised to write!

I hate to write, and writing to a writer!

I understand. Being a writer paralyzes me too.

Aren't you here to write?

For me, not my friends. I don't feel much like writing.

I think I'll decide to take a vacation, like Laura.

Are you on vacation?

School ends in two days.

I always managed to skip the last days.

Not me, on the contrary!

We plan to play a trick on the teacher. She's an old maid.

Not just old, but mean!

She's only happy when she's made us cry.

It's true!

You should see how she smiles, it's revolting.

She's mean, really mean,

and we'll play a mean trick on her.

What kind of trick? Is it a secret?

No, not a secret, but we don't really know what we'll do yet.

We'll come up with something at the last minute.

So, she makes you cry?

Not me. I never cry in front of others.

The sight of a girl crying always disarms me.

Especially if she's pretty.

So you make the ugly ones cry?

No. Neither the ugly ones nor the pretty ones.

Just a bit, to see. Aren't you ashamed to reveal your dark side?

Tuesday, June 30th

It was a Spanish soldier who painted

the frescoes in this room, in the 18th century.

Do you recognize him?

Don Quixote, with Sancho. He's on a wooden horse, but thinks he's flying.

The bellows give the illusion of wind, and the torch...

Of sun.

That's right, of sun.

They've been blindfolded.

The heroes of a story are always blindfolded.

Otherwise, they wouldn't do anything.

It doesn't matter, because everyone has a blindfold.

Or at least blinders.

Except you, since you write.

Yes, when I write, I have to keep my eyes open.

And you work the bellows? - I follow the character's impulses.

Characters have a logic of their own.

You help. - No, I never invent, I discover.

Take anything. I'm getting rid of it all.

A gift. How wonderful!

Dictionary of registration fees for clerk's offices and mortgages.

But... it's Lucinde!

You knew her!

Yes, but I'd almost forgotten her face.

Her hair was shorter, and softer.

I think this photo makes her look hard.

No, she looks good this way.

I didn't think you were capable

of remaining faithful for 6 years.

6 years isn't long, but a lot has happened.

We've had time to break up five or six times.

Remember our first fight? You were in Bucarest.

Just vaguely.

We both thought everything was over,

then, the next year I found her again in Beirut,

and later in Rabat, where she was with UNICEF.

We tried to avoid each other, but couldn't, so why not unite.

I thought you were very opposed to marriage.

I was against it personally,

but, since despite our efforts to split, we were unable to...

we had to stay together.

If I marry her, it's because

I know I can live with her.

I'm just recognizing a fact, not forcing myself.

When something pleases me, I do it for pleasure.

Why should I tie myself to a woman, if others interest me.

Since I've lived with Lucinde, we've both had affairs.

I've come to realize that other women don't interest me.

I can't even tell one from another.

They're all the same.

Except friends like you.

And you, how's your love life?

Nowhere.

Absolutely nowhere?

I've been alone for more than a year.

It's very pleasant.

Yes, once in a while, but it can get too easy.

I'm like you, my dear.

Chance offers you a woman, so you take her.

Chance insists on offering me nothing, so I take nothing.

Why try to fight ones destiny?

Solitude not only satisfies me, I even enjoy it.

Right now, it's my greatest pleasure.

And you say one should live according to ones pleasure.

See the garden, it's completely wild. Something must be done.

You don't want a Versailles here. It's nice like this.

Here, before there were tennis courts,

there was a fantastic vineyard.

My grandfather made very good wine. There's some left, you'll taste it.

I'm looking to see if the little girl you saw yesterday, Laura,

is coming to play here at 5 as usual.

It reminds me of an old story

that I wanted to write, but couldn't finish.

It's about a man getting on in years...

35 or 40 years old...

a diplomat, very austere, very stern,

whose conduct is above all suspicion,

and who watches the little girls play...

Day after day, he gets ideas.

One day, a tennis ball falls in his garden.

He puts it in his pocket.

And when the girls come, he pretends to be looking for it

among the nettles.

When they leave,

he goes to throw the ball back from that lot,

where they're building a house.

The house belongs to a crippled old woman,

and it isn't very likely that she will want to play

with budding young girls.

So, this intrigues the girls...

The gentleman repeats the game three or four times,

and after this first folly,

slides into total insanity.

What do you think of my story? How should I finish it?

I don't know. I think it's beautiful.

I count on you for a suggestion.

You know?

I shouldn't tell you, but since you're so tough...

Laura is in love with you.

So, that's your novel?

No, she told me.

If she told you, it can't be serious. But, if it inspires you...

I'm sure you've noticed it, just by the way she looked at you.

It was very ingenuous.

There are no more ingénues!

She's a child, simple and direct, which is what's nice about her.

And I haven't the time to notice every little girl in love.

It's your job to observe.

It's not even a good subject for a novel, it's old hat.