Three Crowns of the Sailor (Les trois couronnes du matelot)

No use going into detail,

let's just say that we weathered a storm

before arriving in the West Indies.

THREE CROWNS OF THE SAILOR

On the night of July 25, 1958,

I killed Ladislav Zukakevitch, antique dealer,

my mentor, my master in the art

of polishing diamonds,

my tutor at Warsaw Theological School.

I got nothing out of this crime,

except the ring he offered me many times,

several hundred marks, a collection

of old coins, of no value,

a long letter where he advised me to leave the country.

It was the last piece of advice

among others he'd given me,

and one I had to follow.

Tadeusz, student, referring to himself as "he",

walked straight for the first train to Warsaw.

Being in the streets after midnight

was in itself suicidal.

Wandering aimlessly,

he heard echoes of a scuffle.

He thought a stray bullet whizzed past his head.

It should have killed him,

but once again, fate granted him that inch

which definitely spared him

a relieving death.

Then he saw the sailor.

What're you looking for?

You.

At this time of night?

You have a pass?

Do you?

My case is different.

I need money.

I knew it.

Just a little.

I knew it.

I've got plenty on me.

That's too much.

Those pre-war marks have no value.

I've got money, too.

Let me treat you.

At this time? Where?

Here, or over there. Why not?

I'm a sailor.

We sailors, we know places...

Don't worry.

There are places... and places.

I must go. You know I don't have a pass.

There're places only sailors know...

That's what they say. I've got to go.

Too late. I need you, er... you need me.

Why'd I need a drunken sailor now?

Why'd a poor sailor need to help a student in trouble?

Why him? Why not another?

Why should he help him flee tonight?

Why should a student trust

the first stranger claiming to protect him?

Why should a discerning stranger

share his last hours

with a sought-after delinquent?

You look like an interesting person.

Thank you.

I need money.

I knew it. I've got money.

- Marks... - Worthless!

That's not so important.

Isn't money everything in life?

I need 3 Danish crowns

now... before sunrise.

Would you have them?

Who knows? I wish I knew.

You must go. True or false?

Before sunrise.

There's a job on my ship.

My job. It'll cost you 3 Danish crowns.

I think I can find them.

Let's talk about it.

Do you believe in the here-after?

You mean another life?

- I said the here-after! - Let go!

No I don't.

Let me tell you first off, I'm an atheist.

My story should interest you.

It's...

about the here-after.

I think it's a good story for you.

- I don't think so. - Yes, it is.

I think it's a good story for you.

Besides, it's a story...

you'll have to listen.

That's...

- the price, you know... - I see.

It's the price of the job on the ship.

That's cheap.

Yes, you're right.

That's the price... plus...

Shit, I don't remember...

plus 3 Danish crowns.

Yes, 3 crowns.

Is that all?

The student, referring to himself as "I" when bored,

listened to one more story.

One of those stories I loved

when searching from bar to bar for the ship

for the ship to take me away.

It all started in Valparaiso.

Broke, I was looking for a job on a ship

like hundreds of others,

looking for anything

that would take them away.

Everyday, down in the harbor,

long lines left no hope for work

for several months, or even years.

The same thing, day after day...

Days of waiting with nothing to do.

It seems like yesterday...

One man couldn't stop himself from lying.

Nothing he said was true.

All he seemed to be was unreal.

Nothing about him

fit what one could call normal.

Moreover, none of his anomalies fit what one could call eccentric.

On the docks, they called him the Blindman.

May I die if it's not true,

if my days are not already numbered.

It means you're in good health. A drink?

How're you gonna pay for it, my friend?

Here, take it.

You pay,

so they'll have nothing to say.

Some advice:

- never take money from others. - Especially from you!

You've been warned.

Give me the money back.

Take it.

With it...

I'll buy you a beer with it.

Everyone here knows

that I'm buying you a beer with your money.

- How do you know? - I know it,

but I don't believe it.

Some advice: never give money to anyone

without something in return.

For the money you gave me,

I'll tell you something...

tonight in the port,

there's a job on the Funchalense.

Don't believe me.

Never trust people like me.

I don't believe you.

Don't stop mistrusting me later on.

Am I to believe there's really a job for me?

No one believes it,

anyway, I've done my duty.

This type of information...

is worth at least three beers.

As you like.

Waiter, 3 beers!

We drank all afternoon.

I fell asleep.

An old sailor woke me up.

Someone's waiting for you.

Don't believe it.

It's only red paint.

For fun, someone...

put some red paint on me.

There were 5 of them. They wanted to get away.

The Blindman tricked them.

He promised them a job on the Funchalense

which had left over a week ago.

Is that you?

No, it's something else.

Wait for me!

I've got something to tell you.

The old man wanted to tell me another story.

He didn't stop talking for 2 hours.

15 years ago, I landed in this area.

In Bilbao, there's a replica of this area.

Over there...

The Texas Bar is called there La Estrella.

It's got the same number of tables.

On a similar lamp, 3 rebels were hung in Singapore.

Every year, I light candles for them.

I ignored him. I didn't even look at him.

I could only think of the Blindman's death.

When I wanted to say goodbye to him,

he was no longer there.

I realized I had been wandering alone for hours.

Yet, I could have sworn I'd heard his voice.

It was then, in front of me,

I saw the Funchalense for the first time.

The ex-Socrates 4, Athens...

The ex-Flora, Mondrovia...

I almost turned and walked away. But I couldn't.

Help yourself...

Cheers!

Would you point out a place on the map?