Les passagers

---

THE PASSENGERS:

It was just another day.

No better, no worse.

With its fun and surprises,

and its monotony,

since the fun and surprises

were virtually the same

from day to day.

The tram brings commuters in

from the north suburbs...

Tickets!

Your ticket, please.

- l don't have one.

Ill have to fine you.

Do your job.

- Don't be insolent.

Either the ticket machine's broken

or it says nonsense like :

"Round-trip tickets only."

Who are they kidding!

Technology can't understand

that one day we go off

and never come back.

Then use a ticket window.

One window out of 10 is open

for 100 people in a line

25 yards long.

Tag me. l won't be coerced.

And l won't incite society

to organised theft.

Sir...

- Whose interests are you defending?

If a robot did your job,

would they have any qualms

about firing you?

We live in a world of self-interest.

We have to resist :

no distributors, no windows

no tickets!

You're wasting my time.

If all our users...

- Im not a user.

Im just a commuter

and l mean to stay one.

He's right to make a fuss.

The company should

provide enough machines

to meet the demand

even a last-minute one.

Otherwise we face

an impossible choice :

stay home or pay a fine.

Where's he going with that bouquet?

To a hospital?

To church for a ceremony?

A wedding, maybe.

No. The wedding is for later.

Does he bite?.

- No, he's safe.

Next stop; Main Street,

l could trip over your bag!

There's a seat there, lady.

This is my seat.

She doesn't let up.

You wouldn't know it, but Im 77.

l can see that. l can hear it, too.

Some people are anti-everything :

Young, old, dogs, the weather...

She'll get home bitter,

grumbling about her day,

and so disappointed in life.

l finally did it...

l handed in the keys, basta!

It wasn't easy.

They invaded the place.

They turned everything inside out.

There's not even a ghost left.

Lucky you weren't there to see it.

l just remembered :

l should have gone first.

Life is strange, isn't it?.

Remember my fear

of being buried alive?

It does happen.

To reassure me you said,

"Ill prick your foot

with a needle. Infallible!"

Who will prick me now?

We'll see.

Right now, Im talking to you.

You hear me.

Sometimes l have regrets.

You made us better people.

l brought you this.

Loving's so hard. Don't be angry.

What made you do it?

Were you tired of the soft life?

But you're beyond all that now.

You crossed the threshold.

You look up at the stars now.

When you talk to someone,

it means he's alive.

Alive or dead

what's the difference?

You lost someone recently.

That much is obvious.

It's been a week.

The new treatments were too late

to save him.

You come here every day?

As often as possible.

The last time l saw him

was in the hospital.

Bruno worries me.

The new treatment didn't help.

l know. It doesn't always work.

Speak to his friend.

l won't hide the truth.

But the anti-protease seemed

to agree with him.

His body didn't have time

to adapt to the therapy.

What will you do now?

Don't worry.

Ive seen to everything.

When Im gone, open the box

on the record rack.

Just follow the instructions.

Stop it!

- Im not afraid.

Ive accepted the idea.

Its only an idea, anyway.

Death doesn't exist for the departed.

Once it's over, it's unthinkable.

Its different for the living.

You sure about cremation?.

- Positive!

Fire is good.

When l go, l want to be buried.

l like the idea of the skeleton

as a final form.

Too bad about my skeleton,

my last reality,

but l can't bear the idea

of decomposition.

Imagine a bluebottle landing

on your remains...

You're done for.

The coffin queen goes to work

and you're the promised land

for vermin.

No, give me fire and ashes.

l brought your Walkman.

Thanks for thinking of it.

But you can keep it.

Ill never use it again.

What a waste of time

isolating me for my protection.

From what?

People? Noise of the outside world?

For the little time l have left.

Kiss me.

Of either end of life's path,

the pain of being born

is the most agonising.

,

It lasts

and combats

our fear of dying.

We never stop being born,

but the dead die once and for all.

The next night, he asked

the night nurse to read to him.

His sight was gone.

He wanted to hear that passage,

from Jean-Henri Fabre's book

which his friend had found.

Shall l read to you?

Let me arrange your pillows.

That better?

"Its mid-July.

The hot season is setting in.

In fact, it has come early.

Its been sizzling

for weeks now.

Tonight we celebrate

the national holiday.

As the youngsters frolic

around a bonfire

whose reflections play

on the village belfry,

and as the drums give

the fireworks a ceremonial air

,

l sit alone in the shadows

in the heat of the evening,

listening to the music

of the harvest feast

more majestic than the music

of the village fte, the gunpowder,

the firewood, the paper lanterns,

and especially the liquor.

As simple as beauty,

calm as a strong man.

Its late. The crickets fall silent.

Sated with light and heat,

they sang their music all day.

When night falls, they rest.

But it is often a troubled rest.

From the boughs of the plane trees

a noise is heard

like a shrill cry of pain :

it is the desperate lament

of the cicada

ambushed by the grasshopper,

,

that ardent nocturnal hunter

which leaps at its side,

and tears open its belly.

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