Augustine Page #4

---

Is that all?

I had your valise packed.

Bordeaux.

The conference.

You seem upset.

I haven't prepared my paper.

You'll improvise.

You know I never do.

Lie down.

What about Mr. Charcot?

He's not coming?

He left on a trip.

He didn't tell me.

He doesn't give

his patients notice.

Let go of me!

So?

Where do things stand?

I have a patient for you.

Are you sure of yourself?

Positive.

The Academy is not easily

dispatched elsewhere.

Augustine will persuade them.

I'm sure.

A magnificent patient.

I hope so for your sake.

I'll see what I can do.

Come in.

- You called for me?

- Get Augustine.

She was agitated after you left.

Just get her.

She's too weak.

She won't eat.

I gave her laudanum but she

spits everything back out.

Why is she tied up?

She was very agitated.

Remove that.

Get me some soup.

- This late?

- Do as I say.

If you starve,

I can't cure you.

It's cold.

Sorry, sir.

The kitchen is closed.

Go on, eat.

She eats perfectly fine.

Change her sheets.

We'll resume our

tests tomorrow.

You went away.

Where?

Bordeaux.

- Is it nice?

- Very.

I'd like to see Bordeaux.

Once you're cured.

Make her bed.

Let me show you something.

Want to hold her?

What's his name?

Zibidie.

She's a girl.

Don't be afraid.

Don't be afraid.

I'm not.

She's nice.

Usually I leave her at home.

The hospital is too cold.

Calm down.

Come here.

Zibidie, come.

It's like she's listening.

She is.

She's the ancestor of us all.

Come on.

Get out.

Out.

She wakes up startled

and sits up in bed.

As if someone were beside her.

Gives a few kisses,

falls back asleep.

At night, crudely calls out

to an imaginary lover.

Arms crossed,

pressed to her breasts.

She's covered in sweat.

Very well.

You can go back.

When is the change of shifts?

Midnight.

"We are all hysterical,

since Dr. Charcot,

the high priest of

hospital-harvested hysteria,

spends a fortune maintaining

a race of nervous women

whom he infects with madness,

provoking demoniacal frenzy.

Cheat on your husband?

Hysterical.

But a sensual hysteric.

Lie constantly?

Hysterical.

Like to eat?

Hysterical.

Nervous?

Hysterical.

You are this or that,

what women have been

since the dawn of time:

hysterical. "

Who wrote that?

Maupassant.

He's an idiot.

An idiot.

Any news from the Academy?

Not yet.

Undress her.

Lie down.

Tighten it.

Tighter.

Tighter.

More.

Can this have an effect

on paralysis?

We'll see.

Loosen it.

Get dressed.

Why do that in front

of everyone?

Want to get cured?

You say that and nothing happens.

My cousin stopped coming.

You'll see her at Christmas.

That's right, at Christmas.

I hope to be gone by then.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes