Dying Young Page #3

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the nurse. You got that redhead.

I guess I don't have to ask why.

I'll be back in a couple of weeks.

I love you, Victor.

- Dinner.

- Thank you.

- Eggs.

- Thanks.

That's all this redhead could find.

There's no real food in the house.

No. Oh.

Unless you want a Twinkie omelette.

Twinkie omelette.

- Uh... oops.

- Oh. Oh, God. I'm sorry.

No, that's all right. It's nothing.

- I'm sorry. This is important. It's your diary.

- It's nothing. It's notes.

I'm...

This is what I do. It's my PhD thesis.

I've been working on it for five years.

When I can, I will finish it.

- I'm determined to finish it.

- What's it on?

Uh, art. Art history. Do you know

the German Impressionists?

Do they live in Oakland?

Uh, no. Well, then, uh,

just Impressionism in general?

Do...

Like, um...

Renoir? Or, uh... Monet?

Gauguin.

Uh, Van Gogh.

- The flowers.

- Sunflowers.

- Yeah.

- Yeah.

Well, that's not who I'm doing.

Oh.

Would you like to see who I'm doing?

Klimt.

Gustav Klimt.

He was obsessed with women.

He needed them the way

most people need food.

Valerie Neuzil.

He called her Wally. She was 16.

For a while she was the embodiment of it all.

Beauty, love, sex.

Until he got bored and passed her on.

She lived only another five years,

and died, it is said, of a broken heart.

- Too late for spying, Malachi.

- Never too late, sir.

Good night, Malachi.

Good night, sir.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

Also obsessed, but with just one woman.

Elizabeth Siddal, his wife.

She was only 28 when she killed herself

with a drug called laudanum.

Beautiful name for a drug.

Rossetti couldn't stop painting

her image, over and over again.

Until he died just a few years later.

Klimt again. It's called The Kiss.

Did he use real gold?

I should have explained

the chemo more clearly to you.

It wasn't fair. So, if you...

if you'd like, I can pay you now.

For the week.

You've earned every penny of it.

And, uh... we can... we can just...

You know, we can just...

It's OK.

Thank you, Moamar.

I'll pull this back forjust a second.

I was reading today that the survival rate

of adult-onset leukaemia is now 50%.

And it is even greater

with aggressive therapy.

Here we go.

This therapy aggressive enough for you?

This is gonna get warm in just a minute, OK?

- Victor. What can I do? What can I do?

- Nothing.

- What do you want me to do?

- Nothing! Nothing!

There's nothing you can do.

Not a goddamn, motherfucking thing.

F***! F***!

F***!

F***.

I'm right here.

All gold. That's right, all gold.

Oh! She has teeth.

See? That is so rare. You never see that.

I mean, anybody can paint

a little closed mouth, you know?

Jesus, Mary and Joseph!

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