Frantz Page #5

Me, a French soldier.

His gaze was so huge, so hopeless.

I will never know if he expressed the sadness of dying

or the pity to see me kill him.

So I fired.

I shot first and he fell.

It was I who killed Frantz, Anna.

Not you.

If at least he had shot,

if he had hurt me, but...

His gun was not even loaded.

It was not defending himself.

Then a shell exploded near us and threw me against him

Our two bodies,

against each other.

He...

dead.

And I, alive.

In his coat, he had a letter.

I read it.

Since then it is...

engraved in me.

That letter...

It was for you, Anna.

Why did you come here?

To ask for your forgiveness.

To break free.

To know the man I killed.

Since my arrival

I wanted to tell the truth, but you saw me at his grave.

You believed in our friendship. And I was afraid to disappoint you.

And thanks to this lie, I discovered who Frantz was.

His family, his home...

his fiance.

Every day, I loved him a little more.

Every day, my pain got worse.

So,

the Louvre,

Manet's paintings,

violin lessons...

You lied to us?

Yes.

Because I'm a coward.

And maybe because it helped us, all of us.

Anna, wait.

My train leaves tomorrow at noon.

I will go see them before to tell them everything.

See you tomorrow.

Good Morning.

Good morning, Mr. Rivoire.

The check, please.

Immediately.

I was on my way to join you at the Hoffmeisters.

No need. I told them everything.

How did they react?

Like parents would.

They do not wish to see me again?

No.

I understand them.

Bye.

Wagon 6. Have a good trip.

Do you think I may write them in a while?

I don't think so.

Anna...

I need to write them.

Then, send the letter to me.

I'll read it to them.

You're right.

Thanks for everything, Anna.

Bye.

Anna.

Have you sent a kiss from us?

Yes.

I hope his mother is not too sick.

Did you tell him that we would love for him to come back to play the violin?

Yes, I told him.

And when will he be back?

That depends on his mother and his work.

Surely soon. In two or three months.

Perfect.

Dinner is served.

He could have come to say goodbye to us.

He apologized.

All is forgiven to the youth.

My dear Anna,

I write this letter in French,

so that my parents can not read it.

I hope you get it. I write in the cold and mud.

The assault could start at any time,

The noise is terrifying.

You can not imagine.

The battle will be awful.

They won't all die and with a bit of luck

I might make it.

I keep in a pocket, over my heart,

the pressed rose you sent me in your last letter.

Promise me, dear Anna,

Should something happen to me,

To keep your "joie de vivre" and be happy.

Why did you do that?

We've had enough dead with this war.

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