Les innocentes

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This story is based on actual events

THE INNOCENTS:

Poland, December 1945

Sister, Sister!

- Got money?

- Take me to a doctor.

Give me 10 zlotys.

- No money.

- I'll help if you give me something.

Will this do?

Not a Polish or Russian doctor.

All right.

What's that nun?

So, happy to be leaving?

Let's prepare the next departure.

Do you see any penicillin here?

No, there's none left.

This is all we have.

- Are you pinching it for yourself?

- Very funny.

- Doctor...

- I'm busy right now.

We need you in here.

- I need help.

- I don't understand.

Sick woman... Polish.

Only French here.

She'll die.

Woman going to die.

Go to the Polish Red Cross.

I don't understand.

Help me.

- The Polish Red Cross.

- No! I beseech you!

I'm sorry...

- Help me!

- The Polish, all right?

Cut it.

That's good.

Finish up.

Who is this?

- A doctor. I was worried.

- Go to your cell.

Do you speak French?

Yes, I speak French.

- Are you a doctor?

- I work with the Red Cross.

I'm Sister Maria.

This is our Abbess,

Mother Jadwiga Oledzka.

Mathilde Beaulieu.

- Has she been like this long?

- Since yesterday.

Her family threw her out.

We've secretly taken her in

out of charity.

Fear not, I'm sworn to silence.

- Is that necessary?

- Do you know another way?

Stop it.

- No!

- Stop resisting!

It's a breech baby.

I'll have to operate.

- What did she say?

- It'll be fine.

- Fetch the priest!

- Calm down.

The lamp.

Hold these.

I'll bring some penicillin tomorrow.

Thank you, but no need.

Our herbalist has what we need.

I want to check

there are no complications.

Why not?

It's a simple request.

Simple for you, but not for us.

If the mother and baby die,

you'll be responsible too.

Can I come back tomorrow or not?

Come back at Lauds.

The dawn prayer.

- While they pray, I'll let you in.

- All right.

Hello.

Forgive me.

You're here now?

Pliers.

I'm talking to you. Pliers.

You just woke?

This is bad, really bad.

Compress.

What were you up to all night?

Gaspard will finish.

Get some coffee or a shot of adrenaline.

Go and sleep. You're no use.

- I had insomnia.

- You have insomnia?

Since when?

Off you go.

Go.

Gaspard, compress.

You forget

our lives no longer belong to us.

I know you've been sad

since God summoned our sister

two months ago.

But grief is no excuse.

Sister, you've broken one of our rules,

that of obedience.

And not for the first time.

Forgive me, Mother.

I've forgiven you before.

And I forgive you now.

Do not try our patience again.

You'll stay a week in your cell

and take a vow of silence.

Sister Joanna will bring your meals.

That's all.

- Were you seen?

- I didn't meet anyone.

I'll need to see the scar.

Let her see the scar.

No...

Tell her to let me.

Sister, let her.

I can't.

I can't.

Use the antiseptic twice daily.

May I see the baby?

- He's no longer here.

- What?

Our Mother took him

to Zofia's aunt.

- Hadn't her family rejected her?

- Her parents, yes.

But her aunt is pious

and has many children.

She'll look after him.

Sister?

Sister Anna!

Sister...

No.

I don't want to.

I don't want to die.

Sister, leave us.

Join me in my office.

Follow me.

We were persecuted by the Germans,

then the Russians arrived.

For us, when they...

burst into our convent, it was...

an indescribable nightmare.

Only God's help will allow us

to overcome it.

They stayed here for days.

How many are in that condition?

Seven.

No, six now that Sister Zofia...

God's help won't be enough.

We're in the hands of Providence.

You need someone qualified.

I can send

a Polish Red Cross midwife.

If you do that,

our convent will be shut down.

If we're evicted,

our girls will be objects of shame.

People will find out.

Everyone will reject them.

Many will die.

My duty is to protect our secret.

- They'll give birth in...

- We'll help.

You already said that.

They'll go to Heaven.

Good for them.

But I care about life.

No one will enter this convent.

All right.

I'll report to my superiors.

Miss...

- Our Mother agrees.

- I'll look for someone.

No, it has to be you.

- I helped in an emergency, but...

- It must be you!

Or no one.

Here's to the amputees

and our failures.

Talk to me.

You never say anything.

And girls who never say anything...

are a real rarity.

Typical man talk.

I just have nothing to say.

At home,

we couldn't talk at dinner

or anywhere else.

A Catholic family...

Upper-class...

An only daughter.

Not at all.

A working-class family.

Die-hard Communist parents.

Okay...

They funded my studies

and when I left to come here,

they felt let down.

You see,

you're not so silent when you want.

It's the vodka.

Your plan's working.

Enough about me.

What about you?

Me...

A fine upper-class family.

Obviously not very Catholic.

We were either lawyers or doctors.

And since I hate claptrap,

I chose medicine.

- They're proud of you?

- They were.

They died in Bergen-Belsen.

Luckily, I'm an only son.

I left for London in '40,

but not via the Free Zone.

That's what saved me.

I won't return to France after this.

I can go where I want.

I'm free.

Aren't you?

Don't you get sick of it?

That permanent stubborn air with me...

Enough doom and gloom.

Come on!

This is it.

I'll come with you.

Good night.

- I don't want to.

- Me neither.

- I mean it.

- So do I.

What?

- You're too old.

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