Querelle

The thought of murder

often evokes thoughts...

of the sea and of sailors.

What naturally follows

thoughts of the sea and murder...

is the thought

of love or sexuality.

Hey! Closing time!

Didn't you understand me, Robert?

It's closing time!

Then lock the door.

Robert is staying with me.

What did you say?

You heard me.

Robert is staying here with me tonight.

What do you think of that?

Of what?

After all, she's still your wife.

You think I should be jealous?

- It would be normal.

- Maybe, but what's normal?

We got a deal:

Lysiane does what she feels like...

and leaves me free

to do what I want, understand?

That's important for me.

- Chicago!

- Indeed.

Anyway, I want to read his cards.

Right, kiddo?

Hope you know

what you're doing.

You know

I know what I want.

You've lost, Mario.

Then let's have another drink.

You have a brother?

So what?

You never mentioned him.

Why should I?

You're very much alike,

aren't you?

That's what other people say...

but it isn't true.

Querelle is a sailor.

Maybe it's true.

And you love one another...

more than you'd like to.

Bullshit.

We're brothers...

and that's all there is to it.

Why are you shaking your head?

I don't know why...

but your brother

is in great danger.

In danger?

What kind of danger?

In danger of...

finding himself.

It's difficult to

brush past those shoulders...

profiles, curls...

those strong and supple boys...

without imagining them

capable of murder.

Finally, land.

And broads!

Juicy c*nts. Hot and wet.

- Have you been in Brest before?

- Why?

Because they've got the raunchiest

whorehouse in the world.

The Feria.

Right. That's the name of the place.

Any of you guys know it?

- Yeah, but only from what I've heard.

- And what have you heard?

Nothing specific.

They say every trick has

to throw dice with the boss...

if he wants to catch a hooker.

Nono. That's the name

of the Feria boss.

That's right. Nono.

Why do they have to throw dice?

That's the rule.

When you win,

you get to have your pick.

When you lose, you have to

let the boss f*** you first.

Really?

Really, and I'm damn sure there's plenty

of guys who kinda like losing.

- If it turns them on.

- So what?

Once I have suffered the solitude

caused by my peculiarity long enough...

it may be that naked

I will hold these boys...

who shatter me with their

audacity and strength, against my body.

Though I hardly dare believe it.

With tears in my eyes,

I thank God for granting me this bliss.

My tears soften me.

I melt with their wetness

on my cheeks. I toss.

I roll in waves

of tenderness for these boys...

and their hard, shallow cheeks.

Querelle's great passion

is his own body in repose.

It is as if he's reflecting

himself in his own image.

He's looking at himself

as if through a magnifying glass.

He's scrutinizing the minute events

like an etymologist.

But how shining is his body

in the glory of his proud movements?

Your boots, sir.

Leave them there.

Anything else, sir?

No, thank you.

Since they themselves

wished to deny it...

the strange resemblance

of the two brothers...

seemed attractive only to others.

They met only in the evenings,

as late as possible...

in the one bed of a room...

near the one in which

their mother had lived in poverty.

Perhaps they met again

in their love for their mother...

but at such a deep level...

that they could not see it at all.

How long have you been in Brest?

Since yesterday.

Never thought

I'd run into you here.

I'm the lover

of the boss, Lysiane...

and have been

for the last six months.

- What about her husband?

- He's got interests of his own.

Why did you come here?

Got a little business to take care of.

I'm looking for a customer.

- Opium?

- Yeah, that's right.

No sweat.

Nono's the contact you want.

I'll introduce you.

What about the cop with him?

He's part of the furniture.

He ain't a cop in here.

Just the opposite.

He's our safety guarantee.

This is Querelle, my brother.

He has a deal for you.

He's all right.

Hello.

Good evening.

What's the deal?

Opium.

Five k's.

Ten thousand dollars.

You got it.

Cash.

Of course.

Querelle was frozen by Mario's gaze.

More than indifferent...

Mario's gaze and stance

were glacial.

At the same time, Querelle was struck

by the owner's extraordinary strength...

and the cop's beauty.

Never before had he

experienced true rivalry...

with which he had faced

in these two.

There's nothing fishy

about this, is there?

You don't have anything

to worry about with me.

You bring the merchandise

and you get the bread. Okay, buster?

And don't let Mario worry you.

Mario's part of the furniture.

Querelle had no doubt that the realm

over which this fellow ruled...

was a terrestrial one.

But was it possible the police

could be so handsome, so rich?

Let's have a drink!

When will you be here?

I got to figure how I'm gonna get

the stuff out, but I'll manage that.

I don't want to

get involved in no sh*t.

Don't wanna burn my fingers.

You want to dance with me?

Sure, why not?

My name's Lysiane.

I own the place.

You don't say.

I'm Robert's brother.

I know.

A penny for your thoughts, Querelle.

I acknowledge the existence

of authority in Mario.

I note his objective gestures.

Objectivity is the companion

of total power.

It holds sway over

unchallengeable moral authority.

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