"My condolences." " Thank you." "My condolences." " Thank you." "My deepest sympathies." " Thank you." "My condolences." " Thank you." "My condolences." "You must have really loved him?" "Did you know him?" "When I married him I was twenty, and beautiful..." "How's that, for gold digging?" "All the best." "'Last resting place'" "Amazing story." "Stop this fucking noise in the middle of night!" "You're not fucking deaf, aren't you?" "Is it any good?" "You've been working on it for ten years that might mean it's awful." "Is it good?" "Well it's not Dostoevsky, or Kafka." "You're the writer." "You should think it's the best thing ever written." "I'm not really a novelist." "I'm more of a short story writer." "Eighteen percent, no more." "Just tell them." "No, you're not up there." "So, where were we?" "Our in-house Dostoevsky who came for an advance on his novel." "My landlord's threatening to throw me out." "Just when I'm almost finished." "So five hundred euros would a be great help." "Or even four hundred euros." "Three hundred?" "Hello?" "Hello hello?" "You there, I can see you, under the window." "Can you open the door, please?" "Are you the bailiff?" " No, I'm not the bailiff." "I'm from 'Interquête'." "I'd like to ask you a few questions." "It's totally anonymous." "May I ask you how old you are?" "Forty-one." " Forty-one?" "Gender: male." "Star sign?" " Taurus." "I'm a Virgo." "Are you religious?" "No." " You don't believe in God?" "No." " You don't believe there's 'something'?" "No." "Life is life, and when it's over that's it?" "But when you pass away you'll need to be buried of cremated, won't you?" "Are you insured?" " Insured?" "Take a look at this, please." "Ah, you're not doing a survey." "You're selling funeral insuranoe." "Insurance, yes." "You want a respectable funeral, don't you?" "They can put me in a bag and place it by the side of the street." "I don't think your family and loved ones will agree with that." "They'll want a beautiful coffin." "A last goodbye worthy of a man like you." "I don't have family, and I don't have loved ones, so..." "'The End'" "'Our in-house Dostoevsky'." "Eefje?" "Eefje?" "Good morning, sir." "I'm from survey company 'Interquête' and would like to ask you some questions." "Good morning." "I'm from 'Interquête'." "May I ask you some questions?" "If it isn't too inconvenient." "It's for a survey." "Just woken up?" "Myself, I oan't stand loud noises, when I've just woken up." "I'll keep my voice down." "Or I could sit a bit closer, so I don't have to raise my voioe?" "What do you want to know?" "Have you done a survey before?" "There's a first time for everything." "Do you believe in God?" "You've got lovely legs." "And not just your legs, actually." "May I?" "Do you want to fuck?" "Excuse me?" "Sorry." "You don't want to fuck?" "Isn't your mother at home?" " She's at bingo." "I swear it'll be the death of me, one of these days." "Thanks." " No, thank you." "You're not saying this was your first time, was it?" "I thought it was about time." "And, am I any good?" "Yeah." "It was nioe." "Are my teeth pretty?" "I had my braces taken off yesterday." "So your manuscript is almost ready?" " Yes, of course." "I'd like to see it." " What?" "Your manuscript." "Your oomputer file." "You know I never show anyone what I'm writing, editor or not." "Don't oount your chickens..." "Call me superstitious." "Everybody is on standby." "Presses are booked." "You're our best selling author by far, and we really need this new book." "Fabian, I want to see it." " Don't you trust me?" "Isn't that the basis of the relationship between publisher and author, trust?" "No, I want to see it." "Come on." "Without trust no relationship." "Without relationship no book." "No, Lea." "I hope you know what you're doing, Fabian." "Eefje." "It's not going well with Fabian." "He hardly eats anymore." "What's happened?" " That's between Fabian and me." "He is so upset about it he can hardly write anymore." "He hasn't written a word in the last half year." "Can't you go back to him?" "If only temporarily?" "Eefje, this is very important." "All he has to do is finish the last chapter." "Are you sure?" "He hasn't written anything for the last six months." "Me leaving him has nothing to do with it." "Bye, Lea." "What's going on?" "My typewriter." "My belongings." "I'm the bailiff." "You can always buy your typewriter baok." "Didn't think it could go on with all the rent arrears?" "It's not so much that I'm so attached to my typewriter it's more: now what?" "What do we do with this?" "For a publishing company." "So he did have money for stamps." "I can put it in the mail, or dump it in the garbage." "'Without Airs'." "Joachim West." "Was it you I spoke to on the phone?" "You did, if you're that publisher." "I'm looking for Joaohim West." "I told you before:" "he was evioted." "He owes you money as well?" "No, no..." "You really have no idea where I can find him?" "Minimum price was twenty-five euro, but that wasn't offered." "Do you have his current address?" " We don't have any information about him." "No Joachim West?" "'Salvation Army'" "Could you take the upper bed?" "Got a problem with my leg." "Tell her I'm not here." " What?" "If she asks for me, tell her I'm not here." "May I help you?" " I'm looking for Joaohim West." "Joachim?" "Isn't here." "Any more." " Not any more?" "Tragic case." "He died." "Died?" "How?" " Suicide." "Jesus." "When?" " Last week." "That's strange." "I've been to the police." "They didn't seem to know." "They rather hush it up." "So as not to give other people ideas." "Other people?" "He jumped off the Carlysle Hotel." "He wasn't the only one." "Hip, these days." "I didn't know that." "Thank you." "Money, right?" "My publisher." "I got an advance, but never produced my book." "Perhaps you should go, in case she oomes back." "And perhaps you should also ohange your name now that you've come to such a tragic end." "Were you serious, about the Carlysle Hotel?" "I always am serious." "Nana!" "Nana!" "Are you going to jump?" "A house on fire." "My name is Fyodor." " Okay." "Hey Nana." "Come here." "Front-page news." "'Escaped from death.'" "Now it's a book with a story to it." "Most books have 'a story to them'." "How long will you have to stay?" "It's just a precaution." "I'll be disoharged today." "I'll arrange a hotel room so you oan finish the last chapter." "What exactly happened?" "Short-oircuit." "Technical examinations wil prove my oomputer short-cirouited." "You did make baok-ups, didn't you?" "Oh no." "I'm finished with writing, Lea." "I can't anymore." "About that roof..." "I won't ask you any questions, and you won't ask me any, okay?" "Okay." "Fyodor Painter..." "Perhaps somewhere there's someone called Fyodor Writer." "And perhaps he is a painter." "That would be a real coincidence." "There's no suoh thing as coincidence or chance." "Chanoe, I think, is the insight that two seemingly unrelated matters coincide." "You do sound like a writer." "Shall I walk him?" "Her." "It's a girl." "Yes, your daughter is pregnant." "What actually happens to the..." " To the what?" "Do they flush it down the toilet?" "No, once a week it is removed by a specialized company." "What do they do with it?" "Turn it into frankfurters." "Just kidding." "Madame?" "Have you seen your daughter?" "I heard it isn't going too well with Fabian Remarque?" "Fabian?" "Fabian is fine." "So his announced novel wil be released exactly as planned?" "Of course. 'ACity Depraved' will be released next month." "I was told he was seen a little 'merry' in a cafê last week." "More than just 'merry'." "Just gossip about celebrities." "Who told you?" "Contacts." "My first thought, suspicious as I am was maybe he had..." "writer's block?" "Nothing's the matter." "He just has to finish the last chapter." "No better planner in literature than Fabian Remarque." "The idea the great Fabian Remarque might be fallible was too appealing to just let go by." "Of course." "That's why you're so good at your job." "Bye Monica." " Lea." "A man has been found in his room." "Dead." "Have you read it, the manuscript?" "Think that's funny, having me read that right now?" "What?" "Not good?" " Not good; it's brilliant." "I stopped haltway." "Couldn't stand any more." "In the second half, it just gets better." "How about lending your name to it?" "If we publish this manuscript under your name the pressure will be off you." "You'll have time to get your life back on track and start writing again." "New surroundings, new house new girlfriend with great tits." "It stinks." " Of course it stinks." "No, the food." "Brussels sprouts?" "Away!" "This Joachim West?" "Killed himself." "Jumped off the roof, right here actually." "Of the hotel?" " Of the Carlysle, yes." "'Our in-house Dostoevsky', I called him." "Is it difficult, writing?" " Yes." "Think I oould do it as well?" "You don't need any certificates for it." "That at least is something." "If you had been really suocessful would you still have tried to jump off that roof?" "No questions..." "As a book salesman keeping up with things, I have a clear view of the difference of quality between Dutoh and international literature." "'The Miokey Mouse competition', I call our national literary prizes." "But I dare say 'ACity Depraved' is Nobel Prize material." "Absolutely." "Thank you." " Sure, sure." "There is your table." "Then I will now open the doors." "'Nobel Prize material'." "'Definitely Nobel Prize material'..." "For now I'll have to make do with my seven 'Miokey Mouse' prizes." "Why did you call Joaohim West 'our in-house Dostoevsky'?" "Because when he oame by for the advance he said he realized he wasn't Kafka or Dostoevsky." "Exaotly what he is..." "Was." "What kind of a man was he?" "In all these years I only saw him only twioe." "His last collection was published ten years ago by my predeoessor, Theo Marcellis." "Good day, Mr. Remarque." " Good day." "Could you dedicate this book to Mischa?" " Yes of course." "To Misoha." "I think I can walk Nana myself again." "Yes." "I should be going." "Where I'm working, upstairs, there are some rooms for rent." "A bit of a mess perhaps, but for sleeping..." "Yes?" "Good day, sir." "May I ask you something?" "Did you know Joaohim West?" " Yeah." "So what?" "Hey, don't I know you?" "Could you tell me something about him?" "What kind of a person was he?" "Weird geezer." "Didn't even have a television." "What kind of impression did he make?" "Tail between his legs." "Tail between his legs?" "And what else?" "Nothing else." "You didn't have much contact?" "About the rent... that he didn't pay too often." "That really pissed me off." "But he was a 'writer'." "You mean he wasn't?" "A real writer writes on a computer." "He had an old typewriter that made a right racket in the middle of the night." "And a real writer makes up his stories himself." "Him, he went to funerals." "Funerals?" "To hear stories, life stories, of the departed." "That way, I oan be a writer too." "I once saw him, at a funeral." "There he was, silently sitting in the baok." "Fly on the wall." "What kind of typewriter did he use?" "A big, heavy one." "Shit colored." "Why?" "Thank you." "Hey?" "But don't I know you from television?" "You are that singer, that opera singer." "No, I'm not that singer." "I am a writer." "That writer." "'I am a writer." "That writer.'" "But dad wasn't a man to leave it at that." "Because, he already had a parking permit it just wasn't registered yet." "So when he got a ticket he rushed out and asked what was going on." "Well, they told him: they oouldn't find his oar in their system." "And then he said he really had a parking permit..." "Is that Fabian Remarque?" "...and that he wouldn't mind dragging them to court." "Mr. Remarque?" "Fabian Remarque?" "What a surprise." "Please go on." "As you were, please." "My father." "Let's stop talking about him." "He didn't amount to muoh, really." "Compared to a man like yourself." "Fly on the wall..." "May I help you?" " Yes, I'm looking for a typewriter." "You're at the right address, then." "What type of typewriter?" "A big, heavy type." "Aheavy type of typewriter?" "How heavy?" "As heavy as they oome." "And not that it's too important, but it'd be nice if you would have one that is sort of shit colored?" "No coffee?" "Or cake?" "Or sandwiches?" "How did you know him?" "Or did you just come for coffee and a sandwich?" "No, not for a sandwich." "Are you a relative?" "Yes, his son." "Bert de Brauw junior." "Actually, now my father's gone, senior." "Can you turn around?" "And jump up and down?" "Get your clothes back on." "How old are you?" " Eighteen." "Well, fifteen." "Afresh young thing is always fine." "I will have to have your papers forged." "That'll oost money." "So first two weeks no pay." "I thought about committing suioide onoe as well." "But I think I'm a bit too shallow for that." "Why did you want?" "Do you know Fabian Remarque?" "Some pompous writer, right?" "I think he works a bit like me." "I saw him recently at a funeral where I think he was doing research as well." "You mean it was research, on that roof?" "I heard a few people had jumped off there." "So I went there to understand what they must have felt, at their last moment." "So I didn't save you?" "What a pity." "Hello, Mr. Marcellis." " Fabian Remarque." "I would like to ask you some questions about Joachim West." "Joachim West?" "Writer for the connoisseur." "Please come in." "I didn't know that." "How sad." "As a writer, he was a oombination of storyteller and philosopher." "Athinker, is what he was." "And as a man?" "Like a charaoter out of one of his own stories." "Did he have his tail between his legs?" "Tail between his legs?" "Wasn't that the impression he made?" "No, quiet pride, that's what he had." "Not quite up to life..." "but realizing that himself." "That's quite different from having your tail between your legs." "Right." "I had to think of him when I read this." "Of Joachim West?" "Yes, of one of his short stories." "Here it is." "The story of the girl with the parrot." "Would you like something to drink?" "Coffee, tea?" "Yes, a cup of coffee would be lovely." "The story line in 'ACity Depraved' about the girl with the parrot?" "Astraight reworking of a short story by Joachim West from ten years ago." "How do you know?" "I went to see Marcellis." " What?" "He thought the story was based on a newspaper article." "But what if West made the story up himself?" "Then it's plagiarism." "Fabian Remarque plagiarizing Joaohim West!" "If you didn't have the unholy idea of publishing the book in my name..." "Why did you switch publishers seven years ago?" "Because you knew you needed an editor who could push you that last step to real greatness." "I was the one telling you to paint your novels on a broader canvas." "I told you to leave your wife and find yourself a younger woman." "And see what it has brought us." "You're a serious Nobel Prize oontender." "So drop this 'if you hadn't come up with this unholy idea' bullshit." "If you hadn't had writer's block..." " No, I did that on purpose." "You should have told me." "I thought it would pass." "Like the flu." "I'll see if I oan find a newspaper article about a girl with a parrot." "If there isn't such an article, you'd better have a good explanation." "If a rumor about plagiarism starts, we have to stop it right away." "Last thing we want is some..." "Hey, hi, Monica." "Lea." "Mr. Remarque." "Some humble pie, that was." "Fabian Remarque 'ripe to enter Literature's Pantheon'." "You surprised me with 'A City Depraved'." "I've never been much of an admirer of your work, to be honest." "Many of course don't agree with me on that, but you really did surprise me." "Thank you." "Secondary form of life." "What the hell were you doing at Marcellis'?" "If I have a clearer pioture of Joachim West I might be able to write again." "Hi." "Hello." "What are you doing?" "Writing." "I sleep in the room downstairs." "Did I wake you up?" "Is mytyping bothering you?" "I think it sounds nice." "My name is Annabel." "And you are Fyodor." "Ilse told me." "She said she told you she's a dancer and then you pretended to think she was a ballet dancer." "She was pretty badly beaten up." "So I wanted to make her feel good about herself." "And 'ballet danoer' sounds classier than 'nightclub dancer'." "I'll send my mother a postcard." "So she knows everything's okay." "And you know what I'll say?" "That I've beoome a ballet dancer!" "I haven't found any proof she actually is a ballet danoer." "But what is she then?" "Where is she?" "I have a number of very promising leads." "I've already got further than the police." "But to get any further, I need to put more time into the investigation." "And time, as they say..." "Is money?" "I don't suppose I can get a discount because I'm on welfare?" "I'm a single mum." "Assuming your daughter is still alive." "Otherwise you were a single mum." "Not to mention the child benefit you'll have to pay back." "I was just joking." "You're not saying you can't take a joke?" "And as far as the money is concerned, we might work out a solution there." "Right?" "Hello." "Mr. West?" "Doesn't live here anymore." "Thrown out of his room." "Here as well?" "And where has he gone this time?" "Don't know." "I'll never put something in the mail for somebody again." "You're not the first one who's come looking for him." "Not the first one?" "First his publisher, and then that writer, that well-known writer." "Well-known writer?" "From television." "Who looks like that opera singer with the wide jaw." "Hey, wait." "If you find West, give him this." "Found in his room, behind the radiator." "Papers." "And the next one looking for Joaohim West, will get the pit bull treatment." "I'm getting sick and tired of it." "Aotually I'm not so much looking for Joachim West as for his daughter." "She ran away from home." "Adaughter?" "So he does have balls atter all." "I'd fall in love with her, if I were a man." "With Ilse." "When will you stop going on about that?" "No need to get cross." "When was the last time you fell in love?" "I don't fall in love that easily." "Who is the father, anyway?" " Of my ohild?" "A man." "Abit like you." "You mean, as old as me?" "He came to the door." "Doing a survey." "And he liked me." "Does he know?" "Shouldn't he take care of his child?" "I want to do it myself." "It's my baby." "What kind of survey was it?" "Perhaps it wasn't really a survey." "Was he trying to sell something?" "Funeral insuranoe?" "What did he look like?" " Abit ohubby." "But darling, are you sure?" "You're fifteen..." "But darling, are you sure?" "You're fifteen..." "Yes, I'm sure." "That's fantastic." "Congratulations." "And what's your seoret?" " My seoret?" "I wheedled an advance out of my publisher but never delivered the novel." "Money is hardly a seoret." "But now she thinks I'm dead." "Funny." "Now a real secret." "Then will you tell a real secret as well?" " Yes." "It may not be a real secret but it is something I'm ashamed about." "Really?" "Nice." "I once left somebody in the shit." "Awoman?" "And at a not very convenient moment." "She was pregnant?" "At least he's honest about it." " Yeah, well." "And your seoret?" "Can I really trust you?" " Yes, of course." "I killed somebody." "No seriously." "A man." "Not that long ago." "You're late." "Good riddance." "But he is dead." "But you know what's funny?" "That was the same night I saved his life." "All our seorets have to do with life or death." "Yes." "It's me." "Found anything yet?" "I can't find anything on the Internet about a girl with a parrot." "Yes." "Bye." "'Without Airs'..." "Why didn't you deliver that novel?" "It's been thrown away." "When I was chucked out of my room." "You let them throw it away?" "After working on it for ten years?" "You're crazy." "Really crazy." "It was pride." "One should know one's limitations." "Limitations." "I bet you're very good, really." "And, how was I?" " Good." "Wasn't I?" "Are you from this joint?" "This nightolub?" "Why?" "I'm looking for a girl that ran away from home." "On behalf of her mother." "Do you know her?" "You perhaps, do you know her?" "Forget the braoe." "She doesn't wear it anymore." "What an ugly bitch." "No, I'm sorry." "Your mother is worried about you." "I've sent her a postoard saying I've beoome a ballet dancer and that everything's fine." "Actually, I think..." " What?" "That I should go back to her?" "And have the abortion she wants me to have?" "Do you like frankfurters?" " Not really." "What is the weirdest thing you ever saw?" "The weirdest thing I ever saw?" "An illusionist on the bier, in a crematorium." "What's so weird about that?" "Wasn't he dead?" "He was, but he wasn't lying he was floating." "Over the coffin?" "How do they do that, those illusionists?" "Lousy." "In what sense?" "I dreamed that I was exposed, on a television program." "The girl, the parrot Joaohim West, everything mixed up." "And furthermore and this isn't a nightmare, I can't get an ereotion anymore if you really want to know." "But why are you calling?" "I found it, at last." "Afive-year old girl had lost her mother at a railway station and started roaming around, with a parrot in a birdcage." "So no plagiarism, but both simply based on the same source." "Yes, thanks." " You're weloome." "Sir?" "Do you by any chanoe have a book by Joachim West?" "Do we have anything by 'Joachim West'?" "No, I'm sorry, sir." "But can you tell me who is his publisher?" "How I can get in touoh with him?" "You oan't, or you just don't want to make the effort?" "I'm sorry, sir." "But perhaps you oan tell me which well-known writer looks like an opera singer?" "Which opera singer?" "That famous opera singer, who looks like that writer." "With that jaw?" "Please excuse me." "That was your regular grand-café, where you meet attractive women but also have business meetings with writers up to the likes of Fabian Remarque." "Who are you?" "Let's say The Ghost of Guilty Consoience." "Awriter who got his abominable manuscript sent back with an accompanying letter?" " You see: guilty consoience." "Some time ago you called at Joachim West's house." "What's so strange about that?" "I'm his publisher." "Just as Fabian Remarque called for him." "Why the interest of a person as famous as Fabian Remarque for Joaohim West?" "Well?" "First, let me tell you something else." "About notes." "Notes West made for the framework of a book." "A book that in elaborated form would look exactly like Fabian Remarque's latest novel, 'ACity Depraved'." "I went searching for Joachim West, but couldn't find him." "He's dead." " Ah." "You killed him." "He committed suicide." "Don't bullshit a bullshitter." "Suioide, after just having written such a brilliant book?" "He'll come." "Always late, that sort of type." "He'll come." "Always late, that sort of type." "What kind of impression did he make on you?" "Asleaze ball." "An exceptional sleaze ball." "No, Joachim West." "Did he have something sad about him?" "Tail between his legs?" "Or would you say it was quiet pride?" "Beyond shame." " Beyond shame..." "Well, perhaps not." "I don't know." "'Not quite up to life, but realizing that himself'." "What am I supposed to think of that?" "I oan't get a clear picture of him." "There must be a reason he killed himself." "Or was it just beoause he was unappreciated?" "What is that?" "That's what your masterpiece was written on." "Joachim's typewriter?" "Yes, Joachim's typewriter." "What?" " It's me." "Can I come and lie down with you?" "What?" "Why?" "I don't want to be alone." "What happened?" "I felt the baby." "Isn't it a bit early for that?" " I really felt it." "Can you feel it?" " I can't feel a thing." "I felt it." "Do you ever think about me?" "Of course." " When?" "When I'm typing." "Whether I'm making too much noise." "I think the noise is nice." "I think you are nice." "It's nioe that you like me." "I don't like you." "I fancy you." "Don't you like women?" "Women." "Not girls." "Girl?" "I'm not seven years old." "According to my passport I'm eighteen." "You're fifteen." "All men in the club want me." "If you like women you should want me too." "Two years ago I was three times as old as you." "What is that supposed to mean?" "When I was just bom you were a million times as old as me." "The older we get, the closer we get." "I don't care." " I do." "Oh, really?" "No." "Don't do that." "It isn't good." "What isn't good is not going to the police, knowing who killed that guy." "We decide ourselves what's good and what's not." "You're far too wise for a fifteen year old." "You see!" "No, hand over simultaneously." "This is 250 thousand?" " 25 thousand." "Seems reasonable enough." "Listen, I give you all the papers, now you give me all the money." "How do I know you haven't kept any papers?" "Just testing." "What kind of fucking lock is this?" "Fabian Remarque, and his little publisher trying to kill an honorable citizen." "Bunoh of book worms." "Not a bit old-fashioned, a typewriter like that?" "Let's not make it a quarter of a million but one million exactly." "Nice round figure." "Non-negotiable." "Because I'm the one calling the shots." "Why did I bother buying that hammer?" "Fabian, why the typewriter?" "Seemed fitting." " Fitting?" "My deepest conviction, as a writer, is things should fit." "And think of the symbolism." " I'm thinking of nothing else." "I think I'll be an assistant." " What?" "Later." "An assistant, to an illusionist." "I'm sure they tell their assistants how their tricks work or they wouldn't let themselves be sawn in half." "It isn't right what we're doing, Annabel." "We must stop." "Find yourself a nice boy your own age." " And what if I don't want that?" "Perhaps you just think you don't want it." "I'm only fifteen, and don't know what I want?" "Is that what you're saying?" "Think you're not good enough for me?" " That's not the point." "Then I really don't understand." "Who was that?" "Someone from my past." "When you're as old as me, you have a lot of past." "My former editor." "Why did he oall you Joachim?" "That's my nom de plume." "My pseudonym." "David Copperfield isn't a real name, either." "Think Hans Klok is really called Hans Klok?" "What I said, about you and me?" "I really meant it." "It's about Ilse, isn't it?" "You love her." "You just don't dare to admit." "Monica speaking." "Theo?" "Nice to hear from you." "Something strange?" "What kind of strange?" "Theo Marcellis." "What a surprise." "How are you doing?" "I have to tell you something." "Theo needed someone to confide in." "It's about Joachim West." "After unexpectedly seeing him on the street this morning I thought he had died I reread some of his short stories." "And what struck me were the resemblances to 'ACity Depraved'." "In other words, plagiarism." "The interest of the publishing house has to come first, Lea." "You have to make the plagiarism publio, yourself." "And I'd gladly be of help?" "Who'd ever have thought it of Fabian Remarque?" "Do you know what Maroellis told me about Joachim West?" "He has a child." "With a woman called Ria." "In East Amsterdam." "Ah, that Ria..." "in East Amsterdam." "What we have to do is go systematioally door to door." "What you have to do is go door to door." "I'd be recognized." "And if we find him, then what?" "Doing in a sleaze ball, a retired publisher or a literary journalist is one thing Joaohim West is a genius." "Misunderstood geniuses aren't geniuses." "You are a genius." "You sell books." "God only knows what he still could write." "Sometimes it's a blessing when people die before their time." "Van Gogh." "Mozart." "If he is a Mozart, then what am I?" "Have I been nothing but a second-rate Salieri all my life?" "Sorryfor the inconvenienoe." " That's alright." "It was all her idea." "We really only onoe..." "What are you writing?" "Is it about me?" " No, not about you." "About a celebrated writer whose luck somehow ohanged." "A novella, just like I told you." "Thank you." " Have a nice day." "May I ask you something?" "Do you have a book that is grand and ambitious but not pretentious." "Yes, this one." "Yes, that was her:" "Ria." "You found her?" "Does she know where Joachim is?" "No." "The daughter, Annabel, ran away from home." "She did send a postcard, saying she had beoome a ballet dancer." "I went to a bookstore and asked for a book that is grand and ambitious, but not pretentious." "As an inspiration for writing a new novel." "It's a very successful book." "That's nice of you." "What a coinoidence." "From my publisher." "You know what the problem is with you?" "You don't have any self-confidence." "Not in writing your book, not with Ilse." "No Annabel Bakker or Annabel West in the ballet world." "Now what, Lea?" "Yes?" "Oh, my God." " What?" "You're alive." "We thought you were dead." "I'm not dead." "You have stolen my book." "Joachim, you have to understand how this happened." "Fabian had writer's blook, and got totally stuck with the whole machinery for the release of his book already started." "And then your book oame in the mail." "I went searching for you at your house, at the Salvation Army I even tried to find you through Annabel." "But we thought you were dead." "And who gave us that idea?" "Annabel?" "Annabel Bakker, your daughter." "The book is an enormous success but not just thanks to your writing." "Joachim, what you have to realize is that if you make this publio, no one would believe you." "An unknown writer versus someone of the stature of Fabian Remarque." "Let's make an appointment to straighten everything out?" "How about Monday morning, here at my offioe?" "I'll put some things on paper." "I think he understands." "He took it well." "Surprisingly well." "You're a golden duo." "Our own, private money press." "I don't just want to be a front for Joaohim West." "Dammit Lea, am I a writer or not?" "Of course you are." "But this has to be oelebrated." "Come on, champagne." "Ladies!" "Time to go up." "We're doing a show!" "First show of the day!" "Hey, you old wanker." "Hi, 'Joachim'." "Tell me about your parents?" "My parents?" "My mother just is my mother." "And your father?" "Don't know him." "Don't oare either." "Don't even know his name." "He never showed any interest in me." "But why?" "I know you don't think too highly of your mother but she wasn't born a bingo player." "She must have had her dreams too." "And she loves you, I'm sure of that." "And she'll love the baby, too." "I heard you're a bit in love with me?" "That isn't going to work." "We're far too different." "Are we really that different?" "Yeah, funny." "I'm never sure with you..." "But well..." "I have money." "Soon I'll have money." "Congratulations." "We have to get on stage." "Bye." "'Dearest Annabel, I will...'" "As writers among themselves if you were a oharacter, how would you desoribe yourself?" "What is your seoret?" "I have tried to write like you." "To write like me?" "That's why you were at that funeral?" "Why, sir, do you think I have a secret?" "Not so formal." "Aren't we writers, both?" "What seoret?" "The seoret of how you oould write such a great novel." "I wrote it, but it's your book." "You are Fabian Remarque." "Yes, it's my book." "Who are you?" "Did you really write that book?" "Is that your secret, that you didn't write it either?" "No, that would be a bit too muoh." "With you I'll have to do." "Closer to unadulterated genius I'll probably never get." "You followed me here, sir?" "I told you not to be so formal!" "Dearest Annabel, I'll be leaving." "Don't be sad." "It doesn't have anything to do with you." "We've had a wonderful time." "Joaohim." "I assume this Annabel is your daughter?" "Concise, to the point, yet not devoid of feeling." "Even a simple farewell letter is perfeot." "You're right, I am Fabian Remarque." "Knowing you'd be writing another masterpiece in some dump would oompletely paralyze me." "I'd never be able to write again." "Thanks to my writer's block, I know what it is not to be able to write anymore." "This last year has been the most horrible of my life." "Your talent is too great." "It's you or me." "You do understand, don't you, Joachim?" "I'm glad we bought him a nice coffin." "Yeah." "Annabel Bakker?" "Yes, let her in." "Annabel, Joachim's daughter?" "I'm not his daughter, I'm his girlfriend." " Girlfriend?" "Or, am, was." "He is dead." " Dead?" "He shot himself through the head." "He had suioidal tendenoies before." "Are you interested in a book by him?" "Well, a novella." "Something he wrote recently." "I feel I have to do this." "For him." "Have you read it?" " No." "Has anybody else read it?" " No." "I'll give it a serious look." "If it isn't any good, you can always throw it away." "You shouldn't blame yourself." "He was very complicated." "He wrote something like that in his farewell note, too." "He was very sweet, alright." "Fabian, it's me." "Joachim West committed suioide." "You'll never guess why." "He was in relationship with his daughter." "Yes yes, I'm still here." "It's just that I'm speechless." "Perhaps I'd have put an end to it as well, then." "With your daughter." "How awful." "A novella?" "Bye, Lea." "Mom?" "I'm home." "As announced in Stockholm earlier today the Nobel Prize for Literature will be awarded to Fabian Remarque." "Remarque, born Jan Kramer, was pleasantly surprised." "For an in depth reaction we go live to Amsterdam where reporter Frêdêrique Ligtenberg is with the luoky man himself." "Mr. Remarque, oongratulations." " Thank you." "When exactly did you hear it?" "At half past twelve I got a call from Stockholm from the Seoretary of the Aoademy." "And where were you?" "Here at home, working on my new novel that is progressing very nicely." "What do you think tipped the balance for the Nobel Committee?" "'ACity Depraved', perhaps?" "Everything oounts, including my earlier work of course." "Or 'The Nobel Prize Candidate', perhaps the reoently published painfully honest novella that is more autobiographical than any of your work before?" "Like I said, the prize is for a body of work." "It couldn't have come as a complete surprise?" "Your name has been mentioned before." " Well." "To which your literary opponents..." "beoause you do have opponents always reacted with some soorn." "Some people have a problem with me." "I, for my part, don't have a problem with anybody at all." "You're above all that, and don't stoop to that level?" "The only thing that counts in the end is the work itself." "And that today has been so gloriously honoured." "Mr. Remarque, thank you for your quick reaction." "Thank you." "Thank you, and baok to the studio."