Persona Script - Dialogue Transcript

Voila! Finally, the Persona script is here for all you quotes spouting fans of the Ingmar Bergman movie.  This script is a transcript that was painstakingly transcribed using the screenplay and/or viewings of Persona. I know, I know, I still need to get the cast names in there and I'll be eternally tweaking it, so if you have any corrections, feel free to drop me a line. You won't hurt my feelings. Honest.

Swing on back to Drew's Script-O-Rama afterwards for more free movie scripts!

Persona Script


 

                   

You wanted

to talk with me, doctor?



 

                   

Have you been to see

Mrs. Vogler yet, Sister Alma?



 

                   

No, not yet.



 

                   

Let me explain her situation



 

                   

and the reason why

you have been hired to care for her.



 

                   

Mrs. Vogler is an actress,

as you know.



 

                   

During her last performance

of Electra,



 

                   

she fell silent

and looked around as if in surprise.



 

                   

She was silent

for over a minute.



  

                   

She apologized afterward,

saying she had got the urge to laugh.



  

                   

The next day the theater rang,



  

                   

as Mrs. Vogler

had not come to rehearsals.



  

                   

The maid found her still in bed.



  

                   

She was awake

but did not talk or move.



  

                   

This condition has now lasted

for three months.



  

                   

She has had all sorts of tests.



  

                   

She's healthy

both mentally and physically.



  

                   

It's not even some kind

of hysterical reaction.



  

                   

Any questions, Sister Alma?



  

                   

Well, then,

you can go to Mrs. Vogler now.



  

                   

How do you do, Mrs. Vogler?



  

                   

I am Sister Alma.



  

                   

I'm here to take care of you.



  

                   

Maybe I should tell you

a little about myself.



  

                   

I'm    years old and engaged.



  

                   

I graduated from nursing school

two years ago.



  

                   

My parents have a farm

in the country.



  

                   

My mother was also a nurse

until she got married.



  

                   

I should go get

your dinner tray.



  

                   

Fried liver and fruit salad.



  

                   

It looked tasty.



  

                   

Another pillow?

Is that good?



  

                   

Sister Alma,

what's your first impression?



  

                   

I don't know

what to say, doctor.



  

                   

Her face looks soft,

almost childish.



  

                   

Then you see her eyes...



  

                   

She has a mean look, I think.



  

                   

- I don't know. I shouldn't...

- What were you going to say?



  

                   

I thought I should say no

to this case.



  

                   

Why?

Did something frighten you?



  

                   

No, not exactly.



  

                   

Perhaps Mrs. Vogler

needs an older person



  

                   

with more life experience.



  

                   

- I might not be able to handle her.

- Handle? In what way?



  

                   

- Mentally.

- Mentally?



  

                   

If Mrs. Vogler's silence

and immobility are her decision...



  

                   

Well?



  

                   

That shows great mental strength.



  

                   

I might not be able to cope.



  

                   

I thought that you might want

to see the sunset.



  

                   

Shall I turn on the radio?



  

                   

There is a play.



  

                   

I'm sorry, my love.



  

                   

Oh, you have to forgive me.



  

                   

I want nothing

but your forgiveness.



  

                   

Forgive me and I can...



  

                   

What are you laughing at, Mrs. Vogler?

Is the actress so funny?



  

                   

What do you know about mercy?

What do you know?



  

                   

What do you know about mercy?



  

                   

Mrs. Vogler,

I don't understand those things.



  

                   

I'm interested in film and theater,

but I don't go very often.



  

                   

I have a tremendous

admiration for artists.



  

                   

I think that art is of enormous

importance in people's lives,



  

                   

especially for those

who have problems.



  

                   

I shouldn't talk about these things

with you, Mrs. Vogler.



  

                   

I'm skating on thin ice.



  

                   

Let's see if there's some music.



  

                   

Is that all right?



  

                   

Good night, then, Mrs. Vogler.

Sleep well!



  

                   

Damn...



  

                   

It's funny.



  

                   

You can go about

as you please...



  

                   

...do almost anything.



  

                   

I'll marry Karl-Henrik

and have a couple of children,



  

                   

which I'll have to raise.



  

                   

All of this is predestined.

It's inside me.



  

                   

It's nothing to think about.



  

                   

It's a safe feeling.



  

                   

I have a job

that I like and enjoy.



  

                   

That's good, too...



  

                   

...but in another way.



  

                   

But it's good.



  

                   

Good.



  

                   

I wonder

what's really wrong with her.



  

                   

Elisabet Vogler.



  

                   

Elisabet.



  

                   

Mrs. Vogler, would you like me

to open the letter?



  

                   

Shall I read it?



  

                   

Shall I read it to you?



  

                   

"Dearest Elisabet,



  

                   

"Since I'm not allowed to see you,

I'm writing to you.



  

                   

You don't have to read my letter.

You can ignore it."



  

                   

"I cannot help

seeking contact with you this way.



  

                   

"I'm haunted

by a constant question...



  

                   

"Have I hurt you in any way?



  

                   

Have I unknowingly hurt you?"



  

                   

"Is there some terrible

misunderstanding between us?"



  

                   

Do you really

want me to go on?



  

                   

"I thought we were happy.



   

                   

We have never been so close."



   

                   

"Do you remember saying,



   

                   

"'I'm beginning to understand

what it means to be married'?



   

                   

'You have taught me..."'



   

                   

I can't read it.



   

                   

"'You have taught..."'



   

                   

Now I see.



   

                   

"'You have taught me

that we have to see each other



   

                   

"'as two anxious children,



   

                   

"'filled with good will

and the best intentions,



   

                   

but ru..."'



   

                   

Now I see.



   

                   

"'... ruled by powers

that we can only partially control.'



   

                   

Do you remember

saying all that?"



   

                   

"We went for a walk

in the woods,



   

                   

and you stopped

and grabbed the belt of my coat."



   

                   

There is a photo with the letter.



   

                   

A photo of your son.

I don't know if...



   

                   

Do you want it, Mrs. Vogler?



   

                   

He looks terribly cute.



   

                   

Elisabet, I don't think

there's any point



   

                   

in your staying at the hospital.



   

                   

It's just hurting you to be here.



   

                   

Since you don't want to go home,

I suggest you and Sister Alma



   

                   

stay at my summer house

by the sea.



   

                   

Don't you think I understand?



   

                   

The hopeless dream of being.

Not seeming, but being.



   

                   

In every waking moment

aware, alert.



   

                   

The tug of war... what you are

with others and who you really are.



   

                   

A feeling of vertigo



   

                   

and a constant hunger

to be finally exposed.



   

                   

To be seen through,

cut down...



   

                   

even obliterated.



   

                   

Every tone of voice a lie.

Every gesture false.



   

                   

Every smile a grimace.



   

                   

Commit suicide?



   

                   

That's unthinkable.



   

                   

You don't do things like that.



   

                   

But you can refuse to move

and be silent.



   

                   

Then, at least,

you're not lying.



   

                   

You can shut yourself in,

shut out the world.



   

                   

Then you don't

have to play any roles,



   

                   

show any faces,

make false gestures.



   

                   

You'd think so...



   

                   

...but reality is diabolical.



   

                   

Your hiding-place

isn't watertight.



   

                   

Life trickles in everywhere.



   

                   

You're forced to react.



   

                   

Nobody asks if it's real or not,



   

                   

if you're honest or a liar.



   

                   

That's only important

at the theater,



   

                   

perhaps not even there.



   

                   

Elisabet, I understand why

you're silent, why you don't move.



   

                   

Your lifelessness

has become a fantastic part.



   

                   

I understand and I admire you.



   

                   

I think you should play

this part until it's done...



   

                   

...until it's no longer interesting.



   

                   

Then you can leave it,



   

                   

as you leave all your roles.



   

                   

Mrs. Vogler and Sister Alma



   

                   

move into the doctor's

summer house.



   

                   

The seaside stay

agrees very well with the actress.



   

                   

Her former apathy gives way

to long walks, fishing,



   

                   

cooking, letter-writing,

and other diversions.



   

                   

Sister Alma enjoys the seclusion

of the countryside



   

                   

and takes great care

of her patient.



   

                   

It's bad luck to compare hands.



   

                   

Elisabet, can I read

a bit of my book to you?



   

                   

Or am I disturbing you?

Listen to this...



   

                   

"The anxiety

we carry with us,



   

                   

"all our broken dreams,

the inexplicable cruelty,



   

                   

"the fear of death,



   

                   

the painful insight

into our earthly condition..."



   

                   

"...have worn out our hope

of a divine salvation.



   

                   

"The cries

of our faith and doubt



   

                   

"against the darkness

and the silence



   

                   

"are terrible proof



   

                   

of our Ioneliness and fear."



   

                   

Do you think it's like that?



   

                   

I don't believe that.



   

                   

To change...

but I'm so lazy.



   

                   

And it makes me feel guilty.



   

                   

Karl-Henrik always scolds me

for not having any ambitions.



   

                   

He says I'm like a zombie.



   

                   

I think it's unfair.



   

                   

I graduated

with the highest marks in my class.



   

                   

Maybe he means something else.



   

                   

You?



   

                   

I'm sorry...



   

                   

You know...



   

                   

At the hospital,

where I graduated,



   

                   

there is a home

for old nurses,



   

                   

ones who've been nurses all

of their lives and lived for their work...



   

                   

always in uniform...



   

                   

and they live there.



   

                   

Imagine having a calling that strong

that you devote your life to it...



   

                   

Believing in something,

doing something.



   

                   

To think your life has meaning.



   

                   

I like that.



   

                   

Sticking to it whatever happens.



   

                   

I think you should be

of importance to others.



   

                   

Do you believe that?



   

                   

I know it sounds nave,

but I believe in that.



   

                   

What a downpour!



   

                   

Yes, he was married.



   

                   

We had an affair for five years.



   

                   

Then he got tired, of course.



   

                   

I was so in love,

and he was the first.



   

                   

It was like a prolonged pain...



   

                   

...Iong periods of pain

and short moments of...



   

                   

I started thinking about it all

because you've taught me to smoke.



   

                   

He smoked a lot.



   

                   

In hindsight, it's banal, of course.

Sort of like pulp fiction.



   

                   

In a strange way,

it was never real.



   

                   

I don't know how

to describe it.



   

                   

I was never real to him.



   

                   

But my pain was real,

that's for sure.



   

                   

In some way, that was a part of it,

in some nauseating way,



   

                   

as if it should be like that.



   

                   

Even the things

we said to each other.



   

                   

People tell me

that I'm a good listener.



   

                   

Isn't that strange?



   

                   

Nobody ever bothered to listen to me.

Not the way you do now.



   

                   

You listen.



   

                   

I think you're the first person

to listen to me.



   

                   

It can't be interesting.

You could read a book instead.



   

                   

Look at me, talking.

I hope it doesn't irritate you.



   

                   

It feels so good to talk.

It feels warm and nice.



   

                   

I've never been in a mood

like this before.



   

                   

I've always wanted a sister.

I only have brothers.



   

                   

Seven of them. Strange, eh?

And then I turned up.



   

                   

Boys have surrounded me

all my life, as long as I can remember.



   

                   

But I like boys.



   

                   

But you would know that

with your experience as an actress.



   

                   

I like Karl-Henrik so much, but...



   

                   

You probably only love once.



   

                   

I'm faithful to him.



   

                   

There are opportunities

in my profession, you know.



   

                   

Karl-Henrik and I had rented

a cottage by the sea once.



   

                   

It was in June,

and we were all alone.



   

                   

One day Karl-Henrik

had gone into town.



   

                   

I went to the beach on my own.



   

                   

It was a warm and nice day.



   

                   

There was another girl there.



   

                   

She had come

from another island



   

                   

because our beach

was sunnier and more secluded.



   

                   

We lay there

completely naked and sunbathed...



   

                   

...dozing off and on,

putting sunscreen on.



   

                   

We had silly straw hats on.



   

                   

Mine had a blue ribbon.



   

                   

I lay there...



   

                   

Iooking out at the landscape,

at the sea and the sun.



   

                   

It was kind of funny.



   

                   

Suddenly I saw two figures

on the rocks above us.



   

                   

They hid

and peeped out occasionally.



   

                   

"Two boys are looking at us,"

I said to the girl.



   

                   

Her name was Katarina.



   

                   

"Let them look," she said,

and turned over on her back.



   

                   

I had a funny feeling.



   

                   

I wanted to jump up

and put my suit on,



   

                   

but I just lay there on my stomach

with my bottom in the air,



   

                   

unembarrassed, totally calm.



   

                   

And Katarina was next to me



   

                   

with her breasts and big thighs.



   

                   

She was just giggling.



   

                   

I noticed that the boys

were coming closer.



   

                   

They just stood there

looking at us.



   

                   

I noticed they were very young.



   

                   

The boldest one

approached us...



   

                   

...and squatted down

next to Katarina.



   

                   

He pretended to be busy

picking his toes.



   

                   

I felt very strange.



   

                   

Suddenly Katarina said to him,



   

                   

"Hey, you, why don't you

come over here?"



   

                   

Then she took his hand and helped him

take off his jeans and shirt.



   

                   

Suddenly he was on top of her.



   

                   

She guided him in

and held his butt.



   

                   

The other boy

just sat and watched.



   

                   

I heard Katarina whisper

in the boy's ear and laugh.



   

                   

His face was right next to mine.



   

                   

It was red and swollen.



   

                   

Suddenly I turned and said,



   

                   

"Aren't you coming to me, too?"



   

                   

And Katarina said,

"Go to her now."



   

                   

He pulled out of her and...



   

                   

then fell on top of me,

completely hard.



   

                   

He grabbed my breast.



   

                   

It hurt so much!



   

                   

I was overwhelmed

and came almost immediately.



   

                   

Can you believe it?



   

                   

I wanted to tell him to be careful

not to make me pregnant...



   

                   

...when he came.



   

                   

I felt something

I'd never felt in my life...



   

                   

how his sperm

was shooting inside me.



   

                   

He held my shoulders

and bent backwards.



   

                   

I came over and over.



   

                   

Katarina lay there watching

and held him from behind.



   

                   

After he came,

she took him in her arms



   

                   

and used his hand

to make herself come.



   

                   

When she came,

she screamed like a banshee.



   

                   

The three of us started laughing.



   

                   

We called to the other boy,

who was sitting on the slope.



   

                   

His name was Peter.



   

                   

He seemed confused and was

shivering there in the sunshine.



   

                   

Katarina unbuttoned his pants

and started to play with him.



   

                   

And when he came,

she took him in her mouth.



   

                   

He bent down

and kissed her back.



   

                   

She turned around,

took his head in both hands,



   

                   

and gave him her breast.



   

                   

The other boy got so excited

that he and I started all over again.



   

                   

It was just as nice as before.



   

                   

Then we had a swim

and went our separate ways.



   

                   

When I came home, Karl-Henrik

was already back from town.



   

                   

We had dinner

and some red wine.



   

                   

Then we had sex.



   

                   

It had never been that good,

before or after.



   

                   

Can you understand that?



   

                   

And I got pregnant, of course.



   

                   

Karl-Henrik,

studying to be a doctor,



   

                   

took me to a colleague

who carried out the abortion.



   

                   

We were both pleased.

We didn't want to have children.



   

                   

Not then, anyway.



   

                   

It doesn't make any sense.



   

                   

None of it fits together.



   

                   

You feel guilty for little things.



   

                   

Can you understand that?



   

                   

And what happens to everything

that you make up your mind to do?



   

                   

Is it necessary to do it all?



   

                   

Is it possible

to be one and the same person



   

                   

at the same time?

I mean, two people?



   

                   

Oh, Lord, it's so silly.



   

                   

No reason to start crying.



   

                   

I'll get a handkerchief.



   

                   

It's almost morning.



   

                   

And it's still raining.



   

                   

Imagine, talking incessantly.



   

                   

I've been talking and you've

been listening. How boring for you.



   

                   

What could possibly interest you

about my life?



   

                   

I should be like you.



   

                   

You know what I thought

after seeing your movie that night?



   

                   

When I came home

and looked in the mirror, I thought,



   

                   

"But we look alike."



   

                   

Don't misunderstand me.

You're more beautiful.



   

                   

But somehow... I think I could

change myself into you if I tried.



   

                   

I mean, inside.



   

                   

You could be me, just like that.



   

                   

But your soul would be too big.

It would stick out everywhere!



   

                   

Go to bed. Otherwise,

you'll fall asleep at the table.



   

                   

I have to go to bed now

or I'll fall asleep at the table.



   

                   

That would be uncomfortable.



   

                   

Good night.



   

                   

Elisabet.



   

                   

Did you speak to me last night?



   

                   

Were you in my room?



   

                   

Shall I take your mail, too?



   

                   

My dear,

I could live like this forever.



   

                   

Silent, living a secluded life,

reducing my needs,



   

                   

feeling my battered soul

finally starting to smooth itself out.



   

                   

Alma takes care of me,

spoils me in the most touching way.



   

                   

I believe that she likes it here

and that she's very fond of me...



   

                   

perhaps even in love

in an unaware and enchanting way.



   

                   

In any case,

it's very interesting studying her.



   

                   

Sometimes she cries

over past sins...



   

                   

an orgy with a strange boy

and a subsequent abortion.



   

                   

She claims that her perceptions



   

                   

do not correspond

with her actions.



   

                   

You're reading a play.



   

                   

That's a healthy sign.

I'll tell the doctor.



   

                   

Do you think we'll leave soon?



   

                   

I'm starting to miss the city.

Aren't you?



   

                   

Would you like

to make me really happy?



   

                   

I know it's a sacrifice,

but right now I could use your help.



   

                   

Nothing dangerous.



   

                   

I just want you to talk to me.



   

                   

Nothing special.



   

                   

We could talk about anything...

what to have for dinner,



   

                   

if you think the water

is cold after the rain,



   

                   

if it's too cold to go swimming.



   

                   

Just talk for a few minutes.

One minute.



   

                   

You could read aloud,

just say a couple of words.



   

                   

I have to try not to get angry.

You remain silent.



   

                   

That's your prerogative,

but now I need you to talk to me.



   

                   

Dearest, please,

can't you just say one word?



   

                   

I knew you would refuse.



   

                   

You can't know how I feel.



   

                   

I thought that great artists

had great compassion for people...



   

                   

...that they created

through a great compassion



   

                   

and a need to help.



   

                   

That was stupid.



   

                   

You have used me.

For what, I don't know.



   

                   

Now that you don't need me

anymore, you throw me away.



   

                   

Oh, yes,

I hear how false it sounds...



   

                   

"You used me

and then you threw me away."



   

                   

That's how it is, every word.

And then these glasses!



   

                   

You've hurt me badly.



   

                   

You've laughed at me

behind my back.



   

                   

Yes, I read the letter

that you wrote to the doctor.



   

                   

Yes, I did, because it wasn't sealed,

and I read all of it.



   

                   

You made me talk.



   

                   

You made me talk about things

I've never told anybody.



   

                   

And you told.

What a study, eh?



   

                   

You, you...



   

                   

You're going to talk!



   

                   

If you have something

to say, goddamn it...



   

                   

No, don't do it!



   

                   

That scared you, didn't it?



   

                   

For a second,

you were really scared, right?



   

                   

A real fear of death, huh?



   

                   

"Alma has gone crazy,"

you thought.



   

                   

What kind of a person are you?



   

                   

Or maybe you thought,

"I'll remember that face,



   

                   

that tone of voice,

that expression."



   

                   

I'm going to give you something

you won't forget!



   

                   

You're laughing, are you?



   

                   

It's not that simple for me.



   

                   

Not so funny, either.



   

                   

But you have always

your laughter.



   

                   

Does it have to be like this?



   

                   

Is it really important

that you don't lie, that you tell the truth,



   

                   

talk with a genuine

tone of voice?



   

                   

Can you live

without talking freely?



   

                   

Lie and make excuses?



   

                   

Isn't it better to give yourself

permission to be lazy and lie?



   

                   

Perhaps you get better

if you just be the way you are.



   

                   

No, you don't understand.



   

                   

You don't understand

what I'm saying.



   

                   

You're unapproachable.



   

                   

The doctor said you're healthy,

but I wonder about your madness.



   

                   

You're acting healthy so well

that everyone believes you.



   

                   

Everyone but me,

because I know how rotten you are.



   

                   

Look at me behaving like this.



   

                   

Elisabet!



   

                   

Elisabet, forgive me.



   

                   

Oh, my God,

I behaved like an idiot.



   

                   

I don't know what came over me.

I'm here to help you.



   

                   

It was that awful letter.



   

                   

I was so disappointed.



   

                   

You asked me

to talk about myself.



   

                   

It felt so good. You seemed

so kind and understanding.



   

                   

I had been drinking.

It felt so good to talk about it all.



   

                   

I was flattered that a great actress

like you bothered to listen.



   

                   

Somehow I thought it would be nice

if it was of some use to you.



   

                   

But it is so awful.

It's sheer exhibitionism.



   

                   

Elisabet, I want you to...

I want you to forgive me.



   

                   

I care for you so much.

You mean so much to me.



   

                   

I've learned so much from you.

Let's not part as enemies.



   

                   

You don't want to forgive me

because you're too proud!



   

                   

You don't want to give in

because you don't think it's necessary.



   

                   

I won't...

I won't...



   

                   

... doesn't speak, doesn't listen,

can't understand...



   

                   

Elisabet!



   

                   

What means... can't use...

to make listen?



   

                   

Practically...



   

                   

When you sleep,

your face is relaxed...



   

                   

...your mouth

is swollen and ugly.



   

                   

There's a mean wrinkle

on your forehead.



   

                   

You smell of sleep and tears.



   

                   

I can see the pulse

on your neck.



   

                   

It has a scar

you normally cover with makeup.



   

                   

Elisabet!



   

                   

He's calling again.



   

                   

I'll find out

what he wants from us...



   

                   

...out here,

far away here in our solitude.



   

                   

Elisa...



   

                   

I'm sorry if I frightened you.



   

                   

I'm not Elisabet.



   

                   

I have no demands.



   

                   

I didn't want to disturb you.

Don't you think I understand?



   

                   

The doctor has explained things.



   

                   

But it's hard to explain

to your little boy.



   

                   

I do the best I can.



   

                   

There's something deep down,

difficult to get a grip on.



   

                   

You love somebody,

or say you do...



   

                   

...it's tangible, like words.



   

                   

Mr. Vogler, I'm not your wife.



   

                   

You are also loved.

You form a bond.



   

                   

It gives you security,

a chance to endure, doesn't it?



   

                   

How can I say it all

without losing myself?



   

                   

Without boring you?



   

                   

I love you as much as ever.



   

                   

No. Don't worry, my love.



   

                   

We have each other.

We trust each other.



   

                   

We know each other's thoughts.

We love each other.



   

                   

That's how it is. Isn't it?



   

                   

More important is the effort.

Not what we accomplish, right?



   

                   

To see each other as children,



   

                   

tormented and helpless,

Ionely children.



   

                   

Tell your little boy

that his mother will be back soon...



   

                   

...that Mommy has been ill,

but she longs for her little boy.



   

                   

Remember to buy a toy for him.



   

                   

Tell him it's a present from Mommy.

Don't forget.



   

                   

I have such

a great tenderness for you.



   

                   

It's almost unbearable.



   

                   

I don't know what to do

with my tenderness.



   

                   

I live on your tenderness.



   

                   

Elisabet, is it good for you with me?

Is it nice for you?



   

                   

You're a wonderful lover.

You know that.



   

                   

My dearest!



   

                   

Give me a sedative,

throw me away.



   

                   

No, I can't go on anymore...



   

                   

My darling...



   

                   

Leave me alone!

It's shameful, all of it.



   

                   

Leave me alone!



   

                   

I'm cold and rotten

and indifferent.



   

                   

It's all lies and imitation.



   

                   

What have you got there?



   

                   

What are you hiding

under your hand?



   

                   

Let me see.



   

                   

It's the picture of your little boy,

the one you tore up.



   

                   

We have to talk about it.



   

                   

Tell me now, Elisabet.



   

                   

Well, then, I will.



   

                   

It was an evening

at a party, wasn't it?



   

                   

It was late and rather noisy.



   

                   

In the early hours,

someone said to you...



   

                   

"Elisabet, you have everything

as a woman and as an artist,



   

                   

but you lack motherliness."



   

                   

You laughed because

you thought it was ridiculous...



   

                   

...but you couldn't stop thinking

about what he had said.



   

                   

You grew more worried...



   

                   

...so you let your husband

make you pregnant.



   

                   

You wanted to be a mother.



   

                   

When you knew it was definite,

you became afraid,



   

                   

afraid of responsibility,

afraid of being tied down,



   

                   

afraid to leave the theater...



   

                   

...afraid of pain,

afraid of dying,



   

                   

afraid of your swelling body.



   

                   

But all the time you acted,



   

                   

played the part

of the happy expectant mother.



   

                   

And everybody said,

"She has never been this beautiful."



   

                   

You tried several times

to get rid of the fetus.



   

                   

But you failed.



   

                   

When you knew it was inevitable,

you started to hate the child



   

                   

and wished it would be stillborn.



   

                   

You wished

that the baby would be dead.



   

                   

You wanted a dead child.



   

                   

It was a long and difficult delivery.



   

                   

You suffered for days.



   

                   

The baby was delivered

with forceps.



   

                   

You looked with disgust

at your screaming child



   

                   

and whispered,

"Can't you die soon? Can't you die?"



   

                   

But he survived.



   

                   

The boy screamed

day and night...



   

                   

...and you hated him.



   

                   

You were afraid.

You felt guilty.



   

                   

In the end, relatives and a nanny

took care of the boy,



   

                   

and you could leave your sickbed

and return to the theater.



   

                   

But the suffering wasn't over.



   

                   

The boy was seized by a massive

and unfathomable love for his mother.



   

                   

You resisted desperately



   

                   

because you felt

that you could not return it.



   

                   

You try and try...



   

                   

...but the meetings with him

are cruel and awkward.



   

                   

You can't do it.



   

                   

You're cold and indifferent.



   

                   

And he looks at you.



   

                   

He loves you, and he's soft,



   

                   

and you want to hit him

for not leaving you alone.



   

                   

You think he's repulsive,

with his thick lips and ugly body



   

                   

and his moist and pleading eyes.



   

                   

You think he's repulsive,

and you're afraid.



   

                   

What are you hiding

under your hand?



   

                   

Let me see.



   

                   

It's the picture of your little boy,

the one you tore up.



   

                   

We have to talk about it.



   

                   

Tell me now, Elisabet.



   

                   

Well, then, I will.



   

                   

It was an evening

at a party, wasn't it?



   

                   

It was late and rather noisy.



   

                   

In the early hours,

someone said to you...



   

                   

"Elisabet, you have everything

as a woman and as an artist..."



   

                   

"...but you lack motherliness."



   

                   

You laughed because

you thought it was ridiculous...



   

                   

...but you couldn't stop thinking

about what he had said.



   

                   

You grew more worried...



   

                   

...so you let your husband

make you pregnant.



   

                   

You wanted to be a mother.



   

                   

When you knew it was definite,

you became afraid...



   

                   

...afraid of responsibility,

afraid of being tied down,



   

                   

afraid to leave the theater...



   

                   

...afraid of pain,

afraid of dying,



   

                   

afraid of your swelling body.



   

                   

But all the time you acted,



   

                   

played the part

of the happy expectant mother.



   

                   

And everybody said,

"She has never been this beautiful."



   

                   

You tried several times

to get rid of the fetus.



   

                   

But you failed.



   

                   

When you knew

it was inevitable...



   

                   

...you started to hate the child...



   

                   

...and wished

it would be stillborn.



   

                   

You wished

that the baby would be dead.



   

                   

You wanted a dead child.



   

                   

It was a long and difficult delivery.



   

                   

You suffered for days.



   

                   

The baby was delivered

with forceps.



   

                   

You looked with disgust

at your screaming child



   

                   

and whispered,

"Can't you die soon?



   

                   

Can't you die?"



   

                   

The boy screamed

day and night,



   

                   

and you hated him.



   

                   

You were afraid.

You felt guilty.



   

                   

In the end, relatives and a nanny

took care of the boy...



   

                   

...and you could leave your sickbed

and return to the theater.



   

                   

But the suffering was not over.



   

                   

The boy was seized by a massive

and unfathomable love for his mother.



   

                   

You resisted desperately



   

                   

because you felt

that you could not return it.



   

                   

You try and try...



   

                   

...but the meetings with him

are cruel and awkward.



   

                   

You can't do it.



   

                   

You're cold and indifferent.



   

                   

And he looks at you.



   

                   

He loves you, and he's soft,



   

                   

and you want to hit him

for not leaving you alone.



   

                   

You think he's repulsive,

with his thick lips and ugly body



   

                   

and his moist and pleading eyes.



   

                   

You think he's repulsive,

and you're afraid.



   

                   

No.



   

                   

I'm not like you.

I don't feel the same as you.



   

                   

I'm Sister Alma.

I'm only here to help you.



   

                   

I'm not Elisabet Vogler.



   

                   

You're Elisabet Vogler.



   

                   

I would like to have...



   

                   

I love...



   

                   

I haven't...



   

                   

I've learned quite a lot.



   

                   

Let's see how long

I can hold out.



   

                   

I'll never be like you.

I change all the time.



   

                   

You can do what you want.

You won't get to me.



   

                   

Say nothing...

cut a candle.



   

                   

Not now. No, no.



   

                   

Warning and timeless.

Unforeseen...



   

                   

When it had to happen,

it didn't, so... failure.



   

                   

You stand there,

but I should be.



   

                   

Not inward, not close...



   

                   

Say collect and advise others.



   

                   

Desperate, maybe...



   

                   

I take... yes,

but what is the closest...



   

                   

What is it called?

No...



   

                   

Us, we, me, I...



   

                   

Many words and disgust,



   

                   

unbearable pain,

the nausea.



   

                   

Try to listen to me.



   

                   

Repeat after me...



   

                   

Nothing.



   

                   

Nothing.



   

                   

No, nothing.



   

                   

Nothing.



   

                   

There.



   

                   

That's right.



   

                   

That's how it should be.







  

  

  

 
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