“I’m going to try a different kind of massage. I can see you’re stressed. Or rather, no, it’s not stress. You’re upset.”

“You can tell this from your hands?”

“You can tell a lot of things by touch. But people are frightened of being touched. I’m not sure why.”

“Perhaps because they think it’s only a question of pleasure.”

“Well, that’s another reason why people should touch rather than talk.”

Fred remains silent. He stares at the floor. After a while he says, “You don’t enjoy talking?”

“I never have anything to say,” she admits.

“We sometimes forget, but sincerity’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it?”

The masseuse has changed to a different style of massage. She has nothing more to say.

Fred shuts his eyes and relaxes.

33

Mick and his scriptwriters are walking up a steep path towards the top of a mountain.

They meet a young family on their way down. The father is carrying his three-year-old son in a baby backpack carrier and the boy is sleeping beatifically. Mick studies the child.

Mick and his scriptwriters reach the summit with its wonderful views, a place to enjoy the silence floating in the clean air and appreciate the magnificent vista of the Alpine peaks and valleys.

There is a coin-operated telescope for tourists.

The little group observes the view in silence. Mick moves away from them and slips a coin into the telescope.

Then he calls to the youngsters, “Come and look at this.”

The girl is first. Mick shows her how it works, while the others stand by. “Now listen. You see that mountain opposite?”

“Yes, it seems very near.”

“Precisely. This is what you see when you’re young. You see everything up close. And that’s the future. Now look this way.”

He takes her hand and invites her to look through the opposite end of the telescope.

The girl sees the faces of her young friends in the reverse view. Although only two metres from her, they seem far away.

“And that’s the way you see things when you’re old. Everything’s distant. That’s the past.”

The girl is moved. She cannot see – because everything is too distant in the reverse view – that the young man she is always arguing with is also moved.

They all fall silent.

Mick goes over to a bag, crouches down and extracts a bottle of spumante and some plastic glasses while he explains, “As a boy I said to myself, if I get to be old I mustn’t make the same mistake all old people make: they become boring and pedantic. But that’s exactly what I’ve become. So, please excuse me. Now let’s turn to serious concerns: I’m so proud to have written this script with you, and Brenda can’t wait to start. And I have to confess something to you. I’ve made twenty films, but they’re all irrelevant now. At this point, only this film makes any sense to me. In it . . . well, yes, it’s going to be my lasting testimony: emotional, intellectual and moral. This is the only film for me. Nothing else. So let’s drink a toast to finishing the third draft of ‘Last Day in a Life’.”