Silence. Then the shy scriptwriter says, “And then as he’s about to die on the bed, she instinctively gives him a slap.”

Mick and the others give him a frosty reception. The shy scriptwriter picks up on it and backtracks. “Only kidding,” he says.

51

Mark Kozelek’s electronic music spreads softly along the quiet corridor. The group of six people is struggling down it, carrying the metal frames and awkward metallic cases.

Without noticing, the group passes the half-open door of one of the rooms.

Sitting on the bed, naked to the waist, an exhausted old man is covered in sweat. He is looking at the floor and sipping from a glass of water. The chubby homely looking escort girl is standing, slipping on her coat. She leaves and makes for the lift in her graceless, ungainly manner.

52

Again, Kozelek’s music is playing.

It is night time in the hotel lobby and a man is gently combing back Jimmy Tree’s hair, while Jimmy studies himself in a mirror. It is one of those theatre dressing-room mirrors with lights all around it. The barber then shaves the hair on the back of Jimmy’s neck with an electric razor. He cuts it very short. In a taut atmosphere full of suspense, the other people in the lobby are observing the barber at work.

Then, with a neat, expert gesture, he combs Jimmy’s fringe to the right. To finish, he dips his hands into a tub of brilliantine.

A middle-aged woman delicately unzips a suit carrier and for an instant a green costume can be seen.

53

The underwater lights in the blue swimming pool give off a magical glow.

With his hair shaved very close on the back of his head, Jimmy Tree is doing a few slow lengths of breaststroke. He then gets out with the short, tired steps of an old man. He dries himself and then dresses, slipping on the trousers of a green military uniform. His face is hidden from us.

In the distance, behind the Alpine peaks, dawn is beginning to break.

54

In military uniform, Adolf Hitler is trying to strut down the long covered walkway in the garden. He succeeds only in part thanks to the help of a briarwood walking stick as he takes short, uncertain steps. This Hitler has aged somewhat, feeling the aches and pains of a man of sixty.

This version of the Führer bears more than a passing resemblance to Jimmy Tree.

Jimmy walks slowly and warily with an austere and dictatorial air, erasing any differences between his character and the real Adolf Hitler. He looks around him, but there is no-one else there.

Then, all of a sudden, this Führer comes to a halt. He places the palm of his hand on his forehead so that he can arrange his hair better, exactly as Mick Boyle often does, and then with a certain emphasis he gives a Nazi salute.

It is directed at Frances, the pale thirteen-year-old, who is now standing in front of him. Jimmy remains with his arm in the air. He is waiting for a reaction. She looks calmly at him and confines herself to smiling at him, not frightened in the least by the performance.