Vida inteligente...

By Bill Waterson

Casablanca

Ilsa: Play it once, Sam. For old times' sake. Sam: [lying] I don't know what you mean, Miss Ilsa. Ilsa: Play it, Sam. Play "As Time Goes By." Sam: [lying] Oh, I can't remember it, Miss Ilsa. I'm a little rusty on it. Ilsa: I'll hum it for you. Da-dy-da-dy-da-dum, da-dy-da-dee-da-dum... [Sam begins playing] Ilsa: Sing it, Sam. Sam: [singing] You must remember this / A kiss is still a kiss / A sigh is just a sigh / The fundamental things apply / As time goes by. / And when two lovers woo, / They still say, "I love you" / On that you can rely / No matter what the future brings-... Rick: [rushing up] Sam, I thought I told you never to play-... [Sees Ilsa. Sam closes the piano and rolls it away]
Ilsa: I wasn't sure you were the same. Let's see, the last time we met... Rick: Was La Belle Aurore. Ilsa: How nice, you remembered. But of course, that was the day the Germans marched into Paris. Rick: Not an easy day to forget. Ilsa: No. Rick: I remember every detail. The Germans wore gray, you wore blue.
Rick: Tell me, who was it you left me for? Was it Laszlo, or were there others in between? Or - aren't you the kind that tells?
Ilsa: Rick, I have to talk to you. Rick: [Rick is drunk] Uh-huh. I saved my first drink to have with you. Here. [passes her a drink] Ilsa: No. No, Rick, not tonight. Rick: *Especially* tonight. Ilsa: Please... [he pours a drink] Rick: Why did you have to come to Casablanca? There are other places. Ilsa: I wouldn't have come if I'd known that you were here. Believe me Rick, it's true I didn't know... Rick: It's funny about your voice, how it hasn't changed. I can still hear it. "Richard, dear, I'll go with you anyplace. We'll get on a train together and never stop - " Ilsa: Don't, Rick! I can understand how you feel. Rick: [scoffs] You understand how I feel. How long was it we had, honey? Ilsa: [on the verge of tears] I didn't count the days. Rick: Well, I did. Every one of 'em. Mostly I remember the last one. The wild finish. A guy standing on a station platform in the rain with a comical look in his face because his insides have been kicked out. Ilsa: Can I tell you a story, Rick? Rick: Has it got a wild finish? Ilsa: I don't know the finish yet. Rick: Well, go on. Tell it - maybe one will come to you as you go along. Ilsa: It's about a girl who had just come to Paris from her home in Oslo. At the house of some friends, she met a man about whom she'd heard her whole life. A very great and courageous man. He opened up for her a whole beautiful world full of knowledge and thoughts and ideals. Everything she knew or ever became was because of him. And she looked up to him and worshiped him... with a feeling she supposed was love. Rick: [bitterly] Yes, it's very pretty. I heard a story once - as a matter of fact, I've heard a lot of stories in my time. They went along with the sound of a tinny piano playing in the parlor downstairs. "Mister, I met a man once when I was a kid," it always began. [laughs] Rick: Well, I guess neither one of our stories is very funny. Tell me, who was it you left me for? Was it Lazlo, or were there others in between or... aren't you the kind that tells? [Ilsa tearfully and silently leaves. Rick's face falls in his hands sadly, knowing that he's said all the wrong things]