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- How'd it go, Tom? - Oh, thrashed 'em.
Led all the way.
Lydia wanted trouble this evening, Christopher.
Any news of Julian? I suppose he's all right, is he?
Julian? Yes, he's fine. I think he went down to London.
- I ordered the '45. - Beg your pardon.
Jack? Jack.
- Jack, what a surprise. - What do you mean, surprise?
Not out plying your trade?
What trade is that, Christopher?
I see you as a species of medieval pedler...
selling relics of the saints of dubious authenticity.
Don't complain, Christopher. Jack's no Roman. I can vouch for that.
I speak metaphorically, Harry. Jack's trade is the manufacture...
and supply of easy answers to difficult questions.
What's he say?
He says Jack has easy answers for difficult questions.
I've been meaning to ask about your brother's books.
Does he actually know any children?
- Jack? I don't think so. - How on Earth does he pull it off?
Barker, this isn't the Charmontagne '45?
To the best of my belief, it is, sir.
- Just one moment, sir. - No, Nick, no.
You do not agree with Marcus. You disagree with Marcus.
But Marcus says he agrees with me. Marc?
Marcus has no real grasp of his own thought processes.
Also, he tells the most terrible lies.
I'm intrigued, Jack. Apparently you don't know any actual children.
- That's balderdash. - I'm sure Rupert could spare...
one or two of his brood.
Jack, you forgot my wine.
- There. - Thank you, Barker.
Who says I don't know any children? You?
- Warnie. - My brother was a child once, Rupert...
and, as unlikely as it may seem, so was I.
Thursday tomorrow, Jack.
Yes. The week's almost gone and I haven't done half my letters.
- You don't have to write back, you know. - Don't have to write back. I know.
- It merely encourages them. - Yes.
"Mr. C.S. Lewis thanks you for your letter...
but has nothing whatsoever to say in reply."
It's going to be quite a frost tonight, Warnie.
Too many stars. Confuses me.
Nightcap?
Don't think so.
- There you are. - London tomorrow.
Who are you lecturing? Disabled veterans?
- Church widows? - Association of Christian Teachers.
- Night, Jack. - Night, Warnie.
Garden, enclosed by a high wall.
Inside the garden, a fountain.
In the fountain, two crystal stones.
In the crystals, in reflection, a rose garden.
In the midst of the roses, one perfect rosebud.
Guillaume de Lorris is using the rosebud, of course...
as an image.
But an image of what?
- Love? - What kind of love?
Untouched?
- Unopened, like a bud? - Yes. More?
- Perfect love. - What makes it perfect?
- Come on, wake up. - Is it the courtly ideal of love?
What is that? What is its one essential quality?
- Un... - Unattainability.
The most intense joy lies not in the having...
but in the desiring.
Delight that never fades, bliss that is eternal...
is only yours when what you most desire is just out of reach.
- What was that, Mr. Whistler? - Nothing, Mr. Lewis.
If you disagree with me, say so.
Fight me. I can take it.
Even I can't fight on both sides at once, you know.
Or, at least I can, but I'm liable to win.
Why is the beer here always cold? Cold beer!
Chills the stomach. Has no taste.
I have a complaint about the wardrobe.
Complaint? Our children love it.
I will not have another conversation about Jack's blasted nursery.
No. Listen.
In the book you describe the house as belonging to an old professor...
who has no wife, and yet...
you say that when the little girl enters the magic wardrobe...
she finds it full of fur coats.
- Oh, very good, Eddie. - It's simple.
It belonged to the professor's old mother. Simple.
Aha. So, to reach the magic world...
the child must push through the mother's fur.
I won't have that, John. There's none of your hand-me-down Freudianism.
But the imagery is Christian, surely.
No, Harry. It's what it is. Just itself.
It-lt's... It's just magic.
Magic. Look.
Let me show you. The child steps into the wardrobe.
The coats are thick and heavy.
- What about the fur? - Fur's not important.
The child must push through.
They're pressing close, almost suffocating.
And suddenly, there's white light...
crisp, cold air...
trees, snow.
Total contrast, you see.
It's the gateway to a magical world.
What time is it?
Good Lord, my train.
Anyway, well...
See you all tomorrow. Bye.
- Cheerio, Jack. See you. - Good-bye, Mr. Lewis.
Yesterday, I received a letter...
that referred to an event that took place...
almost a year ago now, December 4, 1951.
My correspondent hadn't forgotten.
I doubt if any of us have.
That was the night...
a Number 1 bus drove into a column...
of young Royal Marine cadets in Chatham...
and killed 24 of them.
You remember?
The letter asks...
some simple but fundamental questions.
Where was God on that December night?
Why didn't He stop it?
Isn't God supposed to be good?
Isn't He supposed to love us?
Does God want us to suffer?
What if the answer to that question is yes?
See, I'm not sure that God particularly wants us to be happy.
I think He wants us to be able to love and be loved.
He wants us to grow up.
I suggest to you that it is because God loves us...
that He makes us the gift of suffering.
To put it another way, pain is God's megaphone...
to rouse a deaf world.
You see, we are like blocks of stone...
out of which the sculptor carves the forms of men.
The blows of His chisel, which hurt us so much...
are what make us perfect.
Thank you very much.
A woman has had a dream about me.
She writes to ask if I've had a dream about her.
I had a strange dream last night.
Another letter from Mrs. Gresham.
- I can't remember any of it. - Jewish Communist Christian American.
You may ask me how I know it was strange if I've forgotten it.
- Can't answer that one. - I like her letters.
She can be quite sharp sometimes.
Listen to this, Warnie.
She says, "I can't decide whether you'd rather be...
the child caught in the spell, or the magician casting it."
See, her letters are rather unusual.
She writes as if she knows me somehow.
Still, I suppose there is something of me in my books, isn't there?
I expect it's just the American style.
Americans don't understand about inhibitions.
Ah. She's coming to England.
She's coming to Oxford. She wants to meet us.
- Well, she can't come here. - She knows.
Of course not. But she does suggest tea in her hotel.
Tea is safe. A hotel is safe.
Though she might be mad.
No, I don't think so. She does write poems.
Poems?
She'll be barking.
You won't be too agreeable, will you, Jack?
Don't worry, Warnie.
She'll turn out to be writing a dissertation on Wardrobe.
She'll ask if she can come watch you while you create.
She'll say, "I'll sit in a corner. You'll never know I'm there."
It's only tea, Warnie.
An hour or so of polite conversation, then we go home...
and everything goes on just the way it always has.
Shall we have some sandwiches?
I wonder if they do toasted tea cakes.
Excuse me. I'm here to meet Mr. C.S. Lewis, the writer.
Yes, madam.
- Well, do you know what he looks like? - No, madam.
Well, he doesn't know what I look like either.
Yes, madam.
Any ideas?
No, madam.
Anybody here called Lewis?
- Mrs. Gresham? How do you do? - A pleasure.
- This is my brother, Warnie. - Major Lewis.
Please, sit down.
So, you managed to find us.
Yes. I used the guide and it was easy.
It's just that you don't look at all like C.S. Lewis.
Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, not to mention the rest of Oxford.
No, l... So you don't like that.
Well, I'm not what you might call a public figure, Mrs. Gresham.
Oh, you're not? I mean...
You write all these books and you give all those talks and everything...
just so everybody will leave you alone?
Oh, dear.
We've only just met and already you see right through me.
- Tell me, do you drink tea? - Tea? Sure.
- It's England, right? - So it is. Waiter?
Actually, look, l...
I'm a little in awe of you and so I'm a little tense...
and when I get like that I get kind of...
I don't know.
It's very childish. I'm sure I'll get over it soon.
Not too soon, I hope, please...
because I like a good fight myself.
- You do? - Yes.
You sound surprised.
That's great. You like a good fight. Great.
But?
When's the last time you lost?
- I've been at Morland since 1925. - It's beautiful here.
How old is it?
The college was founded very nearly 500 years ago.
Not all the buildings are that old, of course.
My room is there. That's the new building.
- New, huh? - 1733.
What does your husband do, Mrs. Gresham?
Oh, Bill? Bill's a writer.
Oh. And you too, Jack tells me.
- You call him Jack? - I never liked the name Clive.
Oh, well, if you're a Jack...
- What? - No, you look fine for a Jack.
Thank you.
Well, Jewish, but not Jewish-Jewish, if you can follow that.
I mean, I'm a Christian, but I was brought up to be a good atheist.
- An atheist? - Don't sound so shocked.
I'm not. I was an atheist once.
You? So we're both lapsed atheists?
Yes, but I was never a Communist.
- Why not? - What do you mean, "why not"?
Well, I mean, back in '38 it seemed to me there was only two choices...
either you were a fascist and you conquered the world...
or you were a Communist and you saved it.
Is that so?
I must have been otherwise engaged at the time.
Oh, there's a world worth saving.
At dawn on the first of May...
the choristers from the choir school stand here and sing to the rising sun.
They said they draw quite a crowd.
Hmm. What do they sing?
Can't say I've ever risen early enough to hear them.
Oh, why not? I mean, it sounds wonderful.
Well, I don't really go in for seeing the sights.
Oh. So what do you do, just walk around with your eyes shut?
You know, Mrs. Gresham...
I almost don't know what to say to you.
Good Lord.
How long do you plan to stay in England?
Till the end of December.
- Are you expected to be in Oxford again? - I hadn't planned on it.
What do you say? Do you think we could rise to a pot of homebrewed tea?
- I can manage that. - Given early warning, of course.
Do you think I could bring my son?
Douglas is such a big fan of your Narnia books, he'd love to meet you.
- Yes, of course. - I'll give you plenty of warning.
It was a pleasure meeting you. Thanks for everything.
- Well, see you soon. - Yes. Major.
Does one wait for the train to leave?
I don't know.
Character and thought... chicken and egg.
Which comes first?
Aristotle's solution was simple and radical.
He said, "Plot is character.
Forget psychology. Forget the inside of men's heads.
Judge them by their actions."
For example, Mr. Whistler is asleep.
Now, from that action, I take it that he has no interest in what I have to say.
The puzzle is, that being the case, why is he here at all?
So, we construct a plot from Mr. Whistler's actions.
He comes, he sleeps.
Now, Aristotle would say that the next question is not why...
but what is Mr. Whistler going to do next?
Good morning, Mr. Whistler.
My class is not compulsory, neither are my chairs very comfortable.
- I suggest... - All right. I'm going.
Thank you.
He comes, he sleeps, he goes.
So the plot thickens.
It's all right, Warnie. She sails back to New York after Christmas.
One can always be so much more friendly to people who can't stay long.
I wonder what her husband thinks of her gallivanting around England like this.
- It's not the Middle Ages, Warnie. - She'll make you listen...
to one of her poems, I'll bet you ten bob.
Then she'll say to you, "How do you like it, Mr. Lewis?"
And you'll be stumped.
I shall say, "Mrs. Gresham, only you could have written that."
Blast!
- That'll be one and nine pence, madam. - Keep the change.
Hello. You must be Douglas.
- Are you him? - No. I'm his brother.
So you found us.
- Well, the driver did. - Come in.
Here we are.
There we are.
That's him. Do go in.
Here you are, then.
- Hello. - Good.
- Hello. Sorry. My hands are... - We really appreciate this.
You've no idea how Douglas was looking forward to today.
So you're Douglas.
Ask him. I told him you would write in his Narnia book.
- Do you mind? - No, of course not.
Yes.
Yes. "To Douglas," yes?
Douglas. Yes.
He wants to know if you have an attic. You can ask him these things.
We do.
What does it say, honey?
- "The magic never ends." - Well, if it does, sue him.
Thank you, Mrs. Young. Thank you.
I'd sure like to see the attic.
Then you shall.
Come along, young man. Let's go and find it.
Thank you, Major Lewis.
Oh. Jack was particularly hoping that you'd introduce him to your poetry.
Now I've got to find the key.
Don't worry. I don't inflict my poems on innocent strangers.
We're not strangers, I hope.
What about some of that long-promised tea?
Yes, please.
- You take milk, don't you? - Yes.
No, I'd be interested to know about your poems.
What do you want to know about them?
How long they are? Their rhyme schemes?
- Their major influences? - Quite right, of course.
- Take sugar? - Sure.
No, you're quite right.
Well, would you be so kind as to introduce me to the poems themselves?
I'm not sure.
I won't be rude about them.
What will you do? Stay silent or tell lies?
I shall choose when I've heard one.
All right. I have won a national poetry award shared with Robert Frost.
I'm impressed.
Well, let's hope you stay that way. Let's get this out of the way.
I'll give you an early one. That way I'm covered.
I wrote this when I was 22. Spanish Civil War.
It's called "Snow in Madrid."
"Softly, so casual.
Lovely, so light, so light.
The cruel sky lets fall something one does not fight.
Men, while perishing..."
Sorry.
"Men, before perishing see with unwounded eye for once...
a gentle thing fall from the sky."
- Oh, embarrassed, huh? - No, I'm touched.
- Touched. - Yes.
Touched... that's good. That's about its level.
So you may ask when was I ever in Madrid. The answer is never.
- Personal experience isn't everything. - I disagree.
I think personal experience is everything.
So reading is a waste of time?
No, it's not a waste of time, but reading is safe, isn't it?
Books aren't about to hurt you.
- Why should one want to be hurt? - That's when we learn.
Just because something hurts doesn't make it more true or significant.
No, I guess not.
I'm not saying that pain is...
purposeless or even neutral, but to find meaning in pain...
There has to be something else.
Pain is a tool.
- If you like, pain is God's... - Megaphone to rouse a deaf world.
Oh, how embarrassing.
You know my writing too well, don't you?
I have read most of it.
I guess I knew you pretty well before we met.
But you'd not had the personal experience.
Mr. Lewis, l...
I have to stop calling you "Mr. Lewis."
It makes me feel like a kid. Can I call you Jack?
Yes. Of course.
Jack, I'm Joy.
Well, hello, Joy.
So, Jack...
have you ever been really hurt?
You don't give up, do you?
Here we are.
Does anybody ever come up here?
Not anymore.
Come in.
Here we are. That's Warnie's desk.
This is mine.
It's not very orderly in here, I'm afraid.
Well, you keep order in your mind, right?
Yes.
Oh, that's nice.
Is it someplace real?
I think so. It's called the Golden Valley, I believe.
- Somewhere in Herefordshire. - Somewhere special?
In a way. It was on our nursery wall when I was a child.
I didn't know it was a real place then.
I thought it was a view of heaven.
Oh, the promised land.
I used to think that one day I'd come around a bend in the road...
or over the brow of a hill, and there it would be.
I have been really hurt. You know?
First time is always the worst.
That was when my mother died.
- How old were you? - Nine.
- That's old enough to hurt. - Oh, yes.
It was the end of my world.
I remember my father in tears...
voices all over the house...
doors shutting and opening.
It was a big house, all long, empty corridors.
I remember I had toothache, and I wanted my mother to come to me.
I cried for her to come, but she didn't come.
And after death, did you believe you'd meet her again?
I don't think I had any faith in anything when I was a child.
She was gone, that was all.
And still you listen for the footsteps coming down the corridors.
But they don't come.
Yes.
- You should see the garden before dark. - Yes, I'd like that.
- You'll need a coat. - I have one right here.
- There's a lake! A wood with a lake! - Oh, good.
It's really a flooded clay pit for the old brick works.
- He's all yours now. - Be careful, Douglas.
The sun's well over the yardarm.
- Does he miss home? - Oh, sure.
I mean, he'd like to be home for Christmas...
but, well, it just hasn't worked out that way.
What are you doing for Christmas?
Some lucky English hotel, I expect.
So your husband will have to look after himself, is that it?
Yes. He's pretty good at that.
The lake is much older than the house, of course.
They say Shelley used to sail paper boats here.
Made out of early drafts of his poems, no doubt.
I don't like to think of you Christmassing in a hotel.
Why don't you come here?
You're very welcome.
You don't want a couple of yankees rampaging all over your house.
I'd speak to Warnie, of course, but...
Why don't we go inside.
Speaking for myself, I'd welcome the company.
Somehow, Christmas makes more sense when there are children around.
I suppose we ought to get a tree.
What I really resent is the presumption of good will.
I feel no good will toward my fellow man whatever.
- I feel ill will. - It'll be different this year...
More cheerful, I've no doubt. A festive season.
I'm afraid Christmas, as I remember it, is rather a lost cause.
- It's because we've lost the magic. - No more blasted magic.
Well, you tell people it's about taking care of the poor and needy...
and naturally they don't even miss it.
The needy do come into it.
"No room at the inn," remember? The mother and child?
Jack's invited them to stay with us.
Who?
Mother and child.
Mrs. Gresham and her son...
They're spending Christmas with us.
Well, Jack, you have succeeded in surprising me.
Who is Mrs. Gresham?
Oh, she's just a friend, an American.
A writer.
People do have guests for Christmas, don't they?
Hello, Jack. Happy Christmas.
Oxford.
This is Oxford station.
Nice talking to you. Have a good trip and a merry Christmas.
- Merry Christmas. - Same to you too.
- No, Mom. - Are you sure it's not too heavy?
Mom, why did those people sing so loud on the train?
- Hello. - Oh, I didn't know you were...
Look who's here, Douglas.
- Did you have a good journey? - Yeah.
- Welcome back to Oxford. - Thanks.
- We're glad you could come. - Yeah.
Come this way.
Douglas, here.
And Joy...
here.
And...
bathroom here.
- Well, that's that, then. - It's good.
Good. We'll leave you to settle in.
Great. Why don't you come with me, Douglas.
What do you think next, Warnie? A nice cup of tea?
Well, you can't go too far wrong with a cup of tea.
- Joy? - Oh, thank you.
By the way. The college president is hosting...
his annual Christmas party this evening...
and I'm afraid I'm more or less obliged to put in an appearance.
I don't suppose you'd wish to come with me, would you?
With Douglas?
- Douglas? - Thanks.
Jack, that's all right. I could use an early night. You go on without us.
Oh, that's a pity. I thought you'd rather enjoy it.
We could always ask Mrs. Young. We won't be so very late.
I'll be okay.
Now I'm being thoughtless. You've only just arrived.
Do you have your hot-water bottle?
Here it is, in its very dainty cover.
All right. Keep it close to you.
Why do you think they don't heat the house?
Uh, oh, I don't know.
It's such a strange country...
but I think the natives are friendly.
So, you finish your chapter and say your prayers?
You have a big, big kiss on your cheek.
- Good night. - Night.
- Good evening, Major Lewis. - Good evening, Roberts.
- Mr. Lew... - Evening, Roberts.
Good evening.
Come and meet the college professors.
- Where on Earth did he find her? - She wrote to him.
Ah. A pen pal.
Hello.
Is this your first trip to England, Mrs. Gresham?
Oh, yeah. It's my first, but I was wanting to come for a long time.
- What brings you to England? - I'm working on a book...
so I was hoping to find a publisher over here.
Christopher, there you are.
Yes, Jack, here I am.
Please let me introduce you to Mrs. Joy Gresham.
- Professor Christopher Riley. - Professor Riley.
- How do you do? - Pleasure.
What success have you had... with your book?
To be honest, it's not ready to be seen yet.
You mustn't let that stop you, Mrs. Gresham.
It doesn't stop Jack.
I'm sorry?
I am right in assuming you're from the United States of America?
- Yes, I am. - Perhaps you can satisfy...
my curiosity on a related matter.
I had always understood Americans to be hard-riding, tough-talking...
no-nonsense sort of people, yet Jack tells me...
his children's stories sell very well there.
- Who can be buying them? - Well, Professor Riley...
we're not all cowboys.
Have you read any of Jack's children's books?
Jack has read extracts aloud to me.
It is one of his tests of friendship.
I think they're rather magical.
Congratulations, Jack. You seem to have found a soul mate.
I thought you believed we didn't have souls, Christopher.
Well, yes. Now, I regard the soul as an essentially feminine accessory...
anima quite different from animus, the male variant.
This is how I explain the otherwise puzzling difference between the sexes.
Where men have intellect...
women have soul.
As you say, Professor Riley...
uh, I'm from the United States...
and different cultures have different modes of discourse.
I need a little guidance. Are you trying to be offensive, or just merely stupid?
Let me introduce you to some friends of mine.
Excuse me. I'm sorry.
Hello.
It stood in our nursery when we were children.
If you don't need it anymore you should throw it away.
I'm not very good at throwing things away, as you can see.
We don't have an attic at home.
You wish you were at home, don't you?
We always have a turkey for Christmas at home.
Well, we'll have turkey here too.
With cranberry sauce?
- Ah. - My dad loves cranberry sauce.
Does he?
And snow.
Who do you look like most, Douglas, your mother or your father?
This is my mom...
and this is my dad.
But my dad's kind of noisy...
and I'm not.
Noisy in which way?
Like shouting. I hate shouting.
Yeah, me too.
I knew it was just a little wardrobe.
Mrs. Young...
we wouldn't happen to have any cranberry sauce, would we?
Cranberry sauce? What's that?
Well, my guess is it's a sauce, made from cranberries.
Well, Mr. Lewis, if you can find me some cranberries, I'll sauce 'em.
Well, I think Mrs. Young has done us proud, Warnie.
Happy Christmas.
Want to raise a glass to your husband, Joy?
- Sure. Here's to Bill. - To Bill.
Can we telephone to America?
- Yes, I believe so. Do you want to? - That's all right.
- We'll be home before long. - You're very welcome, if you want.
- I do want. - It's very expensive, Douglas.
- Oh, come on. I don't mind. - He's excited by the novelty of it.
I am not. I want to talk to Dad.
Well, you can't, and that's that.
Beastly things, telephones. Ring, ring, ring.
Stop what you're doing, get up, hurry, hurry.
Ring, ring, ring.
No manners at all.
- All well? - All well.
Douglas never makes a fuss about going to bed.
It appears he never makes a fuss about anything...
except telephones, perhaps.
Right. May I?
Yes, of course.
Warnie's taken himself off to bed too.
Sometimes he overdoes it a little.
- I expect you noticed. - Yes.
- I know the signs. - Oh, there are signs?
Good old Warnie.
You know, don't you?
Know what?
Well, you must not think I'm much of a mother...
not letting her son call his father on Christmas day.
Oh, that. Well, it's none of my...
It just doesn't... It's not...
It isn't what it looks like.
- I see. - Thank you for not asking.
Not asking what?
What's this woman doing, chasing all over England without her husband?
Ah, that.
I-I ran away.
It's always a mistake, isn't it?
I mean, you have to face things in the end.
I left home because Bill fell in love with another woman.
He takes the romantic view...
If you love someone, you marry them. I'm number two.
He wants me to give him a divorce so he can marry number three.
I see.
Bill's an alcoholic.
He's compulsively unfaithful.
And he's sometimes violent, and I guess I haven't loved him for years.
- He's violent? - Only when he's drunk...
and he doesn't really know what he's doing.
It's just that he's worn me out.
That's the truth of it.
Joy, look, if there's anything I can do...
There is.
You can be my friend.
I hope I'm that already.
In you get, young man.
- I'll take that for you, sir. - Well, good-bye, Warnie.
- Thanks for putting up with us. - Not at all.
We shall miss you.
Good-bye, Joy.
So they sail back tomorrow?
Yes.
I'm not sure that God particularly wants us to be happy.
I think He wants us to be able to love...
and be loved.
Wants us to grow up.
We think our childish toys...
bring us all the happiness there is...
and our nursery is the whole wide world.
But something must drive us out of the nursery...
to the world of others...
and that something is suffering.
You miss her, don't you?
Well, things are quieter now, aren't they?
Yeah. I'm not much of a talker.
One of your many virtues, Warnie.
- She coming back? - No.
- Thank you. - Thank you so much.
- Ah. What's your name? - James, sir.
- Here you are, James. - Thank you, sir.
- Would you sign that for me, please? - Yes.
Thank you.
I've always found this a trying time of the year.
Trying? To do what, Jack?
The leaves not yet out, mud everywhere you go.
Frosty mornings gone.
Sunny mornings not yet come.
Give me blizzards and frozen pipes, but not this nothing time.
Not this waiting room of the world.
Tell me something, Christopher. How shall I put this?
Would you say you were content?
I am as I am.
The world is as it is.
My contentment or otherwise has very little to do with it.
Don't you ever feel a sense of waste?
Of course.
Good evening.
I hope you don't mind.
May I come in?
Yeah.
I happened to be in Blackwell's the other day...
and I saw you borrow a book.
No, steal. I stole it. Most of these books are stolen.
They're written to be read. At least I read them...
which is more than most people do.
So you read differently to the rest of us, do you?
Yes, I do.
I read at night.
It's the only thing breaks me concentration. All night sometimes.
When I start a new book my hands are shaking.
My eyes are jumping ahead... Does he feel the way I felt?
Does he see what I've seen?
You know, my father used to say... He was a teacher like you.
Well, not like you.
He was only the village schoolmaster.
What was it your father used to say?
"We read to know we're not alone."
Would it help if I made you a small loan?
Yes, I expect it would, if I wanted to be helped.
I see. Good-bye.
You see, we are like blocks of stone...
out of which the sculptor carves the forms of men.
The blows of His chisel, which hurt us so much...
are what make us perfect.
Thank you very much. Thank you.
Mr. Lewis, what can I say?
Mr. Lewis, I didn't want to bother you.
Congratulations.
- Wonderful piece. - Mr. Lewis, I'm from Ohio.
Ohio? Oh, yes. How nice.
I'll go on ahead. You'll join us, won't you?
Yes. Do. Thank you.
Marvelous speech. Thank you.
Hello, Jack.
- What are you doing here? - I came to hear your talk.
- Oh, yes, but... - What am I doing in London?
Well, Douglas and I live here now.
- Really? - What did I do with Bill?
We're divorced, but it's going to work out better for all of us.
Yes. Why didn't you write?
What for? To ask permission?
- No. - Do you mind?
Me? No. Why should I mind?
Oh. So it's all all right then?
Yes.
But, um...
I really am very, very surprised to see you here, you know.
Well, I wasn't dead. I was just in America.
Of course. Yes.
Yes, but, um, you see, l...
I've been thinking about you. Yes. I've been thinking about you.
- Can I be of any assistance? - No, it's all right.
I'm just talking to my friend.
Yes, I was...
I was thinking about you, and suddenly there you were.
No, here I am. It's present tense.
- Present and tense. - I'm very sorry...
but the committee is waiting to entertain Mr. Lewis.
It's all right. I'll be with you in a moment.
So. Do let me know where you are.
Sure.
Good. Bye.
I do hope I did the right thing.
We're just in here.
So, she's settled here for good, has she?
For the foreseeable future.
- With the boy? - Yes.
Will you be seeing much of her?
Not much, I shouldn't think. I may look in again when I'm next in London.
It's very sweet of you to come and see me again, Jack.
- I know how busy you are. - No, not at all.
I look forward to my outings to London.
You must come and visit us in Oxford.
- Would you like some sherry? - Oh, yes.
Yes. Maybe as soon as Douglas's school term ends.
- Here you go. - Thank you.
I would like to see Warnie again.
You can just move Douglas's puzzle out of the way.
- All right. - Do remember me to Warnie.
Tell him I promise I won't turn into a nuisance.
Why should you turn into a nuisance?
Well, Jack, I don't have to explain.
Explain what?
- And why did you look at me like that? - Like what?
As if I'm lying to you. I mean what I say.
No, I know. It's just that you don't say it all, do you?
Well, one can't say it all. It would take too long.
- Did you finish your chapter? - Almost.
- Not yet. - All right. Just a little bit longer.
- Just till your hair dries. - Okay. Night, Jack.
- Good night, Douglas. - Wait. I want a kiss.
- Night, night. - Good night, Mom.
Sweet dreams.
I'm gonna check the supper.
What sort of things do you want me to say?
Well, Jack, I want to remain friends with you...
so I need to know if there's anything that makes that hard for you.
Oh, I see.
We might as well know where we are.
Never can really tell what's going on between people, can you?
People jump to conclusions.
Sometimes it makes me quite angry, the way people...
aren't allowed to be, you know, just friends.
Like us, you mean.
Like us. I don't mean to say that friendship is a small thing.
As a matter of fact, I rate it as one of life's most precious gifts.
But?
But it shouldn't be turned into a watered-down version...
of something it is not.
- Such as? - Such as...
Well, to give you one example, romantic love.
That's not to say that friendship isn't, in its way...
A kind of love.
- See? I knew you'd understand. - I understand more than that.
- Could you open this? - Yeah.
You're a bachelor and I'm a divorced woman.
Some people would imagine that you have romantic intentions towards me.
You have no such intentions, and you want that out in the open...
because you care about me and you don't want me to be hurt.
Have I understood you correctly?
- I don't know what to say. - You don't have to say anything.
I just said it. Wasn't so hard, was it?
I'm just not used to this... whatever it is.
Naming names, that's all.
Yes.
Now you don't have to be afraid of me anymore, do you?
Good Lord. I was never afraid of you.
Why are you looking... I was never afraid of you.
Jack...
I really am very thankful for everything you've done for me.
I'm sure there are more substantial ways I could be of help...
that you're not telling me about.
I don't want to exhaust your good will.
There's no fear of that.
There is something which would help me enormously.
I find it... Oh, Jack.
This is very hard for me.
If it's too much for you, you would just say no, wouldn't you?
Just no. I mean, no guilt, evasion, no running away.
Yes, I think I could just about manage that.
Something I ought to tell you, Warnie.
- Mm-hmm? - Yeah.
Um...
I've agreed to marry Joy.
- You have? - Mm-hmm.
Seemed the right thing to do.
It did?
Yes. There's nothing to worry about.
See, what I've agreed to do is extend my British citizenship to her...
so that she can go on living in England.
- By marrying her? - Yeah. Only technically.
You're marrying Joy technically?
Hmm. Well, a true marriage...
is a declaration before God, not before some government official.
Joy will keep her own name, and we'll all go on living exactly as before.
Before you are joined in matrimony...
I have to remind you of the solemn and binding character...
of the vows you are about to make.
Now, Mr. Lewis, you'll repeat after me.
"I call upon these persons here present...
to witness that I, Clive Staples Lewis...
do take thee, Helen Joy Gresham...
to be my lawful wedded wife."
Joy Gresham, if you'll repeat after me.
"I call upon these persons here present...
to witness that I, Helen Joy Gresham...
do take thee, Clive Staples Lewis...
to be my lawful wedded husband."
Do we have a ring?
- No. - No.
- Well, that's that. - Can I buy you both a drink?
Sorry, Joy. I simply have to catch the 12:22.
- Well, then off you go, Jack. - Bye, Warnie.
- Bye, Jack. - Bye, Joy.
I'll be most grateful for that drink, Joy.
That's awfully kind of you, Warnie.
I think I saw a pub just down the road. Shall we risk it?
All right.
- Go. - Here we go.
Dear heaven.
Well, that was quite an unusual experience.
Yes. You must forgive Jack.
Oh, I'm getting to know him a little by now.
I think I understand him better.
Anyway, I'm very grateful to him.
Nobody's to know, he tells me.
Well, actually, what he said was, it will be as if it never happened.
A great mistake, Jack. You'll live to regret it.
Regret what, Chris?
Staying in this godforsaken place all summer.
- Day after Encaenia, I'm off. - Where, Chris?
- Tuscany. Where else? - Where else indeed.
- Have some cheese. - We're going to the Loire...
camping.
Camping?
- Think I'll bring a guest this year. - Do, by all means.
When Laura was alive, we once took the grandchildren camping.
- Bring a guest, Jack? - Yes.
- Encaenia. - Take my tip.
Sleep outside the tent and smoke a cigar.
- Whatever for? - Mosquitoes.
You've met her. Joy Gresham.
- Yes, of course. - Not the American.
- Yes. The American. - Is she back in Oxford?
Thank you. No, no.
No, she's in London.
She wants to see the pageant of learning.
I feel distinctly under dressed.
This is just a sort of uniform, really.
Jack's party frock.
Jack, come here.
- Come here. - What?
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