Are you sure there's not any morphine left?
You know there isn't.
Said you're under the weather, not dying of typhus.
You wouldn't happen to know where the hospital is, would you?
Please, you can call me Natasha.
This is for Natasha.
No.
But you said you loved me.
I just said I loved you because I was on morphine.
I bid you good night, doctor.
Grigory and I will have to get used to such customs.
Grigory, your brother?
No, my betrothed.
He's very big.
An opera.
No wonder you hate yourself.
You tried to touch my balls.
No, no.
I had an idea for my opera, an aria.
I could sing it for you, if you like.
I'd rather you touch my balls.
- You look terrible. - I know.
Well, you must have known it was going to end sometime.
You just need a good night sleep, and a little perspective.
No, doctor, I'm ill.
I've a terrible headache, and I'm blocked up.
That's probably all the crying.
No, the other end.
And I was sick this morning.
You were sick this mor--
You're not pregnant are you?
No.
Wait, are you sure?
Doctor, I am a midwife.
Well, you know, you can't just swan in here
every time you got a tummy-ache.
I'm in the middle of something.
It could be malaria.
Well, you know where the quinine powder is, don't you?
Or have you run out of that as well?
I haven't had a proper meal in days.
Yes, I bet you could murder for a morphine sandwich.
- I'm not sure about the hand. - I know.
- They're so delicate. - Yes, and soft.
And pasty,
skeleton.
I have been ill, and still am.
I've lost a lot of weight.
Yes, but the illness doesn't make your hands small.
Like a child's.
Yes, that's it, they're so difficult to capture.
I mean, my darling Grigory's hands they're so big,
and detail, they really tell a story.
Battle scar, and weather beaten callus.
Those giant paws like a pair of horse leather gloves,
that could just take hold of you, make you feel so...
- safe... - Damp.
Safe.
Well, perhaps it just look small,
because you haven't painted the rest of me, yet.
Yet?
That would definitely make everything else look big.
I just thought you might want to capture this,
or this, or both.
Be with you in a minute, I'm just...
I wouldn't call it an opera exactly,
I mean, all I have is a... unfinished intermezzo,
half of it yet.
I'd rather not talk about it until it's ready.
It's sort of autobiographical.
I suppose you could say,
I have swapped the operating theatre for the Bolshoi theatre.
You see,
I have come to realize I haven't always been a saint.
And I thought it best to explore these raw and difficult emotions
through the medium of opera.
Pelageya, for example.
I hope it's not too soon, but,
how do you feel?
- Rejuvenated. - Rejuvenated.
- Is there a word without a J? - Natasha.
- Right, but that's not a adjective. - Natasha.
I haven't thought about morphine in three weeks and a day.
Hang on, are you counting the 14 days
we lost since we joined the Gregorian calendar?
Well, yes.
Who's counting?
You do realize that Natasha is, I mean, completely out of your league?
You do know there's a revolution on?
We're all equal now, we're all in the same league.
Yes, that's why she's fighting for the other side.
I wonder,
do you think it is too soon for me to declare my feelings for her?
I think it's too late.
Grigory, remember?
General big hands.
- You're not jealous, are you? - Me? No. Absolutely not.
Just as well.
Her betrothed, whatever that means.
That they have made a solemn and public
declaration of their love for one another.
You're right, it does sound like one of those arranged
- aristocratic engagement, doesn't it? - I don't think it does.
- Part of a land swap or an alliance. - Nope.
- He's probably her uncle. - He's not her uncle.
I doubt they've ever even met.
Sold for an orchard, poor Natasha.
Right, let's get back to Pelageya.
You know, perhaps it might be best to explore these difficult
and raw emotions through the medium of a poem.
Poor Natasha.
Looks like third degree frost bite.
Three verst from here, we found him lying under a pine tree.
On the edge of the glade, near the old foot bridge, you know the one.
So beautiful in the sunrise.
The snow twinkling like a sea of diamonds.
We were looking for woods,
firewood.
Looks like a deserter to me.
At least let me save him first.
All right.
You do what you can.
Is there news of the general?
I'm sorry, this is no place for a lady.
Matron, please, I can help.
You are a nurse short.
- Which is right, where the hell is Pelageya? - Ill.
Since when, I'm ill and I'm here,
so is he.
Have you been anywhere near Goldieva?
Do you know anything about the fifth battalion?
Oh, and where does it hurt?
Ambushed.
This is an operating theatre not a Salon.
And you're not a midwife.
He might have information.
It takes weeks to become a midwife.
Well, I can still help.
Weeks.
Why don't you tend to your dear brother?
Is that a good idea, he already is quite badly injured.
I'll... I'll see what I can find out.
It was a massacre.
- Mikha. - I'm sorry, I did everything I could.
I feel terrible.
Don't. He died of multiple gun shot wound and severe hypothermia.
And I think he was in the late stage of tuberculosis.
I doubt the finger made any difference.
Did he say anything?
I think you better sit down.
I prefer stand.
Right, do you mind if I sit down.
I'm afraid there's been a massacre in Goldieva.
And the fifth battalion?
Were there survivors?
No.
That's not exactly what he said, is it?
No, he said massacre.
I think he would've mentioned if it was one of those nice massacres
where thousands of soldiers were mortally offended.
And the officers?
I'm sorry.
Mutilated.
He definitely didn't say that.
Would you keep out of this, it's hard enough as it is.
So does that mean, the general...
My darling Grigory.
- All dead. - Oh, God.
Now you're just making things up.
He's almost certainly dead.
It was a bloodbath.
And what good does false hope gonna do for her?
I don't know, make her feel less desolate?
- Are you absolutely sure? - Yes.
Yes, he said, he said they were shot in the backs
as they ran away.
What a terrible thing war is.
Hold me, please.
I am.
You would tell a lie to get your hands on anything.
So glad you could join us, doctor.
I'm ill too, you know.
Jesus.
I say the constipation's clear up.
She's still feverish.
Pains in her stomach, and she's lost her appetite.
Lucky her, there's hardly anything left to eat.
- There isn't. - I took the quinine powder.
- What for? - For malaria.
Oh, yes.
- This isn't malaria. - But you said it was.
No, I didn't, you did.
But doctor, you are the doctor.
Yes, and she's a midwife.
Right, so unless she's pregnant.
She's definitely not pregnant. Are you?
So what is it?
Umm, it could be a virus, or... diphtheria,
or typhus.
- Typhus? - I said it could be typhus.
- Typhus? - No, no.
- Typhus? - It might not be typhus.
Although it might be an idea to pump her stomach.
So it is typhus.
Dear God, typhus.
How many times do I have to say that it might not be typhus?
And, even if it is, it might not be contagious.
Depends on the type of typhus.
I think Natasha can wait, don't you?
- How is she? - She's distraught, poor girl.
She lost a great man, we all did.
Grigory was like a brother to me.
Thank you.
- Should I? - No.
No, she asked to be left alone.
Of course, understand.
The colonel said...
Please.
You seem sad.
He said this day would come.
He made me promise not to cry.
Well, don't worry.
- He'll never know. - Yes.
It's ironic really,
I spent seven years at the finest medical university in all of Russia,
I learned to heal every piece of the human body,
except the heart.
I am speaking metaphorically, of course,
I at least got a five in cardiology.
I hold it true what I had before,
I feel it when I sorrow most.
Yes, we can find solace in beautiful words.
No winter has ever snowed,
no crow has ever crowed,
nor wind blowed,
more than this love.
Thank you, Mikha.
For trying to make me laugh.
On any other occasion, I adore comic verse,
- but, not today. - Of course.
It was very sweet of you to come and see me.
I'm more than happy to be here.
- I'd like to be alone now. - Of course.
- I'll come and find you later. - Oh, yes. Of course.
I will be in my room.
What time?
She's been calling for you, doctor.
It is typhus.
As I thought, well, we'll have to delouse her.
Pelageya, I need you to take your clothes off.
Oh, Mikha.
I think the sheaf's here somewhere.
Anna, would you get the lice brush.
And Feldsher, the door, please.
- Wait, where are you going now? - To my room.
I need to check an article in the Vienna Journal of
Plague and Pestilence.
You want to open it a good hour before you drink it,
nettle wine does like to breathe.
Not the pickle sprats though.
You want to leave the lid on, until the last possible moment.
Perhaps she meant eight in the morning.
Fashionably late.
Oh, it's you.
You need to be with Pelageya, right now.
I'm reading the Journal of Plague and Pestilence as fast as I can.
You've been three hours.
I've read it four times.
You can't just forsake her.
I'm not forsaking her.
I've asked Anna to delouse her.
What are you doing?
A waltz.
What if she ask me to dance?
Have you lost your senses?
What? That's a waltz, isn't it?
You do realize, that this isn't a tryst,
even if she does show up.
One, two, three, two two three. Oh God, I'm sorry, two left feet.
Listen to me.
Natasha does not think of you in a romantic light.
I fascinate her,
she said so herself.
She meant to paint.
You're a backdrop for a jug of dead flower.
She call me sweet and delicate.
Yes, like a china doll.
She nurse me back to health.
Yes, as a mother does a child.
Well, she promise to come up to see me before bedtime.
Yes, can't you see?
Pelageya is real.
This is just another self-destructive session
that you hold together with lies.
Lies, what lies?
All of them.
You have destroy that poor girl.
Natasha.
Yes, Natasha.
She puts on a brave face.
But she's alone, fragile, vulnerable.
Wait, so you do think that I have a chance.
Doctor.
Hello, what a pleasant surprise.
I didn't know you...
Doctor, I'm sorry to call on you this late hour.
Oh, not at all, not at all, come in.
Come in, my door is always open.
It's just that... I can't sleep.
And I thought maybe you have drops or anything.
I'm afraid there's nothing left in the hospital
except this half a damage of nettle wine.
But it's a 1916,
and actually drinking rather well at the moment.
If you think it will help.
Pickle sprat?
No, thank you, I had one... once.
A little music, I always find that settles the mind.
I still can't believe he's gone.
Why? Do you hear differently?
No. No, if only... I just meant.
You don't have to put on a brave face for me.
It's very kind.
I know you feel you're alone.
But you're not.
You don't have to go to Paris to find comfort and kindness.
What are you doing?
It's a waltz, isn't it?
Yes, doctor, it's just, not often have the opportunity to lead.
Oh, please, call me Mikha.
Oh, I think the nettle wine is doing the trick, I already feel a little bit...
Oh, excuse me, I think it's time for me to turn in.
You know, it's just occur to me, that I have been a terrible host.
Would you do me the honor of sleeping in my bed tonight.
That is a question you'd have to ask my father.
I won't accept no for an answer.
Alas, he is dead.
Oh, no, no, I didn't...
I mean, I mean just you sleeping...
Why? What would you be doing?
Again not here.
I won't be in the room.
I have patients to see.
I just meant this is a comfortable bed.
And the most important thing for me, is that you're comfortable.
Would you like me to leave while you undress?
That would help, make me more comfortable.
Thank you doctor...
...for the bed.
And... if there is anything else I can do, at all.
Well, why don't you look in on me in an hour,
I'm sure I'll still be wide awake.
Ok.
Look in on me in an hour, I'm sure I'll still be wide awake.
No...
I'd almost give up on you.
Oh, Mikha.
Is that you?
Yes, how do you feel?
If only we have a little morphine left...
God, don't worry about that now,
I'm actually doing fine,
23 and a quarter days, but who's counting.
She meant for her.
Right.
Clean sheets.
I didn't know what else to do.
Pray...
...for a quick and painless death.
Right then,
we've all got jobs to do.
Even more now.
Really?
Is that it?
I honestly thought I stayed here for hours.