Girl Who Cried Pearls, The (2025)

[bunniefuu]

(Birds chirping)

(Siren wailing in distance)

(Clock ticking)

(Door opening)

(Horns honking in distance)

- Hmm?

Well, well...

Who's that hiding there?

Don't worry, I'm not

calling the gendarmes.

(Grunting)

Ah! That's interesting.

Of all the treasures

in this entire room,

can you guess which

is most precious?

- Mm-mmm.

- No?

Actually,

it's a very tiny object.

Fits right in the palm

of your hand.

It would seem someone

has discovered my secret.

- What secret, Grandpa?

- Oh, my dear.

It's a very old story

going way,

way back in time...

to when I was a boy

in Montreal, where I was born.

(Dogs growling)

By day, I prowled the docks,

waiting for a box to drop.

Then we'd steal what we could

till the boom

of the foreman's r*fle

would scatter us like flies.

In the summer,

I slept in the streets.

And when it got cold,

I'd find an abandoned apartment

next to where

someone already lived.

That way, if you slept on

the other side of their kitchen,

you might feel

the heat from their stove.

(Object clattering in distance,

muffled voices)

In the apartment across from me

lived a family.

The woman was always in a rage.

Her husband was a sickly fellow

with a daughter

from his first wife

who died in childbirth.

- You spied on them?

- Well, we didn't have

television back then.

Should I stop?

- No, no.

What happened next?

- I'm afraid

it's not a happy story.

Every day, she'd yell:

"You and your father

are good for nothing.

I should throw you

into the streets."

(Muffled voices)

Her father did

what he could to comfort her.

"We must endure," he'd say.

"Our reward

is in the next life."

That night,

the night everything changed...

I witnessed something

extraordinary, magical.

(Weeping)

I watched over her

the entire night.

I wanted to take her away

from that dreadful place.

Then, before anyone was awake,

she cleaned the floor

as though nothing had happened.

It was like she was ashamed.

Maybe.

Maybe I could reach them.

They glowed, perfect and round.

They tasted...

like salt...

like tears.

- So you stole

the girl's pearls?

- Don't judge, my love.

Remember, I was just a child.

- What did you do with them?

- What I tried to do

with anything I found.

There was a man

in the neighbourhood

who was known

to give you a few cents

if you brought him

something of value.

When I appeared with a pearl,

he was sceptical.

It was not the largest

he'd seen,

but the colour, the lustre,

the luminescence...

"Where did you steal it,

you little rat?" he asked me.

"I didn't steal it," I said.

I told him the whole story.

He didn't believe a word of it.

I pulled out the second pearl.

"I'm not lying," I said.

I could see the wheels turning.

"A matching pair. Hmm...

Very, very rare."

"Are you going to

buy them or not?" I asked.

"Easy now. Silence!

I need to get these checked."

"What does that mean?"

"It means get out!

"Come back tomorrow.

"Or maybe you'd prefer

we went to the cops

"with your little fairy tale.

Out!"

There was a specialist

in the old port,

a jeweller famed

for his integrity.

He examined

the pearls thoroughly,

amazed at their shimmer

and iridescence.

"The lustre, the shape,

the colour!

Perfection."

He speculated

as to their origin.

"From the South Seas?

"Perhaps...

"No.

"I've never seen

pearls like these.

"They smell like the sea,

"but they're not

from any mollusk.

Tell me,

where did you get them?"

"Oh, well,

it's a very strange story,"

said the pawnbroker.

"You won't believe me."

But the jeweller

didn't smile or scoff

when he heard the tale

of the thieving boy

and the girl who cried pearls.

Instead, his face grew serious.

"Hold on.

Hold on a moment,"

said the jeweller.

"Wait right there."

The jeweller was a deeply

learned and religious man

with a collection

of ancient books

that would be the envy

of any museum.

"After Adam and Eve were

banished from the garden,"

he said,

"Adam shed so many tears

"that birds and beasts alike

came to drink from them,

and the tears of Eve

turned into pearls."

"But that's--that's

a Sunday school story,"

said the pawnbroker.

"You believe in this nonsense?"

"With God, who's to say

what's possible,"

said the jeweller.

"I put my faith in money.

Question is,

what are they worth?"

"Pearls of sorrow?

They're priceless,"

said the jeweller.

"But I can offer you this.

Share it with the young girl,

or may God help you."

"I'm not running at charity,"

said the pawnbroker.

"I know your type.

"If you say it's worth one,

then I know it's worth two.

Good day to you, sir."

"We have a deal,"

said the pawnbroker.

"They're not worth much.

I'll give you a dollar apiece."

I'd never seen so much money.

"Can you bring more tomorrow?"

he asked.

I promised I could.

But instead, I bought an

enormous box of chocolates.

it was the first time

I'd seen her smile,

maybe the first time

she ever had.

That night, she did not cry

and there were no pearls.

The next morning, the pawnbroker

was prepared to be generous,

but I refused the money.

"Because I love her," I said.

"I don't want her to be sad."

"What?

"You idiot! You fool!

"Life gives you one shot,

just one!

"You don't marry

the first girl you see.

"She'll bleed you dry

like a vampire to the bones!

You have a choice," he said.

"Either she cries,

and you get rich,

or she smiles and you stay

in your hole forever!"

The girl waited

at the window all day,

as if she thought some prince

would come knocking

at any moment.

I was scared.

The pawnbroker had planted

a worm of doubt in me.

It was just as he said.

I was nothing.

(Bell tolling in distance)

She did not cry that night...

or the next, or the next.

But on the seventh night...

(Girl crying)

It felt like my soul

had split from my body

and was floating

farther and farther away.

"Bravo, bravo,"

said the pawnbroker.

This calls

for something special."

"No. No, it's not enough.

I broke her heart," I said.

"Yes, OK.

"But she's not dead.

"Here.

It's ten times more

than the last time."

Enough to change my life.

"Well done, my boy.

"A man must

look after himself alone.

"You won't regret it.

"You did what had to be done.

"We'll make some good deals,

you and I.

We're cut from the same cloth."

I lived like a king that day.

I bought fancy new clothes

and a third-class ticket

to Paris on a steamliner.

But as I approached her house

for that last time...

(Girl crying)

The next day,

everything was silent.

They had packed up

and disappeared.

She was gone.

What could I do now?

I had one thought.

I could hear his heart

beating in his chest.

"Whoa, kid!

What did you do?"

I got down to business.

In return for the pearls,

I demanded he fill a shoebox

with $100 bills.

Then we would trade box for box.

Cash, not trinkets.

"Yes. Uh, let me see

what I can do.

"I can give you that. Yes."

But of course, the store

was nothing but junk.

Even his gold was fake.

He was getting desperate.

"We could be partners.

You and me, 50-50."

"You can't pay?

"After what

I've put myself through?

"That box better be full

when I come back,

or I'll sell these

somewhere else."

"Wait, wait," he said.

"Please come back

before I close.

I'll give you

everything you want."

"I need money quickly,

you understand,"

said the pawnbroker.

"The building's

in good condition.

You won't regret it."

The jeweller wondered at

the endless greed of men

and the mysterious workings

of the divine.

(Man shouting in distance)

The jeweller was astonished.

It was identical to the pearl

the pawnbroker had brought him.

And there were

thousands of them.

"Monsieur,"

he called to the foreman.

"Monsieur, over here!

Do you know what this is?"

"These?

"Oh, it's the newest thing.

"It's from Japan.

It's called plastic."

Plastic.

In truth, as greedy

as the pawnbroker was,

he was just as lonely as I.

And that was how I tricked him.

I kept one as a souvenir.

I prayed I'd never

see him again.

And I never did.

- Hang on, hang on, hang on.

You made it all up?

That's your big secret?

- It's always the story that

gives something its value.

Only the story,

never the object.

And personally,

I still find it beautiful.

- But the girl,

did she even exist?