01x01 - Part 1

[bunniefuu]

Inspired by Karen Blixen's life and
letters with excerpts from The Dreamers

KENYA
AUGUST 1931

Dear Mother.

Forgive me.

I can't go on.

I think I have been more happy
here in Kenya -

- than befalls most people.

I have seen into the eyes of lions -

- and slept under the Southern Cross.

I have seen the grand plains burn -

- and with beautiful green grass
after the rain.

A grand world of poetry
has revealed itself to me out here ...

... and embraced me.

I have been the friend of Somalis,
Kikuyu and Maasai -

- and I have flown over the Ngong Hills
with my soulmate.

I have loved ...

... and felt loved.

To me, it is neither terrible nor sad -

- that I shall now disappear
together with this world.

For Kenya appears to me to be -

- as much as my eyes,
my feet or my heart ...

... a vital part of who I am.

I have fought to keep my footing.
You know that.

I did everything in my power.

But to no avail.

The farm is lost.

The illness has worn me down.

And the death of Denys has left me
bereft of hope.

I have no more to give.

When you read this letter,
I have said my goodbyes.

Goodbye to the country that so
generously welcomed me 17 years ago.

And goodbye to all of you back home
whom I love dearly.

Thank you for your thoughts
and caring, Mother.

But I can't come home.

I have nothing to come back to.

I wish to die here.

Bury me
at the foot of the Ngong Hills.

Love Karen.

THE DREAMER

BECOMING KAREN BLIXEN

RUNGSTEDLUND
SEPTEMBER 1931



They're here.

Welcome home.

- Hello, Mother.
- It was good of you to get her home.

You should've seen her in Marseille
when the ship arrived.

She looked more dead than alive.

I promised not to tell the others
about her suicide attempt.

Of course not.

I have tea for you, my darling.

The rest of your things will be shipped
from Mombasa tomorrow.

I'll see to it that they're placed
in storage for now.

I'll telegraph Hugh Martin -

- about the money
he owes you for the furniture.

You should eat something.

Have you ever considered -

- that it isn't man
who gives up on life ...

... but life that gives up on man?

That is nonsense, Karen.

I don't know who I am anymore.

You're my sister.

And Elle's and Anders's.

The eldest since we lost Ea.

You're also the wisest
and most talented person I know.

Tommy, it strikes me that
all the things you say I am ...

... are things I was born as.

There she is.

Aunt Bess.

Karen.

- These are for you.
- Thank you.

- Have a seat.
- Thank you.

To think what Africa did to you, Karen.

They're beautiful.
Are they from Folehave?

Indeed. My garden is bursting
with marigolds at the moment.

Good morning, Bess.

Gerda, please put these in a vase.

- And Bess would probably like some tea.
- Please.

You must admit -

- it's good that you were forced
to come home -

- so that your mother can get back
the roses in her sweet cheeks.

How are you?

Bess is looking forward
to your walks in the park.

And our conversations.
I really look forward to them.

Your siblings are always so busy.

Tommy with his family -

- and Elle with all their properties.

Daddy!

Who have we here?

This is the honorable
Denys Finch Hatton.

We met in Nairobi
and went on a hunt together.

- Denys, meet my wife, Karen.
- How do you do, Baroness?

Skål.

- And welcome.
- Thank you.

Dearest Karen.

- You look nice.
- Please don't.

Yes, better than one might expect.

And you!
You've bought an estate?

- Hello, Knud.
- It's good to see you, Karen.

Elle, why don't you show Karen
your new book?

- You wrote another one?
- I brought you a copy.

- Introductions.
- How impressive.

I wrote while the drapes went up
at Sandbjerg.

There are 45 windows,
so I had plenty of time.

- With Knud's publishing company?
- Reitzels is not Knud's.

I'm chairman of the board,
not part of editorial matters.

Dear children.

I take great joy
in seeing you here every Sunday.

And I am eternally grateful
for all the blessings we have.

And today we have been blessed
with Karen's return.

Perhaps not under the circumstances
you might have wished for -

- but we'll celebrate nonetheless.
Welcome home, my dear girl.

- Welcome.
- Welcome home.

Dinner's served.

It's raining bankruptcies
and foreclosures.

Indeed.
And if the deflation continues -

- no one will be inclined to invest.
I don't know what we'll do then.

How about you, Jonna?
How do you make ends meet?

We'd like to move out of the city,
but we don't know what the future holds.

- We'll work it out.
- And then there are all the unemployed.

Not to mention those
forced to abandon their homes.

That was the hardest part
of losing the farm.

All the people
who were suddenly homeless.

There were two hundred Kikuyu families,
over a thousand people.

And when I suddenly lost the land,
they had nowhere to go.

They've taken
all the land from the natives.

One could arrange a fundraiser
for an orphanage.

There are so many orphans in Nairobi.

Elle...

You wanted to be a nurse
when you were young.

We could travel there together.

Isn't that the sort of thing
you leave to the missionaries?

The problem with Christian missions is
they destroy the local culture.

The native language is banned.

- Well, English is the global language.
- Yes. But it's not their language.

They can't do their traditional dances -

- but are more than welcome
to learn the game of cricket.

Let's talk about it after dinner.

Your siblings and I have discussed
your situation.

Naturally she should have an orphanage.
Why not indeed.

Knud, won't you have some more?

It's delicious.

You may live here, as if it were yours.

And you will have no expenses.

Tommy will give you a monthly allowance -

- from his interest income.

But ... I cannot live here.

Where else would you live?

I thought you would support me
in starting afresh.

You need to be realistic, Karen.
All that talk about an orphanage ...

It was just an idea.

There are many other options.

I actually have a connection
at Café Anglais.

Perhaps I can train there?

Paris?
Karen, listen to yourself.

How much am I
to live off each month?

We talked about 40 kroner.

- 40 kroner?
- You live rent-free.

- Perhaps it's too soon to discuss this.
- But 40 kroner?

How am I to start over on 40 kroner?

That would be like -

- Tommy going back
to live at Rungsted Boarding School!

Tommy has his inheritance from Uncle -

- and an engineer vocation
to fall back on.

And you have Knud and his fortune
and your three properties.

But I have nothing
from my failed marriage with Blix.

I have no income.
No home.

And no education. I have nothing to show
for all I learned in Africa.

But you've had so many experiences
and lived a fantastic life, Karen.

Is that what you see me doing?

Living the rest of my life,
dwelling on my memories?

- Of course not.
- Mother and Tommy are trying to help.

Oh, so I should be grateful
for Tommy's handouts?

I am seven years older
than Tommy.

If I had been a boy,
it would have been my inheritance.

Now you want me to be grateful
for having to beg for pocket money?

- Everyone has lost money on your farm.
- You just bought an estate.

Yes! Because Knud was the only one
smart enough not to invest in your farm!

- Elle, stop.
- Tommy had to give up on a house!

You never said.

- Mother had to sell land!
- That was my choice.

Poor Aunt Bess
may have to vacate Folehave!

Bess has lived there since she was 25!
You and I played there as children!

Now she has to move because
she invested everything in your farm!

That's enough.

Excuse me, I...

That was uncalled-for.

Don't mind Elle.

It's not your fault
the farm went bankrupt. We know that.

I can't breathe.

We all want to help you.

But our finances cannot handle
big changes right now.

I'm going out in the garden.
I just need a second.

- Shall I join you?
- No.

"A man ... a man ... a man.

A man can't fully live unless ...
unless ...

.. he dies and ceases to care,
ceases to care."

Lawrence.

- You're so good at this.
- It's easy. I love Lawrence.

Your turn.

"Cold in the earth ...

... and the deep snow piled above thee.

Far, far removed.

Cold in the dreary grave."

Emily Brontë.

Remembrance.

I keep bringing these books with me,
but I have nowhere to store them in Kenya.

Would you like me to host your library?

Could you?

Yes. I'd be delighted.

Then you can come and visit your books -

- all the time.

I should like that.

Denys.

Denys.

Aunt Karen?

They told me to find you ...
before we sing.

There was no need
to tell her about Folehave, Elle.

But it's true.

We agreed to wait till she was stronger.

- She can't stay in her fantasy world.
- A bit of realism could be the cure.

- It's for her own good, Ingeborg.
- She's broken. Don't forget that.

She's been in the hospital
six times in Nairobi this year.

- Because of that old disease?
- But Elle!

It's a tropical disease, and she also
lost her farm and her best friend.

Yes, it's terrible, we know.

Perhaps she should be put
in a sanatorium for a while.

Well, she's here now.

Just don't sell Rungstedlund
to give her an orphanage.

- One could imagine that.
- Enough.

Do you think I'm crazy?

You're not like the others.

No, I'm not.

Shall I tell you a secret?

Sometimes I dream
the most horrid dreams.

Even when my dreams -

- are filled with horror and fear ...

... they still manage to excite me.

What I love about my dreams is -

- that the world takes shape around me
with no action on my part.

Suddenly you're on
a long flight of stone stairs.

And it leads to the Serengeti Plain.

Or a bird snatches you up ...

... and drops you in Lake Naivasha.

But in your dreams
you don't have any say.

You don't in real life either.

You didn't have a say
in your mother Ea dying.

Elle didn't have a say in being barren.

And I had no say in losing my farm.

Or in becoming ill.

Or in Denys burning to death.

Here they come.

- You found her.
- How lovely that you two are so close.

So, let's sing.

The forest leaves are fading fast

And birdsong now is rarer

The swallow flees the stormy blast

The stork seeks climates fairer

Where fields once waved
with golden corn

Fair ears to ripeness straining ...

Karen ...

Come with me.

Karen.

Denys ...

Denys.

Karen ... Come with me.

Karen?

Karen!

Karen?

Karen!

Oh, thank God.

There's so much we haven't talked about.

The night it happened -

- when your father took his own life.

Your father had been home
Saturday and Sunday -

- and was returning to work
in Parliament in Copenhagen.

But before he left -

- he'd been pacing the living room floor,
talking loudly to himself.

So I lay awake all night.

The next morning I hurried to the train.

And on my way to the guest house
I ran as fast as I could -

- and I felt my heart
beating out of my chest.

When I arrived ...

... and saw the two police officers
standing on the landing ...

... I knew what had happened.

When you lose someone
who chooses to take their own life -

- someone you love ...

It's indescribable.

It's my greatest grief.

And my greatest defeat.

Perhaps I have inherited his demons.

It's as if I have nothing but ...

... pain ...

... and anxiety -

- and doubt inside.

Perhaps I'm cursed just like him.

You're not cursed, Karen,
you're blessed.

You're blessed with so many fine gifts.

Your intellect.

Your talents.

You must find your joy of life again.

I suppose I do have the stories
I started writing in Africa.

You write wonderfully.

They're just fragments.
Beginnings that never came to anything.

We shall soon find
a nice pastime for you, Karen.

What do you think, Karen?

I think I'll go to bed.

There.

One is almost afraid to ask, but ...

- What if I could make a living off it?
- I've prayed for that, Karen.

Pray a little harder please, Mother.
It must be something ... special.

I know it will be.

You can write here in Ewald's room.

But it's your office.

You can have it,
a place to write and work.

A place that's all yours.

It's not Paris, but you'll just have to
imagine that Rungsted lake is the Seine.

- Do you really mean it?
- Yes, I really mean it.

On a full-moon night of 1863 -

- a dhow was on its way
from Lamu to Zanzibar -

- following the coast about a mile out.

The night was bewildering
in its deep silence and peace.

As if something
had happened to the world.

As if the soul of it -

- had, by some magic,
been turned upside down.

Apart from the crew
and the prisoners onboard ...

... the boat carried three passengers.

One was
the young Prince Said Ben Ahamed.

Said had been a prisoner in the north.

Now he was on a mission
to take revenge upon his enemies.

The second passenger
was a person of great fame.

The renowned storyteller
Mira Jama himself.

The third was Lincoln Forsner,
an Englishman -

- whom the natives on the coast
called Tembu -

- which may mean either ivory
or alcohol, as it pleases you.

He was chewing the dried leaves
the locals call morungu -

- that keep you awake
and in a pleasant mood.

Tell us a story, Mira Jama.

I have no more stories, Tembu.

I have become
too familiar with life and death.

One doesn't strike me
as much worse than the other.

Well, if you have
no tale to tell tonight, Mira -

- I shall tell you one.

I shall tell you the story of a woman.

The woman who taught me to dream.

It all happened many years ago -

- when I was a young man.

Younger than Said, our beautiful ...

... vengeful friend.

My father -

- who was a man of
great wealth and great faith -

- had encouraged me
to travel the continent of Europe -

- before my eventual marriage
to a noble lady.

After four months of travel
my destiny brought me to Italy.

I happened to fall in love.

With a woman in a brothel. In Rome.

And I owe this woman -

- my understanding of the meanings
of such words as tears, heart -

- longing and stars.

Words which you poets
make such use of.

I felt -

- lifted and carried by life itself.

What was the name
of this star-like woman?

Olalla.

Her name was Olalla.