In the night I wake up and I think that I am sleeping under the same roof of Garbo's. My jouth has gone away so fast. I have became a middle-age woman, with grey hair and the wrinkles I pretend not to see. And I pretend to forget my regrets, the failures, the betrayals, the mistakes, my faults...
I have worked so hard, I have made many interviews with actresses, actors and directors. Some of these actresses were very beautiful: Anouk Aimée, Claudia Cardinale. Others were fascinating: Glenn Close, Michele Morgan. These are the first who come in my mind. But in the end I always searched for Garbo. But was she real? Or she was only a virtual image who appeared on the screen? Was she an invention? I thought I wanted to see her but was it true? I remember her as a sunny and splendid woman, wouldn't be awful to see her now older, tired, unrecognizable? No, I was sure that the signs of her antique beauty were still on her face. I did not want to see her too close, I wish I could see her back-lighted, maybe in profile, that surely was not been altered by time. I should have told her that I have looked for her all my life, that she had influenced my judges, my choises, my refusals...
The morning after, very early, I arrive at her door 410. It is half-closed. A flash of light passes though the door. It seems to me to hear a noise, a rustle of papers... Is it she? I imagine to come in and to... to what? To say hello to "the divine"? How do you greet a divinity? Introduce me? Kiss her hand like Deborah Kerr did? Be silent and just look at her? No, I'll never have the courage to enter her room. So I come back. The following day I run away from Klosters, without seeing her...
