greggster59 wrote:Look again.
The mask on the pillow was part of the costume Cruise's rented costume which he stashed in his apartment the next day.
Well spotted. I read the book when the movie came out. The human mind is a strange thing, and my mind obviously played a trick on me...
Anyway, I dug out my copy of Dream Story by Arthur Schnitzler (trans J Davies). Here is the final chapter:
**********************************************
He [Fridolin] hurried home through the dark deserted streets, and a few minutes later, having undressed in his consulting-room as he had done twenty-four hours earlier, he entered the marital bedroom as quietly as possible.
He could hear Albertine's [his wife's] calm, regular breathing and see the outline of her head silhouetted against the soft pillow. A feeling of tenderness and of security he had not expected overwhelmed him. And he resolved to tell her the whole story quite soon, perhaps even tomorrow, but as if everything he had experienced had only been a dream - and then, when she had felt and acknowledged the insignificance of his adventure, he would confess that it had indeed been real. Real? he asked himself - and at that moment became aware of something very close to Albertine's face on the other pillow. on <i>his</i> pillow, something dark and quite distinct, like the shadowy outline of a human face. His heart stood still for an instant until he grasped the situation, and, reaching out, he seized the mask he had worn the previous evening, which evidently had slipped out without his noticing that morning as he rolled up his costume, and which the chambermaid or even Albertine herself must have then found. So he could scarcely doubt that after this discovery Albertine must suspect something, and conceivably worse things than had actually happened. Yet the way she had chosen to let him know this, the idea of laying out the dark mask on the pillow next to her, as if to represent his, her husband's face, which had become a riddle to her, this witty, almost light-hearted approach, which seemed to contain both a mild warning and a willingness to forgive, gave Fridolin reason to hope that, remembering her own dream, she would be disposed not to take whatever might have happened all that seriously. But then suddenly, feeling utterly exhausted, Fridolin let the mask slip to the floor and to his own surprise broke into loud, heart-rending sobs, sank down beside the bed and wept quietly into the pillow.
A few seconds later he felt a soft hand stroking his hair. he raised his head and from the bottom of his heart cried, "I'll tell you everything."
At first she gently raised her hand as if to prevent him, but he seized it and held it in his own, both questioning her and pleading with her as he looked up, so she nodded her consent and he began.
By the time Fridolin had ended the first grey light of dawn was coming through the curtains. Albertine had not once interrupted him with curious or impatient questions. She seemed to sense that he had no desire to conceal anything from her, and he was indeed unable to. She lay there quietly, her hands behind her neck, and remained silent a long time after Fridolin had finished. At last - he had been lying stretched out by her side - he bent over her and, gazing into her impassive face and large bright eyes, in which the day now seemed to be dawning too, asked hesitantly yet full of hope, "What should we do, Albertine?"
She smiled, hesitated briefly, then answered, "I think we should be grateful to fate that we've emerged safely from these adventures - both from the real ones and from those we dreamed about."
"Are you quite sure of that?" he asked.
"As sure as I am of my sense that neither the reality of a single night nor even of a person's entire life can be equated with the full truth about his innermost being."
"And no dream," he sighed quietly, "is altogether a dream."
She took his head in both her hands and pillowed it tenderly against her breast. "Now we're truly awake," she said, "at least for a good while." He wanted to add: for ever. But before he had a chance to speak, she laid a finger on his lips and whispered as though to herself, "Never inquire into the future."
And so they both lay there in silence, both dozing now and then, yet dreamlessly close to one another - until, as every morning at seven, there was knock upon the bedroom door and, with the usual noises from the street, a triumphant sunbeam coming in between curtains, and a child's gay laughter from the adjacent room, another day began.
**********************************************
Kubrick's and Raphael's screenplay converts this scene to:
SCENE 132. INT BEDROOM - BILL AND ALICE'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
BILL quietly opens the bedroom door. To his dismay, he sees the mask on the pillow next to ALICE [my note - Bill realises he lost the mask in scene 95, but put it down to an accidental loss]. BILL, emotionally wrecked, walks slowly towards the bed and sits down with tears in his eyes. Finally, he can restrain himself no longer, and breaks down into uncontrollable sobbing. ALICE wakes to see BILL'S complete helplessness as he collapses and lays her head on his breast. She puts an arm around him as he sobs.
BILL - I'll tell you everything. I'll tell you everything.
Etc, etc