Sheets, pillows and silence

"The girls' only contact with the outside was through catalogues they ordered that filled their mailbox with pictures of high-end fashions and brochures for exotic vacations. Unable to go anywhere, the girls travelled in their imaginations to Siamese temples or passed an old man with a leaf broom, tidying a moss-carpeted speck of Japan. We ordered the same catalogues and, flipping through the pages, we hiked through passes with the girls, stopping every now and then to help them with their backpacks, placing our hands on their warm, moist shoulders and gazing off at papaya sunsets. We drank tea with them in a water pavilion. We did whatever we wanted. Cecilia hadn't died. She was a bride in Calcutta. The only way we could feel close to the girls was through these impossible trips which have scarred us forever, making us happier with dreams than wives."

Besides staring through windows of moving vehicles (cars or 18th century carriages), bedrooms or large hotel rooms in Tokyo, Sofia's leading ladies are constantly seen among sheets, pillows... in short: in the bed. That's how we were first presented to Charlotte in Lost in Translation.

Marie Antoinette first appears as the dauphine of France, but when her story begins as a 14-year-old girl in Austria, she's still sleepy in bed, slightly awaken by her puppy.