En el presente blog puede leer poemas selectos, extraídos de la Antología Mundial de Poesía que publica Arte Poética- Rostros y versos, Fundada por André Cruchaga. También puede leer reseñas, ensayos, entrevistas, teatro. Puede ingresar, para ampliar su lectura a ARTE POÉTICA-ROSTROS Y VERSOS.



domingo, 31 de mayo de 2009

al llindar de l'aire-Yose Álvarez-Mesa

Yose Álvarez-Mesa, España



al llindar de l'aire
poema de Yose Álvarez-Mesa, traduït al català per Pere Bessó



ara que el desencís fa pas a la brisa
puc viure a espai
i recórrer sense por els ecos del rellotge

temptejar l'espai nu i abraçar-lo
i taponar els buits amb les llàgrimes mortes

deixe les meues pertinences al llindar de l'aire
per a escapar depressa en cas de tempesta

capvespre d'escumes perfumades
capvespre de bromes dissipades

mar endins s'amaguen per a sempre les tenebres
en aquesta vora del mar
la vida continua




en el umbral del aire



ahora que el desencanto deja paso a la brisa
puedo vivir despacio
y recorrer sin miedo los ecos del reloj

tantear el espacio desnudo y abrazarlo
y taponar los huecos con las lágrimas muertas

dejo mis pertenencias en el umbral del aire
para escapar deprisa en caso de tormenta

atardecer de espumas perfumadas
atardecer de brumas disipadas

mar adentro se esconden por siempre las tinieblas
a este lado del mar
la vida sigue
® 2002 Yose Álvarez-Mesa

sábado, 30 de mayo de 2009

INFLEXIÓ DE LA VEU A LA CATEDRAL DE GIRONA-PERE BESSÓ

CLAUSTRO DE LA CATEDRAL DE GIRONA






INFLEXIÓN DE LA VOZ EN LA CATEDRAL DE GIRONA



Piedras tiras,
piedras tirarás,
de piedra te quedarás...
La Bruja de piedra
Cancioncilla popular



Hay blancas mariposas, blancas
bujías en este horizonte de oro,
falso eje galo para la bóveda que cierra la arqueta
de plata labrada, rapiña que honra
la memoria d’Abû l-Walîd Hishâm ibn al-Hakam,
a despecho del azul de ánimas de las tripas del obispo olvidado
y el dedo ardiente de sabiduría del Pantocrator,
a despecho también de estas bolas de queso
antes de que los fungi retruquen los artejos de la piel,
antes de que los pecados impenitentes del mal de gota
adoben la grava de amor,
resistencia perezosa de maestrillo en la costra.

Hondo luego en las cuevas de San Pedro de Rodas,
un borracho desvestirá los santos con la mirada,
sesgado, dispondrá los círculos de la Pasión
en la bancada de manera que su superficie manche,
brille,
puntee,
oscurezca …
en tanto que sobre ella,
un antifonario mece dos tablas de novicias en una melosa voz,
sacro tálamo redondo.

Si el cristal,
les agujas del hielo,
las lanzuelas a plomo
y el canto del gallo del penacho
fueran música,
ahora sonarían como el silencio de sillas de tijera que me condena.
¿Cómo llamar a estas palabras humanas,
cuando se colaron tan lejos de la liga de los cuerpos,
del mercado de citas?
Cada tacha de herrumbre que impregna el hollejo de los mendigos
es corrupta y me pone en peligro,
mientras les letras muertas se vuelven notas
que flotan todavía como chasquidos de barbacoa
y pedos de grille sumergidos
bajo el lienzo almidonado de la hermanita de los pobres.






INFLEXIÓ DE LA VEU A LA CATEDRAL DE GIRONA



Pedres tires,
pedres tiraràs,
de pedra et quedaràs...
La Bruixa de pedra
Cançoneta popular



Hi ha blanques papallones, blanques
espelmes en aquest horitzó d’or,
fals eix gal per a la volta que tanca l’arqueta
de plata llaurada, rapinya que honra
la memòria d’Abû l-Walîd Hishâm ibn al-Hakam,
a despit del blau d’ànimes de les garjoles del bisbe oblidat
i el dit cremant de saviesa del Pantocràtor,
a despit àdhuc d’aquestes boles de formatge
abans que els fungi retrunyen als nusos de la pell,
abans que els pecats impenitents del mal de gota
adoben la grava d’amor,
resistència pererosa de petit mestre a la crosta.

Pregon en acabant a les coves de Sant Pere de Rodes,
un embriac desvestirà els sants de la seua mirada,
esbiaixat, disposarà els cercles de la Passió
a les bancada per tal que la seua superficie taque,
brille,
puntege,
fosquege …
mentre damunt d’ella,
un antifonari agrunsa dues taules de novícies en una melosa veu,
sacre tàlem redó.
Si el cristall,
les agulles del gel,
les llancetes a plom
i el cant del gall del penell
foren música,
ara sonarien com el silenci de cadires de tisera que em condemna.
Com cridar aquests mots humans,
quan s’han escolat tan lluny del lligam de cossos,
del mercat de cites?
Cada taca de rovell que impregna la pellofa dels mendicants
és corrupta i em posa en perill,
mentre les lletres mortes esdevenen notes
que floten encara com esclafits de barbacoa
i pets de grille somorgollats
davall del llenç midonat de la germaneta dels pobres.

viernes, 29 de mayo de 2009

SE ME OCURRIÓ…MÓNICA LÓPEZ BORDÓN

MÓNICA LÓPEZ BORDÓN, ESPAÑA




SE ME OCURRIÓ…

Mirar desde el ángulo de tus ojos
el abismo del viento pasajero
y sus dedos ávidos
hilando el destino consumado.

Emerge el trazo de la espera
sobre el asfalto mojado,
se muere la indiferencia y el aburrimiento.
Observo a la derecha y a la izquierda.
Cientos de rostros buscan el cielo.
Una voz le dice a mi oído
y otros labios le hablan en sueños
del adiós que es un vuelo,
preludio de letanía nocturna y sutil
que ni a mi boca le consuela.

Amo el ritmo sideral de cada paso,
la huella brotando al compás de un verso
y el trapecio encaminado de tu voz
cuando resuena el latido del silencio.


miércoles, 27 de mayo de 2009

Poemas de Aída Flores Escalante

Aída Flores Escalante, El Salvador





Lo que no debemos olvidar*

IV
14 de mayo de 1980.
La luna roja, roja,
como un clavel rojo,
como una rosa roja.
El río rojo, rojo,
es un río de sangre.
Llora un niño, una niña,
una abuela, una muchacha.
El miedo aúlla entre las hojas.
El Sumpul corre, rojo, rojo.


V
12 de diciembre de 1981.
El viento bate las puertas
de las humildes casas solitarias.
Hombres, mujeres, niños, niñas.
Sombras ateridas.
Unas brasas en un fogón.
Los perros solitarios, aúllan, solos.
Un gato se volvió loco.


VIII
Cayeron mil, diez mil,
veinte mil... sesenta mil.
De la izquierda y de la derecha.
¿Perdón? ¿A quién? ¿A quiénes?
¿Olvido?
El corazón de las madres
es un río de lágrimas.


XIII
La gente sigue buscando sus muertos.
La madre que se fue mojada la espalda
regresa cada dos años a buscar a la hija perdida.
Sólo quiere saber donde quedó.
Poner una cruz con su nombre,
Una flor el Día de Difuntos,
para que puedan las dos, dormir en paz.
___________________
Poeta y editora salvadoreña. Los poemas pertenecen al libro: Los peces nacen en los árboles

domingo, 24 de mayo de 2009

PRISON-LÍA KARAVÍA

Lía Karavia, Grecia




P R I S O NLia Karavia
Pièce pour une comédienne
Traduction : Michèle Duclos, Université de Bordeaux

Une cellule de prison. Au centre un carré de lumière vive, formé par la lumière qui traverse la fenêtre munie de barreaux. Dans la partie sombre au fond de la scène, une porte avec une ouverture oblongue à glissière qui peut s’ouvrir pour l’inspection et pour tendre la nourriture à la prisonnière. Sur la gauche, un banc étroit sans dossier, à peine assez long pour permettre à une personne de taille moyenne de s’étendre.
Nina est assise dans le carré de lumière, les jambes repliées, les coudes appuyés sur les genoux, dans la position d’un Bouddha. Elle penche légèrement la tête. Elle porte des vieux jeans bleus et un T-shirt sale. Elle reste sans bouger quelques instants, comme si elle dormait. Puis elle lève la tête, regarde la fenêtre et sourit.

NINA
Je connais la date. On est le vingt septembre. Bien ! La première chose à faire le matin chaque jour, quand la lumière arrive dans ma cellule, c’est de me rappeler la date ; et aussi le jour. Aujourd’hui c’est dimanche.
Les dimanches sont importants parce que rien n’arrive ; pas d’interrogatoire, pas d’injures, pas de menaces, pas d’espoir. Rien pour interrompre mon programme personnel – le programme de Nina. Je suis Nina. La première chose à se rappeler dans une cellule de prison, même avant les jours et les dates, c’est qui vous êtes. Donc, je suis Nina.
J’ai un programme ; un programme strict. Toute déviation peut amener divers « dé » : découragement, décomposition, détresse, désorganisation, déconfiture, en un mot désastre. De tout ça pas question. Ce qu’il nous faut à tout prix, c’est un « dis » : discipline. (Elle se lève) Alors, on y va.
(Elle se rapproche de la salle). Je me lave le visage. Peu importe qu’il n’y ait pas d’eau courante. Je me lave le visage chaque matin. (Elle mime).
Maintenant je me lave les dents. (Avec l’index droit dans la bouche elle brosse à droite et à gauche. Retire son doigt). Nous avons acquis la technique du faire semblant, quand nous étions enfants. Les dents sont propres. Bien !
Puis je me brosse les cheveux. (Elle se penche, baisse la tête et bascule ses cheveux sur son visage, vers le plancher. Elle se frotte le crâne, passe ses doigts dans ses cheveux, se redresse, et se coiffe avec les doigts. Elle paraît satisfaite). Maintenant je suis propre.
Ma routine de propreté n’est pas un jeu. Les jeux aussi sont nécessaires. Ils font partie de mon programme. Mais cette première partie est très sérieuse. Je n’ai ni savon, ni peigne, ni brosse à dents, ni EAU, pas même d’eau pour la toilette. Aussi je suis censée me sentir sale, laide et avilie. Eh bien, non ! Les soins du matin sont réels pour moi ; aussi réels que faire semblant pour les enfants. Presque aussi réels que ma gymnastique quotidienne ; que je commence toujours par des échauffements.
(Elle « court » sur place, les bras ballants, le cou souple. Parle par moments).
Pas trop d’effort pour commencer. On y va doucement. Autrement, on peut froisser un muscle ou un tendon.
(Elle arrête de pratiquer. Devient le Maître qui interroge une élève imaginaire, agitant sévèrement un doigt dans l’air).
Quelle est la différence entre un muscle et un tendon ?
(Elle devient l’Elève. Timide, les mains jointes dans le dos).
Euh… Monsieur, un tendon attache un muscle à un os, tandis qu’un muscle… est un muscle.
(Elle redevient Elle-même et éclate de rire).
Belle définition ! Idiote ! Mauvaise note. Recommence.
(Elle recommence à pratiquer. Elle «court » sur place les bras ballants, mais cette fois elle fait aussi des petits cercles avec la tête).
(Comme l’Elève). Un muscle est élastique. Par contraste avec un tendon qui n’est pas élastique.
(Comme le Maître). Bien. Continue ! Tu es suffisamment échauffée maintenant. Exécute tes mouvements.
(Elle s’arrête de « courir », écarte les jambes, tend les bras à l’horizontale par rapport au sol, replie les avant-bras sur les épaules avec effort, comme si elle soulevait des poids).
(Comme l’Elève). Un muscle peut se contracter et se tendre. Exact ? Exact ! (Sourire interrogateur). J’ai une bonne note, alors ? (Elle s’arrête, écoute une réponse négative et relâche les épaules). Non ? Pourquoi non ? (Elle écoute une réponse imaginaire). Je suppose que je dois aussi citer des types de muscles ? C’est pas juste ! Je ne suis pas étudiante en médecine. Et puis je fais ma gym, je ne peux pas être interrompue tout le temps.
(Allongée sur le dos au sol, elle lève les jambes à la verticale. Pédale dans l’air avec énergie. Tout en pédalant elle soulève la tête et parle au public, comme l’Elève).
Je sais qu’il y a des muscles cardiaques, des muscles lisses et une autre espèce importante. Rayés ? Non, ce n’est pas le mot. (Pause). De toute façon, je me moque d’avoir une bonne note.
(Elle plie les jambes au-dessus de la tête pour toucher le plancher derrière elle). Nous devons garder la forme. Un esprit sain dans un corps sain.
(Elle amène les jambes à la verticale, et au bout de quelques secondes les abaisse vers le plancher. Allongée sur le dos une minute, puis elle s’assied).
Mens sana in corpore sano. (Au public). C’est du latin. Ah ! Les « Supermen », qui veulent briser notre esprit, n’y parviendront pas si nous sommes en bonne forme physique et si notre esprit est en bon état mental. (Elle éclate de rire). C’est une redondance ! Si on dit « esprit », on ne dit pas « mental » en même temps, et l’inverse.
(A elle-même, sévère). Arrête ! Demain c’est lundi, le jour le plus dur. Les « Supermen» se sont reposés pendant le week-end, et ils se mettent à la tâche avec un zèle nouveau, impitoyable.
(Elle se lève et arpente la pièce, comme Superman devant une Nina imaginaire. Menaçant).
Salope ! (Elle tape du pied et hurle férocement). Salope ! (Adoptant soudain un ton doux et lisse). Pourtant tu pourrais être une citoyenne de premier ordre. Il n’y a rien qui cloche physiquement chez toi. Tu as la peau de la bonne couleur, la forme de la tête est acceptable, le nez presque parfait. Imagine que tu aies le nez busqué, comme certaines races. Imagine-toi avec des narines larges, laide comme un gorille. Il y a des gens qui sont nés comme ça. Des citoyens de seconde zone, de naissance. Pas toi. Regarde-toi !
(Comme Superman, elle s’approche d’une Nina imaginaire et tend une main vers elle, lubrique).
Jolie fille !
(Nina réagit. Elle repousse un « Superman » imaginaire et lui tourne le dos ; elle se retourne brusquement comme « Superman» éconduit et furieux et reprend son ton d’invective envers Nina).
Salope ! Tu crois que j’en pince pour toi ? Ne te flatte pas, ma belle ! J’aimerais mieux avoir une pute bâtarde dans mon lit que toi. (Ironique) Toi un pur-sang ? (Furieux) Un pur-sang avec des idées de bâtarde !
(Elle redevient elle-même et s’adresse en souriant à l’auditoire).

Maintenant que j’y pense, le « Superman » s’y connaît en animaux. Il a le bon vocabulaire. Il doit avoir un chien. Ce serait un bon sujet de conversation, la prochaine fois qu’il m’appelle. « Quel est le pedigree de votre chien, Monsieur ? » (Elle esquisse un sourire). Je connais la réponse. Un LIMIER !
(Se parlant à elle-même, sévère). Ouais, bon, arrête tes astuces et reviens à ta gym, petite Nina, ou alors tu vas perdre la forme en moins de rien.
(A plat ventre sur le sol, les bras écartés).
Essayons de voler. (Elle lève la tête et la poitrine et fait aller ses bras et ses jambes). Un, deux, trois, quatre cinq ! (Elle s’accorde quelques secondes de repos. Comme le prof de gym). Plus haut, s’il te plaît ! (Elle répète les mouvements). Un, deux, trois, quatre cinq ! (Elle se détend quelques secondes).
(Désapprouvant, comme le prof de gym). C’est ce que tu peux faire de mieux ? Allons ! Plus haut, et jusqu’à dix ! (Elle se détend, semble entendre un ordre différent. Elle répond en suppliant). Assez, S’IL VOUS PLAÎT ! Puis- je arrêter un instant ? (Elle écoute la réponse négative du prof de gym). Bon, alors. Je vais faire les cinq pompes et c’est tout (Elle écoute et s’indigne). Non ? Quoi encore avant que je me relève ? OK. Les cinq pompes d’abord, après on verra… Chaque chose en son temps ! (Essoufflée, elle exécute à grand peine cinq pompes).
Un, deux, trois, quatre cinq. (Elle s’effondre face vers le sol. Pause. Elle soulève la tête). Ne te surmène pas, Nina ! Tu t’es retourné le poignet et brisé l’épaule. (Optimiste). Mais tu peux toujours te mettre en boule et t’allonger.
(Elle se tourne sur le côté. En position d’embryon, elle tend les mains au-dessus de la tête et les jambes aussi loin que possible). En boule… et allongée. En boule … et allongée. Un… et deux ! Un… et deux ! Un… et deux ! Une dernière fois, allons ! Un… et deux ! Debout maintenant, les filles ! (Elle met l’accent sur le pluriel).
(Elle se relève et époussette son jeans, morose). Seulement cette fois il n’y a pas d autres filles, tout juste moi. (Pause). La fois précédente où j’étais en prison, c’était différent. Cette autre fois j’étais grande comme ça. (Elle place sa main à l’horizontale, marquant la taille d’un enfant qui lui arriverait à la taille). Il y avait ma maman, et une douzaine d’entre nous. (Elle indique la droite). Là-bas était assis un groupe de Témoins de Jéhovah qui lisaient la Bible. Ils n’ont pas fait la gym avec nous. Ils se fichaient pas mal de la forme, pas beaucoup de la vie non plus, tout ce qu’ils voulaient c’était se préparer pour la prochaine. Elles lisaient tranquillement toute la journée. L’une d’elles, une adolescente, était en uniforme de collégienne. Toutes les deux on ne parlait guère ; on restait chacune dans son groupe ; l’âge ne comptait pas. Mais quand il s’est agi de nettoyer, toutes les adultes s’y sont mises, et nous deux on a dû rester à part. On était trop jeunes pour savoir comment venir à bout de la crasse. Je ne veux pas dire la saleté. Je veux dire la crasse avec des noms crasseux : blennorragie, syphilis et le reste. On amenait des prostituées tous les soirs. (Elle pointe vers la gauche). Elles étaient assises là-bas. Il n’y avait pas de bancs alors. On s’allongeait sur des nattes.
(Elle s’éloigne aussi loin que possible de la gauche). Les prostituées juraient, se disputaient, chantaient, et tout d’un coup l’une piquait une crise, et elles la maintenaient toutes et essayaient d’arrêter les convulsions. Dans le temps je ne savais pas ce que c’était. Aucune idée des drogues. Je ne pouvais pas comprendre pourquoi elles souffraient, ou pourquoi elles existaient. Je les haïssais, c’est tout. Leurs gestes étaient brutaux, leurs paroles grossières et généralement incompréhensibles. Pourtant je savais que c’était des mots obscènes, même si je ne comprenais pas bien le sens du mot. Et ma maman était là, alors je faisais semblant de dormir à poings fermés et de ne pas voir ni entendre, parce que je savais qu’elle était si embarrassée que son bébé soit exposé à cet aspect de la vie. (Elle fixe son regard sur la gauche comme si elle les voyait).
Une nuit, l’une d’elles a fait notre éloge. « Elles sont là pour leurs idéaux. Elles pourraient y renoncer et rentrer chez elles, mais elles s’obstinent, pour la dignité de l’humanité ». J’ai pensé que c’était la pire chose qui puisse nous arriver : qu’une de ces créatures dégoûtantes dise du bien de nous. (Pause). Parfois il y avait cette gamine avec elles, à peine plus âgée qu’une enfant, avec une plaie syphilitique ouverte à la jambe. A peine plus de treize ans, et déjà flétrie. Je ne parle pas de la peau. Je veux dire piétinée. (Avec remords). Et pourtant je la haïssais. C’était immature de ma part, non ?
(Elle va vers la gauche et s’assied sur le banc, pensive).
Une enfant ne peut pas comprendre certaines conditions sociales. Mon père m’avait appris que tous les êtres sont égaux, toutes les races, hommes et femmes, et même d’autres formes de vie. Mais il ne m’avait pas expliqué pour les putes. Peut-être qu’il l’aurait fait plus tard. Mais plus tard il était en prison, en exil, il n’était plus là pour expliquer. (Pause). Aussi je fermais les yeux et souhaitais que ces horribles femmes disparaissent ; pire, je souhaitais qu’elles meurent. Ou pire encore ! (Pause). Qu’y a-t-il de pire que qu’elles soient mortes ? (Elle cache son visage dans ses mains, gémit, relève la tête). Les tuer !
(Comme l’enfant Nina, elle se lève, les mains entre les jambes).
Je veux aller aux toilettes, s’il vous plaît. Je sais que je n’ai pas le droit avant le matin jusqu’à ce que ces femmes soient conduites aux docteurs et qu’on passe toute la salle à l’alcool et qu’on brûle les microbes. Mais je dois faire pipi, JE VOUS EN PRIE ! (Pause. Elle écoute l’interdiction et le conseil). Non ! Pas pipi ici. Je ne suis plus un bébé pour mouiller ma culotte, plutôt mourir !
(Elle marche vers la salle et s’adresse aux spectateurs). Cette femme de notre groupe était dure avec nous, mais je suppose qu’elle avait raison. Ma maman n’avait jamais fait de gym de sa vie. Ici elle a dû en faire, comme nous toutes. (Pause). Elles me manquent. Je voudrais qu’elles soient là. Je voudrais ne pas être seule. (Elle est au bord des larmes et se détourne brusquement. Le dos tourné aux spectateurs, elle se penche et se recroqueville, puis se redresse lentement et se retourne. Elle respire profondément).
Cela n’était pas censé se produire. Ce n’était pas dans le programme. Les choses peuvent prendre un tour inattendu ; pas souvent, heureusement. Il est dangereux de se laisser aller. Et il faut tellement d’énergie pour se reprendre. (Pause).
Revenons là où nous en étions tous restés, prisonniers politiques, Témoins de Jéhovah et putes. Un soir, ils nous ont amené un homme, dans la cellule des femmes. Nous avons protesté, mais le flic a dit : « Il ne vous fera pas de mal. Il est doux comme un agneau. Et il sait y faire avec le maquillage, mieux que la plupart d’entre vous. Pas vrai, mon petit chéri ? En tout cas il ne peut pas aller dans la cellule des hommes, imaginez ce qui se passerait ! » Il a ri sèchement et il est parti. Aussi cet homme est resté et il versait des larmes noires, parce qu’il avait du khôl tout autour des yeux. Quelques prostituées lui ont parlé gentiment et l’ont consolé. Je n’osais pas poser de questions à ma mère. Elle paraissait si mal à son aise.
Mais quand on nous a conduites devant le « Superman » ma maman était calme et brave. Les autres femmes de notre groupe étaient emmenées l’une après l’autre, tandis que moi, j’allais toujours avec elle. Cet homme était énorme. Ses yeux, sa bouche, ses mains, sa voix, tout était hyper énorme. Aussi je me le rappelle hyper bien, et c’était il y a des siècles.
(Comme l’« Enorme Superman », elle s’adresse à sa mère sans ménagement). Tu ne mérites pas d’être mère. Tu entraînes ta fille en prison et tu refuses de sacrifier fût-ce qu’un peu de ton foutu orgueil pour la prendre par la main et la ramener à la maison. Les prostituées sont de meilleures mères. Celles qui ont des enfants se hâtent d’aller les retrouver tout de suite, tandis que tu vas retourner dans ta cellule pour y pourrir, avec ta fille. Tu as remarqué comme elle est pâle ? Elle est encore beaucoup plus pâle que la dernière fois que je l’ai vue. (Elle va et vient à longues enjambées). Et pourquoi ? (Crescendo). Pourquoi ? (Elle s’arrête). Parce que tu as fait l’erreur d’épouser un fou. (Avec douceur). Ceci peut arriver à n’importe quelle femme ; elle fait le mauvais choix, elle s’en rend compte, et elle quitte son mari. (Furieux). Elle part avec son enfant et même avec plusieurs enfants. Pas toi ! Tu épouses quelqu’un qui fait quoi ? Est-ce qu’il mène son propre combat ? Non, monsieur ! Un Noir qui combat notre race mène son propre combat. Et de même un Indiens, ou un Zoulou ; ou les Aborigènes. Ils sont des ennemis et nous devons les briser, mais nous voyons leur droit de se battre pour eux-mêmes. Ton mari lui se bat pour quoi ? Pour les gens de couleur, pour des races inférieures ! Est-ce qu’ils se battraient pour lui ? Il est timbré. Pire : il est un traître à sa propre race. Mais tu ne veux pas renoncer à lui !
(Elle parle comme la Mère, humblement). Je ne fais qu’honorer les liens sacrés du mariage, Monsieur.
(Sourire crispé). Ma maman savait être ferme de la manière la plus humble.
(Comme l’Enorme Superman, elle parle doucement, presque tendrement). Nous ne te demandons pas de divorcer. Simplement de signer une déclaration comme quoi tu renonces à ses idées. Demande à ta fille de signer elle aussi qu’elle renonce aux idées de son père. Elle sait lire et écrire, n’est-ce pas ?
(Elle se redresse comme Nina enfant affrontant l’Enorme Superman). Puis-je dire quelque chose, Monsieur ? (Pause). Oui, je sais lire et écrire. Nous lisons la Bible à la maison. Vous aussi ? Alors, vous savez pour sûr que la Bible dit « Honore ton père et ta mère ». Vous n’aimeriez pas que je désobéisse à la parole du Seigneur, Monsieur. (Elle détourne la tête brusquement, comme après avoir reçu un coup et immédiatement place une main sur sa joue).
(Elle redevient elle-même). Ce fut la pire gifle de ma vie, mais j’étais contente ; il était si énorme et j’étais si petite, pourtant je sentais que j’avais marqué un point qu’il n’oublierait pas de si tôt. (Pensive). Je me demande s’il se rappelle toujours ? (Elle rit). Bien sûr que non ! Pour lui j’étais une gamine. (Pause). Je me demande s’il vit toujours ? Tant sont partis : de toutes les couleurs, de tous les âges, de toutes les croyances. Le creuset de la mort (Pause).
(Souriante). Bon, revenons à nos moutons, tant que nous vivons. Retour au programme ! Un peu de culture. Révisons ce que nous avons appris en cours. D’abord la Géographie. (Elle va et vient). Amérique du Sud en commençant par le Nord. Le Vénézuela. Capitale ? Caracas ! La Colombie. Capitale ? Bogotá ! L’Equateur ? Capitale ? Quito ! Le Pérou ? Capitale ? Lima ! Bolivia. Capitale ? La Paz ! (Elle s’arrête). J’aime ce nom. La Paz. La Paix ! Si c’était vrai ! Mais il y a une deuxième capitale aussi. Sucre : le sucre. Joli, non ? Bon, on continue ! Le Paraguay. Capitale ? Asunción ! Cela me plaît aussi. Un côté religieux et un côté philosophique. Tu fais ton choix : la montée au ciel de la Vierge ou… accepter qu’une chose soit vraie sans preuve.

Maintenant on descend vers le Sud. Le Chili ? Capitale ? Santiago ! Je préfère néanmoins l’autre ville, Valparaiso, la Vallée du Paradis. Elle est peut-être pauvre et misérable pour tout ce que j’en sais, mais cela sonne si romantique ! Valparaiso ! Et puis ? L’Argentine. Capitale ? Buenos Aires bien sûr ! L’Uruguay. Capitale ? Montevideo ! Et mon préféré : le Brésil. Autrefois, Capitale : Rio de Janeiro ; maintenant Brasilia. Un jour j’irai danser au Carnaval de la Rivière de Janvier. (Elle tourne et tourne, chantant une rumba).
(Elle s’arrête, essoufflée, et redevient sérieuse). Nina ! Tu essaie de gagner du temps, n’est-ce pas ? Je te connais maintenant ! Il y a des pays là-bas dont tu ne viens jamais à bout. (Elle va et vient). Les trois Guyanes : Anglaise, Hollandaise et Française. Maudits colons ! L’une est devenue le Surinam. Et les autres ? Juste des Guyanes ? (Elle hausse les épaules). Est-ce que je peux me rappeler leurs capitales ? (Elle s’arrête et réfléchit). Paramaribo ! Capitale du Surinam, non ? Les autres ? Un trou ! Bon, assez sur le sujet. On ne peut pas tout savoir.
Demain je révise les Etats d’Amérique du Nord. Ils sont très difficiles, donc l’idéal pour monopoliser mon esprit pendant que j’affronte tout lundi la Sainte Inquisition. Je réussis rarement à nommer plus de quarante états. J’aurais dû vivre il y a deux cents ans. C’était plus facile alors : moins de douze à se rappeler. (Pause).
Bon, le prochain cours ? Littérature. Je cite un maître ancien et un maître contemporain chaque jour. (Elle réfléchit). Shakespeare ! (Mime). Shake your spear, secoue ton épée ! (Elle joue). « Etre, ou ne pas être, c’est là la question. Y a-t-il plus de noblesse d’âme à subir la fronde et les flèches de la fortune outrageante, ou bien à s’armer contre une mer de douleurs et à l’arrêter par une révolte ? Mourir … » (Longue pause) Mais pourquoi suivre Shakespeare ? Pourquoi « s’armer contre une mer de douleurs » signifierait-il mourir ? Pourquoi ne pas se battre ? Ce n’est pas moi cette mer de douleur ; Hamlet non plus. C’est le royaume pourri du Danemark. Ces vers pourraient être révolutionnaires. Cette interprétation est mieux appropriée quand on est en prison. Mais est-ce que j’ai le droit de m’approprier la poésie des autres ? Oui ou non ? (Comme Hamlet). « C’est la question ». (Elle se tourne vers la lumière qui passe à travers les barreaux). Papa ? Père ? Ai-je le droit ? (Elle se tourne vers les spectateurs. Elle peut citer son père ou donner sa propre réponse). C’est tout le propos de la littérature. Le poète envoie une flèche dans l’air, elle retombe sur la terre, il ne sait pas où. Tu la ramasses et t’en sers à ta guise. Il t’a offert la flèche ; tu lui offres une nouvelle utilisation (Pause).
Maintenant on passe des vieux Maîtres aux poètes de notre temps. Qui choisir aujourd’hui ? (Elle réfléchit). Atahualpa Yupanqui, qui est constitué de toutes sortes de races : argentin, d’origine indienne et basque. Je ne me rappelle qu’une seule strophe d’un seul de ses poèmes. Cela fera l’affaire. « Preguntas sobre Dios », « Questions sur Dieu ».
« Il y a un sujet sur terre plus important que Dieu.
Nul ne doit verser du sang pour que les autres vivent mieux. »
(Elle lève les deux bras en l’air les poings serrés). OUI ! (Un peu déçue). Oui, mais ma traduction ne sonne pas si bien qu’en espagnol. Ah, ces satanées barrières des langues !
« Ay un asunto en la tierra mas importante que Dios.
Y es que nadie escupa sangre pa que otro viva mejor. »
(Elle devient « Superman »). Je t’ai entendue ! Je t’ai entendue, salope ! Encore heureux qu’on te tienne isolée ; autrement tu contaminerais les autres avec ta propagande. Viens ici (Pause). Viens ici, je te dis ! (Tout doux). Nous avons des arguments forts, indiscutables. Il y a des tests d’intelligence qui prouvent que les autres races sont inférieures. Il y a des statistiques criminologiques. Il y a l’iconographie. As-tu vu une seule icône dépeignant le Tout Puissant comme un aborigène ou un Pygmée ? Est-ce possible que le tout puissant ait créé les aborigènes ou les Pygmées à Son image ? On t’a lavé le cerveau. Ce n’est pas ta faute. Un enfant est soumis aux idées d’un père. Mais tu n’es plus une enfant. Fie-toi à ton propre jugement. (Tendant le bras). Tâte tes cheveux.
(Comme elle-même, elle se rétracte. Comme « Superman », elle retire son bras, rejetée). Je ne vais pas te toucher. Tâte les toi-même. Sont-ils raides comme ceux d’un nègre ? Huileux comme ceux d’un Jap ? Non, juste la bonne couleur et la bonne texture. Tu es l’une des nôtres. Réveille-toi ! (Comme « Superman », elle agrippe « Nina » et la secoue furieusement). Réveille-toi, salope !
(Elle se rapproche de la salle et s’adresse à l’auditoire). C’est comme ça que j’ai eu un poignet foulé et une épaule meurtrie. (Pause) Iconographie qu’il dit ! Le bel argument vraiment ! Comment le Créateur de l’Univers pourrait-il être autrement qu’avec des yeux bleus et des cheveux blonds ?
(Elle se tourne vers le « Superman » imaginaire). Eh bien, Monsieur, dans l’iconographie byzantine le Seigneur a des cheveux foncés et des yeux noirs, et souvent le nez busqué. Pour parler plus généralement de peinture, il y a une Vierge et un Enfant noirs. Il y a un Christ jaune. Il y a la Marie tahitienne de Gauguin, qui porte son enfant sur son dos. « Ia orana Maria ». Alors, laisse tes preuves picturales. (En colère). Couillon !
(Elle met sa main devant la bouche, se détourne et s’éloigne de « Superman », puis se parle à elle-même). Honte à toi, Nina ! Si tu deviens vulgaire, tu perds le droit de te révolter contre la vulgarité. Alors utilise des mots décents, qui existent dans le dictionnaire. Des mots comme crétin, débile ou idiot. De toute façon, tu ne t’es pas montrée toi-même très maligne. Tu n’as pas su nommer une très importante catégorie de muscles. Rayés, elle a dit ! Idiote ! Et tu ne te rappelles pas les capitales de deux Guyanes.
(Comme l’enfant Nina, elle parle avec colère et entêtement). J’en connais une mais je ne la dirai pas. (Elle gagne le banc et s’assied jambes pendantes).
(Comme le Professeur, elle se lève et s’adresse à Nina enfant). Nina ! Je ne sais pas quoi faire de toi. Tu es une bonne élève, mais vraiment obstinée. Jouons à un jeu. Je te souffle. George ?
(Assise sur le banc en Nina enfant, agitant les jambes en colère). Je n’aime pas ce jeu. Et je n’aime pas une capitale de l’Amérique du Sud appelée Georgetown. (Elle se gifle). Triple buse ! Tu as dit que tu ne voulais pas le dire et tu t’es fait avoir par le professeur !
(Elle s’assied sur le banc). Il est temps pour un petit somme. Dors, ma belle ! (Elle reste immobile quelques secondes). Ah ! Je vais chanter une berceuse ! (Elle chante. Pause).
On ne m’a pas donné de natte. Ceci est censé être mon lit. Il est trop court et trop étroit, mais peu importe. Le problème, c’est les bestioles. Il y en a dans toutes les fentes du bois. Chaque fois que je m’étends, mes bras sont mordus et les taches rouges se transforment en abcès. Je préfère m’allonger et dormir sur le plancher, chaque fois que je dois absolument dormir. Pour le moment, je vais…
(Le guichet de la porte glisse bruyamment. Elle se lève et se tourne avec vivacité. Un petit plateau apparaît. Dessus, une assiette et une tasse en plastique. Elle court vers la porte et étend la main). Hello ! S’il vous plaît, parlez-moi. C’est dimanche. Vous êtes de service, mais où aimeriez-vous être sinon ? (Elle prend le plateau). Vous n’avez pas le droit de me parler. (Le guichet se referme bruyamment). J’espère que la raison pour laquelle vous ne voulez pas est parce que vous n’en avez pas le droit. (Elle s’éloigne avec le plateau). Il y a peut-être une raison plus laide. Vous ne voulez pas me parler. Et une plus laide encore. Vous avez peur de moi, peur d’être contaminé. C’est bien. Peut-être que vous êtes très jeune et que vous manquez de jugement. Mais peut-être que vous avez quarante ans, ou que vous aurez quarante ans et vous ne comprendrez toujours rien. Peut-être que vous allez élevez vos enfants ainsi.
(Assise sur le banc avec le plateau à sa droite). Deux pattes mauvais, quatre pattes bon ! Orwell, « La Ferme des animaux ». (Elle regarde le plateau). Pas de couverts, pour que je ne me suicide pas. (Elle hurle pour être entendue au dehors). Je n’ai pas l’intention de me suicider ! (Elle prend avec soin une pomme de terre entre son index et le pouce et mange). Mais je pense qu’il s’agit uniquement d’une excuse. C’est peut-être uniquement pour m’humilier. Pour m’obliger à manger comme un cochon ; et me sentir sale, laide et vile. Eh bien, pas de danger ! (Elle mange et boit avec élégance, détendue).
Après le repas, je joue à un jeu. J’en invente un chaque jour. J’ai une sieste inventive. (Elle finit son repas, se lèche l’index et le pouce, et les nettoie en les frottant sur le banc). Mais le dimanche doit être particulièrement bon, aussi je fais des efforts supplémentaires. La semaine dernière, j’ai essayé de penser que j’étais une plante. Les gens et les plantes ont d’énormes différences, mais aussi quelques points en commun. Nous naissons, nous respirons, nous grandissons, nous nous reproduisons, et nous mourons. Eh bien aujourd’hui j’ai un point de plus en commun : des racines me sont poussées et je ne puis partir d’ici. Est-ce qu’une plante a envie de bouger et de voir le monde ? Bien sûr que non. Rien dans la création n’est créé pour être malheureux. Une plante attend que le monde vienne à elle. Soleil et lune, vent et pluie, insectes et oiseaux, jeunes animaux, enfants… J’étais vraiment malheureuse dimanche dernier, parce que je n’avais rien de tout cela ici dedans. Je n’avais que l’immobilité. Aussi était-ce un mauvais choix de jeu ? (Elle sourit). Non, il était excellent. Lundi, je suis allée à la Sainte Inquisition aussi calme qu’une plante.
(Elle se lève, traverse la salle à grandes enjambées comme au « pas de l’oie » des nazis), les mains jointes dans le dos. Elle s’arrête, et comme « Superman » s’adresse à une Nina imaginaire assise sur le banc. En dépit du ton suave du début, la manière de marcher et les phrases en allemand évoquent les Nazis).
Tu peux avoir toutes les croyances que tu veux. « Die Gedanken sind frei. » Nul ne t’interdit de PENSER librement. C’est la Démocratie. « Doch alles in der Stille, und wie es sich schicket. » (L’air furieux, le bras droit dressé comme pour « Heil Hitler »). Ce que nous t’interdisons, c’est de PARLER. Si tu étais musicienne, femme d’affaires, médecin, on pourrait te laisser faire. Mais tu as affaire à des jeunes. Nous, l’Etat, nous t’offrons une estrade d’où parler et induire en erreur les citoyens de demain ; enseigner et détourner la vérité ; former de jeunes âmes et esprits d’après tes théories bizarres. Alors ? Exprime-toi ! D’habitude tu ne manques pas d’éloquence. (Pause). Je suppose que tu es à court d’arguments. Alors quoi ? Acceptes-tu de signer un papier qui t’engage sous serment, le parjure puni par une coupe de ciguë, « conium » comme pour Socrate, à ne jamais parler pour prêcher ton sermon de non discrimination raciale, si on te libère ? Ou préfères-tu revenir dans ta cellule pour y pourrir, et y attendre la Mort ?
(Elle redevient elle-même et reprend sa place sur le banc). Je ne lui ai même pas dit que la mort est un homme dans beaucoup de langues et par conséquent, dans l’art de nombreux pays. Der Tod, o Thanatos, ter Tood… Il aurait pensé que c’était encore l’une de mes théories bizarres. Je suis restée… silencieuse comme une plante. (Son « s » ressemble à un sifflement de serpent). C’était lundi dernier. Voyons ce à quoi va ressembler demain.
(Elle porte le plateau jusqu’à la glissière et frappe. Elle s’ouvre et le plateau est emporté). Merci. Si j’avais un bonbon je vous l’offrirais. Mais peut-être que ce dont vous avez le plus besoin n’est pas un bonbon. Que diriez-vous d’un peu d’Eric Fromm ? « Dans les éthiques totalitaires une autorité décide de ce qui est bon pour l’homme. » (Elle crie). Hé ! Soldat, gardien, garde, qui que vous soyez : ne les laissez pas vous dire ce qui est bon pour vous. Pensez par vous-mêmes !
(Elle se déplace vers la salle et s’adresse aux spectateurs). Pourquoi Dieu, le dieu de n’importe qui, serait-il de notre côté, avec notre nation, contre une autre nation, puisqu’Il nous a tous créés ? Pourquoi considérait-il une race comme supérieure ? Pourquoi Il – Il ? Et pourquoi pas Elle ? (Elle se retourne et jette un coup d’œil vers la glissière et s’adresse à nouveau à la salle). Bien, je n’insisterai pas. Nous voulons trouver un terrain d’entente. Il y a peut-être des milliers de choses qui nous séparent mais on peut certainement trouver des points communs. Il y a nos mères, nos grands parents vieillissants, le pot de fleurs à la fenêtre, l’animal de compagnie. (Pause). C’est un triomphe d’être différent et s’apprécier et s’aimer. Tu te rappelles la comptine ? « Jack Sprat ne mangeait pas gras. Sa femme ne mangeait pas maigre. Aussi entre eux deux, l’assiette était toujours nette. » Laissons tomber. Maintenant c’est l’heure de la sieste. (Elle crie en direction de la glissière). Repos. Vous m’entendez ? Pendant une demi-heure vous n’êtes pas un gardien et je ne suis pas une prisonnière. On s’accorde une pause.
(Elle revient au banc et s’assied les épaules tombantes). Je hais la solitude. Il y a des gens qui aiment être seuls ; pour moi, c’est une torture. (Elle sort de son abattement, redresse les épaules, sourit gentiment). Mais je ne suis pas seule, n’est-ce pas ? Il y a Anna et Georges, Sophie et le petit Stephen. (Elle place ses mains sur ses yeux, comme si quelqu’un d’autre le faisait derrière sa tête pour la surprendre).
Qui c’est ? Voyons…. n’est-ce pas Anna chérie ? (Elle retire ses mains). Mais oui ! Je t’ai reconnue à la douceur de tes mains et au savon à la lavande que tu utilises. Je suis sûre que toi aussi tu me reconnaîtrais sans me voir. Nous étions ensemble à la maternelle. Nous étions copines, et pourtant si différentes ! Tu t’intéressais aux poupées et moi aux puzzles. Tu aimais les bonbons tandis que moi c’était les chips. Plus tard, je collectionnais les coquillages et les cailloux, toi les bracelets et les bagues. Je veux dire que nous n’aurions pas pu être plus différentes, ou plus proches. Très chère Anna ! Tant que tu es près de moi, ne serait-ce que dans mes pensées et ma mémoire, je ne suis pas seule.
Quant à toi, coquin de Georges, tu m’as aimé tant que je ne peux pas me plaindre maintenant – ni jamais. Quand nous étions ensemble, (Elle fredonne la chanson de Doris Day). « J’étais la seule fille au monde et tu étais le seul garçon. » Mais, bon, il y a eu un moment où je n’étais plus la seule fille au monde. Ce n’était pas ta faute. Je ne t’en ai pas parlé alors parce que j’avais mal et je voulais que toi au moins tu te sentes coupable. Mais je peux te le dire maintenant ; c’était surtout de ma faute. Je ne pouvais pas me contenter seulement d’une vie privée. J’avais une bataille à mener et tu ne t’étais pas engagé dans cette guerre, aussi… Je voudrais te dire maintenant que c’était juste. Tout va bien. Je te suis tellement reconnaissante de m’avoir totalement aimée à cette période. (Triste). J’aurais dû te le dire plus tôt. Comme c’est bête ! Si je meurs, tu ne le sauras jamais.
(Elle se lève, pleine d’optimisme). Bien, c’est une bonne raison pour ne pas mourir. Je dois vivre pour te le dire d’abord. Alors, qu’est-ce que je fais maintenant.
Si j’avais un échiquier et des pions, je pourrais imaginer Sophie assise en face de moi et je jouerais un jeu d’échecs avec « Sophie la sophistiquée ». On te taquinait comme cela à cause de ton nom de sagesse : Sophia. Je n’ai ni échiquier ni pions, aussi attends pour t’asseoir en face de moi le jour où je sortirai de prison. Ce jour viendra. (Elle tourbillonne autour de la pièce en chantant). Le jour viendra. Le jour viendra. (Elle s’arrête, réfléchissant).
Jeune Stephen, j’espère qu’il sera encore temps pour t’emmener au bac à sable. Si je reste trop longtemps ici, tu risques de ne plus t’intéresser ni aux aires de jeux, ni aux toboggans, ni aux balançoires. (Gaiement). Peu importe. On trouvera le moyen de s’amuser ensemble quand le temps sera venu.
(Elle se rapproche au plus près de la salle). Le point suivant de mon programme : je joue mon jeu favori de puzzle. Je me compose à partir des traits d’autres personnes pour voir ce que cela donne. Je change tout sauf mes yeux. Je garde les yeux pour voir le monde tel que je le vois. Peut-être qu’un jour j’essaierai d’autres yeux aussi. Maintenant je place au-dessus d’eux les sourcils épais d’un Bochiman. (Mime). Entre les deux je place le nez indien d’un Mohican en forme de bec d’aigle. J’ai les pommettes hautes d’un Mongol (Mime). J’ai la bouche d’une Africaine, charnue, sensuelle (Mime). Les dents d’un Esquimau, blanches comme neige. (Avec confiance). N’importe quelles dents vaudraient mieux que les miennes. (Elle grimace). Et les cheveux ? J’ai les longs cheveux noirs, raides et huileux, d’une Japonaise. (Elle caresse ses cheveux). Quel luxe ! A qui est-ce que je ressemble ? (Elle fait semblant de se regarder dans un miroir). Un joli visage humain. Et maintenant personne ne peut m’accuser de mener le combat des autres. J’appartiens à une race très métissée. (Elle respire profondément et sourit au public).
Maintenant, passons au corps. J’ai le cou puissant d’une Gurkha népalaise. (Elle tourne le cou de droite à gauche et vers l’avant puis l’arrière). J’ai les mains d’une danseuse thaïlandaise. (Mains croisées devant son visage). Tu veux dire du Siam. (Elle se répond à elle-même entêtée). J’ai dit de Thaïlande. (A nouveau elle lève les mains et les croise devant son visage. Elle les abaisse à nouveau). Mais je peux dire les mains d’une Siamoise. (Elle regarde ses jambes). J’ai les longues jambes d’un coureur kenyan. Incroyables, ces coureurs : si naturels, si détendus, si infatigables. (Pause). Et puis quoi ? J’ai le torse d’un nageur. (Elle rit). Cela n’est pas une race humaine, idiote ! (Fâchée). Si ! Les nageurs sont une race à part. En tout cas j’ai dit que je voulais avoir les traits d’autres gens, aussi il n’est pas nécessaire que je sois toujours précise quant aux races ; ou aux nationalités, au fait. (Pause). Bon, d’accord, si vous insistez : j’ai le buste costaud d’une nageuse américaine et les bras en acier d’une gymnaste russe. (Elle rit). C’est de l‘éclectisme. La guerre froide est finie. Tu choisis le meilleur et tu mêles les antithèses dans des muscles qui co-opèrent.
(Elle fait un bond et crie). Strié ! Ça y est ! C’est l’autre catégorie de muscles (Elle sautille partout folle de joie). Strié ! Victoire ! Je me SOUVIENS ! Je me SUIS SOUVENUE ! Maintenant, tu ne peux plus me briser, « Superman » ! La Sainte Inquisition du lundi, ça va être du gâteau puisque je me suis rappelé la troisième catégorie de muscles !
(Elle se calme et s’attriste). C’est une magnifique journée d’automne et j’ai tant à faire au dehors. Tellement à faire ! Vous pouvez me garder ici pour toujours (Elle sourit en direction de la fenêtre avec ses barreaux). Mais mon esprit, lui, travaille, il voyage, il vole. Il est libre. Quand vous m’appellerez demain, vingt et un Septembre, je serai souriante, presque amicale, et vous vous demanderez comment c’est possible. (Elle sourie au public.)

Fin. Noir ou rideau.

sábado, 23 de mayo de 2009

DOS POEMAS DE RODOLFO HÄSLER

ANDRÉ CRUCHAGA, EL SALVADOR; RODOLFO HÄSLER, CUBA.*




EVOCACIÓN


Coloco en la estancia un ramo de anémonas
y observo con detenimiento su lenta evolución,
uno tras otro hasta fumar mi cajetilla de cigarrillos Abdula,
hierático en la pureza de los ojos.
No sé cuánto va a durar el proceso,
dependerá del clima, del grado de humedad, prefiero creer.
El discurrir de los días como recuerdo de las anémonas
en espera de eclosión, seguidas de muerte,
atento entre sus pétalos rojos, azules y violados
mientras insisto, por delicadeza, en perder la vida,
como quería Rimbaud,
pendiente de la metamorfosis,
impasible ante el inminente cambio
no puedo imaginar otra situación en estos momentos,
si el negro espacio me sostiene
como parte del reflejo de un diamante, de la luna,
y me devuelve a mi raro receptáculo vegetal,
transitorio exilio
entre hojas verdes y ramas en flor.
(del libro Elleife, Editorial El Bardo, Barcelona, 1993)





OLOKUN

Anterior a la felicidad, antes incluso de la creación,
luchaban una contra otra el agua y la tierra
por la posesión de la ira de tu cabeza.
Cuando la blanca paz interviene para salvarte,
una cuerda de dieciséis cauris te detiene
para que no me desbordes, para que no me asaltes.
Amarrado has de vivir, dominado por tu cólera,
en el fondo del mar la luna nueva te alimenta,
de no ser así pobre de mí, pobre si de ti me olvido.
Las conchas y las piedras guardo en la húmeda oscuridad
para salvar tu condición de sirena, mitad hombre mitad pez,
para acercarte a mis ojos, para afirmar, con toda certeza,
que el peso de tus sentimientos te abruma, no te deja hablar.
Tu color es el azul ultramar, lapislázuli, el misterio,
y para poder continuar beso los dedos que te han tocado,
tres veces me inclino, y pido la bendición, para encontrarte.
(del libro De la belleza del puro pensamiento, Editorial El Bardo, Barcelona, 1997)
_________
Fotografía tomada el 18 de mayo de 2009 en el Centro escolar "Presbítero Nicolás Aguilar", Tonacatepeque, San Salvador, El Salvador, junto al poeta André Cruchaga, en el marco del Festival Internacional de Poetas "El Turno del Ofendido", Coordinado por el Poeta Otoniel Guevara.

miércoles, 20 de mayo de 2009

Poemas de René Chacón

René Chacón, El Salvador



“La luna no tiene por qué entristecerse,
mirando con fijeza desde su capucha de hueso…”
Sylvia Plath


[Un malabarista desahuciado de emociones]

con la túnica de sombras,
ataviado de misterios,
cruza la cuerda de la duda y la razón.

Apretando los puños del corazón indeciso,
con el agua marchita en el rostro
y la sombra flexible del buen perdedor,

a escondidas lanza en el aire,
el espejo rebelde de su cabeza,
agua manchada de su lengua,
piezas fúnebres de sus lágrimas…






... “Bocas que tenéis mucho que decir /
y la palabra os elige para tumbas"
Kostas Karyotakis


[Del llanto y su pinchazo de orgullo nadie escapa]

sus diálogos de sal, sin anclas y amarras
escarban la sombras grises del dolor.
Y el cajón de la angustia
con sus decretos de hambre,
sigilosamente multiplica la serpiente del abandono
en esa selva angustiosa de fango y sal,…llamada soledad.




“Poetas para los que "todo ha sido posible, salvo su vida”
E. M. Ciorán



[Hay días en que el zoológico del alma]

con su paisaje de animales,
aspira con rabia el veneno ambiguo del vacío.

Hay días en que las sonámbulas navajas
con su sombra perdedora,
carroñosamente husmea las flores del miedo.

Hay días en que el silencio de lo inevitable,
con sus plumas de ahora y siempre
sacuden el naufragio de las despedidas.

Hay días en que una danza extravagante de libélulas
con sus prostituidas luces y bastardos movimientos,
se beben de un sorbo tus lágrimas escondidas.

Hay días en que tu padre, y tu madre,
no perdonan la geografía maldita de tu destino.

martes, 19 de mayo de 2009

El tiempo detenido-Rosario Alonso

Rosario Alonso, España






___EL TIEMPO DETENIDO___



Se ha cambiado tu risa por esa mueca hierática
que invita al hielo a beber de tus labios.
Tu boca muerde el silencio de otra tarde agónica,
y el péndulo del alba detiene otro latido
para que tú lo recojas.

Se ha marchado el brillo de tus ojos lejanos
tras la estela negra de un perdido cometa
y ahora el turbio cielo se pinta de tu rastro.
Te quedan entre los párpados las ráfagas del llanto
nutridas de un sabor tan tristemente amargo
que se envenena a sí mismo.

Tu corazón dirige el eco de una música negra
y otro dolor que canta se siembra en tu pecho
germinando espinos que pinchan los latidos.
Huracanes de duelo florecen en los cielos.
La luna conmovida esconde la cabeza, para no herirse
de ese canto fúnebre que ahuyenta a las lechuzas.

Tu paso cansado como un luto de plomo
va al ritmo del reloj que nunca avanza.
Se ha detenido el tiempo y todo es lento, muy lento,
y las noches son un pozo sin fondo que te llaman.
Noches con lenguas en todos los rincones
de una casa que grita silencios,
y escurren lágrimas por los percheros
que tienen colgadas las máscaras del frío.
Poema tomado de: Palabras
___________________

lunes, 18 de mayo de 2009

DESPEDIDA NOCTURNA-Mauricio Vallejo-Márquez

Mauricio Vallejo-Márquez, El Salvador





DESPEDIDA NOCTURNA



Odio que te marches,
como también la negritud de las calles.
La soledad, en ningún momento puede sentirse tan profunda
como el adiós eterno
que intento dejar en tu corazón cada despedida.
Se va tu olor,
rosa, brisa y el mar de la madrugada.
Creciendo en desventaja tomo mis únicas pertenencias
y retorno.

Un día, amada, un día
se agitará el viento entre los árboles,
y tú como yo, no pondremos reparos
para sentirnos cómplices de un delito del mundo.
Amada, entre mis pasos, he pensado ciegamente en tu rostro
de sol por el día, de luna por la noche.
Mis manos se abaten al sentir los golpes
que del cielo van cayendo,
sin saber que Dios en su omnipotencia
va guardándome en sus manos.

Odio que te marches
como verme solo en las calles
y no saber que junto a mí
va un coracón latiendo al mismo ritmo que el mío.
Un corazón que promulga la paz de los toques de tus dedos
y que siempre me arropa como una madre.
Entonces, cuando la noche es negra
sé que a la mañana, amada,
te veré en tu reposada tranquilidad.

domingo, 17 de mayo de 2009

Del amor y los discursos-Lucy chau

Lucy Chau, Panamá

Del amor y los discursos

a Tatiana, quien al fin lo creyó un día

el amor,
si no transforma
ya te lo he dicho en besos matutinos:
el amor, si en algo no te cambia,
se convierte otra vez en un discurso.

Déjame darte un poco de mis gotas
aunque parezcan arsénico del puro,
permite que delinca ante la ausencia
y tome el derecho
a mis promesas.

¿Te lo digo de nuevo, princesita?

Y no me des la espalda con tu risa,
anótalo en tu negra cabellera,
ya vas a ver, si quieres a la niña,
vas a tener que hacerla muda, sorda y ciega.

¿te lo puedo decir de otra manera?

el amor, si no te mata, es mejor que perezca,
si no se vuelve y te revuelve el alma,
si no te envuelve en su trágica mirada,
si no te cubre
es mejor nada,
tu mano y mi verdad son horas tiernas.
Boleta de Tránsito

Un policía llena una boleta de tránsito
el todavía no sabe para quién es
de vez en cuando sube la mirada
y sigue escribiendo su nombre y el número de su carné.

Su mirada se cruza con la mía
yo se la sostengo sólo para evitar que mire
mi faro defectuoso
mis neumáticos lisos
mi limpia-parabrisas inoperante
mi puerta caída
mi manual de tránsito del setenta y ocho
mis audífonos de celular sin respuesta
y sobre todo
que voy leyendo un libro de versos
mientras el resto de los conductores
se desviven por hacer gritar de rabia
a cada automóvil de la tierra.


sábado, 16 de mayo de 2009

No es extraño- Jorge Etcheverry

Jorge Etcheverry, Chile




_______No es extraño______




No es extraño
que se estremezcan los cables
Que nos permiten conocernos incluso mediando grandes distancias
más rápidamente que las migraciones
que perviven cuando termine de sonar el violín para nosotros
y sus notas modulenen cien distintos idiomas
la voz de locutores, hombres y mujeres
y los satélites nadando en polvo cósmico
detectan una oscuridad que avanza de modo imperceptible
y sean los únicos despiertos
quedando nuestro sueño bajo la ceniza.
___________________
Leer más de Jorge Etcheverry en Arte Poética-Rostros y versos y Laberinto del Torogoz.

viernes, 15 de mayo de 2009

La luna es un grafitti sobre la ciudad-Leticia Luna

Leticia Luna, México






La luna es un grafitti sobre la ciudad



Cuando no hay canícula
sino lluvia
la luna está fuera de nosotras




Con el beso de la luna retorno a un cuerpo
- que como a Marge Piercy -
le gustaría quitarse el sexo
y dejarlo guardado
en el armario

Cuando en la canícula
los insectos arden
Sucede que me canso
de aullar los deseos

Entre la carroña que encuentro
al atravesar la ciudad
resulta que soy pura

que obligo a mis apetitos
a salir de cacería
aunque la selva
sea un paraje de concreto

Sobre la alfombra polvorienta
despierto con la certeza
de haber estado con dos leopardas ebrias


La ciudad es una olla express
que gotea sus vapores sobre sí
mientras la luna es el grafitti
más bello de la noche
______________

martes, 12 de mayo de 2009

Tres poemas de Maylén Rodríguez Mondeja

Maylén Rodríguez Mondeja, Cuba. Ante la estatua de Bolívar




LAURA ESTELA



Cuando la secuestraron, mi hija Laura Estela tenía dos meses
y medio de embarazo... había cumplido 21 años...

[Abuela de la Plaza de Mayo]



Los besos cercenados,
los pechos como arena que el vendaval asuela...¿
Qué oculto polvo seré cuando amanezca el llanto de mi hijo,
qué voz predicará en su noche?
Ahora que mi vientre tramaba una caricia,
puedo crujir de espanto,
callo donde hace el odio su potestad terrible.
Reclamo de mi estancia,
¿en cuál otro silencio intenta aun tu miedo asirme
para que no me pierda?
¿Quién paga este mutismo,
la pequeñita historia de quienes no tuvimos el tiempo?
Miren la destartalada sangre
que alguna vez fue rumor de cerro tibio,
esta locura de tierra humedecida
que ya ni puede gritar cuánto le duele.
¿Quién paga el extravío,
tanta delicadeza trunca?
,ahora que pudiera ser Laura, Luisa, Carmen...
ahora que mi vientre se llena de presagios.





AMANDA


Suena la sirena / de vuelta al trabajo,
muchos no volvieron, tampoco Manuel...
VÍCTOR JARA



Manuel,
cae la tarde,
y hay un disparo infinito que se estrella
contra mi desamparo.
Lenta muere la ternura que no encuentra
dónde abrevar sus abiertas soledades,
el deseo inocente que perdura.
Suena la sirena,
y de súbito le faltas a una calle.
Voy tan frágil debajo de la lluvia
imaginando cosas:
si pudieras perdértele a esa suerte
y uno a uno arrancarle yo a la ausencia
los dispersos latidos de tu beso.
Manuel, Manuel, Manuel...,
grito pensando en la nada que te cubre irremediablemente.
Es un minuto la vida,
y algo suena
en la sola impaciencia de mis tardes.





MANUELA SÁENZ



Apegada a la tierra, te acecho todavía,
tremenda, cual acechan los días y la muerte.
¿Vuelve todo a vivirse bajo la piel del polvo?
¿Cómo será en lo oscuro tu trémula figura
palpando la ceniza de mi clamor difunto?
Apegada a esta tierra,
queriendo verte y reverte y tocarte...,
besándote en su fibra doliente,
como si fueras tú,
la tierra que nos hizo a su forma,
Bolívar,
y nos traga,
sin comprender acaso tu fe,
ni mi acechanza.
Estos poemas pertenecen al libro De lo que fue dictando el fuego
________________
Maylén Rodríguez Mondeja. Es miembro de la Unión Nacional de Escritores y Artistas de Cuba. Ha publicado los poemarios: Historias contra el polvo (1998). Estancias en lo efímero (2001). Bajo la noche inmóvil (2004), Premio Raúl Doblado, 2003. De lo que fue dictando el fuego (2004), Premio Pinos Nuevos, 2003. Noche magna (2007), Premio Calendario, 2006. Pero fue culpa del cuento (2007), mención en Premio Abril, 2005 / Premio La Edad de Oro, 2006. Los días sobre el polvo (2008).

Ha obtenido los siguientes Premios y reconocimientos: Premio Calendario, 1999 (literatura para niños y jóvenes). Premio La Rosa Blanca, 2002 (narrativa para jóvenes). Premio Pinos Nuevos, 2003 (poesía). Premio “Raúl Doblado”, 2003 (poesía). Premio “Ada Elba Pérez” ,1999 (poesía). Premio Ciudad del Ché, 2002 (ensayo y poesía); 2004 (narrativa para jóvenes; UNEAC, Villa Clara). Mención Encuentro Nacional de Talleres Literarios, 1995 y 1996 (poesía). Primera Mención Encuentro Provincial de Talleres Literarios, 1997 (poesía); 1998 (cuento p/ niños). Primera Mención Poesía de Amor Varadero, 1999 y 2005 (Casa de Cultura, Varadero, Matanzas). Mención La Edad de Oro, 1999 (narrativa para niños y jóvenes); 2006 (poesía para niños). Mención “América Bobia”, 1998 (poesía). Mención “Eliseo Diego”, 1999 (literatura para niños y jóvenes). Primera Mención “Regino Pedroso”, 2002 (poesía; Periódico Trabajadores). Mención “Raúl Gómez García”, 1998 y 2000 (poesía). Finalista del concurso “Dulcinea”, 2005 (poesía; Grupo Cultural Aldaba, España). Primera Mención Abril, 2005 (poesía para niños). Mención “Ismaelillo”, UNEAC, 2006 (narrativa para jóvenes). Premio Calendario, 2006 (poesía). Mención “Félix pita Rodríguez” 2007 (poesía). Sello XX Aniversario de la Asociación Hermanos Saíz, 2006. Leer más en Arte poética-Rostros y versos y Laberinto del Torogoz.

lunes, 11 de mayo de 2009

MEDITACIÓ SOBRE EL DO DE LA UBICUÏTAT-Pere Bessó

Pere Bessó, España





MEDITACIÓ SOBRE EL DO DE LA UBICUÏTAT




Per a Toni Cames
i Carme Sepúlveda, la Flaca.


El saborós caberotet de vinya que ve a la nostra ajuda,
com un lambrusco de mitjatarda,
lustra d’un nou Bastidides, banyut des del primer poema,
el darrer túixec del foll de la vila italiana que col.lecionava pètals,
bescanviant papallones en el calor del primo pomeriggio,
en acabant una cigarreta,
bressolant els peus a la vora del penya-segat,
mormolant com una donzella divisa enmig de tanta mònada:
ja et penarà.
La fertilitat té el seus moments, és veritat,
com el cicle de l’aranya.
Ja una vegada pensí que havíem de celebrar l’abril,
i calia tallar-li a algú la gola enmig del camp,
(mentre remembràvem la crueltat del quartet de l’Eliot),
o cosir-lo amb una trinitat de punyalades vora l’ermita
del saint-simon dels somnis en revolta.
Com si Rafael Ballester Añón de nou visitàs La Província Pedagògica
amb les seues postals
i em convidàs a l’entrepà de tonyina al mercat de Mislata,
mentre em parlava de les delicatessen de l’expresident,
deixant les carcasses dels déus per al dinar.
No vull, però, sol.lucions tan crues:
sempre hi queda la clonació dels vins,
el celler dels porcs que una volta foren senglars de bellota
i corça de roure al llom,
la petita salmòdia dels reclams que no necessita granges d’alimentació
intensiva:
traient el palet més curt.
En confiança, cap preocupació de com començà tot açò,
També els altres algunes vegades s’equivoquen:
un gos de dos caps,
que recorda el versos de la Maxine K (umin):

“That night the old dog works
his way back up and out,
gasping, salted with dirt,
and barks his familiar bark
at the scribble-scratched back door.”

més que no un insult o una lleugera herença,
deixalles de la mitologia que en diria el professor Eduard Clemente,
un punt canalla, impulsiu fins a les botes.
De qualsevol manera, la modèstia abasteix la fel del triomf,
la inesperada gárgara de la commoció,
la petita reeixida de qui passa per dos llocs enfrontats alhora:
Hi ha una caiguda de pedra a l’estany de la consciència,
una petita aurora per cadascú,
furtada al rosicler del comte de Niebla.
(Recordem, però, el vici poètic de John Donne:
Mig ofegat, mig cremat.
Mitja vida mastegant domèstics plaers,
a l’espera del camp de batalla.
Mitja vida de copes i dones fèrtils,
abans del retir de nou a la fortalesa del llençols ombrívols,
per escriure els sermons d’entrada a la catedral de Sant Pau,
reencarnat com un certificat licorós de la imatge
i paradigma enllà de sí mateix,
com un riu de muntanya a l’oceà dubtós,
tot carn d’aigua,
amb el seu moviment de serenitat enganyosa,
una i altra volta, a través del temps.)






MEDITACIÓN SOBRE EL DON DE LA UBICUIDAD



Para Toni Cames
y Carme Sepúlveda, la Flaca.


La sabrosa gancha de uva que viene a nuestra ayuda,
como un lambrusco de media tarde,
lustra de un nuevo Bastidides, cornudo desde el primer poema,
el último tósigo del loco de la villa italiana que coleccionaba pétalos,
cambiando mariposas en el calor del primo pomeriggio,
más tarde un cigarrillo,
meciendo los pies a orillas del acantilado,
murmurando como una doncella divisa enmedio de tanta mónada:
ya te penará.
La fertilidad tiene sus momentos, es verdad,
como el ciclo de la araña.
Ya una vez pensé que teníamos que celebrar abril,
y había que cortarle a alguien la garganta en medio del campo,
(en tanto recordábamos la crueldad del cuarteto de Eliot),
o coserlo con una trinidad de puñaladas junto a la ermita
del saint-simon de los sueños en revuelta.
Como si Rafael Ballester Añón de nuevo visitase La Província Pedagògica
con sus postales
y me convidase al bocadillo de atún en el mercado de Mislata,
mientras me hablaba de las delicatessen del expresidente,
dejando las carcasas de los dioses para la comida.
No quiero, sin embargo, soluciones tan crudas:
siempre queda la clonación de los vinos,
la cuevacha de los puercos que una vez fueron jabalíes de bellota
y corteza de roble en el lomo,
la pequeña salmodia de los reclamos que no necesita granjas de alimentación
intensiva,
si sacamos el palillo más corto.
En confíanza, también los demás alguna vez se equivocan:
un can de dos cabezas,
que recuerda los versos de Maxine K (umin):

“That night the old dog works
his way back up and out,
gasping, salted with dirt,
and barks his familiar bark
at the scribble-scratched back door.”

más que un insulto o una liviana herencia,
restos de la mitología que diria el profesor Eduardo Clemente,
un punto canalla, impulsivo hasta las botas.
De cualquier manera, la modestia alcanza la hiel del triunfo,
la inesperada gárgara de la conmoción,
el pequeño logro de quien pasa por dos lugares enfrentados a la vez:
Hay una caída de piedra en el lago de la conciencia,
una menuda aurora para cada uno,
hurtada al rosicler del conde de Niebla.
(Recordemos, sin embargo, el vicio poético de John Donne:
Medio ahogado, medio quemado.
Media vida masticando domésticos placeres,
a la espera del campo de batalla.
Media vida de copas y mujeres fértiles,
antes del retiro de nuevo a la fortaleza de las sábanas umbrías,
para escribir los sermones de entrada a la catedral de San Pablo,
reencarnado como un certificado licoroso de la imagen
y paradigma más allá de sí mismo,
río de montaña en el oceano de la duda,
todo carne de agua,
con su movimiento de serenidad engañosa,
una y otra vez, a través del tiempo.)
________________
Poeta, crítico y traductor. Leer más en: Artepoética-Rostros y versos y en Laberinto del Torogoz.

domingo, 10 de mayo de 2009

Sonny[A Play in Three Acts] Lia Karavia

Lia Karavia, Grecia



Sonny
A Play in Three Acts


Characters

Cleo Steven’s wife 45 years old
Sasha Kassinis Leo’s wife, Aris’ mother 55 years old
Aris Kassinis Sasha’s and Leo’s son 30 years old
Steven Cleo’s husband 60 years old
Leo Kassinis Sasha’s husband, Aris’s father 65 years old
Mary Lydakis widow, a schoolgirl’s mother 35 years old

Stage

The front part of the stage serves as an open–air space, at times a café garden with a small table and four chairs, at times a park with a bench.
With minimal changes, the main stage designates three homes. There are two doors: the one on the left is the entrance, the one on the right leads to other rooms. On the central wall in Cleo’s and Steven’s home there hangs a mirror. Indication in the text: (Steven’s Home). On the same spot in Kassinis’ home there hangs the portrait of an ancestor. Indication in the text: (Kassinis’ Home). On the same spot in Mary’s home there hangs a diploma. Indication in the text: (Lydakis’ Home). The furniture consists of a table and three chairs, which change positions. The table stands centre in Steven’s home, on the right in Kassinis’, on the left in Mary’s. There is also a small table with a telephone by the wall on the right, which does not change position. A flower pot may be placed on it in Steven’s home, a telephone book in Kassinis’, a vase with flowers in Mary’s.

The Epilogue, a telephone call from Aris to Cleo, takes place twenty years later. All the furniture is removed. There is only a chair in front of the small table with the telephone. On the central wall there hangs the picture of a rural landscape. Indication in the text: (On the island).

ACT ONE

Scene One (Cleo, Sasha, Aris) (Steven’s Home)

Sasha is sitting on a chair on the left of the table. Aris is sitting on a chair on the left side of the stage with his palms placed on his knees. He remains in that position almost all through the scene. Cleo is standing on the right, holding a tray, on which there is a small jar with preserved fruit, two saucers and spoons and two glasses of water.

Cleo – Shall I serve or will you help yourselves? (She puts the tray on the table).
Sasha – You with your sweets, as always!
Cleo – It’s nothing but a small preserved fig, dear Sasha.
Sasha – There was no need for it.
Cleo – How can there be need of a tiny fig? It is meant to sweeten your mouth, that you may visit me more often. So, will you help yourselves?
Sasha – All right then. (With a spoon she takes a fig from the jar and puts it on a saucer). Go on, Aris dear, it is your favourite preserved fruit.
Aris – (Without turning). There was no need for it.
Sasha – I said so too, but you know Mrs. Cleo.
Cleo – Shall I serve, my boy?
Aris – (Without turning). Thank you.
Cleo – (To Sasha in a low voice). Is that a yes?
Sasha – Yes. (Cleo serves and takes the saucer to Aris). Say thank you, sonny.
Aris – (Taking it). Thank you very much.
Sasha – Perfect manners! (Cleo goes back to the table and sits. The others eat). The fig is delightful.
Cleo – It is from our own garden, you know. Steven plants fruit trees and takes such pride in them that you would think they were his children.
Sasha – We had a garden in Alexandria, too. Tell Mrs. Cleo, my Aris.
Aris – So we did.
Sasha – Fruit, vegetables… you name it. Here, on the balcony of an apartment, nothing more than a geranium. One can hardly digest it.
Cleo – The geranium? Of course not!
Sasha – Life in an apartment, I mean. My Aris feels he is suffocating inside those walls, after his hours of work. Every evening, no matter how tired I may be, I take him for a walk. (She places the saucer on the tray).
Cleo – Why doesn’t he go on his own?

Sasha – It is boring. When we are together, we talk. Half an hour to go, another half to return, time passes smoothly. You don’t go on walks alone, do you?
Cleo – I go with Steven.
Sasha – See?
Cleo – But Steven is my husband, not my son. And I don’t take him for walks. (She laughs). He doesn’t take me for walks either. We go together.
Sasha – Well, we too go together, I and my Aris. It is the same thing.
Cleo – Is it? If I tell Rita I’d like to take her for a walk or I’d like us to go for a walk together, I am sure to hear some unpleasant comments.
Sasha – (Annoyed). Like what?
Cleo – Forget it. You’d better not know how teenagers speak nowadays. Aris is a gentleman; a very dignified one. Isn’t Mrs. Cleo right, my boy?
Aris – (Absent-mindedly). Mrs. Cleo? Oh! She is always right. (He gets up and puts the saucer on the tray). It was delicious. Thank you.
Cleo – But it must have made you thirsty. (She gets up and offers). Water?
Aris – (Taking it). I was rather thirsty, yes. Cheers. (He drinks and puts down the glass).
Sasha – Sit down, my dear. (Aris takes a hesitant step towards Cleo’s chair). You’d better sit on your chair, there, so that we can chat between ourselves, my friend and me.
Aris – Of course. (He returns to his chair and resumes his initial position).
Sasha – (Taking the other glass while Cleo sits down again). To our health. To our children’s wedding. (She drinks).
Cleo – Amen. For my child, however, that day will not come too soon.
Sasha – (Setting her glass on the tray). The sooner, the better.
Cleo – The sooner? She is still a High School student. Shouldn’t she go on with her studies after High School?
Sasha – If she marries well, why should she go on with studies?
Cleo – (Laughing). Don’t let her hear you say such things, because she may withdraw from you personally the warm feelings she has for all of you.
Sasha – That is exactly what I mean.
Cleo – What?
Sasha – That we, too, have warm feelings for her.
Cleo – I know. God bless you. (Aris budges on his seat). Would you like some more water, my boy?
Aris – No thank you. (Silence). Very kind of you.
Sasha – Perfect manners!
Cleo – True.
Sasha – That is how we brought him up. Lucky she who will marry him.
Cleo – (Silence). Aris?
Aris – (Turning to her). Yes, Mrs. Cleo?
Cleo – What do you think of your colleagues at the Bank?
Aris – They are very nice.
Cleo – And the young ladies?
Aris – Very nice, as well.
Cleo – Is there a lady colleague you find more likable?
Aris – All lady colleagues are likable.
Cleo – I mean one that you like specially?
Sasha – (Irritated). Specially? What can the boy tell you? They are working women. Independent. Each already with her character. They are not girls.
Cleo – Why should they be girls?
Sasha – (Indignant). Twenty five plus!
Cleo – But Aris is older than that. He is not an adolescent.
Sasha – (Curtly). That is irrelevant!
Cleo – Irrelevant? How? (Aris does not follow the conversation).
Sasha – A man is not supposed to shape his character after he marries. He must already have shaped his character before marrying; at thirty or forty, whenever he feels mature enough. While a young lady is malleable only when very young. Later it’s over! She is what she is.
Cleo –How young do you want her to be? Our young lady is still a High School student, and she is what she is. She has her own character.
Sasha – (Shocked). You cannot mean that!
Cleo – But I do. She has goals, she knows what she wants, who she wants…
Sasha – (Shocked). You don’t mean… Who can she want at that young age?
Cleo – (Laughing). Tender feelings for the opposite sex start early.
Sasha – God forbid! (Tense silence). How can you consider yourself a good mother if you cannot impose discipline on your only daughter?
Cleo –She imposes discipline on herself. Why should I impose it? She is good in Math and in Physics, excellent in Literature and in History, passionate for foreign languages…
Sasha – Good for her! My Aris speaks French and English fluently. That is how he got a position at the Bank. Do you realise what it means to be a Bank employee? It means having a secure, well-paid job for life.
Cleo – Wonderful! (To Aris). Congratulations, my boy.
Aris – (As though momentarily waking up from sleep). Very kind of you.
Sasha – I am the mother of a son, and still I am constantly cautious not to have him slip. You are the mother of a daughter, and let her have her way? Well, let’s hope nothing goes wrong.
Cleo – Don’t worry. She has no time for slipping. She hurries from school to the sports field, from the sports field to the Language Institute, from the Institute to…
Sasha – Who takes her there and back?
Cleo – Where?
Sasha – To the sports field, to the Institute, wherever she goes. Because… there may be an “if”. If she goes. What if she does not?
Cleo – Do you think she is stupid? Would she miss classes or the training? She will go by all means, even with a little fever.
Sasha – I took my Aris to and from wherever he went till he was twenty five.
Cleo – (Shocked). You mean everywhere?
Sasha – (Hesitantly). That is… for company. I told you, we talked on the way. Thus I always knew exactly where he was and did not worry.
Cleo – Why should you worry? He is such a quiet young man.
Sasha – He is quiet because he has always known that his parents are vigilant. His father too, I dare say. I cannot complain. Leo has also been vigilant. But of late…
Cleo – (Smiling). Of late, Aris has grown up.
Sasha – We have grown older. Our feet ache a bit, our back as well… Anyway, we do not worry any more. His character has been shaped.
Cleo – A young man should be a bit lively, Sasha. (They look at Aris).
Sasha – Don’t think he is like that at home. There he is lively, very much so. He puts a table napkin on his arm and serves us at table pretending to be a waiter. A whole performance. “Monsieur, dame sont servis.” (To Aris). Say it, my Aris.
Aris – (As though waking up from sleep). Say what, mother?
Sasha – “Monsieur, dame sont servis.”
Aris – But… we are not at home.
Sasha – Right. (To Cleo). Performances cannot take place just anywhere!
Cleo – Oh, before I forget. Steven said if you wish, tomorrow, Sunday afternoon, we can go for a walk to the seaside, to breathe some sea air.
Sasha – Wonderful idea! Agreed.
Cleo – But you must ask Leo first, to make sure he agrees, too.
Sasha – Why shouldn’t he? Some sea air will surely be good for him.
Cleo – (Turning to Aris). Aris?
Aris – Yes, Mrs. Cleo?
Cleo – What do you think of a stroll by the seaside tomorrow? (Aris opens his mouth to answer, but is interrupted and falls silent).
Sasha – He is the one who likes the sea best. Will Rita be with us?
Cleo – I doubt it. Every Sunday she has lots of homework to prepare for the following week. I’ll ask her, though.
Sasha – Tell her my Aris will be there, too.
Cleo – I’ll tell her.
Sasha – She may change her mind and leave some of her homework for a weekday.
Cleo – Maybe.
Sasha – I believe she has special feelings for my Aris.
Cleo – We all have special feelings for him. He is loveworthy.
Sasha – Thank you very much. (Silence. To Aris). Aris dear?
Aris – Yes, mother?
Sasha – Shouldn’t you thank Mrs. Cleo for her nice words?
Aris – (To Cleo). Thank you very much.
Sasha – Well done! (She gets up. To Aris). Time for us to go home, isn’t it? Your dad will be waiting for us.
Aris – Certainly. (He gets up). It is time for us to go. Goodbye, Mrs. Cleo. Many greetings to Mr. Steven and Miss Rita.
Cleo – Just “Rita”. Don’t let her hear you address her as “Miss”.
Aris – As she likes.
Cleo – Just “Rita”.
Aris – Greetings to your Rita.
Sasha – Perfect manners! Is that right or wrong?
Cleo – Right, of course. Thank you, my boy. But I must say, she won’t like the possessive, either. She is not Our Rita. She is just Rita. (She escorts them to the door on the left and opens it. She kisses Sasha and Sasha kisses her back. Aris shakes hands with her. His handshake is obviously very loose. Cleo reacts and squeezes his hand. Sasha is already out. Aris smiles to Cleo. They exchange a tender glance. He goes out, too. Cleo closes the door; she goes back to the table at a slow pace and takes the tray. She stays there for a moment looking pensively at the closed door on the left). In Perrault’s fairy tales, the Sleeping Beauty is woken up by a kiss. Now that fairies are difficult to find, let us see who will wake up our sleeping prince. (She shakes her head and exits right holding the tray).

A small café table is brought to the front part of the stage. Four chairs are set round it. Sound of tiny waves lapping on the sands.

Scene Two (Steven, Cleo, Sasha, Leo, Aris)

Steven – (He enters left, followed by the others. Aris follows one step behind everyone). Shall we sit here for a cup of coffee?
Cleo – I would like some mastic candy dipped in a glass of very cold water.
Sasha – Me, too.
Steven – Whatever pleases the girls. What about you, Leo?
Leo – Coffee, medium sweet.
Steven – Me too. (They sit; the Kassinis on the right. Aris stands).
Sasha – (To Aris). Go to the café shop and ask for another chair, my dear.
Aris – All right. (He exits right).
Leo – A gem of a boy!
Sasha – That is due to his good breeding.
Steven – But shouldn’t he perhaps be with a younger bunch, on a Sunday afternoon?
Leo – We are not that old ourselves.
Steven – (Laughing). We? Young lads in their second youth. (Aris brings a chair. He places it on the right, next to Sasha’s, and sits down. She pats his knee).
Sasha – Well done, my Aris. Have you told the man what we wish to have?
Aris – I only said two cups of coffee, medium sweet. He is preparing them. But he is all alone.
Sasha – Let’s hope he will have them ready before dark!
Aris – (Getting up). Meanwhile, I can get the mastic candies for the ladies.
Sasha – That’s my boy! (Aris exits right).
Cleo – He goes back and forth like a ping-pong ball.
Leo – Never mind. He is a lad in his first youth. We are in our second. (The men laugh). Your Rita is always busy studying, right?
Steven – Fortunately not only with studying. Busy with her athletics, too.
Sasha – On weekdays. She could, however, spare a Sunday afternoon for her parents… and their friends.
Aris – (He returns with two glasses of water. Dipped in each one, there is a spoonful of mastic candy). One for Mrs. Cleo, one for Mrs. Sasha. (He offers each a glass).
Cleo – What will you have, Aris?
Sasha – He will have orange juice.
Aris – Right. Orange juice.
Sasha – Without bubbles.
Aris – Yes.
Sasha – Bubbles are not good for him. (Aris exits right).
Cleo – Where is he going now?
Leo – For the cups of coffee, perhaps. He likes being helpful. And waiters do take ages to serve. (The women are slowly having their mastic candy).
Steven – We are not in a hurry. We are by the sea with its light breeze.
Aris – (Returning with two cups). One for Mr. Steven, one for Mr. Leo. (He sets them on the table).
Steven – We are most obliged. If ever you get fired from the Bank, you can be a first–rate waiter.
Sasha – (Irritated). Don’t ever say such things! (Gesture driving away bad luck). Not even in jest! My Aris is an ideal employee. Why get fired?
Cleo – (To Aris). What about your orange juice?
Aris – (Smiling). The waiter is only allowed to serve himself last. (He exits).
Steven – (Laughing). I think we should tip him for excellent service.
Sasha – (Irritated). Steven, please!
Cleo – It was a joke, dear. Don’t you know what a joker Steven is?
Sasha – Such matters are not funny.
Steven – What matters?
Sasha – A prince cannot stoop to become a gardener.
Leo – Is Aris a prince, dear Sasha? He is a Bank employee. And he is neither a gardener nor a waiter. He simply likes to oblige. He does it whole-heartedly. That is a virtue.
Sasha – One would be unable to make a list of all his virtues.
Steven – We absolutely agree. We could even stress the fact. (Aris returns with a bottle of orangeade and a straw). Come, Aris. Sit down, my friend. Your toil is through.
Aris – It was nothing much. My pleasure. (He sits and sips).
Cleo – (To Aris). Rita sends her best.
Aris – Likewise. Please remember me to her.
Sasha – Perfect manners! (Aris sets his empty bottle on the table. Then he places his palms on his knees. Silence). Was your orange juice refreshing enough, my dear?
Aris – Quite refreshing.
Sasha – Now that you have finished drinking, what about a stroll by the sea?
Aris – Right. (He gets up, goes down to the edge of the stage and walks from one end to the other, supposedly avoiding getting wet from the waves. At one moment, he stumbles and nearly falls into the water, that is off the stage).
Sasha – Such young men are a rarity nowadays.
Cleo – As though coming from other times.
Sasha – Exactly.
Steven – Don’t Bank employees organise excursions?
Leo – They sure do. Dances, too. It is pointless for Aris to go alone, but as soon as he is betrothed…
Steven – (Vividly). Oh? Is there any good news on the horizon?
Sasha – What he means is “when”. Whenever it happens. At an unspecified time. We wish for it, of course. Wouldn’t we want a daughter-in-law? We are getting old. A young girl in our home would be of great help.
Cleo – (Startled). Do you plan to live all together, then?
Sasha – Surely! Would we ever let go of our only son? (Aloud). Aris dear?
Aris – (Stopping his stroll). Yes, mother?
Sasha – Are you enjoying your stroll?
Aris – (Approaching). Very much.
Sasha – Let us have you with us for a while. (Aris resumes his seat).
Leo – Mr. Steven was asking whether the Bank organises excursions.
Aris – (With sudden zeal).On weekends which are followed by a holiday, three-day excursions are organised to archeological and historical sites. On the other hand, every Carnival, without exception, a big dance is organised at a dancing club, reserved on that evening exclusively for our employees.
Sasha – (Proudly). Have you noticed his eloquence?
Steven – (To Aris). Do you like all that, Aris?
Aris – It is fine. (He hesitates). I suppose.
Cleo – You suppose?
Aris – My colleagues talk about it for days afterwards; even during working hours. They laugh joyously among themselves, they seem to be full of enthusiasm. However, I believe that such discussions should take place after working hours. We are expected to produce work during working hours.
Sasha – (Proudly). Please notice his vocabulary.
Cleo – Don’t you participate in such events, sometimes?
Aris – The time will come.
Cleo – When?
Sasha – When he finds the right girl and gets engaged.
Cleo – Still, to get engaged he must belong to the groups of his young colleagues.
Sasha – Not necessarily. We said, his lady colleagues are working women; emancipated, as is the expression.
Steven – (He laughs). Finding a non-working woman, in our days…
Cleo – I believe you should participate sometimes.
Aris – Surely. (Sasha looks at him angrily). That is… I hope so.
Sasha – Do you mind calling the waiter for us to pay the bill, Aris dear?
Aris – If you allow me…
Leo – Allow you what?
Aris – I might take the money to him. He is rather old and he keeps the place all by himself.
Cleo – You have a heart of gold, my boy!
Leo – (Taking out his wallet). Will you allow me to treat you?
Steven – Of course not! It was my idea. I invited you.
Sasha – But we came… by mutual consent.
Steven – Well, we did not come by martial law, but it was I who invited you.
Leo – In that case, you will allow me to treat you next Sunday. I invite you at this very moment.
Cleo – We accept with all our heart.
Steven – (Giving Aris some money). Thank you for going to the trouble.
Aris – No trouble. My pleasure. (He exits right).
Sasha – Have you noticed his manners? Impeccable! Or do I sound like a boastful mother?
Cleo – What you say about him is true. The truth should be clearly stated.
Leo – No, no! Do not encourage her, Cleo! (To Sasha sternly). Our ancient forefathers used to say “The gods hate boastfulness”.
Sasha – (To Steven and Cleo). He is right, you know. And there is also the evil eye. The other day, Aris came home very pale, with a headache, surely due to an evil eye. (Aris enters with some change in his hand). Hush! Let us change the subject so he will not hear. (Aloud). Is it all right, my dear?
Aris – Everything is fine. (He gives the change to Steven. They all rise).
Sasha – I do hope that Rita will also honour us with her presence next Sunday. Don’t you agree, my Aris?
Aris – Certainly. I hope so.
Cleo – We shall see. Wishing that we are all strong and healthy till next Sunday. (They exit left. Steven and Cleo go first; Leo comes behind them followed by Sasha, who half-stops to see if Aris follows. Aris comes last seeming quite tired. When Sasha sees him approaching, she exits, too. Left alone, Aris turns for a moment towards the sea, that is towards the public. He takes a deep breath, he smiles absent-mindedly, and he exits).

The table and the chairs are removed from the front part of the stage.

Scene Three (Sasha, Cleo) (Steven’s Home)

(Knock at the door on the left. Cleo leaves something she was sewing in the little basket, gets up and opens the door. Sasha enters holding a jar).
Sasha – Good morning.
Cleo – Welcome.
Sasha – I just gave him breakfast and he left for the Bank. I have come to bring you some sour milk. It is what Steven really needs. I will give you the recipe and you can make it yourself. (She hands her the jar).
Cleo – (Taking it). Thanks a lot. Don’t stand at the door! Come in.
Sasha – I won’t stay. I must clean some tiny fish, which I found incredibly fresh. They were almost jumping out of the fishmonger’s basket! I will fry them for him for lunch. He loves tiny fish. Scaling them is quite a job, but I, as a mother… (Silence). Does Rita know how to scale fish?
Cleo – (Laughing). Rita only knows how to fry eggs.
Sasha – That is not very commendable, Cleo dear!
Cleo – I did not think it was. But she is swamped with her duties, so… Shall we keep standing at the door? Do come in to catch your breath.
Sasha – For two minutes only.
Cleo – Whatever. At least we shall be seated. (She goes towards the table).
Sasha – Leo is still asleep. Ever since he got his pension…
Cleo – Before getting it, he went through years and years of hard work. Let him rest now. (They sit).
Sasha – Leo… he is nice and sweet, I’ll give him that, but – honest to God – he lacks initiative.
Cleo – What sort of initiatives? Everything goes like clockwork in your home.
Sasha – That happens because I wind up the clock. Shouldn’t he go out for a walk with his son, to give him some advice?
Cleo – Sasha dear, what kind of advice can he give a thirty year old man?
Sasha – He could do it indirectly, same as me. He would not say, “Sit down, son, and let me give you advice.” Do you realise what world we live in?
Cleo – I do. And I keep learning.
Sasha – In Alexandria things were different. If a couple went to a hotel, both persons had to present identity cards.
Cleo – What does that have to do with anything?
Sasha – Here you just walk in and the manager turns his head the other way.
Cleo – Would you like Leo to advise him not to go to a hotel?
Sasha – You know what I mean.
Cleo – If I knew, I would not be asking.
Sasha – Besides all other things, which are very serious, there is the most serious: the matter of cleanliness. My Aris was brought up otherwise. In Alexandria after washing our hands for a meal, we turned the knob with a handkerchief and pushed away the chair with our elbow.
Cleo – There were probably more microbes there.
Sasha – That is true. I had to wash all the fruit with antiseptic. And when he was little, I spread a sheet on the verandah for him to play and crawl on. (She is moved by the memory of Aris as a baby).
Cleo – Those were other circumstances. Here, when Rita dropped her slice of bread, I picked it up, blew on it and gave it to her to eat. Little children should get used to microbes.
Sasha – Unwise of you, Cleo! Imagine giving her bread picked up from the floor!
Cleo – Well, nothing wrong came upon her.
Sasha – You took chances. Anyway, my son’s health is fragile.
Cleo – I have never known him to get sick.
Sasha – He does not get sick because I look after him. (She looks at her watch). He must have arrived by now, don’t you think?
Cleo – Who?
Sasha – My Aris. At the Bank, I mean. (Silence). May I make a phone call to make sure he has arrived safely?
Cleo – Should you be asking, friend? Take your time. I am going inside for a minute to see how my food is cooking. (She exits right, leaving the door open).
Sasha – (She goes to the phone, picks up the receiver, dials a number and waits). Extension 116, please. (She waits some more. Suddenly her face lights up). Meow, meow, meow! (She waits. She smiles). Meow! Meow! (Fiercely). Hrrr-meow, meow!
Cleo – (Appearing at the door, worried). Hello! Is everything all right, Sasha dear?
Sasha – (Beckoning to her to keep silent and to come in). Grrr-meow, meow, meow! (She waits. She laughs coquettishly). Yes! Well, see you later, Aris dear. (She hangs up. To Cleo who has entered the room and stands puzzled). It is a game between us. (She laughs). I pretend to be a cat and he pretends to be a dog. We act being mild, then wild, and the like. It is very funny. (Silence). It gives him a short interval from his work. Very hard work, you understand. Eight to four. No matter how well-paid those young men and… young women may be, they do get tired.
Cleo – Young people are quite enduring. Don’t you worry.
Sasha – They are just allowed a half-hour break to have a bite at the canteen. Not all employees at the same time. They take turns. But I prepare a sandwich for my Aris, with the best ingredients. Who knows what they use at the canteen? Surely nothing nourishing; perhaps even harmful. He’d better keep away. I use fresh butter, a fresh egg, the best cheese and English ham. He does not need to go to the canteen since he has my carefully prepared snack. It would be ideal if all employees had the like, but… (She has returned to her seat and sits down).
Cleo – Right. … (She sits down, too). However, maybe colleagues chat among themselves at the canteen and for Aris it might be good to…
Sasha – Exactly. They do nothing but chat and gossip. What that lady colleague wears, who so-and-so is going out with, what some other has bought... Dandies and emancipated dames! He had better stay away!
Cleo – He must not stay away from his group, Sasha dear. How will he get some life experience? If he always keeps distances…
Sasha – (Irritated). I have come to bring you the sour milk, Cleo, not to listen to your comments. I have more than enough of criticism from my husband. I come here to find moral support. Are we friends or are we not?
Cleo – Friends are not supposed to be identical. We agree, we disagree, we discuss things, still always positively. That is the meaning of friendship.
Sasha – You speak as though we lived in Paradise. Do you know in what kind of world we live nowadays? (She gets up).
Cleo –You have already asked me. I said I do. And I try to understand what I don’t know yet.
Sasha – (Irritated). Yes, but… see that you do not contradict me, or I’ll hit my head on the wall.
Cleo – Which wall? (She gets up).
Sasha – Whichever happens to be in front of me.
Cleo – (Laughing). I cannot pronounce myself as to the walls of your home, but I can tell you that our walls here are thin and cannot stand headers. Therefore in this house you are not allowed to hit your head on any wall. For the rest, I am not entitled to intervene. Suit yourself.
Sasha – You think that everything is a joke, Cleo. Well, the day will come for you to understand that some things are not funny. They are very serious, not to say tragic. (She exits left. Cleo shakes her head).

Curtain

END OF ACT ONE

ACT TWO

Scene One (Mary, Aris)

A bench has been set at the front of the stage, centre. Noontime. Aris enters left and sits in the middle of the bench. He takes a carefully wrapped sandwich out of his pocket; he unwraps one corner and eats.
Mary – (She enters from the right holding a schoolbag. She sits on the end of the bench. Aris moves to the left to give her more space. She takes a sandwich out of her bag, looks at him and smiles). Are we co-sufferers?
Aris – (Swallowing hastily. Perplexed). What do you mean?
Mary – Are we both hungry after work and still having tons of things to do?
Aris – After work? It would be nice if I had finished work at this time. Several working hours still lie ahead of me.
Mary – You don’t say!
Aris – The Bank closes at half past two for the public, but we employees keep working till four.
Mary – (Laughing). Well, it was your choice. “Bank employee” sounds much grander than simply “Elementary School Teacher”. (She points to the right). We have already finished work, but I take a bite here because, as I said, I still have tons of things to do. (She eats).
Aris – I heard you, but I did not get the meaning.
Mary – (Her mouth full). The meaning is that my daughter has just become a High School student and I must wait for her to finish her classes, then take her to the swimming-pool. One more hour for me waiting there. When we finally reach home, at about the same time as you, try to imagine what I have to cope with. Cooking, a bit of cleaning (mind you I said just a bit), some laundering, perhaps a little ironing, helping Helen with her study, in case she needs help, and tomorrow… well, we start all over again. You, at least, can rest after four in the afternoon, I suppose.
Aris – That is true. But… please, excuse my indiscretion, isn’t there someone in the family who could lend a hand?
Mary – I am sorry to say there isn’t. My husband died three years ago. My people, those who are still alive, are on the island.
Aris – Who are your people?
Mary –Mostly my father. An old man. Even if he were here, he would be unable to help. And my two brothers. Married with children. Two or three children each. They would not be able to help either, even if there wasn’t so much seawater between us. Helen and I are all alone.
Aris – She is already at High School, you said?
Mary – Well, to be fair, I must say Helen lends me a hand. She does her best to help. But she is a child, really. And she has lots of homework. She is a good student in all subjects, you know. But she finds French quite difficult. I cannot help her in that area. And my salary is not such that would allow me to hire a private teacher to coach her in a foreign language. (Aris has finished eating.)
Aris – I could help, if… I don’t know how far your home is. I live with my parents a few blocks down from the State Hospital.
Mary – Our home is just one bus-stop further up. At the Red Cross. But I cannot ask you for such a favour.
Aris – It would be a pleasure; something different to break the daily routine.
Mary – I wouldn’t know how to pay back that debt, though. At my birthplace, people say that one favour deserves another.
Aris – That is a noble thought. I need nothing, however.
Mary – Nothing? Not even a bite from my sandwich? (She stretches out).
Aris – (Smiling). I will accept that favour. (He stretches out and timidly cuts off a small bit. He eats).
Mary – So, when you have some free time, I can bring her to your place and wait for her. She does not circulate by herself yet. I escort her.
Aris – Yes. (He hesitates). Still… (Long silence).
Mary – Is there a problem?
Aris – I think so. Would it be all right if I came to your place? You see, I… I do circulate.
Mary – (Laughing). All by yourself? Unescorted?
Aris – (Smiling sadly). Rarely. When I have the chance. (She thinks he is joking, she laughs, then observes him and stops laughing.)
Mary – No problem. That would accommodate me better. I won’t have to escort her and wait for her. Ideal! So, we live on the central avenue, exactly by the church, Number 21, third floor. The name on the doorbell is still Myron Lydakis. I have not changed it in three years. Somehow, we feel more protected that way. Which day, do you think, suits you best?
Aris – Saturday. Early in the afternoon.
Mary – Perfect.
Aris – My people take a nap three to five and… (Silence).
Mary – What?
Aris – (Hesitantly). I am free.
Mary – No problem. Helen will be crazy about it when I tell her. See what the good God works out? A simple coincidence, a chance meeting (She laughs). a little piece of a sandwich…
Aris – (Laughing freely). That was the favour to repay mine.
Mary – For the moment. On Saturday I will repay your favour with some refreshing drink. What would you have?
Aris – Orange juice.
Mary – That’s easy.
Aris – (Hesitatingly). Without bubbles.
Mary – No problem. (She looks at her watch, gets up and stretches out to shake hands with Aris. A thought crosses her mind). What a shame! I have not introduced myself. Mary Lydakis. (She smiles). Elementary School teacher. Distinguished title. (Sarcastic as to herself). If I tell you what my salary is, you will realise my value.
Aris – If the value is proved by the pay people get, I can tell you I know some totally worthless persons who are extremely overpaid.
Mary – They are sure to belong to some political party, some religious group, some nobility…
Aris – Nobility?
Mary – I don’t mean moral nobility, of course. I mean hereditary privileged people of little personal achievements.
Aris – Except perhaps squandering hereditary wealth.
Mary – (She looks at him in surprise). You have humour. I did not think so at the beginning. I am surprised.
Aris – You can’t be more surprised than I am.
Mary – So I have introduced myself. Your turn.
Aris – (He gets up). Aris Kassinis. (He stretches out to shake hands).
Mary – (Smiling). I know the rest. Bank employee. And, moreover, my Helen’s French teacher. (They laugh, look at each other and shake hands). Glad to have met you.
Aris – Likewise.
Mary –And a thousand thanks.
Aris – Likewise.
Mary – What for? The little piece of my sandwich?
Aris – For various things.
Mary – Mention one.
Aris – The humour I didn’t know I had.
Mary – Now you know. See you on Saturday. Keep well. (She exits right).
Aris – (Left alone).Keep very-very well. Please! (He looks for a few seconds towards the direction Mary has gone. He smiles. Then he exits left, humming a tune).

The bench is taken away.
Scene two (Cleo, Steven) (Steven’s home)

Cleo – (Sitting near Steven). What time is it?
Steven – Dusk.
Cleo – Is dusk a concrete hour on the clock?
Steven. Sure. Depending on the season, of course. Like some holidays without fixed dates. Easter, for example.
Cleo – Could you just look at your watch and tell me the time?
Steven – Half past seven. Rita is a bit late, but don’t worry.
Cleo – I don’t. Why should I worry? She is either at the Institute without Alex, or in the sports field with Alex.
Steven – Therefore out of danger.
Cleo – Exactly.
Steven – Then why did you ask me the time?
Cleo – Because I have to start preparing dinner. Did you think I am Sasha, who has a fit if her sonny is a few minutes late?
Steven – My heart aches for that young man. Unable to stand up to her at his age! Rita is half his age and yet…
Cleo – Rita has inherited my genes. (She smiles cunningly).
Steven – (Pretending to be indignant). Cleo is proud of being headstrong!
Cleo – You named it my strong personality when you wowed me.
Steven – Now that I wow you no more I call it headstrong.
Cleo – Unlucky sufferer! (They laugh). Do you know that poor Sasha would like to have Rita as her daughter-in-law?
Steven – She would murder our daughter before their honeymoon.
Cleo – She might. It’s not a joke.
Steven – I did not say it as a joke, but as something tragic. And don’t say “poor Sasha” again. It is “poor Aris”. He lives in deep frost.
Cleo – I pray that some princess will kiss him and wake him up from torpor.
Steven – I think the story is the other way round.
Cleo – Whatever way round, a miracle might happen.
Steven – Isn’t it a bit too late?
Cleo – The Sleeping beauty was about one hundred sixteen.
Steven – Then Aris has plenty of time ahead of him. (They laugh sadly). How nice it is that my girl still believes in miracles!
Cleo – I would be lost without hoping for some. Please pray for him, too.
Steven – I pray that good God may enlighten Sasha to go visit a psychiatrist.
Cleo – I don’t believe such a miracle can happen. Let me go cook dinner. (She exits right. Steven follows her, smiling.)
The furniture is moved to the right place for the new scene.
Scene three (Sasha, Aris) (Kassinis’ Home)

Sasha – (Standing). Time for a siesta. (She waits for some response from Aris, who is reading, seated at the table). Your father has already gone to take his nap, while I tidied the kitchen. (She waits). Are you coming?
Aris – (Without looking up). I have some work to do.
Sasha – Do they give you work to do at home on a Saturday, as if you were schoolchildren? I don’t believe it! You have three diplomas.
Aris – I don’t have to do homework, mother. There is something that I want to read.
Sasha – Good for you! You have always been studious! But don’t take too long. Give yourself time for a nap. (Moving to the right). You know that a siesta is beneficial to the health, especially to those who are… fragile.
Aris – I am not sleepy. When I am through reading, I shall go for a walk.
Sasha – (She stops abruptly, turns round and scrutinizes him). What for?
Aris – No reason. I just want to take a walk. (Silence).
Sasha – Fine. (She moves to exit, stops, turns round). For how long?
Aris – Not too long.
Sasha – All right then. (She moves to exit, stops, turns round). When you come back, wake me up if you need anything.
Aris – I will not need anything. (He goes on reading).
Sasha – You never know.
Aris – But I do, mother.
Sasha – (Approaching him and looking at him with curiosity). Strange!
Aris – Not strange at all. If I feel thirsty, I shall get a glass of water. I am not a baby.
Sasha – (In a mellow tone). The way I have pampered you both, you are like babies, your father and you. You never had to move a muscle.
Aris – It is high time we move our muscles and take care of ourselves, to offer Mrs. Sasha some rest. (Silence).
Sasha – (Severely). I don’t like secrets.
Aris – (Looking up, somewhat ill-at-ease). What secrets?
Sasha – (Sitting down near him). Has the doctor confided something to you?
Aris – Which doctor, mother?
Sasha – The cardiologist I visited the other day.
Aris – You did not tell me that you visited a cardiologist.
Sasha – I did not want to worry you.
Aris – Is that so? Well, I don’t like secrets, either.
Sasha – (Vexed). Are you repeating my words in irony? (Silence). Well, speak! Is there anything seriously wrong with me?
Aris – How should I know? Which cardiologist was that? I have no idea.
Sasha – Never mind. Forget it.
Aris – Forget what, mother? What was the reason you visited a cardiologist?
Sasha – I had some arrhythmia.
Aris – (Worried). So, what did he say?
Sasha – He said I should not get upset.
Aris – You did not need a cardiologist to tell you that. Father repeats it non-stop. “Take it easy, Sasha. Do not get upset.” (He looks at his watch). So, that is that.
Sasha – And he said I should not be left alone for long. (She looks at him with expectation).
Aris – There is always father.
Sasha – When? (Silence). He is asleep now.
Aris – He will wake up in case you have… arrhythmia. (Silence).
Sasha – (Coldly). He probably will. (Silence). And he probably won’t. (She gets up. Aris pretends to go back to reading). So… (She coughs. Silence). When you finish reading, have a good walk. (Indignant). That early in the afternoon! Lord! (She goes right. She stops). And don’t be late, I said.
Aris – All right. (As soon as Sasha exits, he puts down the paper he is reading. Sasha returns. He picks it up again hastily).
Sasha – Aris!
Aris – (Pretending to be reading). What?
Sasha – Don’t forget to wear your hat. Agreed?
Aris – But I don’t think that…
Sasha – (Hysterical). I won’t have you raise objections! (She controls herself). The doctor said I should not get upset. (Moving to exit). Hah! He wants to go for a walk! At this time of the day! (She exits).
Aris – (To himself). Let us see, will she come back? (He waits, ready to put down the paper he is reading).
Sasha – (Returning). And remember the doctor said I should not be left alone for long.
Aris – Why do you repeat it? Don’t you know you have just said so?
Sasha – I know what I’ve said. I don’t know if you have understood.
Aris – I have. You have father. (Sasha exits right. Aris waits a few seconds, glancing towards the door. Then he puts down the paper and looks at his watch). With some small delay! (He gets up with a sigh). Better late than never! (He smiles). Mieux vaut tard que jamais! (He goes to the left. He stops). A hat? Of course not! It would be funny to meet Helen for the first time wearing a hat! (He exits on tiptoe, closing the door behind him).

The furniture is moved to the right place for the new scene.

Scene Four (Mary, Aris) (Lydakis’ Home)

(A knock at the door on the left. Mary enters hastily from the right).
Mary – (Opening). Hello and welcome. Do come in.
Aris – (Entering). I am somewhat late, though. Sorry!
Mary – (Laughing). We will reduce your pay! Come on. Helen is waiting for you. She has laid her books and notebooks open on her desk. But it is the first time she is having private tutoring and she is a bit jittery.
Aris – (Confidentially). Same here.
Mary – Don’t let her see it. Be cool. (She points to the right). And I shall bring your orange juice right away. (She smiles).
Aris – Because one favour deserves another, as people say on your island.
Mary – Sure. Orange juice without bubbles. Right?
Aris – Without. Excellent memory!
Mary – Teachers need it. Clio, Euterpe, Thalia, Melpomene, Terpsichore…
Aris – Erato, Polymnia, Urania, Calliope.
Mary – (Laughing). Both of us get an A.
Aris – Concerning the Nine Muses.
Mary – Concerning other subjects, too. Which Muse do you like best?
Aris – Cleo.
Mary – Therefore you are interested in History!
Aris – I am, but… Mrs. Cleo is a family friend. (Silence). She is very kind-hearted and understanding
Mary – The heart comes first. Knowledge follows. You are right. (She points right). After the lesson, tell me if all went well, if she was attentive. I have promised to take her to the cinema this evening, if you are satisfied.
Aris – Evaluating students cannot start before the second lesson.
Mary – One can foresee at daybreak if the day will be good. (Silence). We would invite you to the cinema… (She laughs). As one more effort to repay a favour by another, but the film is strictly unsuitable for adults. Asterix! You see, Helen is still interested in movies for the young.
Aris – (Smiling). Me too. I have the whole series of Asterix books. I can lend them to her, if she wants.
Mary – Well, in that case, we do invite you. (Long silence).
Aris – I am afraid that… there may be a problem there.
Mary – (Puzzled). Like what?
Aris – I should not be bothering you with my family matters.
Mary – You can bother me as much as you please.
Aris – It is that… my mother has some arrhythmia and… she’d better not be left alone for too long, the doctor has said.
Mary – Do the two of you live alone?
Aris – There is also my father, but he is not a young man and…
Mary – Does he have arrhythmia, as well?
Aris – Not at all.
Mary – That’s good! (She laughs). Excuse me for laughing, but arrhythmia reminds me of my mother. Whenever I tried to take a step forward, she had a fit of arrhythmia; coincidentally. When I got engaged to Myron, arrhythmia was not enough. She nearly had a stroke to dissuade me.
Aris – He was not to her liking?
Mary – He was to her liking under conditions. He should stay at our home; we should both be posted in our village, so that she could be in control.
Aris – Control of what?
Mary – Of our lives. She should be the one to guide our steps. But of course neither Myron nor I… (Silence). I should not be bothering you with my stories.
Aris – You can bother me as much as you please. (They laugh).
Mary – Your decision. So we got married and moved here, to the city. And if you must know, my mother did not get a stroke, not even arrhythmia. People adjust to new realities. She was proud of her grand-daughter, till her death, two years ago. Leukemia. Irrelevant to strokes and arrhythmia.
Aris – I believe, however, that if a person whole-heartedly decides to inflict illness upon himself…
Mary – In order to revenge himself on some unruly or revolted person...
Aris – Exactly. I believe that he can provoke arrhythmia, and a stroke, and perhaps his own death.
Mary – Perhaps. But each one of us is responsible for himself. We cannot ask others to sacrifice themselves so that we may go on living. (Silence). Well, here we are, chatting and chatting, while poor Helen is expecting her Messiah of French in her room. (She leads Aris to the right, opens the door on the right and shows him into Helen’s room).
Aris – (Hesitating, he smiles timidly). A sin confessed is no more a sin. Right? Well… I do feel a bit jittery.
Mary – Keep cool, we said. Even if you have to put on cool behaviour.
Aris – (He exits right. Almost immediately, he reappears at the door). What time will you be setting out for the cinema?
Mary – At about half past seven.
Aris – Fine. (They smile.) We’ll talk after the lesson.
Maria – Before, during, after, Whenever we have a chance. To fight solitude.
Aris – You have your daughter. Do not complain. (He exits right).

The furniture is moved to the right place for the new scene.
Scene Five (Sasha, Aris, Leo) (Kassinis’ Home)

Sasha – (Seated, she looks at her watch. Severely, to Aris who enters left). You are late!
Aris – We had not fixed the time.
Sasha – We had agreed you would not be late. Meaning you would be back before we got up from our nap.
Aris – That is not some fixed time either. It may be a longer or a shorter nap.
Sasha – Your father was out of his mind. You took a walk right after lunch for two whole hours! He is no longer a young man. He is a pensioner.
Aris – Lucky him!
Sasha – Keep the irony to yourself.
Aris – What irony? I envy him not having to work for eight hours daily.
Sasha – A pension does not come without bringing accompanying problems. It brings with it high blood pressure, arrhythmia…
Aris – (Smiling). Arrhythmia? Father, too?
Sasha – In future perhaps. I have heard of many such things happening.
Aris – Let us not presage disasters. (He sits down. Silence).
Sasha – (Getting up). Would you like me to get you some fruit? Some juice?
Aris – I am all right.
Sasha – How come? You always have something at this time of the day.
Aris – I have had some orange juice.
Sasha – (Looking at him with suspicion). During your stroll?
Aris – Without bubbles. (Silence).
Sasha – (Sitting down). Unheard of! Absolutely unheard of!
Aris – What is?
Sasha – You know that you can have natural fruit juice here, and you prefer some bottled concoction.
Aris – It is not harmful.
Sasha – It is not beneficial to the health either. (Long silence. She looks at him fixedly). Is anything the matter?
Aris – What could the matter be?
Sasha – You are suddenly standing up against me today. A string of objections.
Aris – No objections at all.
Sasha – I know what I am talking about.
Aris – Where is father?
Sasha – Inside. He is getting ready. We are invited for dinner at Cleo and Steven’s. I hope Rita will be there, too. Go get ready.
Aris – I… I prefer not to come. (Electrified silence).
Sasha – You prefer not to, or you refuse to?
Aris – (Hesitantly). I have a slight stomach ache.
Sasha – Due to the concoction you drank, surely. Who knows what rotten fruit they use? Why don’t you get a digestive pill?
Aris – It will pass. As long as I eat nothing while I feel this way.
Sasha – Come along to Cleo’s and don’t have any food.
Aris – I prefer to stay.
Sasha – Alone, here at home?
Aris – If I get bored later on, I may go to the cinema. (Long silence).
Sasha – (Shrill shouting). Leo! (She waits for an answer). Leo, I said!
Leo – (He appears at the door right, trying to make a knot in his tie). Something is wrong with this tie and I can’t make a proper knot.
Aris – (Getting up). Let me help.
Sasha – Leo! Forget the tie and listen to me. (Leo comes into the room). Your son…
Leo – (Worried). Is anything wrong?
Sasha – What is wrong is that he does not want to come with us to the dinner. He prefers to stay here alone. (Hysterically). Or go to the cinema!
Leo – (To Aris). What is on? Anything good?
Sasha – Is that all you mean to ask him? (Mockingly). “What is on? Anything good?”
Aris – Asterix.
Leo – (Laughing). Our sonny refuses to become a grown up!
Sasha – (Astounded). Asterix?
Aris – You know. And Obelix.
Sasha – Lord! I am getting palpitations!
Leo – But why get upset, dearest? Don’t we ourselves feel nostalgic sometimes? Didn’t we go to the cinema to see Dickens’s “Oliver Twist” again, the other day?
Sasha – That is a classic. It is Dickens. And we went as a family.
Leo – Do you feel like going as a family to Asterix?
Sasha – By no means. I feel like going to Cleo’s dinner; as a family.
Aris – Sorry, I do not feel up to any dinner. I told you that I have some stomach ache.
Sasha – That is what comes to him who roams around without taking a nap.
Leo – He will lie down a bit now and feel better. (To Sasha). Go get ready. Is this the way you will appear at Cleo’s?
Sasha – There is plenty of time.
Aris – (Making a knot in his fathers tie). Give them my love.
Sasha – Nice love indeed!
Leo – (To Aris). See that you enjoy your young age, for when you get to your mid-sixties…
Sasha – What kind of advice are you giving him, Leo?
Leo – Fatherly advice.
Sasha – Keep your advice to yourself and leave him to motherly advice. (To Aris). Shall I make you a cup of chamomile for your stomach ache, dear?
Aris – No. Thank you very much. (Silence).
Sasha – (Very suspicious). Something is really wrong with you.
Leo – Well, he told us he has stomach ache.
Sasha –It’s another thing. Can’t get it out of my mind. Motherly intuition.
Leo – Forget intuitions and get ready. Come on! (He exits right).
Sasha – A real tyrant! It was for your sake that I tolerated him for so many years. If it were not for you… (She exits right).
Aris – (He sits, leans his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands. He looks towards the public dreamily. He then acts the scene in Helen’s room). “Monsieur Aris, ma mère… peut-elle venir ici… à la leçon, avec nous ?” (He smiles). “Mais oui, Hélène! Pourquoi pas? Ta mère peut suivre toutes nos leçons, si elle veut.” (He claps twice). “Ô elle veut ! Elle aime le français. Elle aime les langues, mais… au village…” (He stops acting). Ah, she is a wonderful kid! So, beginning next Saturday, I’ll have two students instead of one!
Sasha – (Appearing at the door with a necklace in her hand). What was that?
Aris – What was what?
Sasha – You were speaking.
Aris – Was I? I might have been speaking to myself.
Sasha – I’ve never heard you speak to yourself. Nor speak much in general, for that matter. You’ve always been a person of few words. Since when have you become chatty? Many sudden changes! Our Aris will become talkative now! (Silence. She walks into the room). Could you help me?
Aris – With pleasure. (He gets up).
Sasha – Can you fasten this necklace of mine?
Aris – Sure. (He does so).
Sasha – You will be bitterly sorry about tonight.
Aris – I will not; neither bitterly nor sweetly.
Sasha – Is that so? Have you any idea how fond of you Cleo is?
Aris – I am sure she is. It is reciprocal.
Sasha – It is reciprocal, but you prefer Asterix and that other one. What is his name?
Aris – Obelix.
Sasha – Whatever. (She moves away). Thank you. I shall explain to them that you… (Suddenly hysterical). Tell me what lies I must tell them to explain your absence.
Aris – No lies. Not even that my stomach hurts a bit. Just say I was unable to come, despite my love for them. They are sure to understand.
Sasha – (Moving to exit right). How can they understand? Since your own mother does not!
Aris – Mrs. Cleo will.
Sasha – You think so.
Aris – I am certain.
Sasha – Oh? Do you have a secret code with Mrs. Cleo, then?
Aris – (Laughing). You are fond of imagining spy stories!
Sasha – I asked if you have a secret code and the stomach ache is perhaps a kind of a signal.
Aris – But I asked you not to mention my stomach ache.
Sasha – Shall I tell them about Asterix?
Aris – If you wish.
Sasha – Maybe Asterix is the secret code. Or the other one, what’s his name.
Aris – Obelix.
Sasha – Whatever the signal may be, my intuition tells me that Cleo knows more about you than I, your own mother.
Aris – There is nothing to know. Besides the fact that I am very fond of both her and Mr. Steven.
Sasha – No doubt about that. (Leo’s voice is heard from the right).
Leo – (Off stage). Sasha! Don’t be late, please!
Sasha – (Shouting to the right). I am coming. (To Aris). A real tyrant! How have I managed to stand him all those years? If it were not for you and my being patient for your sake…
Aris – Please, mother!
Sasha – Please what? You can ask me for favours. Who can I ask for favours, though? Tell me that! (She stalks angrily to the right and exits).
Aris – (Smiling to himself). I could lay a wager that Mrs. Cleo will understand.
Curtain

END OF ACT TWO

ACT THREE

Scene One (Sasha, Cleo) (Steven’s Home)

Sasha – (She is sitting with a handkerchief in her hand, sobbing). There is… He told me himself… In cold blood… He himself…
Cleo – (Standing by her). Let me get what you are saying. Himself who?
Sasha – My Aris.
Cleo – He told you that there is what?
Sasha – (Hysterical). A child!
Cleo – (Astounded). Aris has a child?
Sasha – No! Not Aris! She whose name I will never pronounce.
Cleo – Where did she get it?
Sasha – Where do we get children? She has given birth to it. (Louder sobs).
Cleo – She has given birth to a child right now?
Sasha – Twelve or thirteen years ago. When my Aris was still a High School student.
Cleo – And then what?
Sasha – Then she became a widow.
Cleo – Unlucky woman!
Sasha – It was my bad luck, not hers!
Cleo – Don’t say such things. We are lucky to have our men, to have our children grow up with their father by their side. Isn’t it our good fortune?
Sasha – (Stops crying). Perhaps. (Stubbornly). It is supposed to be. But it was I who brought him up. His clothes all clean and ironed. Have you noticed his teeth? Like pearls! I had him brush them after every meal. I fought microbes like an awesome warrior. Has my Leo done as much?
Cleo – I don’t know.
Sasha – He did not. I raised him as a prince. Was I preparing him for her?
Cleo – For her? She does have a name though.
Sasha – “She”. Just as you said it. “She” is the word I will use for her till my death. She who is taking my Aris away from me. (She sobs). The wicked one. The one I will always throw curses upon.
Cleo – She may be a good woman, for all we know. (She pats her back). She may pamper him as much as you yourself have.
Sasha – Don’t tell me such things or I will hit my head on the wall.
Cleo – There we go again! Which wall?
Sasha – Whichever.
Cleo – (Laughing). We said, not mine.
Sasha – Cleo! If you were a true friend…
Cleo – Am I not?
Sasha – I will not have you laugh at tragic things or try to defend her! There are many horrors you don’t know about.
Cleo – Inform me then.
Sasha – If you were a true friend, you would go tell her…
Cleo – It is not my business to say anything to an unknown woman.
Sasha – That is just what she is. Unknown. Foreign this to part of the world.
Cleo – Do you mean she comes from another country?
Sasha – From an island.
Cleo – An island of our country? Is that the horror I should get to know? Islanders are said to be good people. Young women, too, of course.
Sasha –Young women? Wake up, Cleo! She is not young.
Cleo – What is she?
Sasha – An ageing woman. Yes, dear. That is the most horrible thing in that story. (Between sobs). Much, much, much older than he.
Cleo – How much?
Sasha – Five or six years! (Silence). There! (Hysterically). Speak now!
Cleo – All right, I will. Leo is over ten years older than you. And Steven is fifteen years older than me. Therefore, age…
Sasha – In our case, Cleo, the difference is on the right side. In her case, it is on the wrong side.
Cleo – Sorry. I did not know that ages have a right and a wrong side.
Sasha – Don’t pretend to be naïve. My mother was twenty years younger than my father. Has it bothered you?
Cleo – Me? Why should it bother me?
Sasha – It bothered nobody at all.
Cleo – Perhaps it bothered your mother, who spent half her life as a widow, as you have told me.
Sasha – Exactly. A widow who did not replace her husband with a beardless young man.
Cleo – Are you referring to Aris as a beardless young man? He is over thirty.
Sasha – He is inexperienced.
Cleo – Don’t use that word as praise.
Sasha – A virgin.
Cleo – Stop it, Sasha! Mothers cannot know such things.
Sasha – But I do. I have kept him immaculate.
Cleo – I don’t like that word. It depresses me. (Silence). No matter how you have kept him, I can’t believe you have kept him for yourself. Some woman would take him, some day. What do we hope as parents? To grow old and leave our children behind us all alone, without a companion in life? Would you have him… immaculate till your last breath?
Sasha – If it were not a widow with a child to take him away from me, but some inexperienced innocent girl, it might be different; a girl from a good family, whose parents we knew. (Silence). Like your daughter.
Cleo – My daughter is about fifteen years younger than Aris.
Sasha – The difference is not great. And it is on the right side.
Cleo – Why are we discussing Rita, dear Sasha? She is to be engaged soon.
Sasha – (With a scream). Oh? Are you insensitive? She is just finishing High School and she is getting engaged? And do you know who he is?
Cleo – For us, “he” has a name. And he is a fine young man, a student of the Faculty of Medicine. By the time he gets his degree, she will be near the end of her studies. Medicine, as you know, requires long years of study. And when they graduate from their Universities, they can get married.
Sasha – After years and years of engagement! God help them!
Cleo – At present they seem happy. They seem to know what they want. Of course life is full of reversals.
Sasha – Pray that a reversal may take place in the life of my Aris!
Cleo – It is another thing to be eighteen or twenty years old and another to be thirty or thirty five, with a mature mind.
Sasha – Mature? I am telling you, there are so many horrors you do not know about. (She weeps). Do you know how the romance started?
Cleo – How?
Sasha – With Asterix!
Cleo – (Astounded). Asterix?
Sasha – Exactly. And that other one, who is even worse. Obelisk, what’s his name.
Cleo – You mean Obelix?
Sasha – Whatever. What do you think of that?
Cleo – It sounds strange.
Sasha – Unnatural! They took her daughter to the cinema to see it.
Cleo – (Laughing). So! It was for the little girl! That seems natural to me.
Sasha – (Enraged). Whose side are you taking?
Cleo – I was not thinking of sides. I did not think there was a war. Whose side is Leo taking?
Sasha – (Menacingly). Let him take her side, if he dares. (Silence). We will not go to their wedding or to their home. Ever!
Cleo – Leo either?
Sasha – If he dares do it, I will poison myself.
Cleo – Oh? I thought your preference was hitting walls.
Sasha – (Engulfed in her pain, she does not hear Cleo). And if you intend to go to their wedding, you should know I’ll never speak to you again.
Cleo – My going to their wedding or not is of little importance. All I want is that Aris be happy. I don’t have to be there to see it.
Sasha – How can he be happy in the company of the devil?
Cleo – (Jokingly). Don’t mention the name of the King of Hell in here! An aunt of mine, in old times, opened the window every time his name was mentioned, for him to go away and not stay within our walls.
Sasha – (Her voice at a higher pitch). Yes! In the company of the big devil, and the little one.
Cleo – (She opens her mouth to protest but Sasha screams hysterically). Calm down, Sasha. And don’t talk that way. One day you will repent it.
Sasha – Never! I don’t want to know him any longer.
Cleo – Can you erase more than thirty years in one day?
Sasha – Is it I who erases them or is it he?
Cleo – No matter how an offspring behaves, a mother remains a mother.
Sasha – But I am no longer a mother. All of a sudden, I have become a grandmother! (She weeps).
Cleo – (Softly). Sasha dear, you must see to your nerves. How can you live on with a broken-down nervous system?
Sasha – He should have thought of it before having that disastrous relationship. (Silence). I will jump off the balcony.
Cleo – Our balcony is only one and a half meter above the ground. You will not even break a limb.
Sasha – I mean the balcony of our home.
Cleo – That is a third alternative! Why don’t you think of all the good things life has offered you? You have your husband. Isn’t he good? (Silence). Has he not been good to you?
Sasha – (Wiping her tears). He has. He respected me for three days. (Cleo looks at her totally perplexed). Three days after our wedding. You understand what I mean.
Cleo – I am not quite sure.
Sasha – What about Steven?
Cleo – What about him?
Sasha – Didn’t he respect you?
Cleo – I think… he still does. And Leo surely respects you to this day. Do you want to break his heart? Has he not been good for you, all in all?
Sasha – He gave me Aris. (Loud sobbing). Who, evidently, did not respect the unnamable one; not even before their wedding!
Cleo – Forget it, Sasha! You need to calm down. Unfortunately, I do not have a tranquiliser to give you.
Sasha – I don’t need one traquiliser. I need the whole bottle.
Cleo – That is the fourth alternative!
Sasha – We may have bottles of tranquilisers at home. (She gets up).
Cleo – Don’t be silly. Go wash you face with some cool water to feel a bit better. (She gets up).
Sasha – I don’t want to feel better. If I die now, they will have to postpone the wedding.
Cleo – For a while. If two persons wish to live together, they will manage, sooner or later. Go wash your face.
Sasha – (Stretching out and fumbling around blindly). Help! I cannot see. I have gone blind!
Cleo – Your eyes have been clouded by tears, Sasha dear! Come on! Go to the bathroom and freshen up.
Sasha – May I lie in your bathtub?
Cleo – What for?
Sasha – To drown there.
Cleo – A fifth alternative! You are very inventive, indeed. (Teasingly). No, dear. You cannot lie in our bathtub to drown. And do you know why?
Sasha – I don’t know.
Cleo – For the simple reason that we are trying to cut down on water. If one uses more than allowed, one is fined heavily by the wicked Water Supply Company. We must water our garden regularly, and yet we hesitate. We have become stingy as to water.
Sasha – Don’t you ever pretend to be my friend!
Cleo – I am not pretending. I am your friend. But you can use my bathroom only to wash your face with some cool water. Do me the favour, dear!
Sasha – Leave me alone! (She gets up).
Cleo – That’s exactly what I want to do. (She shows her out, right. She closes the door. She becomes serious, goes to the telephone and hastily dials a number. She waits). Leo? Please come over and take her home. She is in very bad shape. She is hysterical. (She listens). I’ll keep her calm till you come. But be careful afterwards. She has mentioned five alternatives of suicide. She may even think of a sixth one. Be very careful, right? (She listens). Yes, we shall all help. Steven too, as soon as he comes home from work. Come as quickly as possible? Hurry, please! (She puts down the receiver and exits right).

The furniture is moved to the right place for the new scene.
Scene Two (Leo, Steven) (Kassinis’ Home)

Leo – (Seated, he continues his talk with Steven). How could I have known? I saw a beautiful young woman, well-educated, from a good family of Alexandria. How could I have known how highly-strung she was?
Steven – Forget old times. Let us try to face this day.
Leo – She will never relax. As soon as she is contradicted, she hits her head on the wall. She may go blind, the doctor has said. Concussion is the least. She may get cerebral hemorrhage.
Steven – Well, she has not. (He laughs). She is hard-headed.
Leo – Very hard-headed. Perhaps that is what has saved her life.
Steven – Cleo was worried, because Sasha kept talking of poisons, of swallowing handfuls of tranquilisers, of drowning, and the like.
Leo – Drowning?
Steven – (Smiling). In our bathtub.
Leo – Oh! (Sadly). She just says all that to exercise pressure on us. She does not realise such threats. But she does hit her head quite often. And this time she has managed to create a serious problem.
Steven – It is not serious, believe me. Tomorrow she won’t be feeling dizzy.
Leo – It is more than dizziness, Steven. She is lost. She is asking for kakadee, a cold drink we had in Alexandria, not to be found here. She imagines she is elsewhere, at another time perhaps.
Steven – She will recover. The doctor said she only needs to lie in bed and keep calm for a couple of days.
Leo – How can she keep calm? She has always clung to Aris and now that things change …
Steven – She will loosen her grip. We shall take turns in watching her, Cleo, you, me. In forty-eight hours she will be out of danger.
Leo – And who will keep her from hitting her head again, after forty-eight hours?
Steven – Nobody. (Silence). Can you listen to me?
Leo – Isn’t that what I am doing all this time?
Steven – I mean can you open your heart to what I am to tell you? Our life, yours, mine, our wives’, has been flowing in its riverbed. Our children are now digging to create a riverbed for their own life to flow in. Push aside Sasha’s problem and support your son.
Leo – You would not be speaking like that if you were the one involved.
Steven – But I am involved. I am bringing up a child, too. Our children need patience, understanding, even self-denial on our part. Aris has found his life-partner. Do not kick away his happiness.
Leo – You are telling me to have Sasha kick against me. If I am not her ally, I become her worst enemy. She will destroy me, before she finally destroys herself.
Steven – And you will surely believe that I am your worst enemy if I tell you I am less interested in you two than I am in Aris. You have given him life not to have him as a stick to lean on, not to castrate him and curse him when he tries to flourish, be it with great delay. Sasha thought he would remain a son by her side eternally. She cannot see him as someone’s husband. I know you can. You, at least you, Leo, please stand by him.
Leo – You would not be speaking like that if you really knew Sasha. You are asking me to murder the girl I fell in love with thirty-five years ago. She is not a monster. She is suffering. She is trapped in her character. She cannot break out of it and breathe.
Steven – I am asking you not to murder your own son, who has come to know love for the first time after his thirty years of age. Have mercy on him! If you do not go to his wedding, at least send them a wedding present, even if you have to do so in secret. Pour balsam in his heart.
Leo – You are telling me to pour poison in Sasha’s heart. I feel it as betrayal. The foremost duty of a husband is…
Steven – Stop it! Think of what a father’s foremost duty is. It is to the future, not to the past. To the child he has brought to life.
Leo – Therefore, I should tell him some encouraging words in secret. I should send them a wedding present behind her back. You would know and they would know, but she wouldn’t. And that would not be a conspiracy then, you think?
Steven – Do you prefer to feel comfortable with your own conscience while your son’s heart is bleeding? Support him. Give him a hand so he won’t feel orphaned from both parents. Then you can writhe with pain.
Leo – Forget me. Have her crumble and writhe with pain, you mean. I cannot do it, Steven. My heart aches for Sasha, though she has been tyrannical during all our life. She has been still more tyrannical to herself. I wish you could understand that.
Steven – I do. But my priority is Aris. Anyhow, my priority is of little interest. The healing process must come from you. “Only he who has caused the wound can heal it,” the ancient doctors, the Korybants, used to say. It is you who must give him comfort and joy, if Sasha is trapped in her character and cannot do so. You must pronounce Mary’s name. It is not “she”. Her name is not unpronounceable. She is the woman who will share her life with him, his wife-to-be. Can’t you understand that? (Long silence).
Leo – I understand. It will be our death to give him life.
Steven – Why death? I don’t believe it. I hope not. For him it will surely be a blessing to have his own family, to stand by Mary’s daughter, to bring her to womanhood and prepare her to dig her own riverbed of life. Do it, my friend! (Long silence).
Leo – I cannot. If Aris feels orphaned, it is due to his own choice. What is happening to us is not due to our choice. We were struck by a thunderbolt when we lost our son. (Steven reacts but remains silent). It is a terrible bereavement to lose one’s only child. (Silence). It would be good for us if Cleo and you stand by our side in our mourning. However… if you condemn us, it is all right. We shall live on, all alone, childless and friendless.
Steven – We condemn no one, Leo. I just want to tell you that you always have a choice. Believe me, you do. It is only when faced with death that we have no choice.
Leo – We can only choose what is possible for us. Nobody chooses the impossible. For me it is impossible to abandon my wife in her terrible distress.
Steven – It is your decision, my friend. (They remain immobile).

Curtain

END OF ACT THREE

EPILOGUE

Aris – (On the island). (Aris is sitting by the telephone and speaks in the receiver. His hair is gray). Yes, Mrs. Cleo, it is me. (He smiles). Like every New Year’s Day. I am calling to wish you Happy New Year and to chat a while. It gives me great joy to talk with you. It takes me twenty years back; it makes me feel I am near you. (He listens). Of course I do not forget you! Mrs. Cleo is unforgettable. As long as I exist, I will call you every New Year’s Day. Not out of politeness. Wishing to make contact. (He listens and smiles). All right, as long as we exist. We don’t know who will go first. I am growing old, too. My hair is graying. And I have become a grandfather. What do you think? (He listens). Yes, Helen has given us a granddaughter eight months ago. She is charming. (He listens). Thank you. I knew you would be happy about it. We christened her in October. (He listens). What name? Mary – Alexandra. We wanted to honour my mother, as well. I wish my parents were alive to see her. I hope they would nor refuse to do so. I want to believe they would have mellowed with the passing of time. (He listens). Yes, I know. She loved me. Too much, unfortunately. Too great a love is suffocating, Mrs. Cleo! We, Mary and I, have set that goal: to love and not to suffocate our beloved. And we practice it daily. (He listens). Dependence, yes; I know it was that. Name it as you like. (He listens). She was a good woman, though. She deserved to live happily, but something prevented her from doing so. I did my best, as long as I could. (He listens). I know, Mrs. Cleo. You stood by both of them. And you also stood by Mary and me. We always felt we had moral support from Mr. Steven and from you. (He listens). Yes, I have heard about it. I have already told you how deeply sorry we were for his loss. Not just sorry; bereaved. We felt you two were our own people; more than just friends. Like family. Somehow like… parents. Mary became an orphan at a young age. We had no one. Mr. Steven… (He puts his palm on his mouth to stop a sob). I can imagine how you miss him. You have Rita and her family, of course, but a life companion is another thing. If ever I lose Mary… (He listens). Right. We don’t know who will go first. (He listens). Yes, loneliness is better than clinging. Rita was your only child, but you did not impede her. We consider the man Helen has chosen as our own son. (He listens). A wonderful young man. The son we never had. (Silence). Mary keeps saying you should come to the island if you can. We have a room for you, for as long as you wish. (He listens). What seventy, Mrs. Cleo? You will be upstanding till ninety. (He listens). Thank you. Our best wishes to Rita, to her husband, to your grandsons. Mother of boys, your Rita, eh? (He listens and laughs). Boys are all right. All God’s children are a blessing. A man who remains childless and friendless is indeed to be pitied. (He listens with surprise). My father? Did he? To whom did he say that? To you? (He listens). Oh, to Mr. Steven! In exactly these words? (He listens). “Childless and friendless.” Well, we had the same genes. We do not inherit only similar features. It seems we also inherit… linguistic similarities. (He listens and laughs). True. We shape our character by ourselves. Though… it is also a matter of coincidence. If Mary had not sat on the same bench by me one day, at noontime, years ago… (Silence). I don’t even want to think of it. (He listens). My father? Yes, possibly. If he were by himself, I believe he would. It is a pity that we did not have the time to become friends, my father and I. If Helen gives us a boy, a grandson, I hope they will name him after my father: Leo. May their soul rest in peace. (He listens). We are in fact looking ahead, Mrs. Cleo, but nostalgia remains. Well, if you do not manage to come to us during this New Year, I’ll call you again on January first, next year. (He smiles). I will call you as long as we exist. Happy New Year to you all. (He remains immobile).

Curtain

END OF THE PLAY

On the cover: Margit Covács “Mother and her Child” (statuette). Hungary, 1935

Lia Karavia
Sonny
A Play in Three Acts

______________
Lia Karavia, Grecia, poeta, escritora, narradora, dramaturga. políglota. Su obra ha sido traducida a más de veinte idiomas, y publicado más de setenta libros. Leer más en: Artepoética-Rostros y Versos y en Laberinto del Torogoz.

BILATERAL 2009