ANA TERESA SOSA LLANO
( Doors, gates and windows can be seen on stage. Sounds of locks and doors slamming. At the center of the stage there is a television set playing a program on violence. A man wearing kaki pants and shirt enters holding a piece of bread in his hand)
Doors and windows get locked, mouths get stapled, hearts get sealed. Dark nights no longer exist for anyone of us. It is a decree, it’s been agreed, signed and sealed in all its parts. It is death who feeds all nights. That’s where its moans, its pain and blood are, walking along the streets of a city that once belonged to its men. (SOUNDS OF MOANS, SCREAMING, RUNNING, AMBULANCE SIRENS, VIOLENT KNOCKING ON DOORS) The world disappears from my eyes. (MAN 1 EMBRACES THE TV SET WHILE EATING HIS PIECE OF BREAD) I lock doors and seal windows forever. I lock gates to keep out the night, for all it brings is crime. I don’t want to die. They shoot everything. People say criminals took over the city for good, and that they are more powerful than the State. It’s different at daytime. We have to work to make a living. I don’t want to hear any more moaning. I hear them screaming and I hush in fear. Some day they will break into my house. All locks have to be secured, the city has been entirely taken over by crime and the men who rule it say there is nothing they can do for us. We have to keep our own screaming locked inside our throats and sleep sound all night so they don’t suspect. I lock doors and windows, put on all safes and cry in silence till daylight!
(A SPOTLIGHT ON A MAN WHO WALKS SQUATTING. HIS FACE IS COVERED BY A NYLON STOCKING. ON THE WALL A SLIDE PICTURE OF THE PAINTING “A DEAD MAN IN THE CITY”, BY LEON GOLUB. VERY LOUD MUSIC)
Violent. Yesssss (HE MAKES GESTURES AND SHOWS HIS TONGUE). Way too violent. A hand smashes a face, the teeth are crushed against the lip, cutting it. A fist breaks a bone, a shot blows a brain away form its skull, the skull flies in pieces.
(HE TEARS THE MASK INTO PIECES WITH A KINFE. WALKS TO THE WALL WHERE THE SLIDE PICTURE IS ON).
I look into a certain direction, point my gun straight to the heart of a reasonably good man, I freeze him in a second. From a high point I see him perform his crime. I suffocate my screaming, turn away, wait for the shooting. The victim collapses, I killed him. I coldly took his life. This crime horrifies me. I’ll buy the paper tomorrow, the picture will surely be there. And the story. I’ll read every word.
HOMBRE 1: ( HE SPITS INTO THE AIR. THERE ARE SOUNDS OF MEN WHISPERING AS THEY LOOK AT THE LEON GOLUB SLIDE IN DETAIL).
Violent your screaming. Violent all your silences. Violent your blows, violent all the closed roads. Sealed lips for my open mouth. A kick between my eyes and they pop out. The stuff falls down, gets spread on the sidewalk. Now I’m blind. I’ll sell phone cards, lottery bills that never win, and I’ll curse at everyone as I walk along the streets.
(MAN 2 ENTERS WEARING DIRTY CLOTHES AND SHYNY OVERSIZED PATENT LEATHER SHOES. HE TALKS TO MAN 1)
The minister only smiles at girls. He always appears on TV forecasting bad fortune. He doesn’t look closely at the bitter pain of people dying from starvation and crime. He doesn’t caress that mother crying her son that was killed last night. A sudden blow and it’s a dark night. Somebody hisses a rumor that says young dreams were stabbed. Violent the day, the entire night watching those breathing breasts, stealthy eyes waiting for the victim. Somebody kills, somebody dies. There’s always violence against a hand that is blindly open. Violent the wall. Violent the man hitting against the sky.
(A SLIDE OF “THE ARREST”, BY LEON GOLUB. MAN 1 SPEAKS HOLDING A NYLON STRING BETWEEN HIS LIPS).
I have so much anger inside! Anger, wrath, restlessness. This desire to kill!
A man takes him from behind. In his hand, a sharp knife, ready for crime. A violent move, hits on the vertebras. A deep wound is open in his stomach, another one in his neck, the man bleeds to death. A man gives a speech telling us that we’ll starve to death. Violent his speech, violent his hand sneaking out, grabbing what is ours. A man screams, calling for all of us, his cry is death. People run out of their houses to loot stores and depots.
I will break bones, tear dresses, cry out obscene words. I will make up sacrileges, kick wombs, blow right and left, sew tongues against muted lips, silence loving words uttered by craving mouths, spit on sacred words, step on good words, kick men’s hopes away. A sharp stab, direct into the liver for a quick death.
(MAN 1 STARTS PUTTING ON BLACKPLASTIC BAGS. HE ENTERS A CIRCLE DRAWN WITH COLORED CHALK. ON THE WALL, A SLIDE OF “LOVE”, BY LEON GOLUB. MAN 1 LOOKS AT THE SLIDE AND STARTS GETTING NERVOUS).
What a speed! There they go with their fuss. They are all in despair. They all run and scream. A shot is heard. A pair of shoes attracts crime. Horror. They die as though they’ve gone to fight in a war. Robbing and killing so they can have shoes on!
MAN 2 ( ENTERING THE CIRCLE)
Get out of here, you’re stealing my space, your voice hurts my ears, you are touching my stuff, you’re surveilling my ideas, even my most intimate ones, you disapprove of them all!
I’m going to kill you, no doubt. I will coldly put the tip of the bullet, with all its gun powder and weight, where my cold eye stops. I’ll pick a fragile organ, in the middle of the chest, so there will be no doubt you’re dead.
What’s going on? I haven’t done anything....¿Physical, moral damage? Not everyone has your frame of mind. What are you hiding? A wound? Why so much violence in your life and mine?
I want to hit a heart, I want to crash my fist against someone weak. I don’t want these noises inside of me, for all they carry is sorrow. Get away from here before I eliminate you.
The streets have been taken over by thieves and killers and we can’t even kill them! Do you hear the alarms? Death gets closer to the houses an it doesn’t find any seals to stop it...
(MAN 3, SITTING ON THE FLOOR, IN THE MIDDLE OF CIRCLE).
I’ve been stinking for days, I’ve been having bad thoughts, I’ve been hearing bad rumors. I read the afternoon paper yesterday. A minister left his office forever, he stood us up. He signed his resignation and ran away after making a pact with the enemies. I’ve been listening to whispering for days, I’ve been counting my dead ones. A man screams across the street. He’s young, the screaming is always young. Violent a hand that hits with hatred, violent the tongue that curses before it and the ear that listens. Violent a cry turned into contempt and desertion. There is no shooting, there is no gun powder, but death settles in just the same. Violent your steps in my hallway, violent your eyes watching my life. A hand finds a seal, rips it, violent the emptied content. I burst out with my voices, with my loud cry, I never calm down. I’d like to break the world, nothing soothes this desperation, their voices reach my ears, my chest, I take a swing on emptiness. Violence for violence, that’s my law. Violent all those voices destroying my smiles, my hopes. My eyelids do not protect me. Hit, smash, fight all the time. Violent your looking in my eyes. Violent my face marked by your screaming.