poezie eseuri arta film




by Saviana Stănescu




She-girl or her re/presentation (it can be a photo, a doll - even an inflatable one) is watching TV without being able to focus on what happens on the screen. Above the TV set there is a poster, a bad copy of ’Infanta Marquerita’ by Velasquez. On TV should be a wide range of edited images – as if someone is zapping randomly, although she doesn’t move at all, looking like glued on the chair -  from cartoons to sappy and sentimental or violent movie scenes. She-adult speaks (in a non-melodramatic, almost cynical manner).



SHE: You would like to forget, I know... Bad luck. You can't forget this but when you areasleep. Unless the dreams start coming. And even if, let's say, you succeeded in burying your memories in the remote North Pole cells of your brain, there are always small things that take care of reminding you... (in an accusing tone)  You are 10 years and 3 days old. It's a quarter past seven, in the evening. They left you alone, locked in the house. They went to a memorial. The wife of a friend of one of your mother’s colleagues has passed away. ‘Free food, free drink, let’s go mom!’ your father said, slapping you tenderly but strongly on the cheek. You didn't move a muscle. Your mother caressed you, proud that you never cry, she did a good job: a no-screaming daughter. Father hates screaming kids, he calls them ‘ugly brats’ and moves away from any room in which there happens to be such a monster ... Later you cried though. Admit that you cried!... You pulled your chair closer to the TV and the poster with the infanta (to the audience:) a cheap photo of Velasquez’s painting - and you are staring at it. I mean at the silent poster; you have never paid too much attention to the loud TV. See, you resemble your father: you are so used to the noise of those trains that – one would say – pass through your courtyard, that only silence is sort of weird and appealing to you.

That little silly blue infanta… yes, you like her more than anything in the room. You are somehow convinced that there's a resemblance between you two, although she has fair soft hair and you are dark and wire-haired. She is small and dolly, you are rugged and bony. She has white transparent skin and seems stuck in that heavy, blue dress. You are dark skinned and wouldn't wear such a thing, not for all the world... But you like blue, see, you are not that different though… Because you can't see her legs, you had imagined that she might not have legs at all. Maybe from her waist down, her rebellious body would get out of any shape, more and more, trying to go to the left, to the right, instead of intending to touch the ground in a nice customary way. That is why they had put her in that dress, so that she couldn't see what monstrous rebel bones she had... She was being punished for having screaming thoughts and mischievous bones...

"Don't you dare move", your father told you. “Watch TV and be quiet. If I come unexpectedly and see that you move, you're dead, stupid girl".

You have been sitting for about two or three hours and suddenly have the impression that your bones too start to move apart... The infanta is swinging. She raises one hand and waves at you. She turns red. Watch out! Father is coming. He is staggering. He smells of vodka. "Skinny girl, stop moving!" Watch out! The crystal glasses your mother is so proud of that she keeps them exhibited on the shelf are rushing to reach the floor one after the other. Cling. Clang. Bang. He’s close. Too close. You can see the buttons of his trousers. One is missing. Why doesn't he wear zip trousers?… “I’m watching TV papa, I’m watching…” The chair is trembling under you, you are sticking your fingers in it, and you feel that the nail of your left hand's forefinger has broken. "Hell with your damn bones, I can’t even touch you!"  father moaned.

He doesn't love you, let’s face it. He loves mother. You are ugly and skinny, she’s handsome, soft and fat. Every night you’d hear them play the ‘Belly watch’ game. Belly watch! Belly watch. She has huge round tits, you have two peanuts. But you are going to make enough money to get silicon implants in a few years. “Let me watch TV papa!”… “Don’t scream, ugly brat, be quiet, be good, be quiet!”

You can see nothing. You can say nothing. You can’t even breathe. What’s that noise? A deafening noise…You are sure that right now the wall with the infanta is falling down and is dispersing like the sticks from the Maroco game... although it seemed solid, substantial, all of a piece. You can't trust even the walls! You can’t take a glimpse at how infanta's blue dress is covered by dust and debris. You can't see anything now. You don't move. Father is moving rhythmically... Thank God, you still have that chair under your ass, a dumb chair you wouldn't have suspected of being so reliable. (commercial tone) An object in need is an object indeed! …

Father falls down. Something happened. You went together through a... what was that, father, an earthquake? An object in need is an object indeed! … Maybe you are no longer you, but you turned into a cover, into a chair cushion. An object in need is an object indeed! … Maybe you died and reincarnated in a chair. (She laughs) You're scared. You wouldn't move, not for anything. Not for anybody... Father fell asleep with his head on your lap. His saliva is spreading on your blue dress. You can hear him breathing. Stop that noise! You try to die a little. You make it. You hope it would be worth it. To be declared heroine, martyr or saint. To have the most beautiful grave: of blue marble with four marble infantas playing guitar on the top of it. At least that much... But what if they simply throw you in the garbage, wrapped in the blue sacks he keeps in the bathroom? Shhhhhh…

It's twelve o'clock at night or maybe later. You haven’t moved. It's been a few hours since you "died". Then the train came. A fucking slow train for Pitesti. Choo-choo-choo… 27 carriages. While the 8th was passing you shivered. At the 10th you moved an arm. At the 13th you stretched with all your bones. At the 15th you pushed your father away. You spitefully hit the earthworm that was crawling to the bathroom. Ntz, Ntz, you’re not nice! Your ankle hurts, good for you! At the 18th carriage you stood up. At the 19th you took the first step. After the 22nd you realized that you were breathing, sweating, salivating, swallowing your own saliva.  At the 24th you screamed: waaaa (scream) Your scream has reached, you are sure, the door of carriage number 27, it has probably embodied in a fat greedy woman and took a seat there. Hushhhhh... A noise! ... Father fell in the bath. It is not his fault, it’s the alcohol who ‘speaks’ him. They always drink heavily at memorials. For the dead person to get in on some cheerfulness. With his last drop of energy, he mumbles: "You moved, ugly brat, you moved…” Then you felt for the first time a strange warmth going through your veins. You crouched. You pressed your thighs on one another until you felt that one knee started to throb. Your heart exploded like a balloon that had been pricked and now is deflating. (She starts laughing) Phphphph – that damn train is still passing and you laugh, crazy girl, what are you laughing at?

Oh, yeah, weird indeed. An object in need is an object indeed! … The blue infanta on the wall has now two long legs coming out of the poster and touching the ground of your dirty flat. She’s barefoot. She has nice small feet. Sooner or later they will be very very dirty. This stupid detail makes you suddenly happy.


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