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Auteur: Ignacio del Moral
Verónica Fernández
Translation of: Paul Rankin
Langue: Anglais
ISBN: 978-84-95683-63-2
Prix: 2,00 €
Poids du fichier: (PresasEN.pdf) 953 Kb.
Available in: Espagnol

(13 personnages féminins et 5 masculins.)
Illustrée en couleurs et en noir et blanc.
L’action se situe dans une froide prison de femmes à la fin des années 40 en Espagne, même si elle pourrait tout aussi bien se dérouler dans n’importe quel endroit du monde, là où les relations entre Etat et citoyens se bornent à la répression et l’endoctrinement. Tous les dix ans, sous le prétexte d’une fête religieuse, un représentant de l’autorité ecclésiastique propose de concéder une amnistie à une recluse. La date à laquelle la décision sera prise approche et c’est tout l’établissement pénitencier qui se prend à espérer.


VIOLETTE  You look lovely in that outfit and coat, auntie.


CHARITO  I sent a letter to your mother. I’m not sad, really, I’m not.


MAGDALENA  What about my little girl? Does she miss me? I heard about a head doctor in Paris I’m going to take her to. I’ll work all the hours God sends when I get out so I can take her to see him. She probably won’t understand, but tell her I’ll make her better, tell my little madwoman she’ll get better soon.


MACARENA  Why isn’t Antonio here? Why did he not come? Tell him I want to see him, tell him my mouth is burning with all the kisses I have for him.


MARI CRUZ  You didn’t need to come, I’m fine.


FUENSANTA  He’s fine, Mummy, my wee boy’s fine.


ARMLESS  What’s wrong? And don’t say it’s nothing, Dad, I know you.


PAQUITA  Félix, Félix, I’ll be able to show you the child next month, there’s not long left now, you’ve no idea the kicks he gives me, I think he wants out already . . .


FUENSANTA  I didn’t kill him. Don’t say things like that.


MACARENA  Why is Asunción in my house? What is that cow doing in my house?


ARMLESS  You’ve sent him to priest school, is that it? You’ve sent the wee thing off to priest school. . . . If that’s not it then what’s wrong. . . . Why didn’t you tell me he was sick?


MARI CRUZ  There’s nothing wrong, it’s just the news caught me by surprise. Are you all going?


FUENSANTA  He’s my son, he’s my son.


MARI CRUZ  I’m not crying, father, have you ever seen me cry?


ARMLESS  Why didn’t you tell me?


MACARENA  Why won’t you look me in the eye? Mum, tell me what’s wrong. Why has Antonio not come? Mother, what can be worse, whatever it is, tell me. Mum, why are you crying?


FUENSANTA  How could I kill my own son? I’m not crazy, Mummy, honestly I’m not crazy.


MACARENA  To bloody hell with him!! I swear on my mother’s life I’ll cut him to pieces when I get out of here! And in my bed too, the dirty son of a bitch! It didn’t take him long, did it! I swear, Mum, may God himself strike me down right now if I don’t slice him from head to toe as soon as I get out! Him and that slut Asunción, my cousin who wanted us to share everything, now I see what she meant!! I’ll kill them, Mum . . .! I’ll kill the pair of them!!


FUENSANTA  (Opening the rag she always carries as though it were a child) It’s not some rag, it’s not some rag, it’s not some old rag . . . he’s my son . . . he’s my son . . .


(TEODOSIA grabs FUENSANTA and takes her off the stage to enormous but jerky wailing.)


MARI CRUZ  Don’t talk like that, you remind me of Don Martín. I’m not crying, give it a rest. Have a good journey; write to me when you get settled, and when I get out of here I’ll meet up with you and I . . .


PAQUITA  We’ll make do with one room; don’t worry, everything will turn out all right.


MAGDALENA  Give her lots of kisses, she understands hugs and kisses, tell her I’ll be with her in no time.


CHARITO  Thank my aunt for the oranges.


VIOLETTE  Thank you for the lawyer, auntie. He’s sure he’ll get me out of here soon.


ARMLESS  I can see it in your faces, the boy’s dead, isn’t he? . . . Why didn’t you say anything? Why? Tell me he didn’t suffer, tell me he didn’t suffer. And you keep on saying God exists. God exists, what for? So he could take my brother away in the prime of his life, when he’s just turned twenty. . . . Why couldn’t they kill me? Why could the dynamite not explode in my belly? (Looking up to the sky) Damn you, you fucker! If you wanted someone dead, why couldn’t you kill me and leave the boy! Father, do something, tell them to let me out, I want to see him even if he’s dead . . . I want to see him.

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