Didn't you like it? Sleepwalking monologue. By Ben Gavarré

  

Didn't you like it?

Sleepwalking monologue.

By Ben Gavarré

(Followed by two versions of the short story).

Didn't you like it?

(A dim light is turned on on the figure, who is standing in front of a mirror, his mouth almost pressed against it. He speaks in a low voice, almost whispering.)

 

(He touches his lips with his fingertips, as if the mirror were burning him.)

 

My mouth is pressed against the mirror. The glass is frozen. Is it my breath fogging up this surface, or someone else's heat? (He takes a step back.) Is that you? (He moves closer again, inspecting his reflection.) My eyes... are they mine? They're big. Too big. Is it because they're so close? Or do they notice something that happens to me at night... Ha ha, it happens to me at night... As if they see something I don't... what do you see?

 

(He walks away, goes to a corner of the stage).

 

The radio… (gesturing with his hand as if trying to silence a noise in the air). The shu shu garaluz. Speak… Speak to me… Me? To whom? No. No, you don't understand. My cloudy eyes are disturbing me. My pupils are dilated. I'm cold. It's so cold… Where does so much cold come from? It doesn't come from the air… (He touches his chest). It's from inside.

 

(He returns to the mirror. He looks at it intensely, and in an impulsive act, turns off the light with an imaginary switch.)

 

The light… went out. And the pupil, God!, is flooded… is flooded with blackness. A void. I turn on the lamp… (turns the imaginary light back on). And there you are. (Touches the mirror again). A face without tears. Not a single one. I… don't cry. Neither do you. We can't.

 

[Sleepwalking scenes]

 

(The character begins to walk slowly, as if in a trance, across the stage. He stops in front of an imaginary flowerpot.)

 

Here… here it is. (He unbuttons his imaginary pants.) The toilet… the one from dreams. The one with the leaves. (He speaks in a low, almost sleepy voice.) The soft earth… like a mattress. (He “urinates” in the imaginary flowerpot and then buttons up.) I'm going to bed. But no… I'm not in bed. Am I here? (He looks at his feet.) And my brothers take me. They take me, yes. They lay me down… and they tell me I was in the living room. That I was watching television. I saw the screen that was on the window. And they told me I was asleep. I don't remember. But my feet are cold.

 

(He gets up and walks to a corner of the stage where there is an imaginary laundry basket.)

 

I'm looking... I'm looking for something. The smell... of him. It smells like clean laundry. Fabric softener. I'm looking for his T-shirt. For my lover. My lover? (He stops, as if asking himself.) The closet... (He moves toward it, opening the imaginary door.) The clothes in the hamper. They're not there. I can't find you. But you're waiting for me. Where do I look for you, if you don't exist?

 

(He stops and picks up an imaginary loaf of bread from a table.)

 

I'm hungry. It's bread. (He bites into it and chews slowly.) Sweet bread. Sweet like… cajeta. But sour. Sour. (He walks again, no longer heading for the laundry basket, but somewhere else.) I'm taking it. To bed. To you. (He lies down on the floor, holding the imaginary bread, and looks at it with a puzzled expression.) I'm going to leave it here… for when I wake up. But… when do I wake up?

 

(The character stands up, with a more agitated and confused energy.)

 

Where was I? What traffic lights! Why is the rain green? (Returns to previous scenes.)

 

The waitress… doesn't understand me. With two spoonfuls… I tell her! It won't do me any good. I'm leaving.

 

I'm going to light another cigarette. I'd like a hat. I'm going into the theater. Last seat. A guy approaches. He grabs my hand... he pulls it... I leave. Movie without titles. Is it in German? I leave. I can't see the guy's face. I came. What a lousy movie. I leave. Everything is damp, darkness that the car headlights drive away.

 

[The outcome]

 

(He returns to his "home". The light on the stage changes to a colder one. He leaves the imaginary door open.)

 

No. I'm not going to close the door. Let him get angry. Who? The house is empty. Empty of you. (Screams into the air.) Damn cat! Go away! (He touches his leg with one hand, as if a scratch hurts.) That's better.

 

Food. Yeah, yeah. (Opens an imaginary refrigerator.) Jam... caramel... bread in cellophane... (Speaks in an annoyed voice, as if repulsed by it.) Sour. Everything is sour. Let me buy more.

 

(He sits down, remains still, almost motionless, staring into space.)

 

I'd better go to sleep now. (Yawns, but still stares.) Or... should I wait for him? (He gets up and looks toward the back of the stage, where there's a shadow that could be his reflection.)

 

Who am I waiting for, you? You? Do you have a secret life that even I don't know about? You know it, I'm sure.

 

 

Didn't you like it?

Story second version

As I press my mouth against the mirror, I feel the cold glass chilling my lips. Am I the one looking or the one being looked at? The radio continues its confused refrain, that shu shu garaluz that seems to speak in a forgotten language. My eyes, are these round, dark windows really mine? I turn off the light, and my pupils, dilating to the point of pain, are flooded with a thick blackness, like a bottomless pit. I turn on the lamp, and the yellow light hits me, revealing a strange face in the mirror. Not a tear sheds. Why can't I cry?

 

I step outside. A blind impulse drags me. I forgot my hat. But do I wear a hat? No... or do I... sometimes. Who does, then? I feel the cold air biting my skin, a chill that doesn't come from the temperature. My eyes... why do they feel so cloudy, as if I were looking through a dirty glass? Such strident traffic lights! They dance with violet and orange lights, but... why is there that green stain covering everything? Why does the rain that's beginning to fall have an emerald sheen and smell of rusty metal?

 

I walk into the café. The waitress looks at me strangely. I don't understand what she's saying; her voice is distorted, as if she's speaking underwater. I bang two spoons on the table. No, this isn't what I want. None of this works for me. I'm leaving. Where? I don't know. My feet guide me on their own.

 

I'm going to light another cigarette. My clumsy fingers can't find the lighter. Why are they trembling so much? I'd like a hat. A big one, to shield me from the world. I'm going into the cinema. The theater is almost empty. Last seat. The red velvet of the seat feels damp and cold beneath my hands. A guy is approaching. I can't see his face, only a shadow looming over me. I feel his hand grabbing mine, bringing it to his crotch. A shiver of disgust and confusion runs through me. He grabs me. Why does my hand allow this? I'm leaving. The movie flickers on the screen, blurry images without titles. I don't understand German or whatever they're speaking. I'm leaving. I came. A pang of strangeness. I'm leaving. I feel liberated, but only in my gut. Everything is confusing.

 

I'm not going to close the door. Why should I? Let whoever wants to come in. And I don't care if they get angry. Who would be angry? The house is empty... or not. I feel a presence in the darkness. Damn cat. Its yellow eyes glow like embers in the gloom. I feel its claws digging into my leg. Go away. It's better that way. Silence.

 

Food. That's good. My stomach growls. I open the refrigerator. What does this irresponsible person have in here? Strawberry jam that smells like dead roses, rock-hard cajeta, bread wrapped in sticky cellophane, sour milk. Everything. Let me buy more.

 

I'd better go to sleep now. Fatigue weighs on my eyelids. Or what? Should I wait for him? A shadow at the end of the hall. And what are we going to talk about?

 

 

 

Didn't you like it?

First version.

 

Didn't you like it? While I have my mouth glued to the mirror I listen to the radio shu shu garaluz My big eyes. I turn off the light and the enormous open pupil floods. I turn on the lamp. Not a tear. I*

I go out into the street. I forgot my hat. No, I don't wear one. My eyes are cloudy. I'm cold. What traffic lights! Why is rain green? The waitress doesn't understand me. I tell her, with two spoonfuls. It won't do me any good. I'm leaving.

 

I'm going to light another cigarette. I'd like to put on a hat. I'm going into the cinema. Last seat. A guy comes up to me, grabs me, masturbates me, I leave, movie without titles, I don't speak German, I leave, I can't see the guy's face, I came, I leave, what a lousy movie *

 

I'm not going to close the door, and I don't care if he gets angry. Damn cat, he's scratching my leg; go away, it's better that way. Food, that's good. What does this irresponsible guy have? Jam, caramel, bread in cellophane, milk. Everything is about to run out. Let him go buy more. I'd better go to sleep now; or what, should I wait for him?