Didn't you like it?
Sleepwalking monologue.
By Ben GAVARRE
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 pressed against the mirror. The glass is cold. Is it my breath fogging this surface, or is it 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. Enormous. Is it because they're so close? Or do they notice everything you do at night... As if they see something I can'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). That shu shu garaluz. It's blues. Speak… Speak to me… Me? To whom? No. No, you don't understand. My cloudy eyes disturb me. My dilated pupils. I'm cold. It's so cold… Where does it come from? It doesn't come from the air… (He touches his chest). It's born from within here.
(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. Everything passes slowly. 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… is here. (He unbuttons his imaginary pants.) The toilet… the one from dreams. The one with leaves. (His voice is deep, thick.) 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 carry me. They carry me, yes. They lay me down… They say I was in the living room. That I was watching television. I saw the screen shining in the window. And they told me I was asleep, and I answered, asleep. I don't remember, I don't remember anything. 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... her smell. It smells like clean clothes. Like well-cared-for skin. I'm looking for her T-shirt. For my lover. My lover can't be hidden in here? Or can he? (He stands still, as if asking himself.) Where could he be? (He goes to an imaginary closet and searches the drawers.) I can't find you. It's true you've been gone for a while. (Pause) But you're waiting for me. You're waiting patiently for me to wake up. But me? Where am I looking for you? How could I find you if we're separated?
(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 it's sour. It tastes bad. (He walks again, no longer heading for the laundry basket, but somewhere else.) I'm taking it. To bed. For you, I know you like it. (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? Oh my God, the traffic lights! Why is the rain green? ( He has flashes of past experiences. )
The waitress… doesn't understand me. I tell her, two spoonfuls! And she doesn't serve me anything. She looks at me like I'm in another dimension. I leave.
I'm going to light another cigarette. I'd like to put on 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? Do you have a secret life that even I don't know about? You know it, I'm sure you know it.
