| On the counter,
she reaches for the bottle of whiskey.
She: Before the love. Another glass?
Se pours two other glasses.
He: Thanks.
She: You see, the nice thing about whiskey, is that you can go far without
leaving the ones you love. If you love, of course. Me too, I saw landscapes.
Me too, I saw beautiful colours. I was cold too. So cold. I have met
princes. I thought I’d die a hundred times.
He: Marie!
She: You know my name? No doubt they talked about me on a cargo between
Tokyo and Singapore? Sailors like sordid stories. Did they tell you
I was a princess left alone by her love, a black god with a soul as
white as the clouds where rest was soft and fluffy? If they didn’t,
they lied. Sailors are liars, you know.
He: Marie!!
He takes her arm, she pushes him away. “Leave me alone! Why did
you(1) come? Go away!!”
He runs after her, takes her in his arms. “Marie…”.
She: You should leave now. It was nice talking. But we can’t
pretend. Tomorrow will be to late. If you leave tomorrow, after having
smiled to me, having hugged me, and asked me if I still love you, and
hugged me again, after having destroyed my garden, burned my lips and
been my sun in winter, if you leave then, I’ll die. Sure.
He: I won’t.
She: Why? Why did you come back?
He: Sometimes it happens that chevaliers in the middle of a crusade
suffer of the absence of a princess, which hurts more than the cut of
a sword.
She: I don’t understand.
He: He loved her ignorance, her ideals, her weakness, her joy when he
talked about the wind and the sea, her breath when she said: “you
make me dizzy, nobody but you”. No wave, no harbour, no body has
made him forget hers.
She: I don’t believe you.
He: I swear.
She: Spit!
He spits.
She: And the boats, the solitude, the sea? Freedom?
He: You’ll be my boat, my solitude, my freedom.
She: And the women?
He: You’ll be my woman, I’ll be your whiskey.
She laughs. She kisses his mouth, bites his nose.
He: Aw!
She: Now go!
(1)You: “tu” - informal form
continúa
[1] [2]
[3] [4]
[5]
[6]
[7]
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