I don’t speak English, nothing, like Beckett French. You Know? I don’t find the perfect sentence, really I find the mistake, the wrong word, the confusing meaning. Please if you speak English don’t read more. I would like only to broke my letter, in this evening, the evening without tomorrow in this very amazing land. And I wait you don’t understand nothing, because that’s my feeling, my brave and nude feeling.
All it’s stopped. In the supermarket, in the vegetables store. All the people like cats in the night skills. All it’s over. Buy fruits, buy onions, buy milk and water, not eggs, the eggs dissapear the first. Then, go at home. And close your home. And watch the TV, the news. And wait. It’s the evening of waiting time. She is being closely, said the newspaper. I don’t know what is this. She is waiting to passes away. The whole city are waiting with her, or without her. Nothing is sure today.
She is an actress, old actress. Her face is in all the city. And her body. Around the corners, in the wall on the way at home, at work, in the main gate of the schools. She is praying with her saree, her smile and her hold hands. She is her image, now more than ever. She is the Chief Minister in this far away country of the world. All of us are waiting. Today. Nothing more. You can sleep. You can throw your bones in the mattress, in the hot mattress, and wait. You are arrested at home. The embassy said you stay at home, still safe. That’s all. But nothing in the media. Nothing true. What is true? She lives? She died? What?
She suffers the heart attack. But she is not in a hotel, like Rita, the mayoress of Valencia. Rita dead in any hotel, the name? I don’t know the name of the hotel, its so far from here, so far from my arrested day at home in India, waiting the true death. I know only the name of this far city: Madrid. She died the last week in Madrid. Nobody wait for her, for the dead women by the heart attack in this unnamed hotel room, like a damn movie star.
She has power. Really two both. The two women. They are powerful women, but died, or not, we are waiting for one of this, the woman that breath with help in the hospital. They like the same things, or not, I think, that’s only the rumors. The same style of life, or not, the same style of death, or not, maybe, alone. I miss my neighbors’ memes, here the jokes can be paid with the life. This is the evening before the people burning in the streets, or not. Before the men robbery and kill the others, or not. Death and love and peace and hate is in the air. This is the evening in that all is possible, includes see you soon, or maybe never.
That’s all for today, the day of the queues in the grocery, the day without future. This is the time for not to be. The time where the peace have no name. The time of scratching your mosquitoes bites, waiting is nothing more that not important bite. Only wait, you know? Wait for the important woman passes away, without any sky after this powerful life, or not. You know? Whole nation, afraid and scary, nothing more.
TURPENTINE LUX
Dedicated with love to the third pyrotechnic heart.
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