Le 14 Decembre 2015
Amina Foukara (Anglophone)
Université de LiLE (2015)
Il est normal et saint de perdre confiance dans un environnement perturbé. Je me réveillais toujours avec le sens de la misère et de la solitude. Je ne supportais pas la vie. Je sentais que tout se développait à un rythme croissant et lassant, et que je ne pouvais pas suivre l’évolution.
Pour des questions de différences culturelles, j’étais toujours la cible des tracasseries directes et indirectes des fonctionnaires. Il était surtout question de cyberbullyings et de l’intelligence artificielle dont on se servait à mon détriment ! Dieu !. Cela m’importerait peu si je ne me sentais pas engloutie dans les caveaux insondables de la solitude. J’avais besoin de m’engager dans une d’interaction linéaire avec mon environnment. Ils se racontaient des blagues autours de moi. Ils se nourrissaient de chimères ! Ils se montraient toujours impolis lorsque je les abordais pour leur attribuer « le mérite » sur lequel ils se capitalisaient. Ils font courir des rumeurs infâmes à mon sujet pour que j’aille peindre et faire bouillir mon coeur. Les commentaires gratuits me plaçant au centre des débats étaient traités avec beaucoup de diligence sur face book, twitter et Ning. Oui, on avait suffisamment de courage pour créer des pages webs à mon profit. Les blagues et le harcèlement mental étaient leur façon de me nourrir. Leur comportement vis-à-vis de moi donnait la possibilité aux imprimantes de faire couler beaucoup d’anche. La nouvelle technologie de toutes ces formes offrait la possibilité à tous ceux désireux de s’engager avec moi dans un champ de bataille gratuit à faire des chuchotages tout en affichant des allégations à distance. Que fallait t-il faire pour mettre fin aux commérages, aux propos creux, aux sottises, au sarcasme, et à l’ironie des petits enfants dotés d’une intelligence artificielle de première catégorie ? Avoir recours au média pour dresser la situation ? Rien car l’intelligence artificielle demeure jusque là incontrôlable.
Signé : Madame Bartleby ( 2015 )
Acte 1 (Scéne 1)
Mamadou : (en ligne téléphonique avec un candidat) Allo ! Allo ! Oui, je vous écoute bien maintenant. Oui, mon nom est bien Mamadou. Je suis chef du service ressource humaine. A quoi puis-je vous être utile?
Oui, vous écrivez votre nom lisiblement sur la demande. Pardon? Evidemment ! Vous écrivez, je soussigne suivi de votre nom, prénom, adresse téléphonique, adresse électronique, n’oubliez pas de marquer le nom de notre coopérative ..(silence) …Allo, est-ce que vous m’écoutez ? J’ai dit qu’il faut marquer sur votre demande coopérative Internationale spécialisée dans l’exportation de l’Ivoire depuis 1800.
Sara: J’ai enfin mis à la frappe le poster. Veuillez y jetter un coup d’œil ?
Mamadou : (se met à lire le contenu du bilan). Le bilan de carrière et de développement s’adresse à toute personne s’interrogeant sur son projet professionnel, son orientation, etc. Un entretien préliminaire de la personne avec monsieur le chef du service ressources humaines permet d’ajuster la démarche et les outils utilisés à sa problématique. Ce bilan permet à la personne d’être évaluée sur les compétences en relation directe avec son projet professionnel, de faire le point, de réfléchir sur sa carrière, son orientation. A l’issue du bilan, un plan de développement et un accompagnement personnalisé peuvent être mis en place.
Mamadou : Oui, mais il faut ajouter ceci ( il écrit) : tout candidat postulant pour un poste à notre entreprise doit parler de ses expériences et de l’ intérêt qu’il éprouve pour le job. Il doit appuyer son dossier par des piéces justificatives. Il doit appuyer ses compétences par des arguments. Un curriculum vitae complétera l’image. (il faut ajouter ceci aussi) : le candidat doit étre international.
Sara : Bien ! (elle prend le papier et elle rejoint son poste de secrétariat)
Acte 1 Scéne 1
Pour qui ?
A quelles
conditions
?
Pour accéder au statut de fonctionnaire, une personne doit :jouir de ses droits civne pas avoir subi de condamnation incompatible avec l’exercice de ses fonctionsêtre en règle avec ses obligations nationales (service militaire, recensement ou
journée d’appel à la préparation à la défense) Mamadou : Je vois que vous etes ici pour appliquer sur le poste de chef de projet.
Sara : ( Retourne au service des ressources humaines) : Je suis vraiment dans un état de choque. Je ne sais pas par ou commencer ni comment exprimer mon angoisse. Une candidate se présente. Je me sens insignifiante. Il me semble qu’elle a des sautes d’humeurs et qu’elle assume ce qu’elle ressent. Elle m’a mise dans la merde.
Madame Bartlby : ( force la porte ouverte) : Elle prend sa place en face de Mamadou.
Mamadou : Je vois que vous êtes ici pour appliquer sur le poste de chef de projet. Avez-vous de l’expérience en gestion financière ?
Madame Bartleby : ( a des difficultés à reproduire correctement les sons de la langue Française et elle ne respecte point la ponctuation ). Oui, J’ai identifié votre annonce dans ce journal. ( Elle feuillette le journal puis elle lit difficilement le contenue). Oui, hier le 10 Aout 2005, j’ai lu votre annonce publicitaire. ( Elle continue la lecture)
« Coopérative international cherche un cadre compétent. Un entretien préliminaire de la personne avec le chef des ressources humaines permettra d’ajuster la démarche et les outils à utiliser pour la résolution des problématiques. Des exercices de simulation, des questionnaires de personnalité seront utilisés aussi pour l’identification du profil recherché».
Mamadou (s’adapte à la compétence langagière Anglaise) : Are you queer?
Bartleby: (choqué). Not really. Humm…( regarde autour de d’elle). I think that this place needs re-doing. It is stifling and it inspires death.
Mamadou : Are your insides playing you up?
Madame Bartleby: ( desespérée): I beg your pardon?
Mamadou: (désigne son manteau du doight): Now, bring me my coat! Will you bring me my coat, I say!
Madame Bartleby: (Irritée): Is it included….?
Mamadou: I beg your pardon!
Madame Bartleby: If you must know, I think my nerves are stimulated.
Mamadou: You would not die of nerves. You do not fit for the job. Call it a day. Goodye.
Mamadou: (il se met debout): It gets on my tits. Daughter of a bitch! Go out !
Madame Bartleby: (intimidée, elle récite le contenu d’un poéme) : Oui. Je vais vous dire. Depuis mon enfance, j’ai développé le sentiment que je ne suis pas à la hauteur. C’est en faite comme si j’étais redevable à mes parents. C’est un sentiment de culpabilité que j’ai tout au fonds de moi-même. C’est pourquoi ce sentiment dans cette ce monde ? Pourquoi ce sentiment de culpabilité ? Finalement, j’ai décidé d’explorer les chances que la coopérative internationale pourrait me donner pour devenir puissante au-delà de mes limites.
Mamadou : Oui, Coopérative Internationale est ouverte à tous. Elle est démocratique et elle a des engagements économiques internationaux de renommée.
Acte 1 (Scéne 2)
Bartleby: Ok! Ok!( elle s’en va).
(appelle Sara): Another candidate is wanted. Let him in.
Sara : (avec un ton moqueur): to your orders, sir.
Candidat 2: ( intelligent et dégage beacoup de fiérté): Good morning.
Mamadou: ( adopte un ton nagueur): Good morning, sir.
Candidat 2: I read the ad and I rushed for a decent placement in your cooperative.
Mamadou: We will see if you are fit for the position. (Silence).
Candidate 2: is there anything the matter?
Mamadou: Would you stand up and close the door!
Candidate 2: Son of a bitch! ( il s’en va).
Le rideau est baissé
Acte 2 Scéne 1
Sara : ( s’adresse directement à Mamadou) : Nations, soyez dans l’étonnement ! L’arrivée de la candidatrice madame Bartleby a notre coopérative internationale a permis de tester en grandeur réelle votre conscience des devoirs qui vous ont été relégués en tant que chef des ressources humaine ! On vous a relégué une responsabilité et elle consiste à développe l’estime de soi et à promouvoir la démarche proactive .Maintenant, je vous vois semer les grains de la haine, de la méfiance et du déséquilibre personnel. Sachez bien que ce qui compte avant tout autre chose, c’est le respect de l’autre, le respect de sa dignité, tout le reste peut se copier, s’apprendre, s’acheter, se vendre, s’arracher et s’évacuer sans que cela laisse de trace. Un professionnalisme réel, le savoir-faire et la compétence relationnelle font défaut. Ils vous échappent.
Malgré les mutations, la mobilité, la disparition des frontières traditionnelles géographiques, raciales et ethniques, vous continuez à transformer la notion coopérative en méchant loup. De quelles pratiques pédagogiques nouvelles avez vous besoin pour que vous puissiez mettre en œuvre les valeurs gouvernant une coopérative? Avez-vous besoin d’Internet et d’outils nomades ? Smartphones ? Tablettes numériques ? liseuses ? Autres objets nomades ? Doit-on avoir recours au courriel ? Au téléphone cellulaire? Au messagerie texte ? Aux sites web personnels et aux sites web de votes ?. Quelle honte ! Il suffit de lire (Karen Zimbelman, 2002 ) pour que vous vous rendiez compte du faite qu’ une coopérative est une entreprise !. Elle est pour ainsi dire un lieu sacré ou se pratiquent les droits fondamentaux à la vie. Toutes les coopératives souscrivent à la démocratie. Elles sont détenues par des membres qui en assument le contrôle démocratique et qui triment pour le renforcement des principes coopératifs. la responsabilité sociale d’une coopérative ne se limite pas à ce qu’elle pourra générer comme fonds monétaire. La création de valeurs démocratiques lui incombe.
Et maintenant, vous entamer vos taches pour faire explorer la candidate le désespoir. Je ne suis pas là pour vous faire la morale mais pour vous rappeler que ce n’était pas par là qu’il fallait commencer à semer la haine et le mépris des droits de l’être. Quel tort d’évacuer des émotions négatives et chargées de haines!
Acte 2 (Scéne 2)
Sara: ( s’adresse au directeur général de la coopérative internationale) Madame Bartleby est de retour! Elle a tenu la sonnette à briser la porte. Oui. Son nom est madame Bartleby ! Elle parle à peine Français. Elle poste pour un chef de projet Financier.
Le manager général : Débarrasse toi d’elle, Sarah !
Madame Bartleby (force la porte ouverte et prend sa place):
Le Le manager géneral : Qui vous a autorisé à venir ici?
Madame Bartleby : Je n’ai pas pu continuer à me tenir debout. Je n’arrivais pas à être en lien avec les candidats…. C’est à défaut de me sentir bien en fait… ( Elle étale l’annonce pulicaire). It was this ( designant le journal à bout du doight), that has compelled me to come here. As I was going back home, I found this ( elle entame la lecture du contenu d’une annonce nouvelle): “An official is wanted in a cooperative. Smartness, openness of mind and strict compliance with the rules of good conduct are essential prerequisites”.
Le manager géneral : This ad was supposed to be read from a distance, girl!. You were supposed to be kept aloof from it. You removed it from a billboard or something, gush!
Madame Bartleby : Indeed I did . The lines were long and difficult to read.
Le manager géneral : But you could have read colors in it, then!
Madame Bartleby : ( Elle relie le contenu de l’annonce une foi de plus) : Well! I now see red color in it. I associate this to danger and blood. ( Elle donne le journal au gestionnaire géneral). This ad arouses doubt and fear. Yes, fear, fear sir. Red reduced my motivation to work. I resisted the temptation not to come. It reminded me of blood when it gushed out of the body of an animal. The situation evoked a powerful simile for an employee’s massacre. I must go.
Le manager géneral : Now, sit down, Madame Bartleby! I’ll make the implications bearable and clearer to you. (Il lit le journal). The colors are combined and they are motivational. Red stands for passion. Blue stands for day dreaming and yellow for comfortable warmth.
Madame Bartleby : I must go now. It’s fear of the unknown ( elle est préte à prendre la fuite).
Le manager géneral : Je voudrais vous posez juste une petite question, mais n’ y répondez pas. Pourquoi est-ce que vous avez peur?
Madame Bartleby : Well, I was offere a job in an office in which I slept and had dinner and lunch. I opened mails belonging to people without hope. I expected people of colour to get mostly sympathetic to me. Instead, they deprecated my excessive sensibility. In my nightmarish dream, I went to the divan, I stumbled into the fender and over the fire-irons on my way; I extricated myself with muttered imprecations. I finished my disastrous journey by throwing myself so impatiently on the divan that I almost broke. In my nightmarish dreams, I heard shouts “of don’t holler. Who’s hurting you? Nobody’s going to touch you. Steady on. Take it Easy!”. I saw staid spectators comfortingly pat me. I saw and heard an international co-workers hysterically say: “We take our oath that you are of a noble character”.
In my dream, I felt people knew I was entirely frank and void of malice. In that dream, I remained likeable even in my least reasonable moments. I saw myself exquisitely dressed, hence, I produced an impression of remarkable distinction and beauty when I entered the campus. I spoke with pedantic correctness of English pronunciation and great beauty of tone. They rose, quite flustered and pleased about me speaking eloquently. I bowed and sat down in the Elizabethan chair, infatuated.
When I woke up from the experienced nightmare, I touched my hat with respect and I walked out, ready to hug people and all. I I felt free of feeling guilty of intentional mischief.
The following day, I was caught within the grips of a terrible nightmare. I saw myself enter into an office: He was brilliantly dressed in a new fashionable frock-coat, with white waistcoat and grey trousers. A flower in his buttonhole, a dazzling silk hat, and patent leather shoes completed the effect. I walked straight to him and I handed my hand over to shake his two hands and I said: “I have so longed to meet you ». He glumly stared at me. He made no movement in my direction and just handed his hand to shake mine. “Delighted”, he said. .He rose and told me: “Somebody is going to touch you with a broomstick, if you don’t stop snivelling. You sound naughty and idle. You deserve sleeping in the back kitchen among black beetles. You deserve being walloped by the international community. You deserve being driven to the police headquarters for your head to be cut off as a warning to other presumptuous girls. Sit down”. He told the secretary: “I cannot make a duchess of this draggletailed guttersnipe”. Turning to me again he said with his eyes suddenly twinkled with mischief: “You’re an ungrateful wicked girl!”. I resisted sitting. I felt like throwing my shoes bang into his face. I stood, half rebellious, half bewildered and then I sat down with an attempt at dignity. I said: “You’re raving. You’re drunk. You’re mad. Whew!. What a lark! What a rogue! .If I’d known what I was letting myself in for, I wouldn’t have come here”. “Goodbye! Just cuddle and squabble and drink till you fall asleep.”. He said: “You find me cold, unfeeling, selfish, don’t you? Very well: Go!. Deal with some sentimental hog or other behind the seas, a brute with lots of money, and a thick moustache and a thick pair of boots to kick you with. Go back to where MEN can place you under their feet to trample you on and to talk down to you.”. hum bug! Toadying ! ignoramus damned impudent slut boy!”. I saw him chuckle at what he said and he disported himself in a highly self-satisfied manner.
Le Rideau est fermé
Madame Bartleby ( retourne à la scéne après quelques années d’absence) :
Aujourd’hui, les choses ont changé. Je suis maitresse de la situation. Contrairement au passé, je me retrouve aujourd’hui dans une coopérative internationale ou la hiérarchie me soutient, ou mes objectifs sont identifiés et atteignables, ou j’ai gagné confiance en mon potentiel, mes compétences. Le coté relationnel surtout m’aide à regagner mon équilibre. La hiérarchie m’a mise au centre de l’action et elle a contribué à la divulgation d’une politique me permettant au moins enfin de déposer le fardeau d’angoisse qui m’envahissait éternellement. Parler à ceux que j’ai l’honneur de côtoyer aujourd’hui m’aide à me débarrasser de la mélancolie et la dépression. A ces derniers, je dédie la piéce théatrale intitulée Cocacola. Elle tire inspiration de Lord of the Flies de William Golding
Signé : Madame Bartleby ( le 15 Mars 2018 )
Act one (Scene One)
The winding streets in a modern looking avenue look dim and deserted. The day is cloudy and cold; Suddenly, a grey big van appears in the distance smoothly and slowly making its way to the dim street. A loud speaker echoes in it. It broadcasted Cocacola.
Loudspeaker: Happiness is the source of youth, and productivity is guaranted under the effect of a divine drink. Cocacola! Drink Cocacola! It will keep you fresh, young and eternally good! Retailers, vending machines will make the task easier for you. Resort to them and their mission will be clear! They will make you feel beyond time and space. They will help you discover the essence that would eternally make you feel that you are helpful.
Shopkeeper (excited): Cocacola! The van paves the way for something really useful! (rubs his hands): Customers have reached us at last! That’s really a starting point!
Customer: Hot day, today! Is it not?
Shopkeeper: Yes, sir! I s there anything I can do for it?
Customer: Well! I need two bottles of Cocacola!
(The van broadcasting Cocacola gets closer)
Loudspeaker: Companies have considered the needs of men. They have thought about ways of making him feel useful and productive. Everything they have done, they have done it for him who sacrifices money for a cause. Cocacola would keep you eternally fresh and productive!
(Many customers rush into the shop)
Customer (laughs): We get ensnared to Cocacola. There is nothing we can do about it all. We like invisible snares!
(The clientele is excited and demanding. It demands bottles of Cocacola be fresh. Shouts of joy are heard across the counter)
Shopkeeper: Patience, patience dear ladies and gentlemen! Here you are! One, two, three. I shall subtract one dirham from the sum for each bottle as a guarantee, unless you volunteer to exchange empty bottles against full ones.
(Loudspeaker stops in front of the shop): Cocacola is a divine drink! It is refreshing and it will make you feel well and young.
Customer: See! There is nothing you can do against it. Cocacola is a heavenly drink.
Act One Scene Two
A woman in the senility of age appears wobbling She is dressed in tattered clothes. She relies on a stick as she walks. A gang of pesky boys target her.
Boy: ( Points at her! There she is! Ms Farina is over there!
Boys: Farina! Get her! Harass her! Ruin her! Make fun of her! Farina! Farina!
(The old woman sits against a gigantic poster representing a very attractive lady with a ten foot smile and blond hair. She holds out a very large bottle of Cocacola. She mouthes out words about the drink she is raising up. Drink Cocacola! Don’t you want some fresh and delicious Cocacola? C-O-C-a-C-O-L-A.
(Farina sits against the poster. The van reaches her. It drives round the poster once, twice, thrice broadcasting Cocacola.
Loudspeaker: Read us and repeat us like a stanza! The words spell the same letters wherever they are, whether they are read forward or backward or across.
(Music emanating from the van is reduced to mid-bar, followed by a thirty second pause to give sleepers enough time to wake up and to listen. Then, the announcement gets resumed using the same inviting tone to be assimilated by woken p listeners.
The Boys: ( were hands in hands and they swirled round Farina): Seize the bitch! Kill her! Fry her! Throw her flesh to dogs! Throw out her bones to worms to nibble at them!. Throw her out to wolves to swallow her alive!
Farina (with goggling eyes, she directs her stick at one of the chanting boys): Come here! I’II beat you!
The boys (laughed out at once): sickening old bitch!
Farina (stands to her feet. Do you know I can murder you? Easy as that! (She directs her stick at one of the boys and she snaps her fingers). That4s how assaults on old people end. I can make a very nasty attack on you at this very moment! (She directs her stick straight at another boy).
The boys (with a note of hysteria): Keep clear of this place, otherwise, we will break your neck!)
(Farina takes up a forward step and many boys back away like frightened birds): See? ( The boys stand up silently as they stared at Farina)
Farina (angrily): this generation has no deep cause but to cause mischief on Land.
The boys (swirl around Farina): Kill the old cow! Spill her blood! Give her flesh to worms to nibble at! Give her bones to dogs to gnarl at.
Farina (cries): Shame! Fell of shame! To treat an aging lady like that! Ah! That’s the way I view the world today! An infinite bustle that interrupts dreams! When a human being is nourished on aggression, he inevitably needs the habit of heaven to tame him.
The boys: Haa Haa!
Farina (raises her stick for silence. Reaction against the old games contradicts the habit of religion. Anyhow, a human being passes for a carefully made puppet. Actors have worked hard enough on this ground! (beats the ground with her stick). Let the young generation remember its worth as loving and distinguished citizens that respect the old and the weak. Let it not steal or infect the world which exists for happy souls.
The Boys (take hands and they start swirling around Farina once more): Kill the beast! Spill her blood! Spill her blood! Kill the swine! Kill the old bitch!
Farina : I am handy with my stick. Go away! I’II break your neck. Stop your gutter talk!
(Shopkeeper: Gets out of the shop and he threatens to harm the boys): Go away, otherwise, I’ll break your swine!
The curtain falls
Act II Scene one
Farina: Anyone might think I am mad sitting here alone like a mad dog ( she grabs the iron stem on which the poster is hung with one hand and she relies on the other hand to help herself stand up): Ustaghfiru Allah Al Athim!
The Boys (in a sardonic and sarcastic tone): Now, listen to the old bitch! She is a specialist in the old rites of death.
Farina: In the grave, life is but a lie; Memory has no return and time cannot be recovered.
The boys: The old bitch is completely free from time. She is free from smiles and is full of memories. She is a two hundred years old vagabond distributing songs.
Farina: This land (she beats it with her stick), might turn into a brothel of lies on the outskirts of fiction.
(Hundreds of boys arrive, targeting Farina, their pants are rolled and they splash in mud)
Farina: Let strangers muddy every rose, every plant with their scaly and patent boots. God! I look around and what do I see? Boys secluded by hatred and division. Sons are against their fathers. The young oppose the old, neighbors have turned quarrelsome and bad. Roses are gradually being nibbled at by young squandering birds.
A boy: Pray! The old lady is the manifestation of an invisible power’s perfection. She is free from her flesh and she is in a spiritual body that has the appearance of light.
Farina: Love! Love Your Children with the same attachment as you would love children who are not yours. Give all to Allah and he will make your heart His dwelling place. Seek Him for what he is. Repent! Turn out to love and grace! Cry out! “I perish my lord! Save me!”. Feel Him in your heart! Feel Him in your soul! Pray and repent, especially when you feel spiritually dry!
(Murmur and chanting grow into violence and a lot of violence fills in the place)
A boy: Let’s hop her mad! The old bitch is skillful in her subject. That’s a female messenger.
Farina: There will begin the three days of darkness. The sun will be darkened and the moon will not give forth its light. I pray that each action in our lives will be a prayer for Allah’s anger to be tamed. Allah, I know that now is time for us to repent. Give us ears to listen with and eyes to see with and hearts to hold and to cherish the devotion to you. Please, turn our hearts and our will for this is a stiff-necked generation.
A boy: Now, let us witness an undeniable proof of the infinite power of Allah. Just a moment! ( He opens an embrela). Let us protect the old bitch lest she would redden and blister. (A young girl skips like a bird holding out a cylindrical plate for bystanders to fill it in with coins).
Farina: Unless there is that response, the earth and consciousness of Man will turn into ash. The survivors will change. Within their houses, they will praying and repenting.
(The girl with a plate addresses people in the street. The old bitch is honest and modest. She was lost in marshes, soaked in lakes, swamped and forded in stormy rivers. She jumped over walls, crossed valleys and mountains. She is in short miraculous, though she is reduced to distress and to inefficiency. She has decayed and perished under the lash of despair and plague. (Many coins sprinkle in the held out plate)
Farina: Repent! Médiate! Pray! Devote yourselves as best you can. Receive God’s love as best He can give it! Live it as only grace provides! Be patient in your meditations! Know that this is a message of fact and reality that you must find within yourselves.
The boys (lash her across the back and shoulders)
Farina (resumes walking away): Remember, oh, please, remember to cry out to God! “We perish in the shadow of hatred”.
(A police van suddenly arrives. The split and they run away; Farina sits back under the poster where the young lady is represented drinking Cocacola).
The curtain is drawn
Act Two Scene Two
Farina (looks backs and she catches sight of a boys walking behind her): You boy! Come here this minute!
The boy: Madam!
Farina (holds out her hand towards him as she tries to stand up). Now, will you lead me home?
(The boy spreads out his hands and he and firmly he grabs her hand)
Farina: Now, give me my stick! That’s it! That is fine! (Now, together, they are heading for her house, dragging and slagging their feet)
Farina: You know this generation is a disgrace. In this contrite life which God has allowed me, I have recorded day by day boys and girls with a lot of shock and disdain.
The boy: I beg your pardon, madam!
Farina: When I contemplate the force that built the poster (looks back at the lady on the poster), I feel dismayed and angry.
The boy: I beg your pardon!
Farina: When I think about the new sculptured God, I feel sad. Now, here we are! Mind the steps!
The boy (uses the torch to see his way around): Now, give me your hand!
Farina: I have been living alone for some years now. I never answer the door. You can hammer it down, yet I would not open it.
The boys (bits his lower lip and he stands out at the doorstep)
Farina: (Come in!). The boy backs up from the door way. He hesitates to get into the house but he eventually does so.
Farina: I am tired. I need to take a rest.
( the boy lifts the old woman and he places her in bed. Then, he sits back on a chair facing the poster where the attractive lady is represented)
Farina ( Faintly addresses him): Scoot the chair over so that I can see you and talk to you.
The Boy: Okay, madam. (He sits on the edge of a chair, slides his feet down to get them reach the ground)
Farina: I would like you to write my will for me, will you?.
The boy (gets some papers on which to write the will): Here are the papers, madam!
Farina: I am dying. You can see it, can’t you?.
The boy: The sight of her running eyes and mouth makes him feel sick. No doubt of that, madam. 5He rolls a pencil between his fingers.
Farina: I am an old woman. I am old and tired.
The boy turns down and he looks through the window at the giantess beckoning him with her bottle: “have some C-O–C-A-C-O-lL-A.”
Farina: Do as I say and write this for me. You know, I am going to die.
The boy is lost in mumbling: “Go ahead!’.
Farina: My first name is Hania. Come on! Write this down!”.
(The boy looks down writing)
Farina: I want my silver watch to go to my brother. It came all the way from bled. It is very pretty.
(The boy looks through the window at the poster): Go ahead
Farina: I used to sit for hours and to tarnish it. I do not do it any more these days. I am too tired for that. Write this down on the paper too.
The boy (looks at the paper and he furtively looks at the poster too): Go ahead!
Farina (Faintly): Come on, hurry up!
(The Boy bends his small body as he tried to reach the ground and he works the pencil slowly across the paper)
Farina: Let me see!
( The boys gives her the paper and she signed it with a cross x at the bottom)
Farina: You are really a good boy. Now, put the paper here besides my bed and leave me be! I am dying.
The boy: runs down the stairs
(Later, a cold wind sweeps across the old window. It carries the paper down the street. The paper, keeps ruffling and slapping back and forth for weeks before the shopkeeper could find it and pick it up. He unfolds it and he reads the content: C-O-C-A-C-O-L-A
The curtain falls
; la fonction publique hospitalière
foukara 