Family
The brother, wearing only jeans, shoots blanks at his sister, who, wearing only a denim shirt, shoots blanks at the brother. Both with small shotguns, beautiful, tanned. Eternally twenty years old. They hide behind trees and bushes. Barely agitated, they stop shooting. There is no wind. The solar effluvium envelops the brother and constrains him:
—It mixes with me, doesn’t it?… It mixes with me. Don’t it? It’s like it’s not just one way. It mixes with me… like… let’s say… emotions… impressions… and a kind of objectivity that appears to me from my current age, from the things I was discovering. He was… very hot. Very hot. I mean, very much like having warm hands… always. Very like implacable. Affectionate. Always behind… of… of showing his affection. I think that, in reality, he was so… so… so desperately in need of… being given and being with him a lot, showing him… that…; perhaps, everything he did was to get something back… to… as if to say… provoke a kind of induction… to see if I would turn towards him, to see if I was more expressive with him, more communicative, more… more of going to look for him, more of playing with him, more of showing him that I loved him, or that it was good that he was there or that he existed, that he was my dad… Eh… I think now that… it’s more the latter, isn’t it? This of… of… needing to receive… And this is increasingly clear if I notice what things he began to decree at one time, I don’t know when. He began to decree things such as… kisses… He had to be kissed by me, when waking up… when greeting him, when… saying good morning. And at night I had to kiss him and say goodbye tomorrow, to rest, and it was like that… it was by decree. I… maybe I have never thought about it before now, and maybe there is some secret content in what I have just thought, but maybe, later, or before, or just like his mother, who, perhaps, the one who loved or loves his mother the most in all her life is me.
Distantly, slowly, walking, the parents advance. The mother, arm in arm with the father. She is carrying a briefcase. They are called in unison by the children, who approach.
The sister: — Mommy!…
The brother: — Dad!…
When they are called and after a moment of hesitation, they try to go to the son for whom they have been called. They come face to face, they collide with each other, sharply and absurdly. They fall. Dead.
The children approach the bodies. She touches the father with the barrel of the shotgun. He bends down. He looks at the parents in detail, without touching them. He puts his shotgun on the ground.
The sister also puts hers on the ground, and crouches down, she looks at the parents in detail, without touching them. She kneels down and looks at the brother, who lifts one of the mother’s feet. He gently places it on the ground. He lifts one of the father’s feet. He gently places it on the ground. She places the bodies face up. He lifts the father’s head. He gently places it on the ground. She pushes the mother’s head to one side with her fingertips. She touches the mother’s nose, eyelids, ears. He puts his hands on the mother’s knees. She takes one of the father’s hands and places it on his abdomen. She comes closer. She smells him. The brother looks at the sister. He takes one of the father’s hands. He lifts it and lets it fall. He lifts one of the mother’s feet and lets it fall. He smells the father. He smells the mother. The sister puts her face on the mother’s shoulder. The brother digs his fingers into the mother’s bust. The sister places the back of her hand under the father’s nostrils. She feels the father’s forearm. She kisses the father’s forehead. The brother opens the mother’s wallet. He takes out a pair of scissors. He cuts the father’s tie, leaving the knot at his neck. He looks at the cut part, lifts it up, and throws it away. The sister opens the mother’s blouse. She takes the scissors from the brother’s hand.
She cuts a circle of fabric from the mother’s petticoat, which leaves her navel exposed. He puts his mouth on her navel. He blows. He moves away. He looks at the sister, who looks back at him. He puts his mouth on her mother’s navel again. He blows. He moves away. The sister stands up. She stands on the father’s thighs. Then she takes off his shoes. She pulls off a stocking. She puts the stocking between his toes. The brother takes a wind-up teddy bear out of his bag. He winds it up. He brings it close to his mother’s ear. He unwinds the wind-up. He winds it up again. He places it on his father’s chest. The sister takes the silk scarf off his mother’s neck. She wraps it around her head. The brothers unbutton their parents’ clothes. They tear them with their hands and with the scissors. They smell the corpses.
They look at each other.
“But… but…” says the sister, “but… they don’t make any noise!”…
It is getting dark quickly.
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