Free Abahn Sabana David by Marguerite Duras Page B

Shots heard again from even farther off. No one hears the shot near the ponds.
    â€œThere’s something written on his body,” says Sabana, “on his arms, there’s something written.”
    She sits up and takes his arm, folds back the sleeve of his jacket and looks at his forearm.
    â€œIt’s written where the number would be.”
    â€œWritten where you arrive,” says Abahn, “in the capital of the world.”
    Sabana looks at the arm.
    â€œIt’s written in blue.”
    â€œWhat?” asks David.
    â€œI don’t understand it,” she says. “I can’t read it.”
    â€œIt’s the word: NO,” says Abahn.
    â€œWhen did they write it?” asks David.
    â€œAt some point during his life,” says Abahn.
    â€œIt’s the same word for the Jew and for those who want to kill him,” says Sabana.
    â€œThe same,” says Abahn. “The word of the Jew and the word of those against the Jew.”
    Sabana replaces the arm of the Jew and sits back, closing her eyes again, resting.
    Abahn and Sabana both seem to be in the same exhausted state.
    â€œHe had these stories,” says Abahn, “a hundred of them but all the same, those of the Jews. He has barely told any of them to the people of Staadt. He told them instead about the lives of others.”
    David nods.
    â€œBefore coming here the Jew was released from all parties, Gringo’s and others, and all his stories were finished, he was left with only his own. The Jew couldn’t stand, one more time, to be alone with his own story. So he started again. He began to become a man of Staadt.”
    Abahn pauses. He speaks with a great tiredness sweeping through him, slower. He looks down at the ground. He no longer seems to be speaking to David alone.
    â€œWith forgetfulness descending everywhere, this new thing became possible—to become a man of Staadt. So he did it. Began once more to become a man of another new place.”
    Abahn pauses.
    â€œHe wanted to live,” says Sabana.
    â€œYes,” says Abahn. “He wanted to live without working in the banlieues of Staadt. To exist without working at all, without any occupation but that of living, in the banlieues of Staadt. And he decided to do it like this from now on.”
    Silence.
    â€œJust like that? Why?” asks David.
    â€œIt was his unchangeable desire. His purest desire.”
    Silence.
    â€œThat’s terrible,” murmurs David. “To do nothing.”
    â€œNo,” says Abahn, looking at David. “He spoke.”
    David struggles, searches in the emptiness.
    â€œHe said to us: Leave it all behind.”
    David speaks but he doesn’t know what he says. He trembles.
    â€œHe said: Look here, leave it all, you’re building on ruins.”
    In the half-light someone laughs. It’s the Jew.
    Joy floods David’s face. He cries out, “He hears us, he laughs!”
    One after the other they all start laughing with the Jew.
    â€œHe said: Enough with this foolishness. Leave the cement behind.”
    â€œLeave the cement behind,” says the Jew.
    â€œHe said: Go hunt.”
    â€œGo hunt,” says the Jew.
    â€œIt’s he who spoke to me in the forest,” cries David. “About the jackrabbits. He said, keep going, they’re beyond the barbed wire.”
    â€œBeyond it,” says the Jew.
    â€œHe spoke of the light in the forest,” says David, remembering, speaking slower now, “of summer also.”
    â€œSummer,” says the Jew.
    Silence.
    The broken voice of the Jew then rises:
    â€œDavid’s summer.”
    Someone is shooting near the ponds.
    They speak no more. David listens and trembles. Sabana, sitting next to the Jew, also listens. Her voice then rises:
    â€œWhat is Gringo waiting for?”
    The shots cease.
    â€¢
    A bahn is speaking to David, still overcome by exhaustion. “First he forgets what work he did. Then