Abahn Sabana David by Marguerite Duras Read Free Book Online

at something on the table.
    â€œThe papers are right there,” he says. “They won’t have to look for them.”
    â€œThey will burn them,” says Sabana.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhen they burn them,” says Abahn, “Gringo will say, ‘The Jew has written a secret journal. In this journal he has said how he contacted foreign powers.’”
    â€œYes,” said the Jew.
    â€œEvery time they each speak of the figures in the journal,” says Sabana.
    Silence.
    â€œAnd they won’t understand,” says Sabana.
    â€œThey won’t,” agrees the Jew.
    A tight smile stretches across the face of the Jew.
    â€œThey will burn your things as well,” says Sabana. “Your furniture, your clothes. They won’t leave anything whole. They’ll destroy the dogs.”
    â€œDavid’s dogs,” says Abahn. “David’s forest.”
    â€œYes.”
    Silence. Then Sabana rises, goes toward the door to the park.
    â€œIt wasn’t interesting, what people were saying in Staadt?”
    â€œIt still isn’t,” says the Jew.
    â€œSo that’s interesting to whom?” asks Sabana.
    â€œEveryone,” says the Jew.
    â€œTo burn it, then?”
    â€œSure,” says the Jew, “to look at it, as well.”
    â€œAnd for the ones who said it all, the people of Staadt?”
    â€œNo,” says the Jew.
    â€œIt’s not interesting for anyone,” says Sabana.
    She moans a single word. A brief sob, mournful, low: “David.”
    Deep in slumber, David moans at the same time, long, seemingly without end: an unknown dream without a doubt. No one notices the dream.
    They are silent.
    â€œThere has to be time,” says the Jew.
    He points toward David.
    â€œSo David can . . . David, David . . .”
    He does not finish his sentence.
    â€¢
    I t is Abahn who takes up the charred papers lying on the table. He reads:
    â€œWe reached the eighth floor on January 18 th . The walls were not yet built. The wind blew through. Winter was hard. We drank alcohol at all hours. In the evenings, we were drunk. The Portuguese are not used to it, this cold. Three Portuguese at thesite died. Five of the Africans froze to death in their room. The Greeks aren’t used to it either. There was one of them in my room and he coughed all the time. My site is number three. At seven in the morning it was less than 12 degrees. We do less work than we could in the summer, the cold cracks the skin of your hands, the cement you poured into the cracks, gray, the morning, cracked skin. Gringo is the head of site number three. Jeanne taught the Portuguese how to write. Gringo said that site number three creates honor for the Party. He sent a list of our names to the city. We petitioned the city. Gringo wrote out the petitions. He said, ‘The conditions of the Portuguese are unacceptable.’ Gringo spoke to the House of the People. He spoke all night to the 22 nd Congress of the House of the People. We were exhausted that evening. So sleepy. At the end of all this, we carried cement, thirty times ten kilos of it. That’s three hundred kilos. Our hands burned from it. From the moment you can’t manage anymore you’re just like the Portuguese.”
    In the silence David cries out. “The dogs!” he calls out in his sleep.
    The dogs howl in the dark expanse. A single howl.
    â€œGringo,” says Sabana.
    She doesn’t move, she doesn’t take her eyes off the Jew.
    The dogs fall silent.
    David falls back into his fitful sleep.
    â€œThey bark at night whenever someone passes by,” says Abahn.
    â€œNo,” says Sabana, “they mark the passage of Gringo.”
    She listens intently in the direction of the pathway outside. The Jews are not paying attention.
    â€œHe’s looking at you,” she says.
    She is listening with her eyes closed.
    â€œHe’s alone.”
    She listens again in the direction