Abahn Sabana David by Marguerite Duras Read Free Book Online Page A

of the road. The Jews are not paying attention.
    â€œHe was alone. He’s gone now.”
    Silence anew.
    â€œMaybe it was someone else,” says Abahn. “Or it was nothing.”
    â€œIn Staadt,” Sabana says, “we recognize every sound. Even Gringo walking past. He came to see.”
    â€¢
    â€œI s that all there was to read?” asks Abahn.
    The Jew takes some time to respond. “There were some other things about the working conditions.”
    They are silent, the three of them, standing apart from one another, unmoving.
    â€œThe dogs aren’t barking anymore,” says Sabana.
    â€œWe could read,” says the Jew.
    â€œSomeone could talk,” says Abahn.
    â€œOr cry,” says Sabana, “for the dogs.”
    â€œThey are on the table, under the scorched pages,” says the Jew.
    They are, all three of them, caught in the same languor.
    â€œThe Realtors Society,” begins Abahn.
    He stops. Begins again:
    â€œThe Realtors Society was created for three industries. It grew from strong investments. A pharmaceutical company, French. AGerman company, cellulose. And an American company, tungsten.”
    He pauses. Silence.
    â€œGo on,” says the Jew.
    â€œYes, go on.”
    Abahn goes on, with a growing languor:
    â€œThe payout, at this level of investment is a strong 52 percent. The legal percentage of payout has been fixed at 27 percent, the legal fees comprise the 25 percent remaining.”
    He pauses. Sabana says:
    â€œI knew about the pharmaceutical company.”
    â€œKeep going,” says the Jew.
    â€œThe Realtors Society,” continues Abahn, “was built on top of the old cemetery in Staadt. Permits to build were given in four days. The commissioners and three municipal councilmembers were able to raise three and a half million. At this level that sum has tripled.”
    He pauses.
    â€œAnd,” says the Jew.
    â€œThe Portuguese,” Abahn continues, “the Portuguese and others paid the syndicate’s tariffs. They were not given the right to vote. They had no right to strike. The foreigners are 70 percent of the workforce, so the company is immune to strike.”
    He stops. Closes his eyes.
    The Jew says nothing more.
    â€œThe most recent contract provides for 12 percent overtime pay past 40 hours, but it has not been honored.”
    Pauses.
    â€œThe value of untaxed products has already increased 10 percent. For the non-foreign worker the increase is already resolved.”
    He pauses.
    Abahn pauses and then begins again. His voice is weak:
    â€œSo the single major policy issue is the sliding scale of the minimum wage.”
    He stops.
    â€¢
    A bahn still sits at the table as if he were reading from the charred papers.
    The Jew takes some steps and then sits against the door to the darkened park. He stays there, on the ground, his head turned toward Sabana, his eyes closed.
    Sabana makes the same effort. She rises. She walks with purpose. She turns toward the Jew. She listens. She stands there, near to him, she studies him. She says:
    â€œTurn on the lights. I can’t see you.”
    He does not move. Neither does Abahn.
    Sabana turns and switches on the light next to the Jews.
    She looks from one to the other in the shadowy light that falls across their faces and closed eyes. Then she sees only the Jew. Says:
    â€œI’m looking. I see you.”
    Abahn.
    â€œHe isn’t thinking anymore.”
    The Jew’s eyes are closed. She says:
    â€œNo. That’s not right.”
    The Jew opens his eyes.
    â€œYou’re afraid,” cries Sabana. “Where were you?”
    â€œHere, in front of you,” Abahn says.
    â€œNot him,” she gestures at the other. “Not him.”
    The Jew and Sabana regard each other. A tight smile spreads across the Jew’s face.
    â€œOne day I’m going to kill myself,” says the Jew.
    Sabana’s intense gaze flares blue and then