Christian Gallucci
VÄXTERNAS HEMLIGA LIV - THE LIFE OF PLANTS
Nomination Italian Playwrights Project 3th edition (2020/22)
excerpt translated by Thomas Simpson
Characters:
Karl Stagnelius
Peter Sjöberg
Emma Sjöberg
IsmajlFarah
Agneta Larsson
Ismajl: When I arrived in that town, it was dark. I felt immersed in the darkness. A liquid darkness, out of which came a muffled voice in a language I didn’t recognize. I didn’t understand, maybe I was cold. I tried not to draw notice. I remember having seen, from an elevated bridge,the movement of automobiles in the small city I’d arrived in.
In the darkness, white: as far as the eye could see, the white of snow. All that snow, I’d never een so much, illuminated by the double headlights of the cars. It seemed like it had been there forever. Sometimes I imagine getting lost at night in the open sea. Finding me under the dark sky in the middle of the sea, with no points of reference. Here it was white; the white of the roads, the meadows, the houses, the profiles of the hills, unrecognizable. And then the lake.
No longer an expanse of water but an image of the flow of time. A lake that would be dark and white until—but much later—time and the sun had not formed cracks, first imperceptibly invisible, then more distinct. Empty spaces in the middle of the water, openings that would allow it to flow again. This was the time of darkness. Then there was the time of light.
When I left that town, the light was everywhere.
Nature was flourishing, the vegetation took on the most varied shadings of green, the air was sparkling and rarefied, but warm. Cold and heat had become blended concepts: the inside coincided with the outside, life represented the union of what I was containied in and what I contained. At the same time I contained what I was contained in, I contained the light. And the light contained me. And you could go forward into infinity and begin over again, sometimes without sleeping, forgetting to eat, or staying their to watch an eternal sunset blending into the dawn. And the lake.
Freed from the ice, the lake had substituted the fluidity of the night so that, I thought, we would remember the inside of this splendor, that we were forms of life that came from the water. Sometimes the water would form crests from the wind or beaten by the rain. Still other times it transformed into a viscous wonder the light immersed itself in, broken into thousands of particles.
Inwas a morning like that I went away from that town.
By car, just as I’d come, they took me to the airport; the voices in a language I now recognized as my own.
Then I took off, the lake water I’d brought along, I liked to think, in the form of tears.
It was evening and it was morning.
I.
January.
The home of Karl Stagnelius. On the back wall, a large screen, perhaps a projection screen. Near the screen, a station with microphone, mixer and other equipment for professional audio recording. A sofa left of the screen. Other chairs, in particular an easy chair facing the screen, such that a person sitting there has his/her back to the audience. In the room, a living room there is space down left for a table. Up right, an entrance door, next to which we can make out a wide window. We intuit that the house is large, that there are other rooms and an upper floor.
A half-naked man laying on the divan in a disordered manner, wrapped in a heavy blanker. A young man of color in a police uniform is bending over the figure, and there is a woman there, about sixty.
Larsson: Come on, young man, don’t leave him there naked to catch a cold. Wrap that cover around him. Look how muscular he is. Wait, wait a moment. Let me get
a good look at him. I was so afraid, you know, I saw him standing there in front of me at the door completely naked, seemed like a wild beast. He wouldn’t
seem that way dressed. No. He’s not going to wake up now. Is he snoring? You try, I don’t feel well. Go closer. Close to the mouth. Is he snoring? Is he
breathing? Can you feel it? Where did Peter go. Peter. You’ll catch cold.
Pause.
He drank a lot. That’s certain. poor man. You’ll hear stories about this one here. What could he have drunk to get in such shape? Pick up that glass, go ahead. Smell
it, I don't feel very well. What’s he drinking? Sometimes I’d like to stun myself like that, so I don’t have to listen to my husband complaining all the time. What is it?
Wine?
Ismajl: I don’t know, Mrs. Larsson. I’m a Muslim, I don’t drink.
Larsson: You’re a Muslim. It doesn’t matter, my dear. I have nothing against you people.
Pause.
I’ve always envied you a bit. With this lovely black, shiny skin. So why don't you drink?
Ismajl: Mrs. Larsson.
Larsson: Yes, my son.
Ismajl: Not all Black people are Muslims
Larsson: I know, I know, don’t mistake me, young man. What an ignorant old lady, no? Old, yes.
A bit ignorant. I’m accustomed to seeing people like you, you know? Every summer, here at the lake they have this giant noisy concert, full of young people, so
noisy. So I shut myself up in the house for three days. They come from all over the country. Even from outside. Everything turns up, hippies, Blacks, boys who’re a
bit, what do you call them, you know what I mean. A bit different. We need young people like you. All our young people are leaving. And you, where are you
from?
Ismajl: Stockholm.
Larsson: From what country? In Africa, I mean. What African country are you from?
Ismajl: I’m Swedish, Mrs. Larsson. Born and raised in Sweden. In our country foreigners can’t join the police force.
Larsson: Of course, of course. EVerything has changed. RThis used to be a real community, on e upon a tiome. We helped each other. You knew your neighbors. Now you
find a naked man at your front door. Karl Stagnelius.
Pause.
Impressive-sound name, no? We’re not sinning, yu understand me, don’t you? Don’t tell peter I told you, though. He’s an actor from Stockholm. At least so he says,
that he works for the national theatre. I don’t know, I’ve never seen hinm on television. He’s been here in town for five years now. But how can you still not know
anythings? How long have you been here?
Ismajl: I got here two weeks ago, Mrs. Larsson.
Larsson: Anyway you should find out, you’re a policeman. You should know things. His wife, the poor man, died in a car accident.
Peter enters.
Peter. You’re finally back, it’s freezing outside
Peter: Inside too. Couldn’t you close the door? Farah. Cover the boy a little better, he must be cold. Se if you can find another blanket somewhere. His clothes are
soaking wet, of course.
Ismajl: Yessir.
Larsson: He’s quite a well-brought-up boy, Peter. Don't yell at him, I already told him to cover him up.
He’ll learn, with a teacher like you. Peter is the best, but he’s becoming a little old man too, isn’t that so, dear? We need young the young.
Peter: Yes, Agneta, I’ll see what I can do. But don’t fill him up with your chatter. Farah. Don’r be afraid, Mrs. Larson is blind, deaf, can’t smell and the last time she let
herself be touched by her husband.
Larsson: Peter.
Peter: But her mouth still works like a wonder, isn’t that right, Agneta?
Larsson: If it weren’t that I’ve known you since you were a baby in diapers.
Ismajl: I’ve never thought of that, Mrs. Larson.
Peter: Our Ismalj is a serious boy, he respects his uniform and does his duty. Too much, even.
Farah.
Ismajl: Sir?
Peter: We have to.
We have to file a report.
Ismajl: Yessir.
Peter: Farah.
Ismajl: Mrs. Larsson. Unfortunately this is an official duty. We cannot have civlians present.
Larsson: Oh yes, oh yes. Top secret. I understand, I understand. I’m in the way. Leave him in peace, poor Stagnelius, with everything he’s been through. Oh, excuse me.
Peter. I didn’t say any thing. I called for him. Because to be standing half-naked in the snow.
Peter: Agneta, you heard Sergeant Farah.
Larsson: Sergente, my boy. Yiou were lucky to get to Sweden. This is still the land of opportunity. I’m going, I’m going, I’m going, I’m going. Peter, Sergeant. Come have
some tea. And bring me Emma sometimes, Peter. I never get to see her. I’m going, I’m going, I’m going.
Mrs. Larsson exists.
Peter bursts our laughing uncontrollably.
Peter: Don’t make me laugh. Sergeant. Take it easy, take it easy. He’s sleeping.
Sergeant. You’ve made a success of yourself. From Burundi to the Swedish dream. And there you are, Yessir. Yessir. But how did it come to you? Yessir. Mrs. Larson.
Farah, you’ve made a splash. Do you have a girlfriend?
Pause.
Ismajl: Nossir.
Peter: Nossir. Nossir. The official report. The report is official. How do you get these ideas. You’re do appealing, Farah, you’re good and people like you.
Pause.
Oh laugh once in a while. You’re so gloomy. Ah, you smile? Did she already tell you Karl’s whole story? You know what she said to me when she called in? “A naked
man, there’s a naked man at the Stagnelius home, the actor.” And she wouldn’t stop. The husband in the background adding in details. “The same house as the
actor, Stagnelius”, says the husband, and I could hear him. I heard him, you understand? I could barely keep a straight face. Then the wife starts up again: “The
house’s doors and windows are completely open. The lights are going on and off and there’s strange awful music coming out at high volume.”
Ismajl: And you?
Peter: I said: “Agneta, could it be the devil himself?”
Ismajl: And she?
Peter: And she: “Chief, you know it’s been a while since I saw you in church? You’re not going to tell me that in addition to being separated from Mrs. Sjöberg, you’ve
also lost your faith?
Ismajl: Mrs. Sjöberg?
Peter: My ex-wife, Farah, but she puts it that way. The Middle Ages. I say, “No no, it must be the work of an evil spirit who has possessed Stagnelius. She calms down
and. Can you believe it? At that p[oint the husband asks her what I said and if I was going to do something, and she repeats word for word everything I said. “Chief
of Police Sjöberg will go check on the evil spirit that’s possessing the home of Mr. Stagnelius.” I could have died laughing.
Pause
Then I arrive and who do I find? My best friend dressed only in a half-empty bottle and Mrs. Larson there at the window with her eyes bugging out, screaming at hr
husband: “Come see, Come see, it’s Stagnelius naked.” What an evening, Farah, what an evening. I’m going to remember this. You will too. Things of this kind don't
happen here often.
Ismajl: Has it been one of the most important cases in the last few years?
Peter: Farah, don’t kid around so much.
Pause.
I’m joking. You turn gloomy right away. I’m joking, Frah. How do you think of these things? There’s just one thing I don’t understand. The lights going on and off.
The demonic music.
Ismajl: When I came in the screen was on, I lowered the volume, it sounded like ambient music. And a voice was telling a story, some kind of nature documentary.
Peter: Sure, of course. That’s his job, Farah.
Ismajl: Isn’t he an actor?
Karl: He was an actor. He was an actor. Now he’s the off-screen voice for The Secret Life of Plants. A documentary. documentario. On the secret life of the.
Pause.
Peter: Karl? Karl? Nothing, he’s aslep again. Farah. It’s already ten. Who knows when he’ll wake up
The point is, I was supposed to go pick up Emma in town. There’s a party at a friend’s house.
Ismajl: Of course. I’ll stay here.
