Day 9

In front of the entrance of the flat. Somebody is knocking on the door. Carmona, the writer in residence–a 65-year-old Mexican lady– goes towards the door to open it. The woman rushes after her to stop her.

 Carmona: What are you doing?

The Woman: Please, don’t!

Carmona: What?

The Woman: I said, ‘please, don’t open the door’.

Carmona: Why?

The Woman: I will tell you later. For now, please, don’t open the door.

Carmona: But somebody is breaking down the door.

The Women: I know. But please, I am … (looking for the right word) frankly…deeply… sincerely…imploring you not to open the door. Just let him go.

Carmona: How do you know there is a man at the door?

The Woman: I just know.

Carmona: No! It is Ms Judith! Our neighbour. I have been expecting her. I knew she would come. I put the rubbish in the wrong bin, and her daughter saw me and said something that I didn’t understand, so I called her Mammacita in return! She didn’t understand and got angry, I think.

The Woman: No! it’s not Ms. Judith. Listen! This is a man knocking!

Carmona: Oh! My god! What man?!

The Woman: I will tell you later. let’s go upstairs…

Carmona: No! I want to know what you are talking about? Were you expecting somebody?

The Woman: That is the point. I was not waiting for him.

Carmona: Who is he?

The Woman: OK! He is the one whose father murdered my father.

Carmona: What?!

The Woman: No, no! Please don’t be scared. Not that way.

Carmona: I am going to call the police.

The Woman: No! Please don’t! His father didn’t kill my father.

Ms. Carmona: But you just said he did!

The Woman: Actually, his father wanted to kill my father. But the one who killed my father was not him.

Carmona: So, who killed your father?

The Woman: I did!

Carmona: What?!

The Woman: No!  No, not in the particular sense of the term.  I didn’t kill my father…He did.

Carmona: Who?

The Woman : The man who is knocking… oh how can I explain…the story is complicated.

Carmona: I want to call the police.

The Woman: No!

Carmona: Step aside. Let me go. I want to call the police

The Woman: No!

Carmona : I am telling you!… step aside or,…

The Woman: I don’t want him to be arrested. I still love him.

Carmona: Do you love your father’s murderer?! Oh! good heaven! You are supposed to hate him.

The Woman: How can I hate someone who sent me 35 messages in less three hours.

Carmona: 35 threatening  messages!?

The Woman: I don’t know. I didn’t read them.

Carmona: Does he want to kill you?

The Woman: I guess he wants me to go back home.

Carmona: Which home?

The Woman: our home…

Carmona: Oh! Good heaven! Did you live with your father’s murderer? I can’t breathe!

The Woman: Oh! Not exactly! Let’s go back to the story of his father. You know! A soldier is a soldier…

Carmona: A terrorist?!

The Woman: No! Why!?

Carmona: You said soldier…Oh! Jesus! Terrorists!

The Woman: Sorry…No! Let me explain.  His father wanted to kill my father during a war … they were soldiers in the opposites sides, enemies. He wanted to kill, not exactly my father. You know …all the soldiers are the same. That is what I meant…I meant in the war, soldiers wear similar clothes, as if they are all similar… our fathers probably never met each other,… but he, I mean, his father had direct orders to kill Iranian soldiers… and my father had direct orders to kill all Iraqi soldiers…

Carmona: I can’t breathe…

The Woman: Are you listening to me?

Carmona: Te…rro…rists….!

Carmona faints. The woman catches her on time, and sits down on the floor under her weight. The woman is scared. She goes to the kitchen and after a few seconds, she comes back with a glass of water in her hands. No one is knocking on the door now. The woman puts her ear on the door. No sound. She open the door carefully.