according to an unprecedented decision made…
the girls on their feet had taken off their coats a long time ago, they were whispering, beautiful, sometimes really beautiful girls, with very little makeup on; an imbecile who was wasting a seat, emptying his pockets, taking out a small notepad and throwing it on the table, people crowding in,
the banging fist,
…by the Ministry of Education…
the same banging again,
…the University… is closed, the Student Council… has organized a demonstration, the situation… is serious,
he would come down and start disseminating leaflets, black on white, big black flags, explosive slogans…
GENERAL STRIKE / REVOLUTIONARY ORGANIZATION / POLITICS / IS IN THE STREETS
now, a few people, following the proposition, were going obediently up along the narrow, spiraling stairwell, looking like medieval pupils ascending the stairs; it was very different from our wooden, terribly slanted stairwell that went up to the roof, the steps of which were mostly dislocated and cracked, rotten from rain and dampness, ready to collapse under anyone who dared step on them, but still working with a strange durability, and with the agility of a tightrope walker I would step on the most stable parts, at times leaning over the banister to peek into the window of Set Janet, who would yell curses in Arabic as if frightened, while I’d jump two stairs at a time, playing with my anxiety, flying up to watch the neighborhood from above;
the street branched off from the main avenue into a small triangular square, or more exactly a place that for a moment belonged to no one, as the people who had paved the street had left it open by mutual agreement, where the slanting shadow, like an umbrella, stretched up on the hill, here—the roof of Arev’s house, the pergola, the strings of pepper, dried eggplant, and across, under the eastern white pine, Mr. Garbis who sewed trousers, a headscarf tied around his head like some Arab woman, was tying the vines to reed stakes so that they’d climb up to Simon’s clothesline, a little lower Nano was sitting on the edge of the balcony, the eucalyptus that shimmered under the sun right in front of her would extend, as it were, and touch the olive trees and the empty houses on the hill across from her, partially covering the gardens on the river bank, the sea in the distance, and in the evenings, when the sky turned a deep azure blue, when the last airplanes descended into the city from the east, on the far mountains, the embers in the ashes would slowly grow into flames;
the banisters, two of them, formed a helicoid labyrinth, they turned, as if you were approaching an inaccessible place, an open area, a vaulted sky, and here were women with small handbags, men out of breath who emerged at the entrance of the mezzanine, moving to its edges and conquering the hall for a moment, above its confusion and noise, catching their breath, wiping their foreheads and temples with handkerchiefs, scanning the audience below;
from there, from the front row, leaning sometimes against the low banister, sometimes against the seated people, moving, as if we were walking along a dangerous mountain path, we would head toward the center where now a young man with a moustache had arranged his tripod, focusing the lens of the camera on the stage, one eye closed—a black spot, the other—a pink circle, like a director who was pleased with his film, and was following the recording from another screen, which, with an automatic regulation, seemed to be progressing independently, while next to him, behind him, to his right and to his left, on the top seats of the mezzanine—men, women, old and young, chins resting against hands, hands resting on knees, were listening, or perhaps merely trying to listen, periodically moving their heads, listening to the presentations as if without comprehending, following with eyes that expressed complete boredom or total loss, immobile, detached like the empty eye-sockets of Greek statues, as if following the speech but surrendering to its tumble, its rhythm, being carried away, I suppose, to a different place where events were occurring that were not apparent here in this hall, but which formed a muffled, omnipresent noise, an unconscious tumult like that of a city’s unremitting, underground breath; a leaflet would spiral down from one of the upper rows, someone had written Je vois aime on it, captivated we would clap and smoke, spellbound by the new word that belonged to no one, to no one side! it had no owner, you’d get up from your seat, stand up and like a lover in the night, it would be yours for a second, and we, like the Renault strikers, were the actors of history who had been called to change life…
the Chair was now inviting the last presenter of the panel, whose works were familiar to everyone,
he was holding the watch in his palm, weighing it, as it were— what was time? it was gold, no, it was nothing! nothing, but sand, nonexistence, and there were things that never passed, things that were eternal, everlasting, he was scratching his beard, smoothing it with his fingers, and turning to the woman sitting at the very end of the table, protected from the semidarkness,
so… you are this panel’s last presenter, ahem, bon, bon,
gesturing with his right hand—
shall we start?
his voice would all of a sudden rise, now he was trying to make a joke, as if it were necessary to bring some sort of merriment to the atmosphere, he not only had to preside over the panel as a small, local tyrant, giving it a more invigorating air, but also had to make it lively, favorable, effectively making use of the breaks, the indefinite moments between presentations, et c’est pas facile, one had to maintain the seriousness, the circumstances of the material and place, avoiding at the same time the boredom that such materials, such analyses might cause, proceeding as traditional narratives do, long, winding, weaving into each other, as if the same mood had been recurring in different forms and voices from the beginning of civilization, and laughter introduced a personal note, conjuring up a noble, intimate atmosphere, as a few minutes ago, during the break, in that interstice of time when the Chair approached the woman, took her hand, but then kissed her on the cheeks, whispered a few words in her ear, then kissed the hand of the other woman standing next to her, a proof of my respect, in a loud, ironic voice, stepping away, smiling, showing his red gums and a row of uneven teeth,
so… we’ll see you in a little bit… ahem!.. you look very nice today… but…
almost grunting, as if to thwart, to kill his eager exclamations, yet at the same time asserting them,