Guimard. Speak.
Biskra. “God is One, there is no other God but He the Merciful, the Pitiful.”
Guimard.“God is One, there is no other God but He the Merciful, the Pitiful.”
Biskra. Lie down on the floor. [GUIMARD lies down involuntarily.] What dost thou hear?
Guimard. I hear a fountain plash.
Biskra. See thou, God is One, and there is no one else but He the Merciful, the Pitiful! What dost thou see?
Guimard. I hear a fountain plash. I see a lamp shine, by a window with green blinds, in a white street.
Biskra. Who sits at the window?
Guimard. My wife, Elise!
Biskra. Who stands behind the curtains and puts his hands around her neck?
Guimard. That’s my son, Georges.
Biskra. How old is thy son?
Guimard. Four years come St. Nicholas.
Biskra. And can he already stand behind curtains arid hold the neck of another man’s wife?
Guimard. He cannot—but it is he.
Biskra. Four years old with a fair mustache.
Guimard. A fair mustache, you say. Ah! that is Jules, my friend.
Biskra. Who stands behind the curtains and lays his hand around thy wife’s neck?
Guimard. Ah! Devil!
Biskra. Dost thou see thy son?
Guimard. No, not any more.
Biskra. [Imitates the ringing of bells with her guitar.] What seest thou, now?
Guimard. I hear bells being rung, and I smell the odor of a dead body, it smells like rancid butter—ugh!
Biskra. Dost thou not hear the choir boys sing for the memory of a dead child?
Guimard. Just wait, I cannot hear it. [Gloomily.] But dost thou wish it, be it so; now I hear it.
Biskra. Dost thou see the wreaths on the coffin, which they carry in their midst?
Guimard. Yes.
Biskra. There is a violet ribbon, and this is printed in silver: “Farewell, my beloved Georges, thy father.”
Guimard. Yes, that is it then. [Cries.] My Georges! Georges! My dear child! Elise, my wife, comfort me. Help me! [Gropes arcruvtd him.] Where are you, dear? Elise? Have you gone away from me? Answer! Call out the name of thy loved one. [A VOICE from the roof: Jules! Jules!] Jules? My name is What is my name! My name is Charles! And she called Jules! Elise, dear wife, answer me, since your spirit is here. I know it, and you promised me never to love anyone else. [VOICES laugh.] Who is laughing?
Biskra. Elise, your wife.
Guimard. Kill me. I will not live any more. Life is as loathsome to me as sauerkraut in St. Doux. Do you know what St. Doux is, you? Lard! [Spits in front of himself.] I have no more saliva left. Water! Water!—otherwise I’ll bite you. [Full storm outside.]
Biskra. [Puts her finger to her lips and coughs.] Now, die, Frank! Write thy last will while there is time. Where is thy note-book?
Guimard. [Takes up a note-book and a pen.] What shall I write?
Biskra. A man thinks of his wife when he has got to die—and of his child.
Guimard. [Writes.] “Elise—I curse thee! Simoon—I die.”
Biskra. And sign it thus, otherwise the will is worth nothing.
Guimard. How shall I sign it?
Biskra. Write: la ilaha all allah.
Guimard. [Writes.] That is written! May I die now?
Biskra. Now you may die like a cowardly soldier who has deserted his comrades, and thou art like to have a pretty funeral, with jackals to sing on thy corpse. [Doing, an, “attack” on her guitar.] Dost thou hear the drums going—to the attack—the infidels who have sun and Simoon with them advance—from an ambush. [Beats on her guitar.] Shots are fired along the whole line, the Franks are unable to load, the Arabs are spread out and shoot, the Franks fly.
Guimard. [Raises himself.] The Franks do not fly.
Biskra. [Blows the “retreat” on a flute she has taken up.] The Franks fly when the retreat is blown.
Guimard. They’re retreating, they’re retreating, and I am here. [Pulls off his epaulettes.] I am dead. [Falls on the floor.]
Biskra. Yes, thou art dead. Thou knowest not that thou hast been dead for a long time. [Goes to the charnel-house, takes up a skull.]
Guimard. Have I been dead? [Feels his face.]
Biskra. A long time! A long time! Look at thyself in the mirror! [Shows the skull.]
Guimard. Ah! Am I that?
Biskra. Look at your protruding cheeks. Seest thou not how the vultures have eaten thine eyes? Dost thou not feel again the hole by your right grinder which you had taken out? Dost thou not see the hole in the chin where that pretty little imperial sprouted which thy Elise fancied so to caress? Dost thou not see the ears which thy little Georges was wont to kiss every morning over the breakfast-table? Dost thou see how the axe has taken away the hair at the neck, when the executioner was beheading the deserter?
[GUIMARD, who has been sitting listening with horror, falls down dead.]
Biskra. [Who has been on her knees, gets up after she has examined his pulse. Sings.] Simoon! Simoon! [She opens the doors, the draperies flap, she puts her finger on her mouth, and falls on her back.] Yousef!
SCENE III
Previous characters. YOUSEF coming up from the cellar.
Yousef. [Examines GUIMARD, looks for BISKRA.] Biskra! [He sees BISKRA, lifts her up in his arms.] Dost thou live?
Biskra. Is the Frank dead?
Yousef. If he is not, he shall be. Simoon! Simoon!
Biskra. Then I live. But give me water.
Yousef. [Props her against the wicket.] Here. Now Yousef is thine.
Biskra. And Biskra shall be the mother of thy son. Yousef, great Yousef!
Yousef. Strong Biskra! Stronger than the Simoon.
[Curtain.]