New Plays from Finland
When you come near your mother, you change into a dog. Your tail is lowered, you sound out, ears pricked, how you could best please. No such reactions take place in the twins since they’re monkeys, almost the same as humans, but in their own dirty and impossible way. Your mother is Husky-Medea, a sled dog in a big city, a dog of the North in Southern streets, ice-blue eyes against a grey background of asphalt.
I LOVE A MURDERER BUT THE MURDERER DOESN’T LOVE ME
I do not want you to take pictures. I do not want you to use words. I do not want you to talk about my mother at all. Or my brothers. Or me.
We will, dear child. We will. We will tell your story for you, if you don’t. We will. You know. We will tell it anyway.
No. I don’t want anyone to tell it. I just want to be left in peace. Just leave me alone.
Do you want us to tell it for you then? Do you really? It’s your choice.
ERIOPIS RIPS HER TONGUE OUT OF HER MOUTH. THE TONGUE IN HER HAND STICKS OUT FROM BETWEEN HER FINGERS, RED FLESH: AN UNREALISTICALLY LARGE, SWOLLEN, GORY PIECE OF FLESH. MORE CAMERA FLASHES. THEY PAUSE EXPECTANTLY.
Well, okay then. Let’s go.