Our Presidents
I am experiencing a great sense of clarity. It is the 8th of April, 2020. I haven't been outside for 10 days. They say we shouldn't go outside. For 10 days I've only seen the sun at the end of the afternoon, for barely half an hour each day when it fully enters the little canyon in which my apartment sits. I've drank litres of coffee, litres of water, and litres of alcohol to fall asleep at night. I've finished almost all the food. I've let litres of water run in the kitchen just to watch it cascade onto the plates, bowls and glasses. I've watched the bubbles coming up to the surface whilst scrubbing the backs of spoons. I've looked at the sky when the sun wasn't there. I've watched what they are saying. They say that we must save lives. They say we must watch the television. On the television the President tells the people on their balconies that they're doing well, he thanks them for staying indoors. The evening sunlight falls on his face looking up at the balconies. It glimmers on his teeth. The light also falls on the big, strong men surrounding him, on their suits. They look all around the President. The President was saying “Thank you! All of you!” and above him the people on the balconies smile and applaud. Perhaps it's the first time they've seen with their own eyes a President passing by on the pavement outside, greeting them and smiling. I have never seen a President. But I know their names, their dates, I've learnt them well. Even without the television I know very well who our Presidents are. We elected them, isolated in the voting booth. I know very well how to slide the name of the President into a little envelope, how to slide the envelope into its slot, I do it each time and then on television, each time, they say who the President is. I can last another 10 days and then I'll go outside to fetch provisions, and then I'll go on lasting longer. I hope the weather will be nice, that the sun will shine. I'll fill in my permit, show it to the police officers and feel the sun on my face. Among our Presidents, some are dead and some are still living. When a President dies we say he's left us and we must remember him. They say on the television “The President has left us, the nation is in mourning”, and there's music, and we see soldiers. We've had Presidents that were famous, and ones that were strong, but they all leave us, leave us mourning them. We stay on our balconies and we think about the Presidents we've elected in the booth, who are dead because they've left left us. We look at the sun, our little canyon. Nobody out on the pavement. The sun set a long time ago. At the strike of midnight the date will be the 9th of April, but that doesn't matter at all. Have to keep acting as if it's still the 8th and sleep so as to wake up for it to be the 9th. On the 18th I think I'll go outside for enough provisions to last until the 30th. But I have time, I have time. I know. This evening I am experiencing a great sense of clarity.
Translation by David Price
