Mademoiselle Fantine by Ana Zumani

After dinner.

The man is sitting in a low armchair and smoking a cigar.

The young woman is sitting next to him, wearing a black silk dress. A lace made of tulle embroidered with white pearls adorns her tall neck.

All of a sudden she places her hand over his, as if flattering him, as if pleading with him…

"What's wrong with you, doll?" wonders the man, "you've danced so much, laughed so much… what is the matter?"

Silence…

"Nannita?"

"Nothing… we are cumbersome creatures… the acrobats aren't… not to feel yourself… how great would that be…!"

"Does your head hurt, Nannita?"

"No… where has all the movement gone… the one which wherever it is, something beautiful is born? The swallows for example, the wildcats, the hurricanes. The Greeks used to run… the earth runs around the sun and itself… that's why everything is beautiful… the water runs, it flies… and if it doesn't fly it will become a fen… the wind runs, it flies… if it doesn't fly the clouds won't leave… but we are unwieldy.  Cantatrice grotesque. Ballerina."

He: "And Mademoiselle Fantine;… The great eccentric?"

She: "What is the nozzle? Movement! The maelstrom, Katrakis? Movement! Strange attractors. Event horizon… movement… Pavlova… how wonderful was that arrogant disposition of the joints…"

"Nannita…!"

She: "Mademoiselle Fantine… yes… she is movement… a movement that celebrates her own orgy… that explodes because of excessive speed… explosion… implosion… that beats herself… that shakes… who could self-sarcastically laugh herself to death. She's a gamin, a girl, a genius, a whirligig… something alive. Fantine will never grow old… the age of the cat cannot be guessed… to be like nature… how wonderful!... Fantine will never grow old… she is like running water, like crashing water… a waterfall… Fantine… yes!... I say, Yes!..."

He: "Fantine is an intoxicated majesty, a majesty that became arrogant and is now oscillating…"

She: "No! She is life… life like it should be… whatever living comes out from deep within contains its inebriation, its highs, its lows, its eccentricities, its craziness, its childishness, everything… but we have the "indispensable", that creeping "indispensable"… to everything!... I say, Yes…"

He: "Sweet, beloved, you are out of control, jubilant. Do you love Fantine that much?"

She: "Yes, I do. Are you jealous?"

He: "Almost…"

She: "I love myself in her. She's a side of my being that atrophies, withers… that cannot grow in this hard life. Sometimes I want to be something like a resounding laughter, something to kiss… something that has become insobriety… a doll that shakes her legs…"

She throws her head into her hands…

He: "What is your problem, Nannita?"

She: "Nothing… do you still love me?... say yes… say yes!... but I have no movement, I am not a whirligig…"

He: "Is jubilation not a movement of the soul, honey? Doesn't it spin you? And not only that. I'm dizzy myself… in what a wonderful way it is that you admire a ballerina grotesque!"

He kisses her hair, tenderly…

Translated from Greek by yours truly. My thanks to Ana Zumani for giving me the permission to publish it in this blog.

Image taken from here.