Abahn Sabana David by Marguerite Duras

do not look at David, they look toward the darkened park. They are silent.
    â€œDo they know each other?” asks David.
    â€œI don’t think so.”
    Abahn smiles at Sabana. David sees the smile.
    â€œLook, they’re smiling,” says David.
    She does not respond.
    â€œWhy are they smiling?” he asks.
    She does not answer.
    â€œAt the moment of death,” he adds.
    David seems uncertain. He is about to smile as well, but does not. It is as if he is intimidated. He ought to see that she has not responded. He says:
    â€œYou woke me up, you told me, ‘the Jew is talking.’”
    He points at the Jew and says:
    â€œHe’s laughing.”
    The Jew’s eyes are closed. His face is expressionless.
    â€œHe was talking,” says Sabana. “He was talking about killing himself. That’s why he was laughing.”
    David is still frozen in place. He points at the Jew and says again:
    â€œHe’s laughing.”
    â€œA person might laugh if he’s some hours from death,” says Sabana.
    They look at the Jew. His eyes are fixed on the darkened park and it seems he might be laughing.
    â€œHe was laughing,” David says. “I see him laughing.”
    David, still frozen, is completely fixated on the Jew.
    â€œMaybe he’s really asleep,” David mumbles.
    â€œNo,” says Sabana.
    â€œMaybe he’s afraid,” says David.
    â€œHe didn’t try to run away,” Abahn points out.
    David starts in surprise. His eyes shift to the new person, Abahn, and then back to the Jew.
    Sabana says, “He said, ‘I want to live, I want to die.’”
    â€œMaybe he doesn’t care which,” David says.
    â€œMaybe.”
    Sabana leaves David. She walks toward the back of the room and sits down against a wall. David finds himself alone in the light.
    Silence.
    No one speaks.
    David waits. There is an obvious awkwardness.
    â€œI don’t understand,” David says. “You told me the Jew was speaking to me.”
    â€œYou can’t force him to say more,” says Sabana.
    David addresses Abahn. “What did he say?”
    â€œHe said, ‘Nothing. Something else. Otherwise. Somewhere else.’”
    David looks from one Jew the other, and then at Sabana. He wants to laugh. He says:
    â€œYou woke me up for this?”
    No one answers him. He sees the Jew looking at him. He starts. The Jew is not looking at him anymore. The Jew closes his eyes. For the first time it seems a great effort for David to speak.
    â€œWho is he?” David asks.
    â€œI don’t know him,” says Abahn.
    â€œI don’t know,” says Sabana.
    â€œHis life is invisible,” says Abahn.
    Silence.
    â€œWho are you?” Sabana asks the Jew.
    The Jew shakes his head.
    â€œHe has no more courage,” says David.
    â€œYes,” says Abahn. “His strength is still there. Still present.”
    David studies the Jew who is smiling, his eyes closed, and realizes the strength within him.
    â€œIt’s true,” says David.
    â€œIt’s just momentary. It will pass,” says Sabana.
    â€œThe dead of the night,” says Abahn.
    The Jew rises, takes a few steps, slowly, distracted it seems,his shadow falling over David, he turns toward the door to the darkened park. Pauses there.
    â€œHe wants to live,” says Sabana. “And he won’t make the effort to do so.”
    Silence.
    David leans forward out of the light.
    â€œHe wants to live in the banlieues of Staadt without working,” Abahn says slowly. “To live without work at all, without any occupation, to live like that in the banlieues of Staadt.”
    â€œWithout any work at all,” murmurs David.
    David looks again at the Jew. He wants to say something. He says nothing. He stares with a tangible intensity at the back of the Jew.
    â€œOne night,” says Sabana, “I wasn’t here, where was I? Just hanging about? You