The author reads The victory by Kostas Georgousopoulos.
Photo Exhibition “The modern Greek play and the stages that supported it – Loula Anagnostaki”

SOPHIA: Why are you looking at me like that?
MIMIS: Like what?
SOPHIA: Angrily. Do you already regret bringing me here? If I bore you, I’ll go. Answer me—do you want me to go?
MIMIS: It’s all the same to me.
SOPHIA: What a strange man… (Goes and sits on the couch.) Still, you inspire confidence in me. Perhaps because you look much older than me. How old are you? Forty?
MIMIS: Thereabouts.
SOPHIA (swing her legs rhythmically): You see? Of all the men who stood outside the station, it was you I approached and asked where I could spend the night. And when you said ‘at my place’, I followed you at once. Yet I could have talked to some youngster, couldn’t I? There was one in a red sweater, pretending to read a sports paper. He couldn’t take his eyes off me. When I got up to leave, he followed me. I swear.
MIMIS: Followed you? I don’t suppose he followed you here, did he?
SOPHIA: Of course not. Why, you’re really scared!

ELISABETH: We looked. He pointed with his finger at some spot. “There”, he said, “over there, at dawn they shoot those condemned to death”. I never knew why he insisted on telling me this every evening, and point with his finger. Then we lost contact, and one day I read his name in the newspaper. He was among those condemned to death, and he was shot at dawn, too. Isn’t it strange?

ZOE: Aris, the dogs! They’ve set the dogs on him. All the dogs fell on him and cutting him to pieces…
ARIS: I can’t see anything now, I can’t make out…
ZOE: They’re cutting him to pieces!
ARIS: I can’t see anything… I can’t discern…
ZOE: Aris, get away! Get away from the window… The one with the long hair is looking at us…
ARIS: Yes, he is. He’s seen us…
ZOE: He motioned to the others! They’ll come here, they will! See, others are looking, too! They’re coming, Aris, they’re coming…

VASSILIKI: Olga, have you finished?
OLGA: Yes. What are you doing there? Get away from the window.
VASSILIKI: Why? Do you want something?
(Olga joins her at the shop window. They are standing side by side.)
OLGA: It’s snowing. The crowds are thinning. We can close now.
OLGA: Besides, they’ll soon start coming now.
VASSILIKI (worried): Do you think they won’t?
OLGA: They’ll come. Don’t worry.
VASSILIKI: Perhaps he is invited somewhere else.
OLGA: I don’t think so. Listen, I want us to take this tree out of here.
VASSILIKI: You want to ruin such a good display?
OLGA: I’ll put it back tomorrow. Tonight we don’t need it. After all, your guests know it’s Christmas Eve.
VASSILIKI: Why “my” guests? They’re not mine! We invited them together.
OLGA: Oh, well now.
VASSILIKI: Look. The snow is settling down.
OLGA: Don’t stand behind the window. It’s not right.
VASSILIKI: Why does it matter? Nobody’s looking. (Sings to herself.)

SALLY (to Alice, abruptly): Listen! I had to come here tonight. I had you, don’t you see? There was no other way. I couldn’t stay there any longer. In that city. (To Eleni.) It’s a horrible place. (Gets up.) It made me an animal. (Goes close to her.) What a nice dress. I look a mess. You are pretty. I disturb you. You don’t say anything. I don’t like silence. It scares me. You should know. Alice should have told you. I wasn’t like that before I got married. Alice knows it, I was not like that. I used to paint, too.

NIKOS: Just standing there makes us look suspicious, at this time of night. What if some policeman sees us? Did you think that you can wander around at night just because you felt like it? Life is organized here, it’s not a mess like Greece!

PAVLOS (in a suddenly tired, colourless voice): It’s a joke… A prank I do by myself just for fun. In the army, once, we had sneaked in a tape player. So each one would play their own cassette, supposedly addressed to some famous person. They’d choose prime ministers, cinema stars, bishops, generals—all sorts of people like that. Most would talk dirty, you know, letting go of their suppressed feelings, swearing but also saying a lot about their lives, everything you can think of. Confessions. Well—I chose a killer. A lowlife Turk.
(Looks at KATERINA.) It’s to him I am talking.

KATIA: There is always something I must do, you know. I can’t cope. Not with all of them together. I was certainly not cut out for a family. (Lights a cigarette, angry-like.) I used to be so much in love with Dimitris. Now I can’t stand the sight of him. I don’t want him touching me. I want no one touching me!

IRENE (awkwardly): It’s wonderful, isn’t it?
ANNA (calmly): Yes, it’s wonderful.
IRENE: You saw her wearing it, she writes, and you liked it very much.
ΑΝΝΑ: Yes, very much. I liked the fact that all its diamonds were white.
(They are taking calmly, as if in another time and place.)
IRENE: Yes, you are right. They are all white. Not coloured.
(Contemplates it.) There a mauve one. An amethyst. Look…
(They look at it. Pause.)
ANNA (suddenly): It’s like a miracle, when I saw that woman wearing it I thought how much I wanted it—such a precious thing—and here it is. Maybe that’s how things are going to be from now on: all miracles and fulfilled wishes.
IRENE: Yes, and yesterday I said to myself, if only Angelo would like me. And he did.

Dimitra: Don’t cry!
(Runs and kneels before him, regretting herself.)
Please don’t dry.
(She wipes his face.)
I was lying! I got angry – don’t cry – you can’t imagine why I got angry. Because… you want to leave; you want to leave me. I thought… you’d stay with me tonight. When I opened my eyes, and saw you sitting there with your flute. Of course, I wasn’t seeing you for the first time. I remember you; it’s only you I remember. Tell me that you know it.
(The STRANGER agrees with a nod of his head.)
You always sat on the same bench—in your white clothes. I used to see your scar and think to myself: he is like the noblemen of old, with a scar on the face from some swordfight. Are you coming from far away? I asked you. I am the king of Thebes, you said, looking for my mother.

Here I am.
Here I am. I.
Here I am, an old woman in a dry month. I.
Sophia Apostolou, daughter of Ioannis and Eugenia, née
Teacher of French in state schools. With a college
education in literature.
Speaking also English and Russian.
Former teacher.
Discharged due to alcoholism.

AGIS: Since then I’ve been sitting alone, counting—how many suns and sunrises she missed, how many rainy afternoons, how many cigarettes she’d smoke, soft-pack Marlboro, how many kisses she would give and get if she were to die quietly in bed, in advanced old age. She missed Florence, Naples and Posillipo, Greece and its islands. Sunset in Bosporus.


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