Masked script translated by Shen Yubing

Persona

Bergman: "Masquerade" (full screenplay)

Translated by Shen Yubing

[Bergman's explanation] I don't write screenplays in the usual sense. What I've written seems to be more like the melody line of a piece, which hopefully, with the help of my colleagues, will gradually develop into an orchestral piece during production. In many respects I am unsure, in some respects I don't know. I find the subject I choose to be very grand, and what I write or include in the final film (a nasty idea) is destined to be completely arbitrary. Therefore, I call upon the reader or viewer to use their imagination and freely process the material I have written.

1

I imagined the transparent ribbon of film beams emanating from the projectionist. The markings and images were washed away, leaving only the quivering reflections of the beam from the screen. From the loudspeakers we could only hear the sound of the amplifiers, and the faint sound of uplifted dust was constantly being heard through the recording and playback device.

The light establishes itself and gradually deepens. Disjointed voices and brief fragments of speech, like sparks, began to fall from the ceiling and walls.

Out of this pure white emerged the outline of a cloud, no--a pool of water, no--must be a cloud, no--a leafy tree, no--a moonscape.

The noise spiraled upwards, and all the words (incoherent, distant) began to emerge like the shadows of deep-water fish.

It's not a cloud, it's not a mountain, it's not a small tree covered with tingling, it's a face, its eyes staring straight at the audience. This is Miss Elma's face.

—Have you seen Mrs. Vogler, Miss Alma? Not yet? Maybe a good thing. let's go together. Then I can introduce you. Let me just say briefly about Mrs. Vogler's situation and why you were hired to look after her. It's simple - Mrs. Vogler is an actress (you know that), most recently in Electra. In the second act, she suddenly stopped talking and just stared blankly around, as if looking for something in surprise. She couldn't take promptings from the teleprompter, and she couldn't take cues from other actors. She was just silent for a minute. Then, she continued on, as if nothing had happened. After the show, she apologized to the other cast members and explained that her silence was simply because: "I suddenly wanted to laugh out loud."

- She took off her makeup and went home. She and her husband had a sloppy dinner in the kitchen. They chatted for a while, and Mrs. Vogler mentioned what happened at the show, but only in a hurry, and was a little uneasy.

——The man and his wife each rested after saying goodnight to each other. The next morning people called from the theatre to ask if Mrs. Vogler had forgotten there was a rehearsal. The housekeeper went to Mrs. Vogler and found her still in bed. She woke up, but didn't answer the housekeeper's question, and didn't even move.

- This state has been going on for three months. People put her on various tests. The conclusion couldn't be clearer. As far as we can see, Mrs. Vogler is in perfect health, both mentally and physically. There wasn't even a hint of hysteria. Throughout her career as an artist and an adult, Mrs. Vogler has been jovial and sound. What do you want to ask? In that case, we can go and see Mrs. Vogler.

2

—Good morning, Mrs. Vogler. I'm Elma, hired to look after you for a while.

Mrs Vogler watched her with concern.

—I can tell you something about me if you want. I got my nursing certificate two years ago. I am 25 and already engaged. My parents have a farm in the country. My mother was also a nurse before marriage.

Mrs Vogler listened.

- Let me raise your pillow a little higher so you can be more comfortable.

3

—Then, madam, what do you think?

—I don't know, doctor. Hard to say. I kept looking into her eyes. At first you think her face is so soft, almost childlike, but then you look at her eyes and it's different. I don't know what to say. She stares at you sternly. For a moment I almost wondered if she hated me talking to her. Not that she seemed impatient. No, but I don't get it. maybe i have to...

- Say what you want, miss.

—At one point, I thought I should turn down the job.

- Is there anything that scares you?

- No, I don't want to say that. But I think Mrs. Vogler should probably be looked after by someone older, more experienced, and more experienced in life than I am. I mean, I probably can't get enough of her.

- What does this mean, can't bear it?

--mentally.

--mentally?

—If Mrs. Vogler's reluctance to move was intentional, I think it must be, because she's perfectly healthy...

--Oh?

—Then, she must be determined. I think, no matter who takes care of her, it needs a strong mental strength. I just don't know if I have such power.

—Miss Alma, when I needed someone to look after Mrs. Vogler, I had a long talk with your principal, and she mentioned you all at once. She thinks you're a good fit in every way.

- I'll do my best.

4

Miss Alma had given Mrs. Vogler injections, and had adjusted her pillows, and she had removed the bedside lamp, went to the window, and rolled up the curtains a little. It was already nighttime, but the sky was shining brightly above the forest Yuanxiu in the late autumn. In the sky not far from the cross pane, there is a crescent moon hanging.

— Mrs. Vogler, I think you would like to lie down and watch the night. I can roll up the curtains a little more later. Want to turn on the radio? low? I think there might be some drama going on.

Miss Elma was quick on her feet and walked up and down the room like a gust of wind, but she felt Mrs. Vogler watching her all the time. From the radio, we could hear a muffled woman's voice.

—Forgive me, forgive me, dear, you must forgive me. I just want your forgiveness. Please forgive me so I can breathe again - live again.

The actress's recitation was interrupted by Mrs. Vogler's exuberant, lung-bending laughter. She laughed and laughed until tears welled up in her eyes. Then she fell silent so that she could continue listening. The woman's voice continued tirelessly.

—You know what pity is, you know what is the pain of a mother, the pain of a woman bleeding?

Mrs. Vogler burst into another burst of cheerful laughter. She raised her arm, grabbed Alma's hand, pulled her to the edge of the bed, and reached for the radio's volume control shiveringly. The woman's voice melded into the supernatural.

- Oh God, God, you surround us somewhere in the dark. have mercy on me. You, great love.

Miss Alma turned off the radio and the woman's feeble voice in horror. She looked at Mrs. Vogler with an embarrassed smile, her forehead wrinkled with a voiceless laugh. Mrs. Vogler shook her head slowly and motioned to Miss Alma calmly.

—No, Mrs. Vogler, that sort of thing is not my specialty. I love going to theaters and theaters, but unfortunately, I don't have time to go there often. At night, I am always too tired. although……

- Although I do adore artists, I think art is extremely important in life - especially for those who are in trouble.

Miss Elma said this last sentence with embarrassment and unease. Mrs. Vogler looked at her with concern.

- Do you want me to turn the radio back on? do not want? There might be music. no music? Good night, then, Mrs. Vogler. sleep tight.

She put down the big, moist, veined hand—a heavy, beautiful hand, a hand that seemed older than a younger face. Then, as she left the room, we heard the soft closing of two doors. We heard her say something in the hallway.

In the end, everything was silent.

Elizabeth Vogler rested her head heavily on the pillow. The injections started to work and she was lethargic. In the silence, she listened to her own breath, and found it so strange and yet a fitting companion. Tears welled up in her eyes again, then slowly flowed down the temples and rolled into the tousled clumps of hair. Her soft mouth was half open.

It's getting darker. The trees gradually disappeared into the dark night. She heard distant, deep voices coming toward her own calm breathing. Unintelligible speech, fragments of sentences, some syllables mixed together, or alternated intermittently.

There were still tears in her eyes.

5

Alma began to undress and go to bed.

In her tiny bedroom, she did her chores slowly and slowly. Washed socks.

Watered a pot of conifers of indeterminate species. Unscrew the radio. Yawned several times. Sitting on the edge of the bed in a pair of old-fashioned pajamas.

- You can behave yourself and do whatever you want. I'm going to marry Karl Henrik, have a bunch of kids, and I'm going to bring them up, it's all in my heart, it's all doomed. I don't have to make everything clear, and I don't need to know how they're going to be. It makes me feel very safe. And I also do some work that I love. Work is a good thing - just in a different way. I just don't understand what's going on with Mrs. Vogler.

6

One morning a few days later, Miss Irma found her patient in a marked state of anxiety. On the sheet lay an unopened letter.

—Do you want me to open the letter, Mrs. Vogler?

be affirmed.

- Do you want me to read it?

reaffirmed.

Miss Alma had learned to understand and interpret Mrs. Vogler's facial expressions, and she seldom guessed wrong. She opened the letter and began to read it in a tone that was as impersonal as possible. From time to time, she felt a little hesitant, and the handwriting was difficult to discern. Some words she couldn't recognize at all.

letter:

Dearest Elizabeth. I've been writing since I was forbidden to see you. If you don't want to read my letter, then don't. Anyway, I can't help but want to contact you because I'm tormented by this constant unease and eternal question: Have I hurt you in some way? Did it break your heart without knowing it? Has there been some terrible misunderstanding between us? I've asked myself countless questions with no answers.

As far as I can tell, we've had a great time recently. Of course we've never been this close to each other. Do you remember what I said: I'm just now starting to understand what marriage really means. You taught me (I can't read the word) You taught me (The word is indecipherable) You taught me (Oh, there is) We gotta support each other like two angsts full of kindness and best wishes children, but are dominated (the word must be dominance) by forces we have absolutely no control over.

Do you remember saying this? We were out, walking together in the forest, when suddenly you stopped and grabbed my belt.

Miss Alma paused and looked at Mrs Vogler in dismay. Mrs Vogler sat on the bed with a stiff expression.

- Do you want to continue?

She shook her head.

—You'd better lie down, Mrs. Vogler. Want me to bring you something?

Same as before.

--do not want? Oh, and there's a photo in the letter. photo of your child. Do you like it? He looked in good spirits.

Mrs. Vogler took the picture and stared at it for a long time. Miss Alma stood by the bed, her hands on the edge of the bed. She had already put the letters in the pockets of her apron. Mrs. Vogler tore the photo to shreds, looked at the shreds in disgust, and handed them to Miss Alma.

That night, Miss Elma went to a small local theater, where an old movie starring Elizabeth a few years ago was being played.

8

On the night Miss Elma went to the cinema, a noteworthy episode occurred. Mrs. Vogler (like many other patients) had a television in her room. To the great surprise of many, Mrs. Vogler showed a keen interest in a variety of television shows. The only thing she wanted to avoid was TV theaters.

That night, she was watching a political show. One scene shows a Buddhist monk setting himself on fire in public on the street in protest of the government's religious policies. Watching, Mrs. Vogler suddenly cried out loudly and sharply.

The female doctor came to Mrs. Vogler's room and sat in the visitor's chair.

- Elizabeth, there is no point in your stay in the hospital. I think it's only going to be bad for you. If you don't want to go home, I suggest you move to my summer house by the sea with Miss Elma. There was no one around there. Country is the best doctor, I assure you.

She sat there, thinking, stroking the palm of her hand with her fingernails. Mrs. Vogler was resting in bed, wearing a dove-grey ankle-length robe. She was cutting a pineapple with a sharp knife. Sweat dripped onto her fingers.

—Well, what do you think?

Mrs Vogler looked at her with an apologetic smile. The doctor's expression was as serious as ever.

- You'd better make a decision right away, or you'll regret it for the rest of your life because you keep thinking about it. I have already told Miss Elma about this. She didn't seem very enthusiastic because she had a boyfriend. But when I mentioned that he could live in the visitor's log cabin on his free days, she compromised. Also, we can do something for Miss Elma too. I think she must be saving money for a dowry or something old-fashioned and unpleasant.

Mrs Vogler ate an overripe pear. She spreads her fingers, looks for a napkin, wipes her palms and lips carefully, and then wipes the handle dry.

—Miss Elma is a wonderful little person. She will create a wonderful world for you.

The doctor got up from the chair, went to the bed, and patted Mrs. Vogler on the foot.

- It doesn't matter. Let me know tomorrow or the day after. You better keep something to torture yourself, now, everything else is taken.

Upon hearing this, Mrs. Vogler really looked like she was being tortured.

- Now, you look really tortured! The main problem is that your wounds are never touched carefully.

Mrs Vogler shook her head.

- You know, we gotta touch it. Otherwise, it will only get worse.

Mrs. Vogler closed her eyes as if to shut the doctor out, then raised them carefully again. The doctor is still there.

—I do understand, you know. The desperate dream of existence. Not behavior, just being. Notice and pay attention to every second. At the same time, there is an abyss between you for others and others for you. The swirling sensation and constant burning need to be exposed. In the end, it was seen through, the big things became small, and the small things became small. The tone of every voice is a lie, an act of perfidy. Every gesture is a disguise. Every smile is a grimace. Wife, friend, mother and lover, which character is the worst? Which one is the most painful? Playing an actress with a funny look? Holding the pieces together with an iron fist, making them fit into each other? Where did it crash? Where are you failing? Was it ultimately the role of the mother that broke and failed you? Apparently it wasn't your role in Electra that made you this way. That just gives you a break. She actually keeps you going for a while longer. She's just an excuse for you to play a more subpar role, your "real life role". But when Electra is over, there's nothing left to keep you covered, nothing left to keep you going. There are no excuses. So with your claim to the truth, with your disgust, you were left alone there. suicide? No - it's too dirty to kill myself. But you can stop moving. You can keep silent. So you at least stop lying. You can make yourself battered and shut yourself off. So you no longer have to play characters, put on masks, and make fake poses. That's what you think. However, reality tricks you. Your hiding place is not waterproof enough. Life begins to leak in every way. And you are forced to react. No one has asked if it's true or false, are you true or false. Only in the theater is that an important issue. Even in theaters, people don't ask this question. Elizabeth, I understand that you keep silent and stop moving, and you have to channel this loss of will into an incredible system. I understand that and admire you for it. I think you will continue to play this role until the day you lose interest in it. When you get to the end, you throw it away, just like you throw away any other character.

10

Inexorably, the sound of the film ribbon rattled from the projectionist. It spreads at an astonishing rate of 24 frames per second. Shadows drifted across the snow-white walls. It's magic, of course. But it is unusually sober and ruthless. Nothing can be changed, nothing can be done. It just rolls forward like spring thunder, always with the same cold, unchanging will. Putting a red glass in front of the camera makes the shadow red - however, it doesn't help. Turning the movie upside down or back-to-front makes no difference.

There is only one huge difference. Turn off the button, kill the hissing arc, rewind the film, put it in the case, forget it.

11

Later that summer, Mrs. Vogler and Miss Alma moved into the doctor's summer house. It is situated in a rather remote location, with a long coastline to the north and a steep cliff bay to the west. Behind the house stretched a thicket of heath, and a large forest.

The sea has restored Mrs. Vogler's health. Her indifference in the hospital began to wear off after long walks, fishing trips, cooking, letter writing, and other ways of relaxing. From time to time, though, she would fall into great depression and petrified pain. At such a time, she became immobile, groggy, and refused a thousand miles.

Miss Elma, on the other hand, enjoyed her country life in isolation, and cared for her patients with all her might. For patients, she was meticulous, and she wrote to the doctor in every detail to report the situation.

12

an episode

They sat at a huge white garden table.

Miss Alma was cleaning an edible fungus, and Mrs. Vogler had a fungus chart in front of her, trying to identify the distinctive types. They sat together in the sun and the breeze. It is afternoon. The sea was silver and sparkling.

Mrs. Vogler grabbed Alma's wrist and began to examine her palms, placing hers aside and comparing them.

Alma laughed and drew back her hand.

——Being bigger than the palm will bring misfortune, don't you know?

13

another episode

A calm, sunny day in summer. They set out to sea in a motorboat, turned off the engine, and started sunbathing, both with a book in their hands. Alma broke the silence and caught the eyes of Mrs. Vogler:

—Want me to read something from the book? Will I bother you? "All the anxieties we endure, the disappointing dreams, the cruelty of unforgiveness, the fear of our thoughts of perdition, our harrowing insights into the conditions of existence on earth, have gradually crystallized. our hope for salvation in heaven. The great cry of our faith, and the revolt against darkness and silence, is the most disturbing evidence of our abandonment, and disturbing, unexpressed knowledge."

14

It is early morning. The rain kept hitting the windowsill. Thick clouds piled up, and the sea roared over the bay's jagged reefs.

Two women are sitting at the table in front of the window getting their manicures done.

- People should do something for themselves. I don't think that if I changed, I would become abnormal. But there are a lot of things about me that I don't like.

She glanced at Elizabeth, who was busy fixing her ring finger.

- Of course, I really like my job. Even when I was a kid, I didn't think about other jobs. Really, I love working in the surgery classroom. That's really interesting. I started taking this course this spring.

She interrupted herself. It's not fun at all. But she noticed that Elizabeth Vogler was looking at her with concern. She was a little uneasy at first, but she gained the courage to go on.

- Do something for yourself. My worst habit is being too lazy. It makes me feel uneasy, I am so lazy. Karl Henrik always scolded me for not being aggressive at all. He said I lived like a sleepwalker. However, I don't think this is fair. I'm the top grader in my class. However, I think he was referring to something else.

She smiled and leaned over the table to get the coffee pot. Poured coffee for Mrs. Vogler and myself.

- Do you know my inner desire? There is a home for elderly nurses at the hospital where I trainee. Those who have been nurses all their lives live there. They are always in uniform. They lived in small rooms, lived and died near the hospital. Can you imagine that people's beliefs can dedicate their lives to it?

She took a sip of strong coffee.

Mrs. Vogler leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on the table. She stared intently at Elma's face. For Alma, this is both amusing and disturbing.

- what to believe. Do something and think that your life is meaningful. I am what I love to do. Hold on tight to something, no matter what happens. I think people have to do it. It also means something to others. Don't you think so?

- I know that sounds childish. But I believe this. If you don't...you gotta know. Especially when you are not religious.

She changed her tone, adjusted her bangs, then leaned back on her chair and looked out the window. Just a rough idea: I don't care what the actress is sitting there thinking. Of course, she doesn't think like I do.

- Oh my God, it's raining a lot.

Later in the day. The storm is a little lighter. The two women had already eaten their lunch and were sitting on the high stools of the bar fixed to the walls on either side.

--he is already married. We dated privately for five years. Then he got tired of it. And I fell deep. I really love him. He was also my first love. I remember it clearly, like unforgettable pain. Long lasting pain, then short...

She didn't know what words to use. She was smoking a cigarette nervously, a little not used to it.

—Since you taught me how to smoke, you reminded me. He is always smoking. After thinking about it, it's really boring. You know, like a novel, just real.

She looked at Elizabeth hesitantly. She is smoking quietly. Wait for her to speak.

— Then again, it's not entirely true. I don't know how to explain it. At least, I'm not very real about him. But my experience is completely real. real. However, I guess it's all unclear. That's how things are. Even what we said to each other.

this afternoon. There was a thick, grey, damp silence save for the occasional sound of broken branches. Somewhere a window was open, bringing in the cold swish of salt and salt, and the smell of wet wood soaked in sea water and juniper boats washed by rain. They made a fire in the bedroom fireplace and curled up on Elizabeth's bed, blankets over their laps. Each of them had a glass of sherry within reach. Elma has been drinking a lot. Elizabeth Vogler still looked very concerned. She listened to every word and paid attention to every movement. Elma began to become less and less self-aware, less inattentive, more and more ecstatic that someone (for the first time in her life) would be so interested in herself.

—Many people have said that I am a good listener. That's ridiculous, right? I mean, no one wants to take the trouble to listen to me. I mean, as you are doing now, you are listening to me. You look very nice. I think you were the first to hear me talk. That can't be particularly interesting, right? And you sat upright and listened to what I went on and on. You could have read this book. God, where did I say that? I hope I didn't bore you? It's nice to be able to talk.

Elizabeth Vogler shook her head and smiled softly, her cheeks flushed slightly.

- No, everything feels so warm and cozy now, I feel it, and I've never felt this way in my life.

She paused and laughed. Elizabeth laughed with her and touched her face gently like a big sister. Elma drank the glass in one go.

- I've always wanted a sister, but all I have is a bunch of brothers, seven in all. Funny, isn't it? I am the youngest. Ever since I can remember, I have always been surrounded by brothers big and small. It's always been fun, though. I like boys.

Her expression became a little weird, and she suddenly burst out with the urge to tell. Hidden magical experience.

- Of course, from your own experience, you know all that. You're an actress and you've been through so much. Of course you know that, don't you?

Elizabeth Vogler looked at her in horror.

- I like Karl-Henrik a lot - well, maybe you've only been in love once. I'm being honest with him, of course. Otherwise, in our work, something else could have happened..., dare I say it. Not that one.

She thought for a moment, poured more sherry for herself and Elizabeth, then leaned against the wall with a sigh and straightened the bangs on her forehead.

- That was last summer. Karl-Henrique and I went on vacation with me. It was in June and we felt pretty lonely. One day he went to town and it was stuffy and hot, so I went to the beach. There is also a girl sunbathing there. She lives on a nearby island and canoeed to our beach, which faces south and is much more secluded.

Elizabeth looked at her and nodded. Alma realized this fact quickly, almost with a shy smile. She put the glass back on the bedside table. She touched her bare forehead again.

- We lay there almost naked sunbathing, fell asleep for a while, woke up and touched a little more sunscreen. We both had big straw hats over our faces, you know, the big, cheap ones. Mine also has a blue ribbon. Sometimes I look through my straw hat at the landscape, the sea, and the sun. That's just so much fun. Then, I saw two figures jumping to the rock well above us. From time to time they hide and peep at us from behind the rocks. "There's a bunch of boys peeking at us," I said to the girl. Her name is Katarina. "Let them see," she said, and rolled over on her back. It was such a strange feeling. I kept trying to get up and put on my bathrobe, but I just kept lying on my belly with my hips high, not embarrassed at all, and surprisingly calm.

Katarina had been lying beside me, showing her tiny breasts and thick thighs, and her dark, thick clumps of hair. She lay motionless, only giggling occasionally. I saw the boys approaching. Now, they are not afraid at all. They stood there looking at us and didn't even want to hide. They were all very young, about sixteen.

Alma lit a cigarette. Her hands were shaking and she could hardly breathe. Elizabeth Vogler remained motionless, almost as if to hide. She just shook her head when Elma handed her a cigarette.

—One of the boys, bolder, walked up to Katarina and squatted down. He pretended to be busy with his feet, then sat down, fiddling with his toes. I started to feel sweaty, but I still lay on my back with my hands on my head and my face buried in my straw hat. Then I heard Katarina say, "Why don't you come closer?" She grabbed the boy's hand, pulled him toward her, and helped him take off his shorts and shirt.

Suddenly he was on top of her and she was helping him, wrapping her arms around his thin, hard ass. Another boy sat on the slope and stared blankly. Katarina laughed and said something in the boy's ear. I saw his flushed face. So I turned around and suddenly said to the other boy, "Why didn't you come?" Katarina laughed and said, "Leave, now you go to her." He came out of her, hard The ground fell on me, he grabbed one of my breasts, I screamed because he hurt me, and I was almost ready, ready, can you believe it? I was just about to say be careful and don't let me have a baby when he came and I could feel it and I've never felt it in my life before or after this how he shot at me . He grabbed my shoulders and pulled them back, and it felt like it was never going to end. It was hot and big, and it was coming at me again and again. Katarina looked at us on her side, wrapping her arms around his underside from behind, and when he finished, she hooked him with both hands, her body heaving with his hands. When she was about to arrive, she screamed desperately. Then we laughed together, all three of us, and called another boy, and that boy was Peter. He trudged down the slope, looking dazed and frozen in the sun. When he got closer, we found he looked like he was about 13 or 14 years old. Katarina unbuttoned him and played with him, and he sat there, serious and quiet, while she stroked him and put him in her mouth. Then he started kissing her back and she turned to him, grabbed his head with both hands, and gave him her tits. Another boy got so excited he and I started again. It came quickly and was just as good for me as the first time. Later, we took a shower, and then we left. When I got home, Karl-Henrik had long since returned from town. We had dinner and drank some wine. Then went to bed. We have never had such a good time between us, not in the past, not in the future...

night. The storm has stopped. The waves hit the rocky beach. Otherwise, everything is quiet. The lighthouse was on, shaking its arc into the night sky.

- Then, I got pregnant, of course. Karl Henrik was studying medicine and he took me to a friend of his and had an abortion. We're all glad we got rid of it so easily. We don't want any children. Not just then, not at any time.

Suddenly, Elma burst into tears. A bewildering sip, full of pleasure. Elizabeth Vogler put her large hand on Alma's. Alma sighed and tried to speak, but gave up the idea of ​​searching for words.

- It's inappropriate, when you start thinking, everything leaves you. Immoral thoughts on all of this are irrelevant. Can you see what I mean? Can you change someone completely? In close connection, at the same moment? Then, with everything you believed, what happened suddenly? Does it matter? Oh, that's so stupid. No way, no reason to scream like an owl. Wait, I have to blow my nose.

She blew her nose, wiped her tears, looked around and smiled unnaturally.

- It is very late. Think about what else I will do. I talk about myself all day and you just listen and listen. You must be bored. My life cannot possibly interest you. It's you that people should like.

Elizabeth smiled in surprise. Alma cleared her throat. She found it difficult to clear her mind. Also, she was completely exhausted and overexcited.

—The night I went to see your movie, I stood in front of the mirror and thought, "We're a lot alike" (laughs). Don't get me wrong. You are much more beautiful. However, in a sense we are very similar. I think I can make myself into you. If I really want to. I mean the heart. Don't you think so?

She thought about the idea again. Then, rather unhappily and tragically:

——Of course, you have no difficulty in becoming me. You can do it like that. Of course, your soul will be a little bit out of the way because it's too big and mine is too small. That seems to get weird.

Alma put her heavy head on the table, raised her hands on top of her head, and yawned.

—You better go to bed, or you will fall asleep on the table, Mrs. Vogler said in a calm, clear voice.

Elma didn't respond at first, but soon she realized that Elizabeth was talking to her. She sat up straight and stared at the sea outside the window, speechless.

- Yes, I'll go to bed now. Otherwise, I'm definitely going to fall asleep on the table. That must be uncomfortable.

15

Elma had a peculiar experience that night. She slept soundly for a few hours, and finally woke up because of the urgency of urination. Dawn was breaking, and the seabirds swooped down into the bay screaming. She crept into the walkway, rounded the corner, and disappeared into a few juniper bushes. She squatted down there and urinated with pleasure for a long time, still half awake and half asleep. When she entered the room, she shivered a few times and felt a little unwell. But soon a new drowsiness struck, and she fell back into a deep sleep.

Someone was walking around the house and she was woken up. A white figure flashed silently past the door. She was a little frightened at first, but she realized right away that it was Elizabeth who had come to see her.

For some reason, Elma didn't say anything. She lay there motionless, her eyes half-closed. After a while, Elizabeth came to her bed in a long white nightgown and a small crocheted cardigan. She bent over to Alma. Gently kissed her face with her lips. Her long hair draped over her forehead, covering their faces.

16

The next morning they sat knitting together, which was a joy to both of them.

- Elizabeth...

——?

-I want to ask you some questions. Did you talk to me last night?

Elizabeth smiled and shook her head.

—Did you come to my room last night?

Still smiling, she shook her head. Alma bent deeply over their braids.

17

Miss Elma drove an old-fashioned car along the windy, rough forest road. She was going down the mountain to send some letters to the town post office. One of them was written by Mrs. Vogler to the doctor. It was lying on top of the pile of letters in the front seat with the envelopes facing up.

Alma knew it wasn't sealed. She pulled the car to a fork, pulled the glasses out of her handbag, and opened the envelope.

letter

Darling, this is the day I should always live. Be silent, cut off from the world, have few desires, and feel how a broken heart finally begins to calm down again. I'm returning to basic, long-forgotten feelings, the pre-dinner excitement of a ravenous hungry man, the childish drowsiness at night, the curiosity about a fat spider, and the joy of walking barefoot. I am empty and stubborn. Floating in a gentle half-awake, half-sleeping mid-air. I have realized a new health, an unbridled joy. Surrounded by the sea, I live in a cradle like a fetus in the womb. No, no more longing, not even longing to see my little son. But, of course, I know he's all right, and that calms me down.

Elma is a good person, a real boredom reliever. She looked after me and pampered me in the most touching way. She has a certain powerful yet totally worldly sensibility that pleases me. Her agility is both uplifting and relaxing. Of course, her biological nature was part of my curiosity. I think she's very happy and very attached to me, actually kind of in love with me, albeit in an unconscious and graceful way. It's been a lot of fun studying her personality. She is quite "educated" and has many opinions on morality and life, even a little stubborn. I encouraged her to talk and benefited a lot. Sometimes she weeps over past sins (an episode with an orgy with a strange teen, plus an abortion). She complained that her insights about life did not fit in with her actions.

In any case, she trusted me and told me all about her troubles. As you can see I grabbed everything, as long as she didn't notice it, it didn't matter...

Alma has been reading the letter slowly, excitedly, sometimes with long pauses. She got out of the car, took a few steps, sat on a rock, and stood up again.

So treacherous.

Later that day, she came back saying the car broke down and she had to go to a repair shop.

18

On an autumn morning, the air is fresh, and it has the mildness of summer. A bright beam of light hit the terrace stones and the uneven cobblestones of the path. Miss Elma was up early as usual (her room faces east). She went into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of orange juice, held the glass in her right hand, and tiptoed barefoot into the bright sunshine. She sat down on the lowest step and drank the orange juice slowly. She had to narrow her eyes as she watched the dazzling mirror-like reflection of the sea from a distance.

She put the empty glass aside, then knocked it over as she searched for her sunglasses in the pocket of her bathrobe. Shards of glass were strewn all over the steps and paths.

She froze, with a very unpleasant gesture. Then, she muttered to herself, brought the broom and the fen dustpan, and carefully cleaned all the broken glass, which was both careful and laborious. She squatted down, picked it up with her fingers, looked around carefully, everything seemed to have been resolved, and then emptied the debris in the fne dustbin into the trash can. Then she came to the steps again, lit a cigarette, and watched the life of the bugs on the cobblestone path through her sunglasses.

Suddenly, among the small stones of the path, she saw the reflection of a large, irregular piece of glass. It was a shard of glass at the bottom of the cup, with a jagged point raised high. She stretched out her hand, but her hand stopped halfway.

She heard Mrs. Vogler moving about the room.

After thinking about it, she picked up a magazine, put on her wooden slippers, and opened a folded chaise longue on the patio. The sharp point of the broken glass was just a few steps to her right, gleaming on the side of her sunglasses. She flipped open the magazine, which was gray under the sunglasses, and had a few colored pages.

Elizabeth Vogler came to the steps too, her little coffee mug in her hand. She wore a short top over her yukata and had bare feet. She put the cup on the garden table and kept walking up and down the cobblestone path. The first time to move a chair, then a rake against the wall.

Every now and then, her feet came very close to the broken glass.

Then she lay down beside her coffee and book. Everything is silent.

Miss Elma got up and went to her room to put on a bathrobe.

When she came out again, Elizabeth Vogler crouched on the steps, pulling the broken glass from under her left foot. Blood came out of the wound at once.

Miss Alma stood motionless for a moment, and she met Mrs. Vogler's gaze without batting an eyelid.

19

A cold, sunny morning. Elizabeth Vogler looked around the room for Miss Elma. Just no sign of her. She went back to the place where they bathed. There was no one there either. She went back to the garage again. The car is parked there. The branches creaked and grumbled, and the shadow of a large cloud passed over the moss. The north wind was blowing, and the waves roared in the bay.

When she returned to the terrace, Elma was standing there with her back against the wall, overlooking the sea.

Elizabeth walked towards her. Alma turned her face, wearing a pair of sunglasses.

-Have you seen my new sunglasses? I bought it in town yesterday.

Elizabeth went into the house, looking for her cardigan and book. came out again. When she came to Elma, she touched her face again, very lightly. Alma let it go, still leaning against the wall quietly. Elizabeth sat down on a large wicker chair.

—I saw that you were reading a play. I will tell the doctor. This is a good sign.

Elizabeth raised her head and looked at Alma with inquiring eyes. Then he started to read for himself.

- Maybe we can leave soon. I already miss the city a little bit. How about you, Elizabeth?

Elizabeth shook her head.

- Can you do something for me? I know this is asking too much, but with your help I can do something.

Elizabeth looked up from her book. She had been paying attention to Elma's tone, and suddenly there was a shadow of fear in her eyes.

- It's not dangerous. But I do want you to talk to me. I don't mean to say anything special. For example, we can talk about the weather. Or what we have for dinner, or whether the sea will get colder after the storm. It's so cold we can't jump in there or something. Can't we just talk for a few minutes? Just a few minutes? Or you can read me your book. Just say a few words.

Alma was still standing against the wall, her head tilted slightly forward, her sunglasses slid over the wings of her nose.

—It's not easy to live with someone who doesn't say anything, I have to say. It will destroy everything. I can't stand listening to Karl Henrik on the phone anymore. He sounded so fake. I can't talk to him anymore, it's so unnatural. You can only hear your own voice, nothing else. You think "don't distort my voice." That's all my words. You see, now I'm talking to you, I can't stop talking, but I hate talking because I still can't say what I want. And you keep things simple, you just keep your mouth shut. No, I can't get mad. You don't say anything, that's your business, I know. But now, I need you to talk to me. Please, can't you tell me something? Even a little bit? It was almost unbearable.

A long pause. Elizabeth shook her head. Alma smiled, as if trying to restrain herself from crying.

- I know you will say no. Because you don't know how I feel. I always thought that great artists have enormous empathy for others. Thought...they created something out of great compassion for people, out of a need to help people. I am so silly.

She took off her sunglasses and put them in her pocket. Elizabeth sat there, deeply disturbed, but motionless.

- Take advantage of it and throw it away. You've been using me - I don't know why - and now you don't need me anymore, you've thrown me away.

Alma wanted to go back to the house, but stopped at the door, and she burst into a howl.

—Yes, I know, I can hear clearly how fake it all is. "You don't need me anymore, you've ditched me." That's what happened to me. every word. And these sunglasses!

She smashed the glasses out of her pocket and threw them on the patio. Then she sat down on the steps.

- No, I just got hurt, that's all. I'm exhausted, sad, desperate. You are so cruel to me. You keep laughing at me. You are a demon, a complete demon. People like you should be shot. Come to think of it, I read your letter to the doctor in which you laughed at me. Come to think of it, I did it, it's open, it's here, I never sent it, I tell you, I actually read the letter. You forced me to say it. It was you who asked me to say things I never told anyone. And you dismissed it gently. How abhorrent your actions are. Is not it? You can't do that - you can't!

She stood up suddenly, grabbed Elizabeth's arms, and began shaking her desperately.

- Now, you can speak. What have you - now, my God, I'm going to let you talk to me!

Aided by the sudden shock of force, Elizabeth pulled away and slapped Alma with the back of her hand. The blow was quite heavy, causing Elma to stumble and almost fall. But she immediately regained her balance and charged towards Elizabeth, who spat on her face. And Elizabeth hit her again, this time on the mouth. She bled immediately. Alma looked around. She saw a handful of thermos on the table, grabbed it, pulled the stopper, and poured boiling water on Elizabeth's face.

- No, stop! (Elizabeth screams, and crouches face down in terror.)

Alma stopped, her anger diverted, and she stood there for a while, looking at Elizabeth. Alma's lips and nose were bleeding. She wiped her face with her hands, looking ugly.

—Ah, at least you're finally scared, aren't you? At that moment, you may be absolutely sincere. A genuine fear of death. Elma is crazy, you think. What kind of person are you, you? Or you're just thinking "I'm going to remember that face. That look. That tone of voice." I'll give you something you can't forget.

She suddenly waved her arm to grab Elizabeth's face. Then, something shocking happened. The actress begins to laugh.

--now it's right. lol. Things are not that simple for me. Not so much fun either. However, you can always laugh.

She went into the bathroom and rinsed her mouth and nose with cold water. After a while, the bleeding basically stopped. She pulled a wad of cotton to plug her nose. I combed my hair, feeling exhausted and yawning constantly.

When she reappeared, Elizabeth was standing in the middle of the kitchen, drinking coffee from a large mug. She handed it to Elma, who took a greedy gulp. Then, the two women started busy in the kitchen.

As Elizabeth passed by, Alma stopped her and grabbed her by the wrist.

-Does it have to be like this? Is it really that important not to lie and always keep a sincere tone? Is this necessary? Can you really live without speaking? Say something boring, forgive yourself, lie a little, avoid something? I know you stopped talking because you were tired of all the roles you played, every one of which you played perfectly. But wouldn't it be better to make yourself stupid, sloppy, and nagging? Don't you think you could have been better if you let yourself be yourself?

Elizabeth smiled sarcastically.

--Do not. You don't even understand what I mean. A person like you cannot understand this. The doctor said you were mentally intact. I even doubt that it would be better if you were crazy. You are playing with health. And you did it so perfectly that everyone believed in you. Everyone believes in you, except me. Because only I know how rotten you are.

Elma came from the kitchen to the patio. The sun was on top, shining directly into her eyes, burning her tearful eyes with a dull pain. She was smoking and shivering on this sunny, cold afternoon.

- What am I doing? (she mutters to herself)

She saw Elizabeth walking toward the beach, taking big, firm steps. She threw away the cigarette butt and ran after it. Calling "Elizabeth, wait!" and chasing after him. She caught up with her and walked side by side with her.

—Elizabeth, please forgive me, if you may. I was like a fool just now. I mean, I'm here to help you. I don't understand what's wrong with me. You make me look like an idiot. You must forgive me. It must be because of that horrible letter. It is only when I think about it that it is possible for me to write an equally wicked letter about you. But I am so disappointed. You want me to talk about myself. I've been drinking so much and you're so kind, so kind, and understanding, and it's nice to have a chance to talk. Also, I guess I'm a little spoiled that a great actress like you would be interested in me. I guess I almost hope that what I've said will be of some use to you. People are funny, aren't they? This is pure bragging. It's just that that's not what I really wanted to say. Elizabeth, you have to forgive me anyway. Because I love you so much, you mean so much to me. You taught me so much and now I don't want us to be enemies. do you understand?

Elma stopped, trying to get Elizabeth's attention, but she continued walking forward indifferently and disappeared into the rocks by the sea. Alma screamed angrily behind her.

- No, you don't want to forgive me. You will not forgive me either. You are very proud, aren't you? You won't show me humiliation because you don't have to. I'm not going - I don't want to go!

She was still screaming angrily, but only her own voice could be heard, the listless humiliated tone of her voice morphing into a moan of pain. She sat down on a rock and let the cold wind blow her mind and let herself pile on the weight of the sea.

20

Alma went back into the house.

It was dusk, the sun was gradually sinking in the thick fog, and the sea became very quiet. A cold fog filled the coastline. Warnings reporting heavy fog came from afar.

A desire for revenge and anxieties of powerlessness built up within her; she felt restless, nauseous, and went to bed without eating anything.

After a few hours of groggy sleep, she was awakened by a feeling of paralysis—a stiff feeling rushing to and fro in her lungs and then groping her heart. The fog passed through the open window, and a turquoise-grey floated in her room.

She successfully raised her hand to reach for the bedside lamp—but there was no light.

A small radio was chattering to itself. A faint sound can be heard from a distance.

- don't talk, don't listen, don't understand - what means are we - we persuade - listen. Actually - excluded. These constant calls—

The sound was drowned out in a powerful distraction. Then, silence, only the fog alarm loomed in the distance.

Suddenly, someone called. It's a man's voice. He cried, "Elizabeth!"

Alma managed to get to the floor, closed the window, and walked down the corridor to Elizabeth's room.

She found it was grey and half-dark here too.

Elizabeth was lying on her back on the bed. She was pale, with dark circles under her eyes. Her breathing was barely noticeable. Her mouth was half open, like a dead man.

Alma bent to her, touched her neck, forehead, took her pulse. The pulse is weak but normal.

Her own lips were so close to the sleeping woman's face that she could feel her breath. She touched her chin lightly and closed her mouth.

- When you fall asleep, your face is loose and your lips are swollen and unsightly. You already have a damn wrinkle on your forehead, and it won't be long before you'll have no more secrets. Your eyes will never be bright again—now, you're just a helpless, exposed pile of fat. You exude sleep and breathing, and I can see the veins on your neck. You still have a scar there, from the surgery, and you always cover it up with makeup. Now, he was there calling out again. I'm going to see what he wants from us. in our isolated place.

Alma left the sleeping woman and searched the rooms one by one. She came to the back of the house. Come to the garden.

She heard someone talking behind her back, and turned around in dismay. She saw the figure of a tall, 50-year-old man. He smiled awkwardly at her.

- I'm sorry if I scare you.

—I am not Elizabeth.

Alma caught a glimpse of the figure behind the man, Mrs. Vogler, looking at her with a slight, mocking smile.

—The absolute limit of pain...my letters...all those words...I'm not asking for anything...

The man was still uneasy. Elma felt a creepy rage at the strip-shattering humiliation. The whole time, Mrs. Vogler's secret smile was in the shadows, and the man put his hand on her shoulder.

- I don't want to bother you, don't think I don't understand. The doctor explained many things to me. (He smiles gloomily) The hardest thing is to explain to your—younger son. However, I am doing my best. Some things are deeper and harder to see clearly.

He looked at her with an expression of uncertainty, surrender. Thin lips twitched. He was trying to summon up his courage.

- You are in love with someone else, or you can say that you are in love with someone else. It's something you can control, as easy to understand as words. I mean……

—Mr. Vogler, I am not your wife.

- so you are loved. You form a small society. It gives you a sense of security and you see a path to endure, don't you? Oh! How can I say anything I've thought about without feeling lost? How can you say it without boring you?

Elma could always see Mrs Vogler's face and her smile. Alma heard herself speak with a false tenderness.

- I love you as much as ever.

--I believe you.

There were tears in the man's eyes, and his lips were very close to hers.

—I have always believed in you so much, sincere and a little childish. People are looking for each other, trying to understand each other, trying to leave themselves behind.

But Alma defended herself with her phony voice.

- Don't worry so much, dear. We all have each other. We all trust each other. We know what each other thinks and we love each other. It's all true, isn't it?

Mrs. Vogler's face became serious, almost numb with the transferred pain. Still, Mr. Vogler went on.

- Understand each other like two children. Hurt, helpless and lonely child. The important thing is effort, right? not what we get.

He fell silent, wiping his eyes in shame with his hand. Alma tried to cheer herself up. Her voice was stiff and false.

—Told our little son that mom was going home soon, she had been ill and had been looking forward to seeing him. Don't forget to buy something for him. It's a gift from mom, don't forget it.

—You know, I feel so tender to you, Elizabeth. Almost unbearable. I really don't know what to do with it.

Alma answered him in a harsh tone.

- I live by your gentleness.

Behind the man, Elizabeth Vogler grimaced in disgust. Now he leaned towards Alma, then kissed her lips, stroked her breasts, and murmured some kind, affectionate words.

The tolerance limit has not been reached:

- Do you like being with me? Can't you be with me?

—You are a great lover, my dear. You know this, my love.

--Dear. Elizabeth, my love.

Now, she couldn't take it any longer, it struck, she whispered, her face against his, her forehead against his ear:

- Give me something to numb my senses, or kill me, kill me, I can't do it anymore, I can't. Don't touch me, shame, hypocrisy, it's all fake, a lie. Go away, I'm poisonous, crazy, icy, rotten. Why can't you let me die, I don't have the courage.

All this is said in a fairly well-controlled voice. Mrs. Vogler, who was hiding behind her husband, left with a tired expression on her face.

Mr. Vogler took Alma into his arms, hugged her tightly, and comforted her. He touched her forehead, shoulders, squeezed her clenched fist. In a vulgar, desperate voice, he murmured something meaningless and completely untrue. Tears-free, burning eyes stared at her unfamiliar lips.

Mrs. Vogler turned her face to the audience in the dark, and said in a firm, almost hoarse voice:

—Language, like emptiness, loneliness, strangeness, pain and helplessness, has lost its meaning.

twenty one

Alma stood alone, her pulse beating fast. She turned towards the house and entered a room she had never seen before, a glass balcony room with a sleepy paraffin chandelier hanging from the ceiling. In the center of the room is a large table. At the table sat Elizabeth Vogler, in Alma's uniform.

Alma went to the table and sat down opposite her. After a long silence, Elma said:

- Now, I have learned a lot.

- Learned a lot. (Mrs. Vogler said)

Elma put her right hand on the table, palm up. Elizabeth watched intently, then raised her left hand, also on the table, palm up.

This procedure was repeated several times, and the tense atmosphere gathered. Alma's eyes were hazy with tears, but she tried her best to restrain herself.

- Let's see how long I can hold on. (she exclaims)

—How long can you hold on... (Mrs. Vogler replies)

Alma pinched her bare hands with her fingernails. A narrow bloodstain immediately appeared. Elizabeth leaned forward, sucking with her lips. Elma buried her hand in Elizabeth's bushy hair and pressed her face tightly against her arm. She had to throw herself all over the table.

- I will never be like you. (She whispers quickly.) I change the time. Nothing is meant to be, everything is in constant motion and you can do what you like. You will never try to catch up with me.

When Elizabeth relaxed and looked up, Elma puffed out her cheeks like a child blowing a balloon, and let the air puff out of her lips. Elizabeth shook her head in horror, then stuck out her tongue with a look of contempt and cruelty.

Not being able to think of anything else to do, they simply stared at each other's faces, both of them looking bored and sullen.

Then, Alma realized that Elizabeth Vogler was doing her best to keep her composure. She moved her lips, as if to say something, and the words seemed to be rushed out. It's just that the voice wasn't hers, nor Alma's, but a weak, anxious voice, weak and vague.

— perhaps a form of transgression, a shadow of despair. Or something else, it all came together. No, not introverted. It should be, though, and that's where I am. Yes, you can shout, or cut your thigh.

The noise is getting lower and lower. Elizabeth Vogler spoke as if to fall down on the table, then slumped to the floor. Alma grabbed her hands and held them tightly.

—colors, sudden swings, unreasonable distaste for pain, and then a whole lot of words. I (nominative), I (accusative), we (nominative), we (accusative), no, what is that, where is the closest, where can I catch what?

Alma held her hands tightly and stared into her eyes. She was shaking all the time, feeling frustrated and helpless. The old whimper continued, turning into an unpleasant scream.

——Never fail when it should fail, but suddenly when it shouldn't. No, no, this is another light, crossed with each other, and none can protect themselves.

Alma pressed her chest against the table. Mrs. Vogler interrupted the garrulous monologue, raised her eyes, looked at Alma's torn, ruined face and stiff, huddled shoulders, and broke free with all her might, as if she had once been. Chained to a dead body. However, Elma still held her wrist tightly.

twenty two

At this moment, the projector should stop. The movie is reassuringly interrupted, or someone drops the curtain by mistake; or there might be a small short circuit and the theater is pitch black. Only this is not true. I think the shadows should continue their game, even if a cheery blip cuts through our discomfort. Perhaps they no longer need the help of mechanical devices, projectors, film, soundtracks. They strike our senses, sink deep into our retinas, and vibrate our eardrums powerfully. Is this the case? Or am I just imagining that these shadows have a power, their rage can survive without the help of the screen, this horribly precise march of 24 frames per second, 27 meters per minute.

Now, Elma sees:

There is a picture under Mrs. Vogler's right palm. Alma moved her hand away. The photo, which was torn in half, was of Elizabeth's 4-year-old son. It was a soft, hesitant child's face, a small, fair-skinned man with two long, thin, white legs.

The two women stared at the photo for several minutes. Then, Alma began to speak, slowly, word by word.

- Nothing is harder than this, right?

Elizabeth shook her head.

- Can we talk about him?

Elizabeth affirmed.

- At a party. It was late, but there was still a lot of noise. It was sometime in the wee hours of the morning when someone said "As a woman and as an artist, Elizabeth Vogler has it all." "What's still missing?" I asked. "You're not a mother yet." I laughed because I thought the whole idea was absurd. But, after a while, I found myself thinking about this question every now and then. I felt more and more disturbed, so I asked my husband to give me a baby. I want to be a mother.

long silence. Torn photos lie on the table. The paraffin chandelier flickered, and the shadows in the room began to move. Elma went on to say:

—Hence, actress Elizabeth Vogler became pregnant. When I realized this, it was irreversible and I was terrified. isn't it?

Elizabeth tilted her head.

——Fear of taking responsibility, of being dragged over, of being kicked out of the theater, of the pain of childbirth, of dying in childbirth, of being bloated and unsightly. However, I have always played that role...

Elizabeth turned her eyes away.

- the role of a happy young mother. Everyone said, "She's pregnant, isn't she pretty? She's never been so pretty!"

Elizabeth tried to say something, but was unsuccessful.

- At the same time, you try to knock yourself out a few times by yourself. But it didn't work. Finally, you go to the doctor. He realized it was too late. When I found out that there was no other way out, I got sick and started to hate the child and hoped it would be a stillbirth.

- The labor pains were long and unbearable, and I was in severe pain for days and nights. Finally, the child came out with pliers. Elizabeth Vogler looked at her lame, wailing child with disgust and horror. When alone with her firstborn, she kept hoping and meditating:

- Can't you die now, can't you die?

—I thought about what it would be like to kill a kid, suffocate him with a pillow, like it was an accident, or hit his head on the radiator. However, he made it through.

Elizabeth Vogler's head rested on her hands, her body shivering with a quiet twitch. Alma sat in the same posture, speaking silently in her heart. The picture of the soft, hesitant-looking boy lay there, and no one had touched it.

——This child is alive, as if to despise me on purpose. I was forced to hold this difficult, shivering creature in my arms, my breasts throbbing from lack of milk. I had boils on my tit

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