Ivana Sajko

EUROPA

A monologue for Mother Europa and her children

(2004)

 

 

I haven’t forgotten you, Colonel.
I remember the day I first saw your face. I was sitting with some friends of mine, talking fuck all, fooling around, making eyes, trying to look grown up, get married, bear children and stay slim. We recognised you at once. You were not like the other soldiers, who would loiter with their shaved heads, hands in pockets, waiting for us to notice them - patiently, as they had been trained. You were unlike the civilian gentlemen either, who blabbered about scooters and poured vodka and juice upon us. They said that you had what it takes. I had no idea what it means to have what it takes. A load of cash? A peerage? A secret weapon? In any case, you had more than the others, for both the army and the civilians withdrew. The pack stepped aside for you. We giggled stupidly. You should have taken the spoils. You sized us up slowly and deliberately - like so many horses for your stable. You stared. I lowered my gaze. I heard footsteps. I thought: It can’t be, but you were approaching... me. Me! Your hair was already greying, your chest was full of medals, your metal jaw clanking softly as you spoke.
The clanking reminded me of change in the pocket.
Of putting strings of pearls around my neck.
Of jingle bells, transient like your victories.
I fell for you at first sight, I knew for my friends told me that being in love is recognised by the weakness in the knees and butterflies in the stomach. And in your presence I felt sick to my stomach, went weak in the knees and my ears turned red. My first thought was: Fear; but my friends whispered: Love; my parents said: Love; and my stomach wailed some melody as if it too were singing: Love love love... Your language was coarse and simple, precise like the orders you gave. You had what it takes and it was pointless to waste time.
You asked:
What do you want?
I chirped:
Everything.
You replied:
Done.
All for love.
Did I misunderstand? Disbelief tied my tongue. Then my friends as well, then the assorted Valentinos, then the parents, the media... Can it be that of all those but all those women scratching at your uniform with red polished finger-nails you’re taking me: prone to obesity and tongue-tied with wonder?
You said:
Come with me.
I asked:
Where to?
With me.
But where to?
I told you.
You didn't told me, but I came running all the same. I wanted to be the horse you’re going to ride upon beneath the victory arch. Pose upon for the papers. Slap on the back. A good horse to make his master proud. The kick of your boot in my side was a signal to carry out orders:
GET UP!
I get up.
LIE DOWN!
I fall down.
SPEAK!
I start to bullshit.
SHUT UP!
I clam up.
ADJUST!
No problem.
PERSIST!
As long as you wish.
COWER!
Whatever you want, just give me what it takes, a body-guard, a house-maid, a large terrace, good neighbours, invitations to fashion shows, winters in the south and summers in the snow, a dish-washer, a lot of pocket money, a metallic grey car and a matching cell- phone.
And a little love.
No one should see.
ON YOUR KNEES, EUROPA, THERE IS A WAR AND THERE AIN’T NO TIME FOR LOVE!
Did you fuck me or beat me?
I never could tell.
Everything has a price.