Time: I am called Time. I do not carry lies or scissors. I cut nothing. I have neither the bald pate nor the white beard, which, according to your images, should descend to my navel. I do not age. Who else can say that? Eh? I ask that question: Who, in all this assembly, who can claim to be the same tomorrow what they are today? And in ten days? In ten months? In ten years? Who can even boast that the will survive that long? I. I alone do not change. I alone remain.
‍
On the great stage of the world, I never appear, because I do not know the moment. But I am everywhere. But I act, I act like hell.:
White hair, painful paralyzed fingers, curved backs, swollen dangling skin there and there, and there, there: Time.
‍
Panic of the aging woman; the fear and desire of the teenager, impatient to sow his wild oats; the immobilizing boredom of middle age: Time.
And the lover sneers at a faded picture which arises from a cardboard box on moving day.
And the veterans of the last war retell their exploits in front of a circle that each month shrinks because of another recruitment.
And weary parents do not even know if they rejoice at the departure of their children and their own loneliness.
And the schoolteacher discovers that her words corrupt: Time. Death itself, the unbearable death that made you cry, ranks one day in the framework of memories and radiates sweetness: Time. Is it you, is it really you who pronounced those words that you denounced in others, only, with a sublime lightness? Don’t look too far for the reasons that put the speech from your ass into your head. Who played his part while you thought you were the boss? Time.
And you who have remained faithful, as the saying goes, did you not sense that the flow of the river, day after day, the sediments in which you were taking root? You rest there on the shore like a withered tree that the water will never visit again: Time.
‍
Ah, if the fancy took me, I could take up residence here, telling my charms and harms, doing nothing, everything on hold. I love that. I have no time to lose or save. I am not stingy with myself and I have nothing to lose.
But life is getting impatient and it’s her that I love. I don’t want to upset her. It was she that through me into this assembly to fulfill my office: she forgot I was a loudmouth, the delicious pleasure for me to sink my lips into the honey of my philosophical musings, me, Time, me who is always talking and never listening.
Well, in short, get it over with, dear spectators, my office today is to present you with the principle characters of the play you are about to watch.

First, here is our king, Richard the cripple. He is strong. He is young, determined, violent, cunning, ambitious, fragile underneath like everyone else. He dominates the world and soon the universe. But he limps.

Richard crosses the stage and exits.

His mother, Catherine Ragone, hurricane and whore all mixed up. Catherine, the Queen mother, daughter of Filippo Ragone, known as the Moron, the widow of Francis Premier dead in Azerbaijan, lover of Robert Houle, a friend of her son. I know where she’s going but I’m not going to tell. That would ruin the fun.

And here’s the rival family, the offspring of the old Roberge, the king of gold, Prince of Abitibi. These are the Roberge women, in mourning for their sister Angela, who was married to Filippo Ragone known as the Moron: Emma Roberge, who is simply called Madame Roberge. She is difficult. And, beside her, Judith Roberge, widow of Peter Williams, a Methodist preacher who found a way to have himself eaten by the last cannibals of Amazonia one year ago. People say she’s crazy. Perhaps she is. Is it crazy to live without giving up hope, pain and the asphyxiating joys of the past?

Judith wanders across the stage and exits.

Her children: Annie and Roy Williams. Beware of Roy. He knows the deal. When he was a kid he sold cats to the local Chinese. Now he trades in sausages, he will end up in finance.

And behold, on the fringe, the ever-present beings who never decide of how the world will proceed but who give it nourishment, colour and meaning: Lou Birkanian, the visionary, my gossip. She descended one day the slopes of the Caucasus, fleeing some genocide. She landed at home with you, then, with all her mysteries. She knows me well. She does not fear me. I love her.

Her protégés, the twins, Sandy Sparks and Nelson Trapp. In reality they are the children of a man named Marc Lemieux who ran away one day to Panama and we don’t talk about him any more.
Marie-Jeanne Larose, in love with Alcide Premier, dead in Azerbaijan, and whose mortal remains will soon appear on this stage.
Freddy Dubois, son of a greengrocer at Jean Talon market, the friend, the fiend, the confidant, gentle and naïve, of this long story.
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Here they are, all ready to celebrate youth, adorned with theatrical costumes, buttered with all their make-up. As if the world's youth was only a huge effort to enter into pre-determined roles: Is that what youth is? Pre-programmed aping? Ballroom make-believe? The apprenticeship of deceit? A game of masks? Who would have the audacity to complain if the game is pleasant and the illusion convincing? From my point of view, illusion and reality merge. The game and death. Life and dream. The imagined action and the accomplished action.
The grotesque and the sublime.
The good and the bad. For me they are equivalent.
I am incarnate in everything that happens, in everything that happens in my eternal present. But I will stop my speech. I see that I have annoyed someone in the audience and they want me to relinquish this place. I’m leaving. I’m here.

Sandy: Heigh-Ho, Nelson! The great parade approaches. We have to repeat our act. Isn’t that right?

Nelson: That’s right.

Sandy: So, let’s go.

Nelson: So, let’s go.

Sandy: You’re there?

Nelson: You’re there?

Sandy: I’m there.

Nelson: I’m there.

Nelson and Sandy: Let’s begin! Freddy, Music!

Sandy: Yes! Yes! Yes, yes, yes, it’s wonderful, it’s fantastic. I can’t believe my eyeses. All these beautiful people, all together, to zee the p-parade go by. But what is, what is, what is the demon who muh-moves you? But what is, what is, what is the fly that b-bites you? But what is, what is, what is the trumpet that ca-calls you? Hello to ever-everyone. Hello to all-the-all the company.

Nelson: at the same time Ladies and Gentlemen, but above all Ladies, I am extremely glad to see you today in this enormous crowd.  You must be enormously hot. Hey, don’t tell me that you aren’t enormously hot. Hey, my dear little lady between your two enormous, enormous, enormous, enormous, neighbors. What heat, eh? Gentlemen, deflate yourselves, your little neighbor suffers from your enormous presence. Ok, thanks for the deflating. And I, at this time, I am going to try to distract you enormously.

Sandy: Okay?

Nelson: Okay?

Nelson and Sandy: Okay!

Nelson: Hey, tell me a little something Madame Sandy.

Sandy: Hey, Mister Nelson, what, what, what do you want to know?

Nelson: It seems…

Sandy: It seems…

Nelson: That we…

Sandy: That we…

Nelson: Resemble each other…

Sandy: Resemble each other…

Nelson: A lot.

Sandy: A lot.

Nelson and Sandy: Not possible.

Nelson: Ah, come on.

Sandy: Ah, come on.

Nelson and Sandy; See! Freddy, music!

Nelson and Sandy: That, that’s the same, did you know?

Nelson and Sandy: That, that’s still the same.

Nelson and Sandy: That, that’s always the same.

Nelson: Ouch!
Sandy: Ouch!

Nelson and Sandy: That, that’s almost the same. It hurts the same.

Nelson: Hey, are you crazy?

Sandy: You’re out of your mind, right?

Sandy: Yep, yep, yep. That, that’s not the same at all.

Marie-Jeanne: Lay down gently on the ground the body of my Alcide and hum your muted songs while I lament in the tragic style.

Richard aside: Play your scene, Marie-Jeanne Larose. Then I will make my entrance.

Marie-Jeanne: O, sacred remains of my beloved! Black death has extended his cloak over your light, the cold freezes your limbs, still silence occupies your ribcage and the flesh that breathed your life. And I, I can only lament and spread my ineffective tears and give free rein to my curses against whoever caused your death.

Richard aside: Well, well! One might become resentful.

Marie-Jeanne: You, Alcide, my husband, my hope, my life, why did you leave this place that was your kingdom? Why did you, son of Francois Premier and Augustine Labelle who died in childbirth, why did you have to go and die in the desolation of Azerbaijan while here, in your private garden, grew desire, and flowers of birth and time, power, the wealth and love that you deserved?

Richard : (aside)…And which I will soon pluck.

Marie- Jeanne: It is Richard the Cripple who killed you, the son of an adventuress. That venomous toad, that runt, that hideous jumble of all the disgraces and all the vices, that grotesque forgery of the human species…

Richard aside: And yet very human, babe!

Marie-Jeanne: Alcide, my husband, my dear, if a vestige of understanding still floats in your piteous remains, hear my voice, listen to my solemn vow, so that this promise covers and rocks your eternal sleep: never will I betray you, no man will ever lay his hand on me, never will I betray you, never will my lips touch other lips since yours are forever closed, never will my eyes be engulfed in the eyes of another to seek the sweet water that is henceforth denied me.

Marie-Jeanne: Aie! His eyes! His eyes, for Chrissake! It’s not a joke. It’s not dead. It’s not dead. I saw his eyes open It’s impossible, I’m going mad. Don’t just stand there like stumps! Close his eyes, you bowls of shit!

Marie-Jeanne: The pain made me delirious. Take up again your funereal dirge and win together the cemetery on the mountain where the body of my husband will lie, overlooking the city, his kingdom forever.

Richard: Halt! Put all this on the ground.

Brackenbury: My Lord, stand aside and let the coffin pass.

Richard: Shut up Brackenbury, or I’ll put my blade in your belly.

Brackenbury: Well if you take like that…

Richard: Scram!

Marie-Jean: And you tremble, you chickens! You tremble before this impotent, this cripple, this only-one-foot. Sometimes, as when the eyes of my Alcide opened, a frightful prodigy, you remain calm but now you have become like a flight of cold baby geese packed off by the passage of a child. What am I saying, a child? A spider, a cockroach, a woodlouse to be crushed with disgust. Ah, if nature had made me a man, if grief had not diminished my strength, if these mourning veils did not encumber my movement, you would see me throw myself on you and rip the flesh from your cheeks!

Richard: You are magnificent, Marie-Jeanne Larose! You fascinate me enormously.

Marie-Jeanne: I would like to fascinate you like the snake that awaits its prey.

Richard: Loose your venom my serpent.

Marie-Jeanne: Damn you, always take that!

Richard: Never has a sweeter liqueur touched my skin.

Marie-Jeanne: Never has a greater delight been given to my mouth.

Richard: Tell me what other pleasures that my mouth can obtain for you.

Marie-Jeanne: Your mouth, stinking sewer, swamp, well of refuse! Away from my face with that monstrous orifice.

Richard: I silence myself.

Marie-Jeanne: You should have done so sooner. Since the day of your birth, your cry was the fatal arrow that had already reached my Alcide. Your presence excluded his, just as the plague chases men of good health from the city. And now, it is you who lives and he that dies. Oh, would that I could reverse the course of things. And if I cannot bring him back, at least I can immolate on his tomb the assassin who snatched my love.

Richard: That can be done.

Marie-Jeanne: What are you saying?

Richard: Here. Take this and go ahead.

Marie-Jeanne: Take care, cripple! You don’t know Marie-Jeanne Larose.

Richard: I know you. And I know myself as well. I have always known what I am. All the insults that you throw in my face, I said them myself, to myself before you. I know my ugliness, my infirmity. I am not shaped to caper before the ladies. The dogs bark at me as I pass in the street and children flee, weeping. Worse, I know the depth of my soul, it is even more misshapen than my body. There is no vice, no cunning, no baseness, no defilement, no crime that is not familiar to me. Don’t hesitate. Remove this horror that the earth has produced like a venomous toadstool. Kill me. It’s the only gift that you could give to me and it would content me completely. Me, the freak, the foul, the desperate, to die at your hand is my greatest desire, in the long years of my humiliation the idea of dying at your hand cast a beam of light into my living hell. Kill me, I open my body, I spread my limbs, I offer myself, I give myself. It will pleasure me when you penetrate me. All my blood will flow back one last time to caress and anoint the sword of your desire. And my last spasms will radiate around this marvelous shaft. Be my Alcide, take me. Like Alcide took the women of Azerbaijan. Implacably. Hard as steel. Ferocious. Barbaric. Without pity.

Marie-Jeanne: Shut up!

Richard: Kill me. I await from you eternal life.

Marie-Jeanne: I don’t want to be your executioner.

Richard: Then be my judge. Pronounce a sentence of death. I will do it before your eyes. Tell me to do it and will be nothing in front of you but a grotesques corpse, a cold and repulsive shape, a useless thing, a piece of meat which begins to smell bad, like all corpses.

Marie-Jeanne: I would like to know your soul.

Richard: I will disclose it all to you.

Marie-Jeanne: Return your sword to its proper place. Let me perform my duties.

Richard: Do your duties. Then you will be able to think of your pleasures.

Marie-Jeanne: There is no more pleasure for me since Alcide is dead.

Richard: There is one that I can promise you.

Marie-Jeanne: Where?

Richard: In my bed.

Marie-Jeanne: I would rather burn on the spot than let you touch my skin.

Richard: And yet your skin is weaker than your will. (He takes her hand.) It is soft, tender, pliant. See the small hairs that bristle above your wrist, the gentle curve of your shoulder that your veils fail to conceal. Oh wondrous! If you saw just now the rosy hue of modesty in you cheeks, your lashes beating and your luminous eyes, you would better understand how you trouble me. Ah, how your body says and says again, from your feet to your brow, from your breasts to your belly, your whole person repeats, as if in a spring garden: “I am Marie-Jeanne Larose. I am Marie-Jeanne Larose.” And I, Richard, from the bottom of my baseness raise my eyes toward you, and I am dazzled by your brilliance. I breathe in your perfume and murmur: Marie-Jeanne Larose.

Marie-Jeanne: Richard, let me go. It is not suitable to say such things in front of poor Alcide.

Richard: He had his time. We will have ours.

Marie-Jeanne: I must take him to the cemetery.

Richard: Leave that to me, I will see it done. Go home. This evening I will come at nine o’clock. I will come by the back. Wait for me at the bottom of the stairs. OK?

Marie-Jeanne: You will have to imagine that I did not say no to you.

Richard: Brackenbury, conduct the Princess to her home, while I will give to our dear departed all the honors due him. (To Marie-Jeanne:) This evening…

Marie-Jeanne: No. Tomorrow perhaps….

Richard: I will be there tonight. (Brackenbury et Marie-Jeanne exit.) Clear the square. On your way, townfolk.

First Guard: Where are we going Lord, to the cemetery on the mountain?

Richard: To the dump, fool. To the dump!

Richard: In the end I have always created concepts of myself. I have always taken myself as another. I have always thought my mirror was right. I foolishly thought that I was this vile structure that I saw. Wrong. Richard, wrong! I will destroy all mirrors. They lie. Marie-Jeanne is right. She is my true mirror, she sends me my true face.
How? I take her at the height of her woe, so mad with grief that she even believes that the corpse of her Hercules gave her the eye: she throws in my face the names of a number of animals, she spits on me, and I, without concealing anything of myself, wallowing in my filth, with only the honey of my words I turn this hatred into joyous promise. Ha! Ha! Ha! Am I the Don Juan of this jaded century. Maybe. King Kong dethrones Apollo. Quasimodo makes hearts flutter and Jerry Lewis seduced more people than Marilyn Monroe. It’s going great for me. My stock is on the rise.
I want to have myself painted nude in the most odious positions and line my bedroom walls with these effigies. No woman will resist such seductions. No man either, as is the fashion.
Oh! We learn more each day, my good man. What time is wasted crying about imagined horrors! I want to be perfectly despicable, an eye disgusting with pus, a nose torn off, a split jaw, skin scorched and redone in candy pink with large, exposed seams. I want to have six fingers on one hand, and a stubby stump on the other side, a bloated navel, sagging belly collapsing on a moth-eaten tail, knock-knees and cloven hooves. I wish that there would be no further trace of loyalty, love, justice or tenderness. Oh, nothing but a foul soup of inhumanity and deceit, a cesspool of contempt, perversion and cruelty!
Perhaps then would I be, in this world where I live, the most perfect object of desire. And the desire that is inspired is worth all the cat’s piss aesthetes. That’s the beauty of it. Everything is changing around me. Another beauty is coming. And I am not excluded. I will be the king.

Lavoie: Hello Bronsky.

Bronsky: Good day, Mister Lavoie.

Lavoie: Are you going to see Roy?

Bronsky: Mister Williams gave me an appointment.

Lavoie: Well I’m gonna see him. I’m waiting. And I’m waiting tough…. Would you like to know why I’m waiting?

Bronsky: It’s not really any of my business.

Lavoie: Well, it’s my business and I swear that my business is my business. Got it?

Bronsky: Eh…. Sure, Mister Lavoie.

Lavoie: He owes you money?

Bronsky: Eh… yes, Mister Lavoie.

Lavoie: Yeah! Me too, and I will fix his cash if he spits on me. Three thousand bucks missing in my account. And you?

Bronsky: That….that’s my business, Mister Lavoie.

Lavoie: You gotta play a little smarter with me. I may have to teach this youngster what it means to do business with Achille Lavoie. And you too, Bronsky, I’ll have to show you how it goes when Achille Lavoie speaks to the world. And I can tell you this, Roy Williams doesn’t scare me.

Roy: Good day, Gentlemen!

Lavoie: Ok, Roy, it’s the 12th. I’ve been waiting for your check since the 2nd. It’s six days late. If you continue to fool with me, you know what’s gonna happen. I’ll send my guys to see you. They’ll break your arms after making you sign a check. You know Rodrigue and Ferdinand, they’re not babysitters. And when they leave you with your fingers reversed, you’ll have to register for kindergarten to take writing lessons. My money or a great pile of shit.

Bronsky: Mister Williams, you promised…

Lawyer: Ah, Williams, I was going to your…

Roy: Excuse me Bronsky. Excuse me Sir. First I want to listen to Mister Lavoie. He spoke first. It’s only fair that he be the first served.

Lavoie: I want my three thousand bucks. That’s all.

Roy: Not so loud, here they are. (He takes a bundle of cash from his pocket.) The amount is there. (He holds out the cash to Lavoie.) Wait a minute, I forgot. Your truck on Tuesday the 18th was full of partially damaged meat. The loss was estimated as 1,275 dollars. I’ll take that out. (He counts the bills and puts them back in his pocket.)

Lavoie: That’s not true.

Roy: Here is the report by Bailiff Bedoux of the court of justice. Oh, also this… (He takes out another paper.) …the endorsement of $780 you signed for the Calumet’s debt. Poor Calumet, you know he’s on the run and I am sure that you will not go bothering his unhappy wife with unseemly claims. I’ll take back those few bills. As for the rest, I think it’s fair to subtract that in recompense for the public scandal that you have made non-stop on my account in all of your butcher’s bars. I was exasperated to learn that for a year you have been have been inventing new slanders against me. You do me wrong, Lord Lavoie, you do me great wrong and those few pieces of paper are just a little thing to wipe the vast shit that you carry around and continually spatter me with. This is our last meeting. Vanish.

Lavoie: I will send Rodrigue and Ferdinand to you.

Roy: Rodrigue and Ferdinand? Am I wrong? Aren’t they the ones that I loaned, yesterday and last Thursday, a tidy sum to compensate for their losses at the track? (He takes a notebook out of his pocket.) Yes, that’s it. If you see them, say hello for me.

Lavoie: I will kill you, Williams.

Roy: Like Lee McRoyd?

Lavoie: Who’s that?

Roy: You don’t know Lee McRoyd? Dear Lee? Brave Lee?Poor little Lee, dead, strangled in his shop and whose murderer was never found. It’s odd. I have here… (He takes another paper out of his pockets.)… a letter from Mrs. McRoyd suggesting that at the time you knew the family very well.

Lavoie: Give me that letter.

Roy: Take it. (He gives him the letter.) We are even?

Lavoie: OK, OK! Forget the $3,000 bucks.

Roy: And finally, not to be greedy, here are three or four other very interesting letters. These are from you. They date from after…

Lavoie: After the murder of Lee McRoyd. I got them from Madame McRoyd.

Lavoie: The slut! Son of a bitch!

Roy: Think! Speak with more respect of the dead. That dear lady left us last month. I aided her in her final moments.

Lavoie: Give me that, Williams.

Roy: No! That I don’t give.

Lavoie: How much?

Roy: Ten thousand.

Lavoie: I will pay you.

Roy: Now.

Lavoie: I don’t have it.

Roy: I know that you do have it. Before coming here you passed by Laverdure’s. He paid you precisely the sum in question. (He searches in his pockets.) Here’s a copy of the receipt you gave him.

Lavoie: I will kill you.

Roy: By the way, beware of Rodrigue and Ferdinand. I think that starting from today they work for me.

Lavoie: You are the devil.

Roy: Possibly. (Lavoie goes away.) And you Bronsky, what brings you here? Oh, I’m stupid. The money I owe you. A trifle. Here you are. (He gives him the full bundle of cash.)

Bronsky: But it’s too much. I only came for…

Roy: Eight hundred and eighty-five dollars. And that’s three thousand. I know. I also know that you are in damn trouble with this story about your daughter Flossie. No?  The two thousand one hundred and fifteen dollars that are left, that would suit you, no? One month, just one month, the time for you to return the money and then pocket the dividends of the Saint-Martin company, no? Go, I will lend you the two thousand dollars. At 10% a month. You will return it to me in a month. That suits you and I profit. That’s how we should always do things.

Bronsky: Oh thank you Mister Williams. You’re getting out of trouble, I assure you. I’ll return your money in a month.

Roy: Plus ten percent! Two thousand and two hundred, OK?

Bronsky: Of course Mister Williams. Good day, Mister Williams. Thank you, Mister Williams.

Roy: Imbecile! And you, dear sir, to what do I owe the honor of your visit? I await with curiosity. What do you want?

Lawyer: The commission that you promised me.

Roy: You will not be getting a commission.

Lawyer: What do you mean?

Roy: You will have the case itself. I have compiled a list of board members of which you will be the president. They have all brought considerable funds. They signed their agreement in principle.

Lawyer: But, wait…

Roy: Michaud, Kruge, Vanier, Saint-Aubain.

Lawyer: Saint-Aubain is?

Roy: Like I told you: eight million. Perrier, Kaltenberg.

Lawyer: It’s not possible!

Roy: Wait for the rest. Nichols. Spassky. Leduc and Weymuller. (He gives him the paper.)

Lawyer: It’s fantastic. In this case, I resign my office.

Roy: You don’t resign an inch. You stay in place. One needs a rat in the granary to look after the grain.

Lawyer: But you know it’s impossible. It’s an incompatibility…

Roy: Your Wife?

Lawyer: What about my wife?

Roy: She will chair the board.

Lawyer: But she’s a nurse!

Roy: One more reason. You will be the procurator, the executor. Like in the other companies that you manage. Come, sir, do not pretend false modesty. The folly of your wife serves you well in business. c'en est une de plus et elle vous rapportera gros. I suggest that you abandon the others, but this one, hold on firmly. It will be worth the trouble.

Lawyer: How old are you?

Roy: I am young.

Lawyer: Roy, you are a genius.

Roy: I am beginning to believe it.

Lawyer: But tell me, tell me Roy. We can be friends, eh? You’re not on the board?

Roy: No. You see, me, I want to be on salary.

Lawyer: You, salaried?

Roy: Yes, and I count on guys like you to set my salary as executive director. Listen, darling… (He takes some papers out of his pockets.)… read that while your waiting for your car.  This is the text of the recording of our last conversation. The board meeting is set for Tuesday at nine o’clock, at headquarters, the Stock Exchange. Ciao! (He leaves.)

Lawyer: The bastard! He fucked me. He fucked me to the bone. I’ve got to pass. I can’t do anything else. Bound hand and foot. The bastard! Filth! Dirty dog!

Pin-Up: Mr. President! Your car is waiting.

Lawyer: I’m coming. I’m coming. I’m coming.

Pin-Up: My name is Daisy.

Lawyer: I don’t give a fuck.

Judith:
Go to sleep my love
Go to sleep my babe
The day is too heavy
The door is shut
Go to sleep my love
Go to sleep my beloved

Catherine: The incertitude that hovered over the destiny of our house is today tragically dissipated. Alcide Premier is dead. The only remaining legitimate heir of the great Francois Premier, my husband, is Richard, here present, Richard Premier, our prince whose youth and strength promise to our people long years of prosperity.

Filippo Ragone: Yeh!

Catherine: Everyone here, brothers, sisters, cousins, parents, relatives, friends, we mourn Alcide whom envious death snatched from us and we honor his memory with a minute of silence…

Catherine: But life that alters everything does not expect from us just fruitless lamentations. It is important that in the confusion of public sorrow all the wheels in the machine function correctly, that the crops are harvested, that money circulates and that, in the bosom of families, children are born and educated.
This is why, before proceeding with the coronation of our son Richard, I the Queen Mother, the widow of the great Francois, established at his death the regent of the realm, I have thus decided to order things.
To our daughter-in-law Marie-Jeanne we give for her retreat the estate of Varincourt and the adjoining duplex. There, in her solitude, she will find a refuge against the insecurities of widowhood.To Lou Birkanian, our aunt and friend, we entrust the responsibility for the canning of cod and for artisanal macramé.
To Sandy Sparks and Nelson Trapp, the dear twins who are a ray of sunshine in our greatest tempests, we hand over the Ministry of Entertainment and Education.To our nephew Roy, the finances. He is designated for this position.
To the faithful friend of our Richard, Freddy Dubois, called crazy Freddy, music and arts and crafts. As for our dear aunt Roberge, long misunderstood and too often far from us (without much valid reason life is like that) we implore her to happily accept the job of palace cook, appreciative of her high competence with down-river tourtieres, chimpanzee stew and mushroom cultivation. I humbly beseech her by awarding her this job, to erase with an amicable kiss the years of rancor and perhaps hatred that have separated us.

Catherine: And now that sweet peace brings us together, we will proceed to the coronation of Richard, lui associant celle que l’enfance, love more rapid than time, the proximity of balconies have long since thrown in his arms. I name our lovely niece Annie Williams. You will join the procession to come to the holy place. Come on Robert.

Richard: My dear mother, you have spoken marvelously and I am delighted to see that all of us, brothers, sisters, cousins, relatives, friends, we realign ourselves unanimously with all your wishes. But permit, however, to ride alone to the altar of my new dignities. My cousin Annie cannot take offense, considering that the supreme power is not shared. I know her soul. It is far from her I know, to think to introduce calculations of ambition, jealousy, envy, the coldness of official receptions, in the relationship of faithful friendship that we have always had between us. I propose that she receives the management of our Edmonton branch and that, this evening she departs to occupy her new position.

Annie: Richard!

Richard: Shut up! (Annie bursts into tears.) The excess of her emotion overflows. She is bowled over by our benevolence.

Catherine: Let it be according to your desire. Count Robert, our chamberlain, will ensure that everyone will pass in order. Let’s go, form the procession.

Richard: (A Marie-Jeanne.) My dear sister, give your hand to gain the location of the ceremony.

Marie-Jeanne: I can no longer refuse.

Robert Houle: Where are we going, Queen Catherine?

Catherine: To the Café Spartacus!

Annie: The humiliation! Sending me off like something unclean. In front of everyone. And no one stood up to defend me! You, Madame Roberge and you, Roy, you kept your mouths shut. What does she have, this Ragone? What does he have, this Richard? What do they all have that frightens you? Roy, help me, you’re my brother.

Roy: I never defend lame ducks.

Annie: Is it you speaking of me like that?

Roy: An idiot. An ignoramus. An incompetent. Not able to hold onto a man. And your ass, idiot, what’s that for? Get thee to Edmonton and maintain your tourist room. You’re not worth helping.

Annie: Roy, don’t leave me all alone! Where are you going?

Roy: To Café Spartacus! I have stuff to do. It’s not the time to let go.

Madame Roberge: Don’t cry, my little girls. I will avenge you. The Ragone is the cause of it all. She treats us like servants. And I, she puts me in the oven. If she knew the meal that I am going to prepare for her! The cultivation of mushrooms she said, I will make her eat the mushrooms by their roots! Go, deliver yourself. Disappear a few times as if you had departed for Edmonton. Go away and hide at the twins. They won’t denounce you. And there, wait, await your hour. Roy not as insensitive as you think he is. He and I will shortly find the means to destroy the Ragones. For the moment, it is necessary to act with subtlety. I too will go to Café Spartacus. I will assist at the coronation of Richard. I will be the good aunt, overflowing with gayety, pleased with the new entente. I will make myself sugar and honey, oil and marzipan, ice cream, but expect to see the sequel! All this cursed tribe of Ragones will soon discover that Madame Roberge is not short of peppers in her larder.

Judith:
‍At Spartacus Café
The slaves are now the kings
Drinking much and more
Seeking happy things
At Spartacus Café
(To Annie) You are crying, my dear?

Annie: Leave me alone, Mother.

Judith: Men? Ah, men! Men. Always men.

Annie: I can no longer tolerate your drivel. It’s enough to make you crazy. Don’t follow me. Oh, don’t follow me, I can’t take it. (She exits. Judith sings.)

Judith:
‍At Spartacus Café
One day he will come back
Larvae, gnats and fleas
And you he will crush
At Spartacus Café
Moses is close now. He arms his tribes. He is about to cross the sea.
(She sings.)
At Spartacus café
The palace of my king
Drinking much and more
To celebrate the king
At Spartacus Café
(She speaks to her duck.) Come my soft one, come my big beak. I will give you your nipple. It’s time to drink your milk. (She exits.)

Nelson: So, Sandy, did you make everyone laugh?

Sandy: Yes, they seemed happy.

Nelson: They liked the Hungarian wheelbarrow number.

Sandy: We were very good tonight. A little bit more and I was going to laugh when you put your two finger in your nose. You never did that before.

Nelson: Inspiration!

Sandy: You’re a poet, my Nelson.

Nelson: I thought I let go of you when we did the asparagus. What happened?

Sandy: You caught me wrong, I wasn’t secure.

Nelson: Well no, it was you that didn’t give me your hand properly.

Sandy: How do you make that out?

Nelson: It’s simple. You put it there. Give me your hand. No, not that one. Put your foot here. And then, right away. You mustn’t hesitate. You straighten out on my shoulders and I hold you below the knees. Go. (They do a simple acrobatic number.) Your hand. Your foot. Pay attention to the return. Up. You’re there.

Sandy: O.K. That’s good. Don’t let go of me right away.

Nelson: O.K? Careful… I’m going to let go.

Sandy: Nelson! I’m not happy.

Nelson: What’s the problem.

Sandy: I’m tired of playing the buffoon for those people.

Nelson: It’s our job.

Sandy: It’s not fun anymore.

Nelson: They’re the ones who pay us.

Sandy: I would like us to go. Together. Or perhaps not just the two of us. With Freddy for example… or Annie… or someone else. To a town where no one knows us. We could start a business. We depend too much on the whole gang: the Roberges, the Ragones, even Lou Birkanian. It really exhausts me. I don’t want to see their faces anymore. You know what really tempts me? To become a stranger. To have no past, no country, no parents. Let’s go somewhere else, Nelson. Leave. Forever.

Neslon: It’s gonna happen. Don’t get annoyed. One day it will happen. Soon.

Sandy: Right now!

Nelson: You know that’s not possible

Sandy: Let me down. (Nelson helps Sandy down.) Nelson, I’m not happy.

Nelson: We’ve completely ruined our makeup.

Sandy: We’re no longer very beautiful.

Nelson: Soon we’ll no longer be very young.

Sandy: But we’ll be together.

Nelson: Yes. For the moment, we are together.

Roy: Bravo, lovers. Your number was fantastic. I’m still happy that you are here to bring a little freshness to all of this comedy. Ca sentait le fond de tonne a plein nez. Here is the agreed fee. Ah, Nelson, I have a contract for you for next Saturday. If you are interested, call me at the office.

Nelson: The party over at Café Spartacus?

Roy: They’ll all end up as drunken cows.

Nelson: You’re not going to party with them until the end?

Roy: It’s not my party. I’ve got other business.

Nelson: Take it. Do whatever you want with it.

Sandy: No, Nelson, I’m not going to tear it up. (She opens the envelope.) Damn, he took 12% commission.

Nelson: He would bleed his own mother.

Sandy: Let’s go. Let’s go home.

Time: Here I am. I appear when you forget me. It’s my prerogative. I pass. And I pull the end of my thread to talk with those I love most, those with whom I copulate with the most pleasure.

Lou Birkanian: Pig! Pig of a satyr of a bastard of a son-of-a-bitch. You could not leave me quietly contemplating the columns of the Parthenon! You don’t like Corinthian marble? You don’t like classic architecture: Phidias and Praxeteles? Will I still have to belly dance in your private club in Istanbul? What do you want, you bastard? What are you going to make me do now? Ach! Karakravoy, poltika ramoulisan peto! That’s enough! Drop the rope! You know very well that I’m not going to save myself.

Time: Lou Birkanian, I want to make love with you.

Lou Birkanian: I know that. With you it’s always the same thing.

Time: You don’t like it?

Lou Birkanian: Stop, my boy. You’ll make me say rubbish. Are you bored?

Time: I missed you. I haven’t had much fun this time. It’s been six months since Richard was crowned at the Café Spartacus. Marie-Jeanne Larose has fallen into his web. Soon we will be celebrating their marriage. The Queen mother senses that power is deserting her and that soon Robert Houle will throw her into the garbage heap like a grapefruit rind. Roy Williams is in business. Annie never left for Edmonton. Madame Roberge weaves her plots. All the world agitates for it’s reckoning. It does not like me, neither do I. Let them in what they call their stories. But we two, Lou Birkanian we are here. And it’s always the first time.

Lou Birkanian: Easy for you to say, you bastard! You never change. Me, I change. Because of you.

Time: I love you.

Lou Birkanian: Ach! I know. I believe you. I love you too. It doesn’t stop you from being a damned pig.

Time: Why that?

Lou Birkanian: I am old.

Time: You are beautiful.

Lou Birkanian: Lying. Lying. When you get old, you get ugly. I became ugly.

Time: I don’t like that word.

Lou Birkanian: That doesn’t mean it isn’t true. And you know what made me ugly? It was not suffering, the flight through the mountains to escape the killers, poverty, disease. It was not the death of my first man, abandoned without money, the baseness one undergoes and those one commits. It was not the evil that marked me. It was the pleasure. And pleasure is always present in me. More and more present. More and more easy. Pleasure! He knows all the paths in my body, digging there his furrows. Pleasure, like a flow of warm water, ravines me day after day: now it is everywhere, I enjoy everything, even my solitude … But I am marked. I am ugly.

Time: I love that you said that.

Lou Birkanian: Do you feel guilty?

Time: I envy you.

Lou Birkanian: Of course! To mark me more! Don’t make that face, my little man! I’ve never reproached you. And then, you know, you and me, it's like old couples, they end up looking like each other. No skin, the sacrificial rubbish. No. The skin will always distinguish us more and more. Not the skin but the look. Everything that happened, everything that happens, I look on it, more and more like you do. A large, equal field. Colours. Shadows but less and less relief. A wide horizontal field, larger and larger, which will lose itself in the horizon. One no longer knows where the sky begins or the earth ends. It is the greatest confusion, the greatest love.

Time: Lou Birkanian, you are magnificent!

Lou Birkanian: Stop that! I do not need to get hooked with medals around the neck. All the passes you made at me, I took advantage of them like a slut. Oh! The apple blossoms of Mount Ra Rouriani. The first grilled lamb in front of the whitewashed house. It smelled good. My wedding night that made me laugh so much. The adventures, the travels, the great pains that put you on the earth and yet you did not stay there too long. Without you wishing it, there is something in you that makes you climb the slope. Through your torn cheeks, your tattered stomach, your destroyed love, in disrepair, in the midst of ruins, there is something, something … sumpin’ … that wants to enjoy again. You have always made me enjoy.

Time: I feel humble in front of you.

Lou Birkanian: Yeah, A dirty, ill-bred boy who has done stupidities, who says kind things in order to be forgiven and get his soup back. Will you grant me a favour, my handsome prince? Trust me. Don’t frown. It is not very serious. Nothing but a new game, you and me. One time only. And no one will know. To the world you will not lose your insensitive face.

Time: What do you want?

Lou Birkanian: The rope! Let me do what I want. We’ll reverse roles. You want to?  I'm the one who will pull. You’re the one who will let it happen. Oh, do you want to Wladimir? Want to? Natacha is asleep in the kitchen. Uncle Aslanian left to dig the garden. The first bees are buzzing. Oh, Wladimir, my nice little cousin Wladimir! Come play with me, it’s springtime. I’m going to pull you so much, so hard, so far that we shall both end together at the top of Mount Ararat. Say yes, Wladimir. Say yes. Let it happen. And when we arrive there, on the top, I’ll show you my breasts. They have grown like ducklings’ asses since Christmas. Say yes!

Time: Yes, my love.

Time: It does not make sense. Here I am in a totally ridiculous position. Children are always like this. They pull you by the hand: “Come with me, uncle, get down on your knees, pull your tongue, stir your butt…” And we do it, we do it so that they don’t get angry. But even me. Me, Time. Me, who… (The voice of Lou bursts into huge laughter.) Listen to her sing. Listen to her laugh. She cuts me off as if I were only capable of saying nonsense, the crafty one. She got me. In the end she always gets me. When she reproached me sometimes for my desire to take her, she knew, the cunning one, she knew that it was she who had always and forever possessed me. We were made for each other. (He is pulled more violently.) Excuse me dear friends, I am forced to leave you, showing you the derisory image of Time held on a leash like a small dog to whom his mistress does not even leave the leisure to pee against a tree. I've got to go. What is she preparing for me? What will she do to me next? Maybe it would be better if I disappeared behind the scenery. Otherwise you would have before you an indecent spectacle, which would make you jealous. I know only too well what Lou Birkanian, since always, knows how to use Time.

Catherine Ragone: And I am not jealous. Don’t get any ideas. It would still be too much for a woman of my importance to be jealous of a stupid little tart like Annie Williams.

Robert Houle: What is it, then, that enrages you?

Catherine Ragone: I am not enraged. And I don't give a fuck what she's got over you, but you will admit yourself – objectively – that she is a stupid tart. She does not interest me.

Robert Houle: Ok, then listen…

Catherine Ragone: You see! You’re not even capable of saying it simply. As it is simply said: it is twenty-five minutes to ten. You no longer have any objectivity. Annie Williams is a stupid tart and all that you can find to say is: “Ok, then listen…” That's what shocks me. You've always been an independent guy, free in your judgements, justly objective. That is what seduced me. That’s why I love you. And then, all of a sudden, because of Annie Williams, that stupid tart, I repeat, all of a sudden you get sneaky, you start taking detours, you put on airs, you pretend, act like you are in a Feydeau farce.

Robert Houle: What did I say? What did I do?

Catherine Ragone: Oh! You didn’t say anything. You didn’t do anything. You’re far to cunning to say anything to my face. Far too cowardly to do openly all that you want to do. No, you wanted me to play detective shit, that I let myself be taken in by your boulevard comedies, that I put myself at the level of this mediocrity. That would give you a good excuse to get back at me. (Robert Houle begins to get dressed. Catherine Ragone realizes it but wants to get to the end of her business.) It started on the coronation day, I know. A woman does not need to have these things explained. She senses it. Yes, it came from there. The crisis of tears! Poor Annie Williams repudiated by Richard, The poor little innocent crushed by the monsters. That's what moved you. You wanted to play the servant knight, Lancelot de Lac, Zorro, and you fell into the trap: pity! Robert, listen to me instead of fiddling with your clothes. You know, we have been together a long time. We both know each other well. We have always told each other everything.  I do not want any lies between us, no pettiness. Are you beginning to tire of me? Do you want to run around a little? If that’s it, tell me frankly. Can I stop you? I’m not your guardian. I’m not your mother. If you want to leave me, by what right I could I hold you back? I have no right over you except one, the right to know. You must tell me. You owe me this. Speak, Robert, Tell me. Speak!

Robert Houle: I have nothing to say.

Catherine erupts: So why did Annie Williams not leave for Edmonton on the coronation night? You were charged with putting her on the train.

Robert Houle: I couldn’t find her.

Catherine Ragone: You didn’t have the guts.

Robert Houle: I could not find her that night. Afterwards, things changed.

Catherine Ragone: What things?

Robert Houle: Well, you know…

Catherine Ragone: What do I know. I know nothing. You told me nothing.  I am there like an imbecile that no one updates about anything.

Robert Houle: Report to the Queen Mother: Tuesday the 14th of October. Robert Houle awoke to the sound of the alarm at 7:42. He rested in bed three minutes looking at Catherine Ragone snoring with her mouth open and noting that the alarm had not troubled her sleep. At 7:45 he went and pissed in the toilet. He noted that the toilet bowl was not vey clean. He wiped it with toilet paper. He wiped his fingers clean. At 7:48 he brushed his teeth and shaved. He cut the end of his chin; he staunched the flow of blood with hydrophilic cotton. At 7:53 he made his coffee and some toast. He burnt the first two. The kitchen was full of smoke; at 8:02 he ate some new toast and he drank his coffee without milk or sugar; at 8:26 he left the house to get in his car. Nothing of note to report until 10:53. At 10:53, at his office, he received a telephone call from the Queen Mother Catherine Ragone telling him that a lady had called the house and that he must call her back at 861-0223; at 10:56 Robert Houle called 861-0233. It was a wrong number. At 11:00, Robert Houle took his coffee break. He chatted with Cesar Grangier, Ludovic Paterneau and Sylvie Beauchamp (a big brunette who has small braids in her hair with porcelain rings at the end and who does not wear a brassiere). At 11:20 Robert Houle, Chamberlain of the Queen Mother, returned to his office. Some time later, let’s say 11:26, Robert Houle dozed and then, at 11:28 he fell asleep for good in his armchair. He dreamed of some extraordinary women on the beach in the Caribbean. From the top of a coconut tree he saw descending to the beach, entirely nude – his point of view was overwhelming – Annie Williams, in all her freshness, in all her beauty. Annie Williams, without saying a word, ha come to impaled herself on the sex trained at her by Robert Houle, stretched on the sand, the coconut between her thighs. At 11:46…

Catherine Ragone: Dirty dog! Slobberer! Swine! Disgusting!

Robert Houle: You want me to go on?...

Catherine Ragone: Leave me.

Robert Houle: I’m updating you.

Catherine Ragone: You don’t love me.

Robert Houle: Catherine…

Catherine Ragone: There is no more Catherine.

Robert Houle: Forgive me.

Catherine Ragone: Too late. The evil is done.

Robert Houle: I let myself get carried away. Forgive me. (Silence.) Anyway, I got my crap out.

Catherine Ragone: You’re leaving?

Robert Houle: I need some air.

Catherine Ragone: Will you be coming back?

Robert Houle: Of course. What do you think?

Catherine Ragone: Robert. Wait a bit.  You want to stay for a little while? It’s Saturday. You have nothing to do outside. Please, do it for me. I need it. And you know, I am strong. I'm no longer fourteen. We can talk like adults. It’s not that difficult. It’s enough to say things simply. And then, afterwards things can be fixed. Everything can be fixed. Even with its pain.

Robert Houle: Ok. What is it?

Catherine Ragone: When you came to me, at the very beginning, I was afraid of being in love, I was afraid of you falling in love with me. I liked your strength, your beauty. I liked to make love with you.  Very quickly, you made me come. The third time, it was triggered and, afterwards, I never had any more trouble of that sort. That went well. But I didn’t want, I didn’t want to fall in love. Then, little by little, that changed. We might not have had to live together. But why? The days passed. I ate them mouthful after mouthful. Why should I spit out what filled my mouth with happiness? You were there, I was there, I gave you everything, you could take all of me. I did not keep any account. And one day I discovered that I loved you. I loved a man and that man lived with me.
Since the death of my husband,it never happened to me again. I had Richard, and I occupied myself with him,he was weak, I wanted him to be strong. When the other children mocked him, Ibecame a ferocious lioness. When he was humiliated I wanted him to be the king.The men I knew were passers-by, voyageurs, people whom I ran to meet atmidnight when Richard was asleep or when I had been able to afford ababy-sitter. And I went back on tiptoes, shoes in hand so as not to wake him up.I never brought a man home. I did not want, in the early morning, to meet thegaze of Richard or his way of saying while taking his coffee “Who is that manthere?” like the day he had seen me arm-in-arm with my cousin Leopold. Duringthat whole time I never really knew a man. My man at home was Richard. And thenRichard grew up and one day I woke up. That was the something that took me inmy belly. The something. Not the urge to fuck as one reads in books. All theclassic machine, it burns, it wets, it titillates, it excites me, it frightensme, don’t do that, I can do more. Shit on all that, it's not true. No. Thesomething. Something that shouted at me from everywhere: a season ends.  There is another one that begins and it isthe most beautiful, like all the seasons. Catherine, cease now with mask, don’tdisguise your face, stop putting your body in a cage, let your heart go, youare not just the mother of Richard, the mother of Richard is in the process ofkilling Catherine Ragone. And it was Catherine Ragone as a whole that I wantedto give Richard, not this amputated, crippled, diminished person that I hadshown to him up until then. (She stops abruptly.) Oh! What am I saying? Did I want to be like him? Did I want toshare his infirmity? Does the weakness of the children, their fragility, theirvulnerable softness, lead us to mutilate ourselves? To give them what? To sacrificefor them what? On which altar? With what secret desire for a reward? What isthe reward? And who would give it to me? Him? Life? God? Others? Or, then, isit an investment? We invest in the bank of happiness with solid actions. And weawait the dividends of our sacrificed youth. What am I saying? Robert, what amI saying? Take me in your arms. I want to continue to talk. I could not do it otherwise.

Robert Houle: Talk, Catherine.

Catherine Ragone: I am no longer young, my Robert.

Robert Houle: What does that mean, youth?

Catherine Ragone: I don’t really know. I don’t know where it goes. It's not in my body, it’s working well. Better than when I was seventeen: then I suffered from asthma and boils. It’s not in my heart, It pumps blood at all strengths and is always ready to boil over. I think also that I am clearer in my head, I am less mixed up than before. So, what is youth? Your date of birth? Numbers, stars, planets? A countdown? The colour of your hair? The grain of the skin? Beauty?

Robert Houle: You are beautiful.

Catherine Ragone: Yes, but there must always be someone to tell me. But first, what is beauty? What does it hold? (?) What is it made of? If it’s youth, then we are going in circles. Not possible. Beauty, let’s say it's you and me, right? Nothing else. You look at me. I look at you. Without clothes. Me, I see your smooth belly with its navel at the bottom of the well (?) and I say it's beautiful, and you see my heavy breasts and say it's beautiful. And your eyes are beautiful and my mouth is beautiful and my hand is beautiful and your forehead is beautiful. But. It has to be said. It has to be said. It has to be said.

Robert Houle: I love you my Catherine.

Catherine Ragone: (In tears.) I am not jealous, Robert, I am not jealous. Tell me that I am not jealous. I am not jealous, eh?

Robert Houle: You are not jealous, my love. (He takes her in his arms and lifts her off the ground.) Come. We'll go home. In the great chamber.

Catherin Ragone: No, Robert, we are going to make love in the shed. Like when we were kids.

Robert Houle: Let’s go Catherine.

Roy: Next!

Roy: 12-24

A Voice: 12-24. O.K.

Roy: Next! (Another image.) 18-12.

Roy: Next! (Same game.) 6-40.

Roy: Next! (Image.) Zero. Next! (Same game.) Ah, this one’s not bad! 19.

Roy: 5

Roy: No, we will try 7, say 8, good 9, we'll see. 19-9.

Roy: Next! (Image.) 8-35.

Roy: Next! (Image.) That’s the best: 20-8.

Roy: No. 20-8.

A Voice: But that’s what I said!

Roy: Fine! Put 19-9. Too long to explain. Next! (Image.) 14-20.

Roy: Next! (Image.) 10-30.

Roy: Next! (Image.) 10-30.

Roy: Next! (Image.) 10-30. All of this is the same thing. Next! (We see a photograph of a naked woman with her head.) What is this, a joke? Next! (We see the same woman with her face in close-up.) Stop! Lights! (The screen turns off. The lights come on. We see Roy, and, behind him, Freddy.) You’re there, you?

Freddy: Roy!

Roy: What do you have?

Freddy: Well, you take me by surprise, as if I expected that!

Roy: You don’t know that you work for me?

Freddy: Well, no. I saw the ad. I made the pictures. I sent them to the address that was in the paper. When I called they told me they were viewing them today. So I came. What are you doing there?

Roy: It’s a little project I’m trying out. See what this can do, in addition to the entertainment agency. So, you made the pictures but you didn’t read the terms and conditions? Headless was demanded. That’s important in case of complaints.

Freddy: I know that. But that one, I couldn’t help it. She’s much prettier whole.

Roy: Freddy, you’re a sentimentalist. Me, I’m a businessman. Don’t forget that I sell meat.

Freddy: Why this whole story?

Roy: I am in the process of recruiting a team to compete in Luxor City. You don’t know Luxor City. They are launching next year an international contest of the naked couple. For the competition, they will be naked, two by two, and they will have black hoods on their heads. An American idea but it might have a big return. There are prizes that go above 100,000.

Freddy: What did it mean, the numbers you were yelling at her and that she repeated.

Roy: Oh, that, it's my own little personal scale. The first digit is marks that I give from 0 to 20, like in school. According to the crop, I will try to take all the numbers above 15, or above 12, or above 10. It will depend on the fees.

Freddy: And the second number?

Roy: That's my percentage of the take.

Freddy: It varies?

Roy: Obviously.  On large numbers I take less. On small numbers I take more. As usual.

Freddy: How come?

Roy: Well, I have my risks! You put in the names and the addresses.

Freddy: Roy, will you give me my pictures?

Roy: No. You were warned. No shipment will be returned to the photographer. It was clearly stated in the ad. But I am honest in business: Going to the cash and they will pay you for your expenses, plus eight dollars for each image retained. You'll have the exact count at the end of the morning, when I've finished it all. Blackout! Next! (The lights go off. We see a final slide. These are the eyes of the last girl.)  Oh shit! Stop that! Coffee break! (Blackout.)

Nefertiti: Send them in. (The music stops. Moses enters with two acolytes pulling a chariot on which the sarcophagus of Tutankhamen rests, covered with a sheet.) What is your name?

Moses: Moses.

Nefertiti: Where do you come from?

Moses: From the high plateaux, there, where the great river has its source.

Nefertiti: Who are your parents?

Moses: I have no parents. I am a child of chance.

Nefertiti: He is a great god. We call him Bramuz. Son of Bramuz, show me your work. You know what you risk: if the work pleases me, you will return to your country, filled with wealth and honour; if not, you will die.

Moses: I accept the risk.

Nefertiti: You are very daring. Risking your life for a work.

Moses: I have put my whole life into my work.

Nefertiti: Show me.

Nefertiti: How beautiful! Come to my side, magician, and we will sing together.

Nefertiti: King Tutankhamen arrived in a barge on the river, accompanied by his counsellors.

Moses: The metal is hidden in the earth. The nuggets agglomerate in the layers of clay.

Nefertiti: In one hand he holds the sceptre, in the other the flail.

Moses: The ore melts in the crucible, the slag swims to the surface.

Nefertiti: In the shade of the palm trees, the servants threw the footbridge onto the bank of silt.

Moses: The cup tilts. The thin incandescent net, weighed down by its internal sun, fills the matrix gently.

Nefertiti: Tutankhamen entered my garden. The red mud spurted between his toes.

Moses: The gold ingot shines out between the talons of the claw that holds it suspended.

Nefertiti: Here are the muscles of my man that I feel with my fingertips, that I caress everywhere with my hands, that I embrace the lost body with my four acrobatic limbs. Here is the statue of my man in its singular proportions. Here are the nooks and crannies of my man, angles and bumps, full curves. Here is the arrangement of the bones and the folds of the flesh. The unique balance of my man's body. O marvel of knowledge.

Moses: The metal and the workman are struggling against one another. One inside the other. Both were brewed, stretched, laminated, hollowed, polished by this laborious mating.

Nefertiti: Up to the face of my man where shines, perfection without shadow, the unrivalled kindness of his gaze on me.

Moses: And the stirred matter finally arises necessary, imperious, the image of a dead king that I did not know.

Nefertiti: You have given me beauty.

Moses: I receive your love.

Nefertiti: The king Tutankhamen finishes his journey. Open the doors of the palace. Lead him to his throne.

Moses: I will return to my village. Farewell Princess.

Nefertiti:  Goodbye Liberator.

Madame Roberge: Shit. It’s all shit. I’m in it up to my neck. I gotta get out of here. I have to do some big things.

Madame Roberge: Roy! Thank you for coming. You’ve got to get me out of this. It’s becoming an obsession. I had a dream. Imagine this: I was on the balcony to rock in my chair, with my sister Angela. Since she died, I haven’t stopped dreaming about her. I saw the Ragone mounted on stilts. She held a leather belt in her hand. Then my sister Angela yelled at me, grabbing her neck like this: “Kill her. Kill her, Emma, or she’ll kill you. Like she did to me. That’s a serpent she has in her hands!” My sister Angela ran down the stairs. I heard the noise of an accident in the street. I screamed. I woke up soaking wet. It happened before yesterday. Since that time my neck hurts, I can no longer turn my head. Roy, you gotta get me out of this. I’m going crazy. We must demolish the Ragone. (Roy is silent.) You are my nephew. You are a true Roberge. You know she will not be happy before she has put us all in the street. Look what she did with Annie. Look at what she did with Judith. It was the Ragone that made your mother mad. It was because of her that poor Judith became mad. That woman will kill us all. (Roy is silent.) You know how to do it. You have the means. You have people who can do it and are not blabbermouths. Like Rodrigue and Ferdinand. (Roy is silent.)  Well, you see. I know them. I know a lot about you, Roy. I know your tricks. And I’m not a blabbermouth, but sometimes I forget to close it, and then, you never know what can happen. It’s better for everyone to be on the same side. (Roy is silent.) Roy, I know how you are. Give and take. I’m going to tell you a secret. You keep it to yourself. Don’t tell your sister. I have shares in the gold mines of Father Roberge. They came to me from Angela. And then also some concessions that were abandoned at the time because they didn’t bring in a dime but now they do. The price of gold has gone up. They want to re-open the mines. They will dig new wells. If you get rid of Catherine Ragone, you will become my partner. I will give you half of my titles and my concessions. But rid me of this filth. I can’t stand it any more.  I cannot live anymore.

Roy: If you can live longer, I'll see what I can do, aunt. I will send you Rodrigue and Ferdinand.

Madame Roberge: You’re a good boy, Roy. And you know how to calculate your interests.

Roy: Yes.

Catherine: Leave us! (Exit Robert Houle, Filippo Ragone and Freddy Dubois.) I want to be alone with my son Richard.

Catherine: O, are you come! Nero, approach.
Sit down. I'm called it seems to justify myself.
I know not of what crimes I am accus'd;
All I have done shall freely be confessed.
You reign: too well you know at what a distance Your birth has plac'd you from the imperial seat.
The claim you from my ancestors deriv'd,
Without the Emperor's will had nothing serv'd.
When Messalina's fall had left the bed
Of Claudius vacant, I desir'd her place,
In the sole view to leave this throne to you

Richard: I know it is to you I owe the empire,
Without your care so often to repeat it;
Your bounty, Madam, with tranquillity
Might safely on my gratitude repose.
Your discontents so openly declar'd,
Have led indeed your hearers to suspect
That in my name 't was for yourself you labour'd.
Such honours, they have said, such deference,
Are they for nothing counted in her sight?
Has she then crown'd him only to obey?
Not but my love, to satisfy your wish,
Might have consented still to yield the power
Your cries so oft and loudly have reclaim'd;
But Rome will have a master, not a mistress.
The senate and the people grow indignant
To hear my voice the echo of your will,
Publish, in scorn of me, that Claudius
Bequeath'd me his obedience with his throne.
Another, warn'd by these too open signs,
With grace had yielded to necessity.
But, if you do not reign, you always complain

Catherine: And with reason. It was you who drove Annie Williams out of your bed where I had placed her. To do what? To lean against this scheming Marie-Jeanne Larose.

Richard: Here you are in one fell swoop of friendship for Annie Williams! Would not you have good reasons for that?

Catherine: What are you saying?

Richard: That you would probably like to see me crunching teeth in the apple pie named Annie Williams to remove some hornet I will not name.

Catherine: Richard, you are insulting me.

Richard: Look on this painting. See what grace breathed on that face. The brow of Jupiter himself. This is the face of my father Francois Premier. Your husband. (He snatches the medallion from Catherine's neck.) And now look at this one, the lover who has taken his place: a horror! Have you been able to erase the memory of this splendid summit to wallow in this swamp. Do you have eyes? You cannot call this love. At your age the most ardent blood is chastened, becomes humble, and follows reason. O Shame, where is your blush? Hell rebel, if you can mutiny also in the bones of a matron, virtue will only be for the burning youth a candle always combustible to the flame.

Catherine: Shut up, Hamlet, you turn my eyes to the bottom of my soul and there I see my fragility.

Richard: And all this to live in the foul sweat of a filthy bed, in an oven of impurity by making love on a pile of manure.

Catherine: Oh, these words enter my ear like so many daggers! Enough, my sweet Hamlet!

Richard: A king’s jester. A cut-purse of empire and power. A childish caricature of my father. (The spectre of Francois Premier enters.) Ah, here you are, graceful shape. Oh my father, torn from the realm of death.

Catherine: There is nothing. He is mad!

The Spectre: Courage, Orestes! I have come to you from the confines of Asia where I generally keep myself. I support you with all my strength if not my weight because eternity lightens you extremely. Do not bend. Report to Clytemnestra on the momentum of maturity. Make her ashamed of her appetites. Glue the widow's veil to her skin, which she has thrown to the nettles. Everyone must play their part: you, yours, and she, hers.

Richard: Thanks, boss! You reinforce me in my decision.

Catherine: Who are you talking to?

Richard: You don’t see anything there?

Catherine: Nothing and yet I see everything here.

Richard: You haven’t heard anything?

Catherine: Nothing but our own words.

Richard: I see the great Agamemnon, my father. Dressed as in his lifetime. I heard his voice. He moves away. He crosses the portal. He disappears.

Catherine: It’s nothing, my dear. It will pass. A bad dream. A hallucination!

Richard: And here we are again. What happened.

Catherine: Nothing. I wanted to talk to you alone.

Richard: What did you tell me?

Catherine: Nothing. I just had time to tell you, "Come closer. Let's sit together and talk." And there you went into your visions.

Richard: That’s strange… Well, let's take it all back to zero. I’ll start. My mother, I am scandalized by your conduct. I hate to see you wriggling your ass at the approach of my contemporary, Robert Houle. I hate to see in his presence your fervent housewifery: “Do you want spaghetti with cream or bacon, my Robert? Above all, do not take cold outside, my Robert! You have forgotten your galoshes again, my little, dear Bebert.” A little dignity, Duchess, a little class! We lack style in the house. It’s everything! It's not Versailles, I agree, it's not the Windsor hotel either. But still, it could be something else. It is not necessary to adopt the rabbit hut genre when one is of the royal family.

Catherine: Richard, do not lower yourself to residential details.

Richard: You call that details. There are no details in the room when one is part of the crème des crèmes.

Catherine: Richard, you exaggerate!

Richard: What is it, this Robert Houle, eh? A guy I knew at college. It was while with him that I had my first erotic emotions. We were hiding in the bushes of the Sainte Marguerite Inn to watch through the window and see the beautiful ladies of the city remove their linen – quickly done well done – for the fat notaries. And all this beautiful world – ha, ha, ha, ha, the beast with two backs, the Saturday evening out – this is Robert Houle and nothing more. It’s a fat notary. And I imagine you, my mother, O despair, you lie down on your back, you stretch your legs and groan: "Joseph, Joseph, don’t go so fast. Ach!  Creak, crouch, crich, crach, pan, pan.” I spit in disgust.

Catherine: So what, it doesn’t suit you. Go and visit the maidens of the convent of the Immaculate Conception! You never imagined anything a little jiggling in brassieres, a little hairy under the arm, a little sticky on the thigh when you pull aside the panties? Holyfuckingshit! What did she teach you, that whore Annie Williams? Go back to her place, ignoramus, ask her for more information. Say that I paid you for months and months of private lessons to develop your senses. If all it taught you was to jack off like an archbishop, I would have done better to rub your prick with poison ivy while you were still in the cradle. At least it would have taught you the military salute.

Richard: What language, my God, what language. Where are we?

Catherine: We’re in the alley like everybody else. This is no time to play the big man!

Richard: Maybe it's the time to stop all the music. Catherine, You make me ashamed. You have to behave properly like the king's mother.

Catherine: The Catherine is sacred as the mother of the king! But she’s a woman like any other. She did what she had to do. So now she does what she does: accept it. Don’t tell me you feel discouraged. Do not worry about what I do with my ass. Or I will worry about what you do with yours. That's it. I am leaving.

Richard: Momma! Don’t leave me alone. I’m frightened.  I'm damned afraid. I’m trembling in my drawers.

Catherine: That's the best! You are scared? And of whom?

Richard: Of Marie-Jeanne Larose.

Catherine: Well, that's even greater! What is it about her that frightens you, this great giraffe?

Richard: I do not know if I should. It's very intimate.

Catherine: Always speak, I am your mother, my boy.

Richard: It's her ... her ... OK, the ... well ... her sex. It's like the mouth of a shark with teeth on both sides: until now I have never been able to. It cuts me all...

Catherine: I’ve seen it all. Me, I made a child who sees sharks between the thighs of girls. Well, that's not thinkable. Look under my skirt, fisher of smelts, here are no more teeth of the sea there than there is lemon grass in dog food.

Richard: I know that, but it's stronger than me.

Catherine: In that case, there is only one solution.

Richard: What? What are you going to find this time?

Catherine: Marriage! It makes the sharks run away.

Richard: Momma, I don’t want to get married.

Catherine: You're going to get married, dammit! Then next Saturday, no later than that, otherwise I will put you in pieces, I will cut you into bits, I will throw you in the trash. Next Saturday, you hear, bastard; In Sainte-Sophie, fagot. Then you will give me pleasure on the hour, for the cure will not wait.

Richard: And you?

Catherine: What about me?

Richard: Will you get married with Robert Houle?

Catherine: You can’t ask that of me.

Richard: I am demanding it. Otherwise I let everything go. I leave the country. Me, I’ll also go to Azerbaijan to find a heroic death like my father and I will leave you with the whole job in your arms. Or, even better, I'll kill you. And there is another possibility.

Catherine: Continue, Nero, continue. You have not taken this step to retreat. Your hand started with your father's blood.

Richard: Mother, Don’t start that again! It upsets me.

Catherine: I see it rais'd against thy mother's life!
I know my benefits hang heavy on thee;
From all restraint my death must set thee free,
But think not it shall save thee from my vengeance:
Rome, yonder heaven, the air thou breath'st, my gift,
Shall hourly call me to thy view appall'd:
The furies of remorse shall lash thy soul,
And drive thee headlong on from crime to crime,
Till wearied Heaven, that can no more endure,
Turn thy despairing hand against thyself;
And thy last crime become an act of justice:
Thy name accurs'd to latest times shall go,
The worst of insults to the worst of tyrants.
This my prophetic souls foretells. I have done;
Thou mayst depart.

Richard: Narcissus. (Freddy Dubois runs in.) Follow me. (They exit.)

Catherine: I was a little brutal but I got my effect. It’s always like that with the young. Do not let go of your hand. Otherwise they will walk all over you and there is no more dialogue possible.Robert! (Robert enters.) I beg you to prepare everything for my son's marriage with Annie Williams.

Robert Houle: What did you say?

Catherine: Woops! I was wrong. It was a mistake. A slip of the tongue as they say. We erase it all and start again: I beg you to prepare the marriage of Richard and Marie-Jeanne Larose. Next Saturday at noon.

Robert Houle: At the Célestin’s cloister?

Catherine: Never, peasant! Get rid of this rabbit cage mentality. At the cathedral!

Judith: I hear tam-tams. The great carnage will begin. The Methodist priests flee into the jungle pursued by the dogs and the naked cannibals. It is the spoils. The jaws dripping with blood. Young warriors invade the kingdom of old men. A new era has begun. Moses came down from the mountains with his hordes of starving children. They embarked on the river. They approach. They arrive in the port. The town burns. The flag of Moses floats over the ruins. And life continues. (Madame Roberge enters.) Go away, Madame Roberge. Save yourself, my sister. The ambush is prepared. The net is taut. Save yourself. The eagle has circled three times over your head.

Madame Roberge: Go away yourself with your predictions. Poor fool. We do not need you to know what to do.

Judith: Blind! You will not be able to tell me one day: "You were right, Judith." Judith was right. You did not want to hear me. Follow you fate. I told you so, I told you so. And you did not want to know.

Madame Roberge: Today is the day of my triumph! (Rodrigue and Ferdinand enter carrying a trunk.) Ah, here you are. Put the chest in my car. (The two killers place the trunk on the ground.) It's behind, in the courtyard. (They open the trunk.) What are you doing? (They look at Madame Roberge with a sneer.) Roy Williams sent you?

Rodrigue: Indeed.

Madame Roberge: So do what I told you. Do as it was agreed.

Ferdinand: Probably what was agreed between Roy and you, is not exactly the same as what was agreed between us and Roy.

Madame Roberge: What order did he give to you?

Rodrigue: To kill you.

Madame Roberge: Help!

Ferdinand: No need to tire yourself out.  Everyone went to mass. And with these bells we could slaughter a flock of pigs and no one would hear.

Madame Roberge: It’s not possible. Roy is my nephew. We work together. Don’t be stupid. It’s a mistake. Let me phone him.

Rodrigue: My dear Ferdinand, will we let ourselves be moved by this old piece of skin?

Ferdinand: I'm not in a sentimental mood today.

Richard: Get rid of it all!

Rodrigue: So if you're not in the mood, that's reason enough. To work.

Madame Roberge: You will not have me just like that! The beast hunted to death defends itself to the end. I still have all my claws. I fight.

Ferdinand: O.K. I like that better. A bit of sport puts me in  shape. Apart from that, it gives me a sense of my usefulness.

Rodrigue: Otherwise it's bureaucracy, right?

Ferdinand: Like you say, Rodrigue.

Rodrigue: Here we go, Ferdinand.

Ferdinand: The bitch bit me! There’s blood everywhere.

Rodrigue: It’s gotta be wiped off. Roy had said to leave no trace.

Ferdinand: Too bad, we can’t hand around. Help me.

Lou Birkanian: Ritual! Protocol! It's to glue all these people together. That is what swallows up the facade: Baptism, first communion, marriage and funerals. Illusions of departure. Ah! Ah! I laugh in my beard. The something is amused in the bottom of my belly. These are always finals that are celebrated. Derision. Life and the time to couple to the sound of the great organs. And it always comes out of bastards. Long Live the bastards.

Filippo Ragone: I will outlive them all. I am immortal. Me, the moron, the extra-terrestrial. I am protected by my uselessness. The vase on the mantelpiece lasts longer than the dinner dishes because they are used every day. The vase is at the centre of everything. It records everything. It fills its void with rumours and household odours. I saw, in Sicily, after the great bombardments, a plan of a collapsed house with, on the fourth floor, on an inaccessible mantelpiece, an intact vase which dominated the ruins. Long live the vases!

Rodrigue: Boss, the business is done.

Roy: No problem?

Ferdinand: No problem.

Roy: Put your hand in your pocket.

Annie: I don’t want to be like my mother. I don’t want to become crazy. The cafe Spartacus had its time. Like boogie-woogie, rock and roll, disco and punk. I don’t want to be the wife of another Peter Williams who will be eaten by other cannibals in another Amazonia. I will not be the wife of anybody.

Catherine: I am the Queen Mother. This mask sticks to my skin. I cannot get rid of it. It is all my power and my negation. Farewell, Robert, my too young lover. Farewell, Catherine Ragone. The Queen Mother will survive until the day when Richard will kill me, kill the Queen Mother and kill the fragile, gentle, uncertain Catherine Ragone below, cluttered in tinsels too big for her.

Sandy: Nelson! You are too far away from me.

Nelson: I hear Sandy over there on the other side of the river. She calls: "Nelson!" I'm Nelson. I'm not Nelson. The other part of myself is lacking. Without her, I can no longer walk, hug, hear, see the world in its true relief. I'm going to have to take rehabilitation courses. Sandy! The break is hurting.

Sandy: Nelson! I'm torn from you. The river carries me away. We will never go back to the source.

Marie-Jeanne: Now I know. My eyes are open. I will never close them again. The corpse of Alcide Premier is at the dump. I see things as they are. Learning ends here, in the forecourt of this cathedral. Here they played the Mysteries in the Middle Ages. The three blows can strike, I know my lines. I practiced my moves, I am ready. Lights up. Curtain!

Robert Houle: The little Williams, she has beautiful breasts. She must kiss like a queen.  I will go and visit her next weekend.

Freddy: I spent all the money from the photos in the tavern. I had to drink myself to death. Nelson and Sandy came to find me. I couldn’t stand up. They put me in their bed.

Richard: It's only a beginning. Now I amin power. I can play my part. Catherine was right. The teeth of the sea felllike milk teeth at the proclamation of the bans. Now I feel in my mouth the growthof wisdom teeth. I want to eat my steak.

Roy: Me, I don’t play. I have never played. I am September’s child. I know numbers. I know the weight of things, the price of men. I never cheat with them.

Rodrigue and Ferdinand: We neither!

Richard: I am truly the king. I wear the cloak, the crown and the sceptre. The courtiers bow as I pass. My word dominates them, they apply themselves to imitate it. My architects, my doctors and my scientists hold all the knowledge of the universe in their magic boxes. These boxes are sealed in the foundations of my palace. Like the steadfast roots of the great tree of Richard.

Richard: Even divergent music, fruits of old age and memory, comes to blend in my grand orchestra and raise the taste. I am young. I hold beauty by the hand. The world belongs to me.

Everyone: Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

Lou Birkanian: I knew you were there. Sacred pig! You don’t miss one, do you? Here. Give me your arm. Ceremonies, they always tire me. We'll go to the casino. I will bet on 13. I have an idea that today is my lucky day.

Time: That's all you can say!

Lou Birkanian: I think I only said one thing: it's my lucky day.

Time: You never change!

Lou Birkanian: Stop saying stupid things. You're doing enough of them. It should satisfy you.