Sometimes, I remember things about him.
You remember him?
I remember a tall man who used to take me by the hand to the park. I remember he would put me on the swings … buy me sweets … ice cream, candy floss. When I got food all over my face, he would wipe my mouth with a handkerchief that he’d take from his pocket and unfold very carefully.
That was a long time ago. Not everything might be the way I remember it. But I know it was all real, not a dream.
Was Joaquin Sierra some sort of family friend? A relation of yours?
He was my father.
Your father? You’re sure?
Why would you ask me that? I’m beginning to think that you know more than you’re letting on.
Pause.
I’m sorry. I’m a little upset. I forgot I was talking to a stranger… end up saying things I shouldn’t.
Please, I’m the one who’s sorry if my question offended you.
Why did you doubt that he was my father?
I’d forgotten Sierra had a daughter.
When did you know him? Please, try to remember.
Maybe 20 years ago, more or less that.
And how did you know him?
We were in the same line of work. Sometimes we met – him, me and the other friend I told you about. We’d talk about how business was going, clients, the sales we made.
I can’t imagine you and my father talking like colleagues.
Don’t be fooled by how I look now. Life takes many turns.
Back then … everything was different. But things went wrong. Life changed, I moved to another city and in the end lost everything. Since then, I’ve wandered here and there. Well, I don’t need to bore you with my life. Ever since everything changed … ever since I changed, I’ve not seen your father.
The above sample taken from the translation THE REMAINS: Agamemnon Comes Home by Gwynneth Dowling is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
You left your family?
Yes.
Your wife? Why? Was your marriage in trouble?
No.
Did you love her?
VAGRANT: Yes.
Did you have children?
A girl.
What age was she?
She was little, very little.
And you left her too?
There was no other way.
Didn’t you think of the damage you’d do? Leaving a little girl like that alone?
She wasn’t alone. She stayed with her mother.
You left her.
I would’ve loved to have taken her with me.
Why didn’t you?
Sometimes you have to follow the path that life paves out for you, whether you want to or not.
If you want to do something, you can do it. Nobody’s fate is sealed.
Sometimes you’ve no choice but to follow a path you’ve not chosen. Maybe you don’t understand. You’re very young. But sometimes you just have to keep going, even if you don’t want to.
I may be very young, but I understand very well what I’m saying. And the truth is that you abandoned your daughter. No matter how you try to justify it.
It wasn’t like that.
You told me that you didn’t take her with you. Right or wrong?
No, I didn’t take her with me.
If you didn’t take her, then you abandoned her. Right or wrong?
Yes, I abandoned her. I abandoned her.
I don’t think you loved her as much as you say.
More than life itself!
Why didn’t you think about her, then?
I’ve told you. I had to leave the house. I couldn’t go back.
And you had to sacrifice your daughter for that.
I wouldn’t have been able to take her with me. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen to me. I couldn’t condemn my daughter to the same fate.
So you left her.
The above sample taken from the translation THE REMAINS: Agamemnon Comes Home by Gwynneth Dowling is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
There was no compassion. They didn’t deserve any. I raised the knife and let it fall on them both, entwined in their sin, so that their disgrace would follow them into the next life. So that they’d be who they were before death, forever chained together in damned union. Even if it was just to shame their bodies when they were found dead. It was a fair price for so much torture.
You’re covered in blood.
Blood.
Look at your hands.
Is this blood? Is this her blood?
The GIRL looks at her hands, her arms. She screams.
So much blood.
Where’s your mother?
In there, in her room. Her body entwined with her lover’s. Their blood united, just as their bodies were earlier.
Why? Why you?
[…]
It was no crime.
You don’t regret it?
It was my duty.
Why?
She would have killed me otherwise. It was her or me.
You’re talking about your mother.
If that had stayed my hand, if I’d paused for one moment because she was my mother … then you could accuse me of being guilty. Guilty of not doing my duty, of neglecting my obligation, of thinking only of my own peace of mind. Of letting myself get carried away by my emotions. The sentence could not be revoked. She was no longer my mother. These eyes no longer saw her as my mother. If they still had, I would’ve torn them from my face. I was no longer her daughter. I didn’t owe her anything anymore. Nothing tied me to her anymore.
The above sample taken from the translation THE REMAINS: Agamemnon Comes Home by Gwynneth Dowling is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
Father …
Don’t call me that. I’m not your father. I can’t be your father. I don’t want to be that monster you so adore.
You’re here nonetheless. Home again. Now that she’s gone forever.
I’ve come back, but there’s no hope left now.
You’ve got me.
I can’t stay in this house a second more.
You’re not leaving. You’re not going to leave me alone now. I demand it.
You’re ordering me?
Don’t leave me with what’s inside there.
And you think I could be alright with what you’ve done?
Your place is here.
I turned my back on this place, on any place, a long time ago. The streets are all I have. It was stupid to return. All this is a huge punishment. Disproportionate.
If you hadn’t left, things would’ve been different.
I started all this … No. No, it can’t be.
I just did what you didn’t dare to do years ago.
I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long. For so many years, I’ve longed to come home and be with my family. And now I find that my own daughter has murdered her mother and demands my complicity.
The above sample taken from the translation THE REMAINS: Agamemnon Comes Home by Gwynneth Dowling is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
Entry written by Gwynneth Dowling. Last updated on 13 October 2011.