-You know what I’m thinking?
-I wish I could go back and wipe them all. I wish I had superpowers, not like spiderman, even stronger, just like the other guy with the magnets and the helmet and even stronger. And kill them all.
– The bad guys.
-All of them.
-That’s not fair.
– what they did to us is?
His eyes burst out a super nova of infinite hatred. His hands point at Limbo. Millions of children. From modern and ancient times. From forests that no longer exist, from empires, kingdoms and lands that prospered and declined, now only mentioned in books. Children with jeans and cloaks, with shorts and leather, some naked, some with nappies.
Those murdered, bear a red thin line beneath the eye, like a tear, like blood.
-If there was a God, I should go back and kill ‘em all.
-Don’t say things like that. About God. About death. You know I can’t stand it. Spare me.
She caresses the red line on her cheek.
-They. They didn’t have pity on you.
-Not all of them.
-All of them.
-Some are innocent.
-My dear Marion. No one is innocent. No grown-up is. Look at Jella. She starved to death. Didn’t they know? What did they do?
-You scare me. You don’t talk like a child. You don’t think as a child.
-I didn’t have time. I didn’t have time to live as a child. I didn’t play. I was begging in the streets for food. That’s all I remember. My empty tummy, my mother crying. And the glint. The fire.
-You’re not a child.
-They didn’t let me be one. You neither.
A baby approaches crawling, nameless, not christened. It struggles to stand on its feet. It reaches out and touches the tears in Abdullah ‘s face.
-baddie, baddie says the baby
-My mother was good, says Marion. She read me stories every night. She bought me ice-cream in winter
-And in winter. She wasn’t bad
– baddie, baddie , says the baby.
-I’ll spare your mother’s life.
-She’s not alive. We were together in the theater when the bang was heard.
Marion cries. Abdullah hugs her. The baby says baddie, baddie. There is no God.
-I’ll go back and kill them all.
-That’s what grown-ups do. Don’t do it.
-they deserve it.
-Don’t act like a grown-up. Give them ice-cream.
Abdullah is laughing.
-What kind of super hero is that?
-The one who gives ice-cream. To everyone.
-I had ice cream once. It was a lady. A stranger. She bought me ice-cream, she gave me some money and knelt by me. She said something in her language. I didn’t understand. But she was good.
-baddie,baddie, the baby yells.
-No! She was good.
-Don’t kill her, says Marion.
Abdullah takes the baby in his arms and lulls it to sleep. Then starts whispering so the baby won’t wake up
-I’d like to go and talk to them. But they won’t listen. They will go on killing and not give a damn.
-Some will listen.
-Perhaps just one.
-Isn’t one enough?
-What could one man possibly do?
-Get you ice-cream.
Abdullah lays the baby on a cloud.
-A super hero who gives ice-cream?
-Much better than one that kills
He looks at her adoringly
-If we grew up, I would ask you to marry me.
-and I, to love me.
– I love you, but
-I know it, you fool!
They hug each other. The baby sleeps. The children play. And there is a God.
Translated by Alexandros Mantas soundcloud.com/residuos-mentales
Edited by Alexandra Kipourgos The art of Alexandra Kipourgos
Greek version “Η εκδίκηση των χαμένων παιδιών” http://sanejoker.info/2015/11/revenge-of-the-lost-kids2.html