The trees lived it more than I did ... It never arrived, and I hardly expected it to ... And you, sister, why don’t you speak?

 

THIRD WATCHER It horrifies me that I’ll soon have said what I’m going to say. My words, spoken in the present, will belong immediately to the past, they’ll be somewhere outside me, irrevocable and fatal ... When speaking, I think about what’s going on in my throat, and my words seem like people ... My fear is larger than me. I can feel in my hand, I don’t know how, the key to an unknown door. And I’m suddenly, all of me, a talisman or tabernacle conscious of itself. That’s why it so scares me, like a dark forest, to pass through the mystery of speaking ... But who knows if this is really how I am and what I feel? ...

 

FIRST WATCHER It’s so hard to know what we feel when we look at ourselves! Even living seems hard when we stop to think about it ... Speak, therefore, without thinking about the fact you exist. Weren’t you going to tell us who you once were?

 

THIRD WATCHER What I once was no longer remembers who I am. Poor happy girl that I used to be! ... I lived among the shadows of branches, and everything in my soul is trembling leaves. When I walk in the sun, my shadow is cool. I spent the flight of my days amid fountains, where I dipped the calm tips of my fingers whenever I dreamed of living ... Sometimes I bent over and stared at myself in the ponds... When I smiled, my teeth looked mysterious in the water. They had their own smile, independent of mine ... I always smiled for no reason ... Talk to me about death, about the end of all things, so that I can feel there’s a reason to look back ...

 

FIRST WATCHER Let’s talk about nothing, about nothing ... It’s colder now, but why is it colder? There’s no reason for it to be colder. It’s not really any colder than it is... Why must we talk? Singing, I don’t know why, is better than talking ... Singing, when we do it at night, is a bold and cheery person who bursts into the room and warms it up, comforting us... I could sing you a song we used to sing at home in my past. Don’t you want me to sing it?

 

THIRD WATCHER It’s not worth the bother, sister. .. When someone sings, I can no longer be with myself. I stop being able to remember myself.