Flowers - Giant Engine Library

Author: Jean Genet
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-08-01
Features: A beautiful yet dark blooming of flowers—this magnificent display—I only learned its fragments: one was delivered to me by a newspaper, another was mentioned in passing by my lawyer, and another was spoken by the jailers—almost sung—they sang in a magical yet tragic manner (a Requiem), like the sad songs they sang at night, their voices drifting through the cells, reaching my ears, so chaotic, so desperate, so greedy. By the end of the phrase, it was already hoarse, and the cracks in the voice made it so sweet, as if accompanied by the music of angels—this was what I found terrifying, because angels frightened me. In my imagination, they were neither spiritual nor material, white and hazy, like malevolent ghosts with transparent bodies. Those now-dead murderers kept appearing before me, and whenever such a portentous star fell into my cell, my heart would pound violently, my heart would race wildly, and this wild drumming might have foretold the surrender of a city. A fervor followed, a passion so intense it could twist my soul, making me spasm for minutes on end. At that moment, I heard German planes flying over the prison, their bombs exploding nearby. In an instant, I saw a solitary child, carried away by his iron bird, laughing as he scattered seeds of death. The alarm, the bell, the one hundred and one cannon shots specially fired to welcome the Prince, the shouts of hatred and fear—all exploded for him alone. All the cells trembled in terror, shuddering, going mad, the jailers banging on the doors, rolling on the floor, crying and screaming, cursing and pleading with God. I saw—I thought I saw—a eighteen-year-old child in the plane, from the far end of my cell number 426, I sent him a smile of love. I don’t know if it was their faces, their true faces, that splattered a patch of diamond-like mud on the wall of my cell, but I cut out these empty-eyed, beautiful heads from magazines—this could not have been by coincidence.