Ivan sings

One, two, three! The drum strikes a ternary rhythm, the heaviness of which is emphasized by the low tone of the instrument. The sound beats, traveling in the open air and bouncing against the walls of the village huts, resound in the icy silence that covers the marketplace, transformed for the occasion. Other percussionists join the performance, supporting the throbbing pulsation, transported by the powerful, crushing, blissful sound of pain.

The performance is well received by the spectators, abandoning themselves to the poisonous charm of the intense eddies caused by the shock of chopsticks on outstretched skins. The whole village came despite the cold. The comings and goings of the passersby have traced immense trajectories in the mud that constitutes the main street of the hamlet. A few birds cross the infinite, yellowish sky, uttering nasal howls.

Impatience can be read on faces. Joy, as well. This late Sunday afternoon is illuminated by a sea of smiles and playful faces. In the collective euphoria and the delight of meeting at a public event, the families are recomposed, the spouses love each other again, the friends reconcile. The walls erected by old quarrels collapse one by one, swept by the restorative power of conviviality and popular folklore.

Among this collection of caring and friendly people, a little boy tries to sneak his way through the crowd singing a rhyme: "Hush, mice! The cat’s in the room, he can see us and hear us!" Showing his nine year-old naivety, the cherub with angel's face is loved by everyone in the communal parish. As a choirboy, his crystalline voice breaks the sententious performance of the drums.

He may not have the maturity and experience of the adults around him, yet he too is possessed by a pressing feeling of impatience, of immediate need. As if his skinny veins were itching from within, he waits for the beginning of the ceremony, wriggling happily, chanting nursery rhymes with remarkable accuracy.

The device is already ready. The main protagonist is the only missing element. The gallows stand proudly in front of the sun, diving the assembly into the shadow of the rope and its noose. From the ground, with the backlight, one can only see the silhouette of the installation and executioners, willing to satisfy the ardor of the people.

The droning of percussion suddenly stops. The one everyone wanted to see finally shows up. The mundane conversations and the joy of gathering give way to the hootings of the assembly, as suddenly swept away by a feeling of liberating hatred. The smiles turn into vengeful mines. The face of the child changes too. Innocence has disappeared.

He remembers that night when the man who stands today on the gallows, from the neighboring village, ravaged everything in the modest home of his parents. Having coldly shot his father before he could even do anything, he then attacked him and his mother. While the kid was tied to a chair in the living room, Mom was raped on the meal table. He still remembers the overwhelming silence after the man had beheaded her with an axe. No cry was coming out of his little mouth, even after the criminal ran away. He was flabbergasted by the violent tranquility of the scene, and by the pinkish smell of sperm floating in the room.

The neck of the convict breaks. A thunder of applause isn't enough to get the kid out of his thoughts. The drums take up again their mechanical brutality. Everyone is very happy: if only this kind of distraction was less rare...

(2017)