Delicate Crime Page #2

author's grammar. "

- Hi, Mr. Antonio. Your mail.

- Thanks.

DIVERGENT BODIES COLLECTIVE

EXHIBITION:

Desire.

Secretly.

Touched me.

Deeply.

Critic.

Cruelty.

Complacency.

Challenges.

Desire.

Critic.

- Antonio Martins?

- Yes.

- I'm Lenita. Nice to meet you.

- Likewise.

- Oh, sh*t... I'm so clumsy.

- No, it's alright.

- Do you forgive me?

- Don't worry, really.

- Everything is fine.

- Ins told me about you.

And where is she?

She'd never come.

However, Jose Torres Campana,

the artist, is right there.

Don't you want to meet him?

No, don't bother.

So, what do you think?

- It is interesting, at least.

- Interesting?

Yes.

Is she married to the painter?

No!

He's my husband.

What about the last name?

It is an artistic last name.

He's like a father to her.

That's all.

I think it would be nice if you...

No. Look...

Thank you very much.

But I have another appointment.

It was nice meeting you.

Please, thank Ins for the invitation.

Thank you for coming.

Bye!

It's here!

You know all about it.

Where is he?

He...

Who, sir?

Thou comest terrible and menacing

in the middle of the night.

Tumultuously,

with thy servants...

to break down the doors

of my chamber.

What cause, sir?

Am I but an insignificant woman,

a base and despicable creature...

not worthy even that thou shouldst

remember that thy suspicion...

discredits me the minds

of thy lackeys?

- Good Duke...

- Where is he?

Thou madest light thy park...

sentest thy fighting men,

stirrest up the whole palace.

For what cause, sir?

I am a woman, and thou mightest

give me death without causing...

a shameful scandal, without

crushing me 'neath all thy might.

Thou camest encircled by a

vile band of mercenaries...

whom thou needest, but beckon

and they will spit in my face...

for I am a woman and frail,

and thou art a man and feared.

- Is that being noble?

- Where is he?

Where is he indeed!

He's here, sir!

Here in my bed.

They are thy children!

Let they be a testament

to my innocence.

A ribbon!

Oh, Lord!

- Thou shall die!

- Sir Jaime, hear me patiently!

I shall make plain this awful chance

that seems to point to my guilt.

Thou art well disguised

and brave...

to look an outraged man in the

eye and fall not the ground...

on thy hands and knees,

begging forgiveness for thy crime...

and mercy for that which

thou oughtst pay!

A villain who finds in his bed an

adulterous couple, a pair of vipers...

might he smash them with impunity

and yet I nothing do?

Thou canst kill me, sir!

Yet thou wilst regret it,

and thy repentance wilt be late.

Thou wilst know my innocence and

thy remorse wilt ne'er leave thee.

Justify thyself

before all of mine house?

Let it not be said of me that

I wouldst kill an innocent woman.

I can read my condemnation

in thine eyes.

I can see that thou

wilst not pardon me.

And not a heavenly miracle

can show thee mine innocence.

My life has e'er been a stumbling

block for thy designs.

Thou hidest thy conviction so

as more readily rid thyself of me.

I know and see it!

So, if thou wishest to slay me,

good Duke...

if that is thy purpose,

as I do believe...

then kilest me thine own self,

barbarically id thou wishest it.

Let then my name be stained

with infamy's blemish...

yet humiliate me not in the

presence of thy servants.

My name in thine own, sir duke.

Thou canst not remove it.

Yes, m'lady!

I did bind mine name to thine own...

and t 'was thou who undertookst

the labour of mine infamy.

Thou spokest well I might kill ye both,

make martyrs of ye...

trample ye underfoot.

Nothing could for me be simpler.

Yet such vengeance, while it might

perchance satisfy a villain...

would please me not.

Were I sure that this furnace

of hate which devours me...

would not consume me whole

in but a few hours...

if I could be sure of life

until the break of day...

were mine vengeance otherwise.

Whereas I cannot be sure of life,

I shall take another...

though less splendid,

equally terrifying vengeance.

- Enter!

- Good sir!

On my knees, I beg thee: Let me

not die suffering the false piety...

of mine subjects who all about me

will be laughing to themselves...

...at mine pleas and my forsakenness!

- Enter!

Bye, everybody.

Antonio Martins...

- It's a pleasure.

- Likewise.

Maria Luisa.

- How are things?

- Fine.

- I don't know what to say...

- It's okay.

Well, it's been a pleasure.

Wait!

I knew you'd be here today.

I really wanted to meet you.

I always read yours reviews and...

- I'm a little embarrassed.

- Don't be. Everything is fine.

- Really?

- Yes.

- But it may seem that I...

- It doesn't, okay?

- Have you eaten yet?

- No.

What about dinner?

I don't go out with actresses.

Fine.

Neither I with critics.

Shall we?

Where to?

Hello!

- Are you lonesome?

- Why?

- You look like a lonely man.

- Is that so?

Like those who need care.

That's good.

You know a lot about men,

don't you?

- Enough.

- For what?

- To take care of them.

- How nice.

Have you ever been married?

- I've had some affairs.

- Did they last long?

Is this some sort of interrogatory

for a gossip magazine?

- I'm the journalist here.

- I'm sorry.

- I was just asking.

- What for?

I don't know.

Isn't that why we go out with people?

I don't know. I came because you

had something to say to me.

Maybe you have,

and I think I know what it is.

You probably want to establish

some sort of intimacy...

so that you can ask me what

I thought about your play...

thus compromising

my opinion a little.

If not about the play,

at least about your work.

It must be difficult for you since

you've been working hard...

for so long on your career and

saw in me a way to leverage it.

Bringing me here,

exposing me as your trophy.

Maybe you wanted that,

and maybe I wanted things too.

Who knows,

we could exchange something.

Maybe you could

slowly suck my dick...

while I wrote an exclusive about

the great revelation of the stages.

Maybe you could be a little more

generous, meeting me now and then...

to change this lonely

appearance you say I have.

I might even fall in love,

which wouldn't be difficult and...

soon I'd notice that passion is

an invention of bourgeois literature.

Then you'd regret approaching me...

realizing that a shitty compliment...

means nothing more than a

good f*** on a cold night.

That on the next day would be

no more than a memory.

Maybe I could look into your eyes,

just like I'm doing now...

and say how obvious the world is...

that if death touched me right

now it would still be so predictable.

Excuse me.

Antonio, did you know that I still

have a review you wrote...

...from a play I was in?

- That's good.

You know, sometimes I...

take it from my drawer and...

...read it again.

- I see.

- You got dirty here?

- Yeah, a little.

Don't you...

Don't you want to drink something?

I'll have a scotch.

- Where's the bathroom?

- Right there.

Antonio!

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