The light from the two projectors uncovers me sitting, with the whistle in my hands, at full sight, and with a smile hidden by the cloak?s hood. I had barely attained a doubtful normality when the devil tempted me to watch those recently starting their parts. Adi was lying in the barrow, resembling an odalisque immersed in the pool full of rose water and Tibi, with his shinbones stuck in the loo- God knows what symbol in the director?s artistic view- was trying to hold his equilibrium. Perceiving the majesty of the absurd I again burst into laughter. This time, an unconcealed, assumed laughter, so that the spectators were completely still. Taking into account the fact that we were laughing without any restraint ? all three of us on the stage ? it looked like that was the way the show was supposed to go on.

After Jean assumed his role, walking Adi in that barrow, everything turned into a little party. We were all laughing when we felt like and we cared for nobody else?s opinion. We tried to carry on our little musical bit. That was singing. But completely shaken by laughter, we didn?t make much of our songs. Especially I, who was supposed to blow the whistle, focused more on the theatrical side of the business. Jean was shouting his lungs out when reciting Gyr?s lines, all resembling a magazine pamphlet. Yet, Rise you, George, Rise You John! literally made the public rise. We were more or less off the hook. Nobody was actually interested in that show to have fluency or an inner logic. The stake was for all those involved to get out of that filthy cesspool. And the applauses represented the endorsement granted to the organizers.

By the end of the entire thing, while listening to some famous actors yelling God knows what religious prose, the Bread-Man arrives, an appliance containing a hundred and something fresh loaves of bread, bought from Amzei marketplace a little time before the beginning of the show. The director was dragging it down the stage, with the despair granted by the obligation of carrying out a burdening task all by himself and during a limited time. He was playing his own card. When seeing the signal he shared with us during the rehearsal, we were supposed to break the thick paper, which was covering the loaves, and after that break them and share them with those in the public. Adi was the only one who was supposed to do something. He was supposed to pour white wine from a five-litre bottle into some small plastic glasses and then to share it with those in the public.

During that sacred moment we were going to give the exact measure of our interest for the show. I don?t know how we did it, but we didn?t manage to properly unwrap the Bread-Man so that, out of his groins, the fresh loaves spread mostly down the floor. The director was dead nervous. He started yelling at us as if he had paid us. Saying that we were good for nothing that we hadn?t even been able to share the loaves properly?

Meanwhile, Adi was taking in glass after glass of wine, in full shortsighted and extremely confused view of the former political prisoners.

It is useless to say that the success was huge, worthy of a big stage. We had been given endless rounds of applauses. That was going to make the director chill out. He had managed to come out of it with flying colours.