A marching band ! White gloves, necks and bugles. In perfect
marching order, they all follow the beating of the drum major's heavy stick. Metal shoulder pads, boots, shining belts, the dripping gold of medals.
Minds are haunted by other visions. The city hided in the heart of its foundations is caught with hope.
Right in the middle of main street an impertinent presence, it dares defy the musical column that
is muted a far.
And here comes another, and another again, they are about to start
marching. From the other end of the street somebody appears, approaches,
passes, they turn around, mesmerized; He is an oriental official, he has
returned their salute.
him the marching band overtakes the recruits, swallows up
them whole. They pick up speed, the sun right ahead. Chests heaved -
left - right - the drum-major raises his cane at the highest,
the cohort rises up at his order; bracing up against gravity, they set foot
on the first step of the stairway to the sky, they no longer touch the
ground. Step by step they march by the balconies, the roofs, the hills.
Once in the heights, the wind rushes in to dislocate them, they must resist, there is no turning back; a fight for JUSTICE, the
FUTURE in their bosom, their glorious DEATH. The sceptical ones are thrown like
puppets in the void.
By taking its flight the army has set the town free. Suddenly the
streets are crowded with pale, beardless uniforms. On the
square, drumsticks, drums and bayonets throw back soft bodies, tears from
women's hair and old caps, small tousled heads, graceful arms, shirts cold with
The sun is shining; from up-there everything seems quiet. The
peaceful countryside passes by. A few snatches of salvos come through the
thickening smoke. (5'33) We are far now. (5'42) Down here a child is
peeking at the marching band, small centipede in helmet undulating in the
sky, (5'55) it glitters, so intense; bursts apart (6'04).