Precise
hands cut, sew, cook, pour, screw, wield, trim, weave, assemble clothes,
metal, acid, gunpowder, all over the country. Struggling over their task,
women repeat the same gesture to which they are devoted. Indifferent to what
is not related to to their task, the days go on and on under pressing calls
to increase production.
The floor, swirls with exhaustion, mesmerizes those who are weakening;
stand up!
Threatening gestures, the workers spit out their anger.
All around the cannons they are hushed by their gnawing heartbeats. Work restarts. The thought that they have stifled themselves
will no longer slow down the pace.
From above the bays the order is given, twice. An invitation
to the show. The huge hall is stealthily filled. The red curtains
disappear in the ceiling, the regiment's orchestra is stationed on the
stage, above them the official trumpet player is awesome and glitters.
Below him, the ballet of soldiers in formal uniforms is
exhilarated; they dance static, crouching, with enormous tireless
smiles. Once the show is over, the spectators leave in the dark.
Under the battlefield, men have to face the need for heroes.
Their entrails become snake pits. - Go forth. Here they come. To the front
line. They are progressing, looking for the final sign, in a row,
6'
- the
order comes ! The infantry rush, towards the crest legs furiously pumping,
burdened by their gear, they climb, reach the top of the hill exposed they
overlook over around,
