TE15 Lithuanian Honey Cake

Monologues

HENRY MASSON, 46, a French black worker, lost his hand at work and was given the hand of a German student who had died in a car accident Marseille, late 20th century

I have the hand of God, God’s hand. So beautiful it makes me cry. And I can move it, I, I move it. See? Thumb, forefinger, little finger… The finger of God moves by my will. How is it written? Whoever is touched by the finger of God… I am God’s finger. Whomever I touch awakens. Or dies, unless already dead. My arm is black, but my fingers are white, soft, thin. Who would have thought God a German? Nothing is the same. Whatever I touch becomes light. I create out of nothing, destroy into nothing. When I sleep my hand glows in the dark, on my chest.

Translated by Barbara Siegl Carlson

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