#no one in the normal world says that they wish someone died during an unsuccessful murder attempt

[bubblesxo]

PSA: when a ton of people who advocate for the same political ideologies regularly group people in as “outsiders” and “the bad” and then systematically take it out on individual members of the out group, all seemingly in agreement that certain members of this out group that are “problematic” or in some way “bad” (scapegoats) should die, often brutally, then you have fascism.

[tillerman1]

TORMENT (pt.1) [to the page]

BAITING

Torment: A knife on a boil

The summer after my graduation, I was sick and suddenly TORMENT appeared. It was made in one stretch in an old "Latin writing exercises" which had begun at one end, the whole course of events just came, it was like a compulsion. When I finished writing, I read through everything, felt relieved and buried this first, only and as I hoped last writing in the spacious darkness of an old drawer.

How then TORMENT re-emerged from oblivion, was produced, reviewed, made into a screenplay and finally into a film is admittedly a remarkable but completely different story.

For this film, I had three hopes and I'm glad to talk about them.

1.) I wish that TORMENT became a knife on a boil, that it had something liberating to bring while I hope that the spectator would find it worth the entrance ticket.

2.) I wish CALIGULA could be exposed, cleansed, rendered harmless. Namely, there are many varieties of Caligulas, larger and smaller, rather harmless varieties or disgusting monsters, obvious or insidious. But in one thing, Caligula is always recognizable. He creates hatred, strife, destruction among people. He is a stranger to all community, lacks contact opportunities and natural compassion.

3.) I wish you could feel sorry for Caligula, as he is not the perpetrator of his situation. He is like the poisonous snake, the bacterium, a combated pest who by no means understands the evil he will accomplish, but who is always alone, always unhappily chased by raging furies, his own fear and drive to evil. If you look up the word Caligula in a conversation dictionary, it says the following:

CALIGULA: (LATIN = "LITTLE BOOT") B. 12. D. 41 ROMAN EMPEROR, SON OF GERMANICUS. C's BLOODLUST AND ABNORMAL INCLINATIONS SOON MADE HIM SO HATED THAT HE WAS MURDERED.

TORMENT

Film script by Ingmar Bergman.

This film is dedicated to Caligula and all his peers in both dead and living languages, Christianity, geography and history…

QUIDQUID ID IS TIMEO DANAOS ET DONA FERENTES. [Whatever it is, I fear the Greeks bearing gifts.]

(Caligula's first words to his class, significant to his character.)

Caligula is a man of just over fifty years. His appearance is by no means spectacular. He is dark, a little white-haired. The face is mainly occupied by a pair of rather strong glasses with large black frames. When he takes off his glasses, his face suddenly changes and becomes a little insignificant, almost frightened.

It is the case with Caligula, that he has a facade towards the outside world, a facade that he makes every effort to maintain. "Cat history" is significant for his human type. "If I do not bite, you bite and therefore I bite first." This has created an attitude of anger that has developed a strong aptitude: the stiletto-sharp sadism, the desire to see people tormented, to feel the power over them. Within this sadism, of course, is a white spot: "I'm not a criminal, I can not make a craziness for that." He himself is not fully conscious, he is one of those many people, who live half their lives, in a kind of semi-consciousness, where the external events only reach the soul indirectly and thereby loses its original hurtful and consuming effect but also the positive edifying and healing one.

The reason for this violent meadow attitude is based on a given feeling of helplessness which in Caligula has reached a strong (let alone pathological) development. Admittedly, it is dangerous to scold everything pathologically. Things that are based on undisciplined operational satisfaction of one kind or another do not have to be, but Caligula's steps show attachment, his intentional perverted desire to acknowledge his fear and expose himself, his disgrace to fellow human suffering is probably pathological. And if you try to see ahead, what will happen to him, he will definitely end up in a mental hospital or he will be admitted to an alcoholic institution. That he would take his own life is unlikely. People like him do not (they are too suspicious of the possibilities in the next life).

His relationship with the girl Bertha is by no means a Mr Hyde madness, but is precisely because of its simple, almost everyday facility so insanely eerie. From the beginning, the girl is afraid of him, mostly because her limited understanding and intuition cannot comprehend him. This intimidation gives him an advantage which he uses according to the thesis "if you do not eat me, I will eat you."

The "murder", which is not really a murder in the ordinary sense, comes to him as a deep, unusually direct shock, which also re-furnishes terribly in his bedroom of perversity. The relationship with the boy is similar. Sandman, for example, he would never dare. But he chooses this righteous, sensitive boy with instinctive certainty for his victim. It is precisely the category of boys in the class that he plays on and which suggests the horror in the whole class. The insane paralyzing fear that can only (according to my experience) break out in a school class under the guidance of an experienced schoolboy.

Finally, I would like to make a personal confession regarding Caligula and people like him.

I think they arose from a mistake of nature. Their sole task is to suffer themselves and to inflict other sufferings. There perhaps is some meaning with that.

But as human beings, they are unsuccessful, without development opportunities, without happiness opportunities, without real life. The most radical thing would of course be to kill them. Perhaps also the most merciful. "Feeling sorry" is impossible when it comes to Caligula. What you feel is reluctance, disgust, a shiver of discomfort, which introduces the small insects that wedge back and forth and disappear into earth holes under a newly rolled stone.

Jan-Erik Widgren is a boy of eighteen years. He is not unusual in any way. He is a high school student simply with all that entails.

Psychologically, Jan-Erik undergoes a development during the film. When it starts he is a bit swarming, writes poetry, plays the piano, thinks of a pure woman who will be his wife and in between he has a good time keeping track of the "lusts" that force him to do things that he views with antipathy and some resignation.

Through the course of events, he changes.

First, he is confronted with a woman, who provides him with a break in his nicely set principles. He is not in love with her, but at least goes to bed with her and gets up (to his surprise) without too much remorse. Like all high school students with a bit of Sturm- und Drang attraction, he is quite isolated, alone. He finds in Bertha someone who cares about him and needs him in such a way that it does not have to interfere with his own ordinary and very fragile puberty deals with himself. Therefore, he accepts her and becomes attached to her with a tenderness that she responds to, and which gives him a calmed body and thereby a certain freedom in the soul.

But little by little, this good relationship breaks down quite quickly. It is Caligula who breaks it unconsciously, piece by piece. When Bertha lies there snotty, drunk and howling, stands he with even company for her. He was never in love with her, loved her not and this new stress is their relationship not mighty to bear. It's breaking.

Slowly but surely he is driven towards desperation. The first rash is when he beats Caligula, the second is when Jan-Erik in wild despair rushes away from home. It is fully erupted when he takes his home on Bertha's floor where he hides like a wounded animal.

But the knot is not so tight. He is a normal, slightly hypersensitive, law-conscious but largely balanced boy and he lets the principal help him. He returns home, not longer collegian but something bitter, something sensible, with a feeling of how lives probably are damned, indeed sometimes run "on clean sophistication," but also is a good life with obvious meaning in the most as done. The final image shows him lying on the floor, crying, it may seem depressing, but is really the opposite. It would be worse if he kept quiet and bit himself.

He treats his parents like most boys of his category: armed neutrality.

There is nothing wrong with Jan-Erik, he will be a good man.

Bertha, the poor little life! There is not really much to say about her. She is kind to nature, does not really look slutty, but has started to ride a carousel due to the force of circumstances: "You want to be part of it, you want to live". In the end, she has lost count and with her slightly indolent temperament, she has not cared so much about it.

So she has become acquainted with Caligula in the same way as with many other gentlemen, through the tobacco business and its possibilities. Caligula has looked nice and so suddenly she is stuck in a yarn, which she can not get out of. Besides, she does not understand her new lover and what he asks of her and it scares her more than anything else. The fear escalates to the immoderate, mainly suggested by herself and she willingly allows herself to be mentally abused by Caligula.

The company with Jan-Erik gives her some breathing space and shows her who she is: a kind girl, who asks for nothing more than to have someone to like, to have a living person next to her in bed, to avoid being alone.

She suppers death itself. Drinks on Caligula's initiative, allows herself tortured, suffers from malnutrition. Her will to live kind of runs away and she dies almost at her own request.

I feel very sorry for her and wish that she had married some kind man and that she had had many children and a small decent home. Maybe it was her little adventurousness, inability to take care of herself, that led her downhill. In any case, she is a victim and I am now, if possible, even more convinced that Caligula should be shot.

*

The huge schoolyard outside the school. It is deserted and empty. A little boy comes rushing far from behind. He runs at high speed across the yard on the diagonal.

Towards the stairs up to the main entrance. The little boy rushes up the stairs. Stumbles, gets up, rushes on. Gets with difficulty and difficulty up the door that is big, big. Throws in.

Inside the door.

The large vestibule with the doors to the prayer hall. From inside, Bull-Jesus' monotonously echoing voice is heard. The boy (12 years old) looks at the wall clock that shows 10 minutes past eight. The boy swallows a few times. His bad conscience is unequivocal. He slips quietly up the next stairs and - the next. He tries to make himself as small as possible. A teacher walks in the corridors, opens the doors to the classrooms, and peeks in, opens to storage rooms, map rooms and toilets. Snooping everywhere. Moves on.

The boy hears echoing footsteps. He slips in through a door. It is the chemistry room, with a long row of large tables. He dives behind one.

The teacher opens the door to the chemistry room, walks quickly through it. Out again. The boy, crouching, gets up, sneaks up to the door and listens. Opens and slides out.

Long corridor.

The boy is contagious. Sneaks past a cross corridor. Stays like nailed to the ground.

The teacher comes in the cross corridor. He sees the boy, stops.

The boy leaves, rushing like a shot through the corridor.

The teacher turns, slips around a corner.

The boy turns around another corner and rushes straight into the teacher's arms. The boy finds it too good to start howling. The teacher takes him by the scruff of the neck and removes the offender.

A classroom.

The boy, still held in the nape of the neck, howling, is thrown down on a bench. The teacher produces the class book. Staring gloomily at the lad. Turns up the book, writes.

The stairs and the corridor.

Pippi comes walking pretty fast. The hat on the neck. The rock flutters. The white hair tests stand out. He walks past the "boy's" classroom, but stops, turns around and peeks inside. Pippi rattles off -

PIPPI: Good morning assistant professor.

The young, gloomy and zealous teacher turns his head and looks at Pippi -

THE ADJUNCT: Good morning lecturer.

Pippi steps in, looks at the howling boy -

PIPPI: What a crime this sad young man has committed now.

THE ADJUNCT: He's late! Arrived too late for morning prayer!!

The assistant professor closes his class book and prepares to leave.

PIPPI: Well, I did too.

The assistant professor turns around in a flash as if to say something, but is speechless. The boy stops howling and looks up. An explained grin slowly erupts on his snotty little gangster physiognomy.

Bull-Jesus fishes with his tongue for the loose man, who is about to leave, bending his head deep down where he stands in the prayer hall chairs.

BULL - JESUS: Aameen!

The organ breathes, sighs. A tall boy with nervous hands and eyes in the notes intones bluntly "Alone God…"

The school's 856 students plus teacher and principal get up like a man and sing with ho and hi and a certain hug -

SCHOOL: Only God in heaven, our grace and praise belong…

Grönstrand stands dumbfounded, stares at the hymnbook, then he pushes Jan-Erik -

GREEN BEACH: Devils in it. I do not know any Latin today… You'll see if you go there. I had premonitions this morning.

JAN - ERIK: Where are they?

GREEN BEACH: In the stomach. Boy! vikken diarrhea.

SCHOOL: For all the grace he has lovingly done with us.

BROBERG (sings in falsetto): Do not you think it sounds appropriate when another sings soprano?

Östergren stands with the Latin grammar in full swing -

ÖSTERGREN: Shut up. I'm studying. Do not bother me! Volo, nolo, malo, cupio, juvo, studeo…

SCHOOL: He gave the earth - great joy and peace…

Bergman and Krefler.

BERGMAN: Tira on the little home sadist Caligula.

Caligula treads up and down. Cranks a little with his left arm as if he had rheumatism in it.

BERGMAN: He has rheumatism today.

KREFLER: Does he get cool. Jojo!

BERGMAN: Cool… He becomes sublime.

SCHOOL: And man may well rejoice at -

Sandman, bald, burning eyes, strange revelation, lying with rapture.

SANDMAN: You see, another became quite familiar when the donna said that she had fallen on a dumpling.

Göterström, small, glasses, impressed -

GÖTERSTRÖM: Oh, oh you.

SANDMAN: You know… stabbe, you have not intended to be… yet…

Sång-Pelle stands with closed eyes, hands on his stomach, happy. Singing so it thumps -

SCHOOL + SONG - PELLE: God's eternally good viiljaaaaaa…

The prayer hall.

Everyone's heads are bowed at Bull-Jesus' initiative. Dead quiet.

Two schoolboys lean together and pretend to sleep. Panorama. One stuffs the textbook into his pants. Another stops carving on the bench with his penknife. A third wakes up to where he has been standing and dropped the hymnal on the floor.

There will be a break-up signal.

Long lines of trains now, row after bench, row after bench, out of the prayer hall.

At the door are two teachers.

Each student who passes by shows their book of psalms. Then comes one - no hymnal -

TEACHER I: No hymnal.

STUDENT: Mine is stolen.

TEACHER 2: At least do not lie. Watched.

The student is joined to a small cluster of other individuals -

STUDENT 1: Will it stick?

Student 1. does not answer. Just make a very ugly and very grimace.

The train of students.

Faces in long lines. Characteristic, intense. Lots of faces. The huge stairwell. Lots of boys outside the classrooms. The bells are ringing. The stairwell quickly becomes empty. There will be teachers. They enter the classrooms, whose door closes. It's getting quieter and quieter.

Shoots and noise, whistles and screams. Neck.

It is quiet and empty everywhere.

The classroom.

It's pretty quiet. All 25 students sit still, waiting. The ceiling lights are on. The day is gray outside, the rain is pouring down along the three large windows. Panorama. Caligula in the chair.

He gets up. Goes quietly and easily. Gets the stylus. Goes through class. Speaks so slowly and low -

CALIGULA: I do not intend to put my fingers in between. Do you disregard me so - disregard - I - you. (pause) Do you want it un-nice-so so happy for me.

Up with the stylus straight into the view of the pimple and hart when horror hypnotized Grönstrand. Poke with the stick against his larynx -

CALIGULA: Maybe Mr Grönstrand would like to continue.

Green beach sighs. He bends his pimpled and constantly worried face over the text and reads with a high and low voice -

GREEN BEACH: After Fabius Maximums had thus broken up, the army marched for ten days, after which it encamped on the river Igas. The non-commissioned officers were called to the consul's tent, where he appointed them… where he appointed them… with att unless the campaign plan would and then, however, it would not be incompatible… that they… that they ida unless…

Grönstrand bends his face, his eyes are confused, scared, he has a shiny face.

Caligula stands still and then he starts pulling his fingers, one after the other, slowly -

GRÖNSTRAND: I could not get this sentence out of the lecturer.

CALIGULA: Well.

Caligula pulls at his fingers. The class is tense, quiet. The rain rushes against the windows -

CALIGULA: Then maybe Mr Grönstrand wants to start on the next sentence?

Grönstrand makes a valiant attempt to bluff. He's starting healthy -

GRÖNSTRAND: This seemed to be the legacies… and then… individually… among themselves… but this in spite of if not…

Dead quiet. Mot Caligula.

He takes his hand to his glasses, straightens them. Sits in the chair, leans forward, puts his hands under his chin -

CALIGULA: Grönstrand has not opened the books until today. (pause) (chops hard) At least not where the lesson was. (smiles)

Around Grönstrand.

Some strained giggles from the surrounding -

CALIGULA: I will give Grönstrand an opportunity for reflection. - Mr Widgren continues.

Jan-Erik jerks, starts looking among the lines, finds, starts a little choppy -

JAN - ERIK: This seemed to the legacies to be a good task.

CALIGULA (breaks off): It says so… Karling?

Karling sits just behind Jan-Erik -

MAN: Prediction.

CALIGULA: Continue.

JAN - ERIK: A good prediction. And after they had consulted among themselves, they agreed that a great gift should be given to…

Caligula breaks off. Rappt -

CALIGULA: Can Mr Jan-Erik Widgren not speak Swedish.

Jan-Erik looks up, licks his mouth, tiger -

CALIGULA: It's not called giving a gift… It's bad Swedish (fast). What's the name, Mr. Widgren?

Jan-Erik stares in front of him. Staring and thinking. The brain has locked up. Dead quiet.

Caligula gets up from the chair, with the stylus in hand, and walks quietly and slowly down the room towards Jan-Erik. He pokes with the stick on Jan-Erik's neck -

CALIGULA: It's to be thought of quickly.

Turns around in a flash -

CALIGULA: Power!

Ström, a round boy with mild, melancholy eyes, takes his finger out of his nose, terrified -

POWER: Hand over a gift!

Caligula again. He smiles a little wickedly, cheerfully -

CALIGULA: Has Mr Widgren heard that before?

Widgren. He grins silly -

WIDGREN: Yes, yes.

CALIGULA (suddenly scornful): Yes, of course yes. Continue.

WIDGREN: They appeared before Caesar and assured that they were ready.

CALIGULA: Thank you. That was where we had.

The class sighs in relief. Jan-Erik corrects himself. But the deadline will be short.

Caligula begins to go up and down between the benches quite quickly.

Questions and answers come like machine gun mats -

CALIGULA: Prepare some joy, Widgren!

Jan-Erik -

JAN - ERIK: Afficere aliquem laetitia.

CALIGULA: Give someone fear.

JAN - ERIK: In iqu aliquem timore.

Caligula. He stops -

CALIGULA: Submit.

Jan-Erik can not speak -

JAN - ERIK: In…

CALIGULA: Now!

JAN - ERIK: Inject.

Caligula swings the stylus around so it whistles in the air.

CALIGULA: Someone was whispering. Genitive in impersonal verbs. Example.

Cross. Kreutz, calm, turns his head. Easy going, straightforward.

KREUTZ: Miser, penis girl, pillow, taedet.

Caligula. Kreutz's way teases him -

CALIGULA: Skona, Karlsson.

Karlsson -

KARLSSON: Parco, pepper, parsum, parcere.

Caligula. He now lets the pointer wiggle around in a chorus -

CALIGULA: Skin, Bokstedt.

Bokstedt is taken by surprise -

BOKSTEDT: Plango, plantisi.

CALIGULA: Wrong. Bergström.

BERGSTRÖM: Plano, planxi, planctum, plangere.

Caligula walks up to Widgren, stands behind him -

CALIGULA: Caesar hostem agressus devicit. Widgren.

He puts the stick between the shoulder blades of Widgren -

WIDGREN: Caesar attacked and defeated the enemy.

Responds without turning his head. Holds the desk tightly -

CALIGULA: Example of what.

WIDGREN: Participal construction.

CALIGULA: Which of them.

WIDGREN: Participium conjunctum. It is a predicative attribute.

CALIGULA: To what.

JAN - ERIK (stonewalls).

Caligula turns around and sits down on the desk right in front of Jan-Erik -

CALIGULA: Didn't Mr Widgren read his homework?

Jan-Erik stares Caligula straight in the eye -

JAN - ERIK: Yes, I have.

CALIGULA: I think (whisper) I think Mr Widgren - lying!

JAN - ERIK: No, I do not!

CALIGULA: Not that.

Caligula.

He stares at Jan-Erik with his eyes enlarged by glasses.

Silence.

Jan-Erik.

He stares back. Excessively tense, but not really scared.

JAN - ERIK: No!

Caligula gets up. He goes one stroke upwards towards the board -

CALIGULA: Well. Yes.

Turns around. Throws out -

CALIGULA: At which verbs is the genitive?

Jan-Erik is, as it were, gripped by an icy fear. But he sticks together.

JAN - ERIK: By verbs that mean remind, remember, forget, accuse, convince, judge, acquit. In business verbs.

CALIGULA: Example.

JAN - ERIK: Aestimo.

Caligula looks at Jan-Erik. Nods interested -

CALIGULA: Well!

JAN - ERIK: Facio, duco, puto.

Caligula as above -

CALIGULA: Well!

JAN - ERIK: Camo. Mercor (tries) dono.

Everyone follows the course of events under silent tension. Caligula is slowly approaching Jan-Erik. Dead quiet.

CALIGULA: Mr Widgren still believes that Mr Widgren knows his lesson.

JAN - ERIK: I knew it then yesterday.

CALIGULA: Mr Widgren is lazy. Mr. Widgren ignores me and my homework.

JAN - ERIK: No, I do not.

Caligula has now passed Widgren. And is at the bottom of the classroom.

CALIGULA: Well! Not. Look up the book. Start with today's lesson.

Suddenly slams with the stylus into an empty desk with all its might -

CALIGULA: FAST. FAST!

Jan-Erik and Caligula in the background.

JAN - ERIK: For three days the battle raged. Finally, the Romans made a storm attack…

Caligula sneaks silently on his toes behind Jan-Erik and leans over him and squints in his book -

JAN - ERIK:… and chased Hannibal's troops on the run. A large number of soldiers were captured…

Caligula bends down at lightning speed, slams his hand over the book, picks it up. Raises it in the air. Long silence.

Jan-Erik's face.

It kind of pulls together. His eyes crawl into his skull.

Sandman. Stare, dumb.

Grönstrand narrows his eyebrows in a childishly desperate grimace.

Caligula and Jan-Erik.

Caligula speaks softly -

CALIGULA: What is this!

Caligula looks around the class in silence. So -

CALIGULA: Mr Widgren uses unauthorized aids.

JAN - ERIK (low): Forgot to erase.

Caligula raises his eyebrows, as if he were very surprised by the enlightenment. Plays a bit -

CALIGULA: Forgot to erase.

Speaking mildly -

CALIGULA: Yes. Of course. Forgot to erase.

It's done. Turns over, furious -

CALIGULA: Cheat my lord!

Throws down the book -

CALIGULA (continued): CHEAT!!

Caligula slowly ascends to the chair. Fixes the glasses, stares sadly in front of him -

CALIGULA: Sad to be forced to punish a student for this criminal act two months before the student, fourteen days before the writing.

Turns up the classbook -

CALIGULA: It's very sad. Very.

Jan-Erik.

There is hot despair in his eyes. It's quiet. The only thing that can be heard is the rasp of the pen in the class book.

Caligula.

He hits the book again. Corrects the glasses -

CALIGULA: I'll talk to the principal (pause). We probably get to do a lot with each other, Jan-Erik Widgren.

It's ringing -

CALIGULA: Good dinner.

Caligula slips out.

There is violent excitement in the class -

SANDMAN: Such a potty.

GREEN BEACH: You would snap the ace alive.

Students start packing their books. And walk to the door. They are still occupied by Caligula.

Sandman throws himself backwards -

BERGSTRÖM (throws out - his eyes glow in his skull): Sadist.

SANDMAN: It's damn good for me when you get this misery. Then you should slag. Oh what to slag and crib and live the roll and give shiny it in this facility. Come Widgren, we'll go and buy crackers.

They go out.

Widgren and Sandman.

Göterström sits and digs with his spindly hands in his hair. Speaks low to himself -

GÖTERSTRÖM: I will get a life-size picture of him and then I will stick my eyes out at him and then I will shoot at him. Latingrammatics…

He produces it -

GÖTERSTRÖM: I will have Latingrammatics as dass paper if it is suitable for it.

The tobacco business.

Jan-Erik and Sandman come in.

A newspaper-reading gentleman is standing in front of the shop -

SANDMAN: Hello my sweet Carmen.

Bertha turns around, laughs -

BERTHA: What should it be. A coal. You know I'm not allowed to sell tobacco to schoolboys.

SANDMAN: Will buy for dad.

BERTHA: What did he say!

SANDMAN: Bäh.

Sandman extends a courtesy hand and fingers on Bertha (properly treated) -

BERTHA: Wow. Do not.

Jan-Erik is noticeably embarrassed -

JAN - ERIK: Sandman. Can't we go, huh!

Bertha and Sandman laugh.

The door opens and Caligula enters.

Sandman speaks a little forced -

SANDMAN: It was an Allers yes, miss.

BERTHA: Go ahead.

SANDMAN: Thank you. Good afternoon.

Both boys greet measuredly and disappear out of the store.

Caligula looks after them.

It's quiet for a while. Caligula looks annoyed at the newspaper-reading gentleman -

CALIGULA: Havana II.

Bertha brings out the requested -

CALIGULA: And then a little box of Virginia.

Bertha brings it out. She seems nervous -

CALIGULA: Do you want to be kind and cut it up. I have such bad hands, so clumsy.

BERTHA: Yes, of course. Certainly.

She cuts. Cut a small scratch in the hand -

CALIGULA: Oh, let's see. Did nine is bad.

He takes her hand. Squeezes out little blood. Hold it, look at it. Pause. Then Bertha suddenly shakes her hand. Pale.

BERTHA: Uh, that was nothing. Nothing at all. Was it something else like the senior lecturer…

Caligula. He shakes his head, staring a little silly. Then he collects his boxes and pays. Going. Light his cigarette.

At Caligula's home.

He pushes the cigarette into the ashtray with an energetic movement. He is sitting at his desk with his back to the room. Piles of exercise books. He pretends to read. Aunt Elisabet appears behind him. She is small, thin, dull, pale face, cold eyes with a spark of passion. She stands silent for a moment. So:

Aunt ELISABET: Why do you not answer?

His face bears traces of horror-mixed anger. He's silent.

AUNT ELISABET: You should not, should not be like this to me. It's still not right of you… I just want you well… Answer then… Say something… You have been ill, you know what the doctor said! … I love you so much… It's so empty, I'm so lonely. You are also alone… Not at all homely here.

The room bears sight of the legends. Aunt Elisabet is standing in the middle of the floor.

A handkerchief creeps wildly out of the sleeve.

AUNT ELISABET: You have never had another home... We had such a good time… Then answer something. My dear boy.

Caligula flashes. Furious.

CALIGULA : GO!

Aunt Elisabet closes her eyes, clasps her hands over the handkerchief -

AUNT ELISABET: That you CAN, that you only CAN!

Caligula curls up in the chair. He is furious, scared, furious…

CALIGULA: I do not want to see you. You. Go, go, go.

Now the first tears fall along Aunt Elizabeth's pale cheeks.

AUNT ELISABET: You are evil… evil. When you were a little boy, you came and said: Dear little aunt Elizabeth.

She sinks into a chair and buries her face in her hands.

Caligula rises pitiful, angry, humiliated, angry.

CALIGULA: Please. Do not cry for God's sake.

He stands handcuffed.

CALIGULA: I WANT to be by myself. I do not want to continue that monkey game with mother and son… It's disgusting, disgusting.

Aunt Elisabet shakes her head back and forth, tears flow and she sobs -

AUNT ELISABET: You lived in your little room inside the hall and every night I had to come in with tea for you and I had to stop you before you fell asleep. I still got to be like… like your mother.

Moved to the breaking point over her own voice, she falls into tears again -

AUNT ELISABET: Why do not you want to come back. I'm so lonely… You're so lonely too…

Now everything happens very fast. Caligula takes Aunt Elizabeth in her arms, pulls her out of the chair. She screams, turns around in a flash. But he gets hold of her again. Gets the door open and tries to push her out. Aunt Elisabet suddenly becomes another. Cold, bitter -

AUNT ELISABET: Beware. Look out.

CALIGULA: Get going!

AUNT ELISABET: You'll get this back. Look out.

CALIGULA (laughing): That's good. Then you can go now.

She twists out the front door, which closes again with a bang.

Caligula stands still for a moment. Then he walks around. Gradually collapses after tension. Stops in front of the bookshelf. Takes down a photograph. It represents Aunt Elisabet somewhat youthful and a little boy in a feminine suit. She leans her head against his.

Caligula's hands break the photograph in half so that the pieces of glass swirl around. Then the broken card goes in the trash.

The dining room at Widgrens.

At the dinner table sit bureau director Widgren, Mrs. Widgren and the little boy Bror and Jan-Erik, who is gloomy, very gloomy. It is eaten in silence.

Brother puts down his spoon and licks his mouth and looks under Jan's hair.

BROTHER: Hörru Janne. Why do you look so withered?

MOTHER: Little brother, mother has not said a hundred times that you must not rock the chair.

BROTHER: Janne looks just as withered anyway.

Jan-Erik does not look up from the soup -

JAN - ERIK: You should give seventeen in that.

MOTHER (mildly reproachful): Should you say so when Brother wants to be kind.

JAN - ERIK: Little boys would hold the nap when they crib.

Silence descends again over the congregation. So the bureau director looks up from his plate, wipes his mouth and speaks -

FATHER: How has it been at school today?

Jan-Erik is not looking there -

JAN - ERIK (nonchalantly): Good, I guess.

FATHER: Is that true?

It's quiet for a moment. Jan-Erik gives his father a quick glance -

JAN - ERIK: No.

The mother immediately suspects that something terrible has happened. She sets a compassionate, slightly complaining tone -

MOTHER: Something sad has happened. Say, what's happened?

JAN - ERIK: Got a stick.

FATHER: For cheating.

JAN - ERIK: How does father know?

FATHER: Your Latin teacher called me. The remark seems to have been justified.

Jan-Erik. He lowers his head.

MOTHER: Jan-Erik, how can you make us so sad.

JAN - ERIK: It was not cheating. I could not see for myself what was written there. I wrote it there during the italics translation, then I forgot to erase it…

FATHER: It's terribly uncomfortable, now just before the student.

The father looks upset. He has a wrinkle in the middle of his forehead -

JAN - ERIK: It's not that damn dangerous. (despair in the voice).

The father is silent for a moment -

FATHER: It depends on how you take it. You seem to take it relatively lightly. But mother and I are very sad. My opinion is that you got a stain on you. A tingling. Shall we get up.

The father folds his napkin.

The family leaves the table. Jan-Erik walks to the window.

Brother enters the hall again, where a servant is just about to set the table. He approaches Jan-Erik.

Jan-Erik has a hard time keeping his lip away. But he masters himself male -

JAN - ERIK: Well, it's not criminal either.

BROTHER: And you should not get bored of what the staff talk about. You know what he's like… You… Sandman is on the phone wondering if you can go to the movies.

Jan-Erik and Sandman sit at a café. Sandman smokes greedily.

It's evening. Sandman yawns -

SANDMAN: Really sleepy man. You would have, like the guy in the film, a nice, big and wide snark - such a paulun or whatever it's called, on the other hand, a nice jack.

Sandman smacks. Jan-Erik laughs a little, shakes his head -

JAN - ERIK: You say that.

SANDMAN: Gosse! And a smorgasbord and burnt and distilled drinks a lot. And the jack and the snoring.

Jan-Erik looks at his partner with a certain admiration -

SANDMAN: You would not get up in 14 days. Just slag and crib and crib and slag and use the jack. Feathers in it.

Jan-Erik pours tea for himself. Sandman lights a new cigarette on the old one with a used hand gesture -

JAN - ERIK: You're all a seven-part materialist.

SANDMAN: Yeah.

He stretches, yawns once again loudly and voluptuously.

Around Jan-Erik. He looks a little beyond Sandman. Am really a little embarrassed -

JAN - ERIK: No, you see, I see everything in a different way. I intend to write as much as I want and play as much violin as I want - when this whole thing is over.

Jan-Erik becomes thoughtful. Drinks from his cup and turns and twists it -

JAN - ERIK: Then with ladies and stuff like that… I'm just going to have one and her I'm going to be in love with

SANDMAN (interested): So you have nothing now. But that bean Lena or whatever her name was…

JAN - ERIK: Well, I'm not in love with her at all. Should…

SANDMAN: Love! You're crazy. Ladies are used.

JAN - ERIK: Do it. Not me anyway.

Sandman blows clouds of smoke and rings. Staring at the ceiling -

SANDMAN: No, because the one you should have should be clean and untouched and stuff like that. Va!

JAN - ERIK (embarrassed, but determined): Yes.

SANDMAN: Such animals do not exist.

JAN - ERIK: You say that.

Sandman teaches. High school student cross-safe -

SANDMAN: All ladies' hours are whores. And if they are not, then they want to be. Both Nietzsche and Strindberg say so. Miss, we have to pay.

The two boys are walking down the street. Then they stop outside a gate -

SANDMAN: If you come up.

JAN - ERIK: No, go home and read Latin.

SANDMAN: Caligula is an ace.

JAN - ERIK: I do not know. I mostly think it's a weird jeep.

Sandman takes out his keys and opens them. He turns around -

SANDMAN: You know, when you turn rocks, you find nasty animals. Caligula is not a really real pig, he is a nasty, poisonous insect.

JAN - ERIK: I do not think a human being can be just evil.

Sandman lights the candle on the stairs, they have a hard time separating -

SANDMAN: You're in high school. Wait boy. Wait, you'll see how devilish it is, everything. It encounters pure sophistication. Good night brother.

Sandman extends his hand. Jan-Erik tackles it -

JAN - ERIK: You think I'm very larval.

SANDMAN: You're crazy. You're the only person you can talk to. You can not help that you stick to ideals and talk about innocent women. Hi.

JAN - ERIK: Servant.

Sandman disappears at the gate. Jan-Erik turns and drives down the street. He walks strenuously with his hands deep into his pockets. He looks very thoughtful.

Another street.

Jan-Erik goes as before. Suddenly he raises his head and fixes someone in front of him.

A girl walks in front of Jan-Erik on the street. She sways heavily here and there. Swaying more and more. Suddenly she walks with one foot in the street and the other in the sidewalk. Jan-Erik stays. He looks at her unexpectedly.

The girl now stops and leans against a house wall. She emits strange squeaking sounds. Then she kneels down.

Stands on all fours, leaning against the wall.

Jan-Erik thinks for a moment. So he approaches the girl.

Touch her -

JAN - ERIK: How is it going?

It's Bertha in the tobacco shop.

She turns her face to Jan-Erik. It's swollen and she's panting -

BERTHA: I feel so damn good, so that's not true.

Jan-Erik can not camouflage his surprise -

JAN - ERIK: Miss Olsson!

The girl laughs, but does not answer.

JAN - ERIK: Can I help you?

BERTHA: Uh, shut up.

She returns to the starting position, tries to get up, but sinks back again, unable to move.

BERTHA (angrily): Do not stand there staring. Come and harass a lady. (furiously) Give yourself away.

Jan-Erik bends down over her and takes her by the shoulder -

JAN - ERIK: You're not smart. You can not handle yourself.

[je-suis-clarisse]

The news of the child vampire, Claudia's demise, had moved through Paris faster than the plague had moved through the entirety of Europe in the Dark Ages. The whole thing was everywhere and even Clarisse du Volde, who was something of an outcast amongst them all, heard it. It saddened her to think of the famed 'Brat Prince', Lestat de Lioncourt all alone. She had been compared to him throughout her life. Both were French, had dabbled in theatre, were blonde with remarkable eyes, and each was themselves. It was something the others seemed to envy; that the pair had a sense of themself and held to it. Neither were bothered about the 'rules' of their lifestyles. Clarisse had to admit that she had been in awe of the elder vampire for some time. Still, she listened to the chatter but did not comment on his misfortune. Only once did she venture to speak out, and it was when someone said he 'had what was coming to him', and she had threatened to burn their coffin to cinders, after which she would blow the ashes to the north, south, east, and the west. It was the only time she had allowed the vampires of Paris to know unnecessary cruelty would not be permitted before her. She did pride herself on having manners; manners that Vivian du Volde had instilled in all four of her children. Even though she did not wish to claim her youngest, her lessons were well learned and Clarisse applied them to her everyday life, even now. What he needed, she decided, was a friend. Someone to cheer him, for he certainly couldn't be enjoying life. He had lost the two beings who meant the world to him. Clarisse well understood the pain of losing a child. She had already been planning to revisit New Orleans and thus, she made it happen, taking a leave from the theatre and returning to the city that had captured her heart years prior. Even better, she would not be here when there would be a war on. Hopefully, some of the wounds inflicted upon one another would have begun the healing process. Clarisse had seen it first hand when she'd been visiting years prior. The ship she boarded some days later was called 'la reine de la mer'. The voyage was mostly pleasant, though she did ache to see the sun's rays against the water, shimmering. Her stateroom was lovely enough but she could only leave at night. She had hired a maid for the journey, one who understood that the porthole in her room was to remain covered during the day and that she was to not be disturbed at all when the sun was out. She explained that the life of an actress had her schedule entirely 'topsy turvy' and she had to follow it. No one bothered her, fortunately, nor questioned her about it. Considering the amount of money she had paid, they'd damn well better not bother her. She was also glad to see that they didn't question when someone in steerage died questionably. Clarisse namely picked off the older ones, those already close to death. Beyond that, she kept to herself and at night, it wasn't uncommon to find her sitting on the deck gazing out at the night sky, sketching what she saw...or what she'd like to see. Occasionally, someone might stop to see what she was drawing, but mostly the others frowned at her charcoal stained fingers. She always found it amusing how stuck-up some people were. She knew that even though she was wealthy, she did her best to be kind to all of those with whom her path crossed. It was as simple as that. Besides, even those who did look at her work and offered to purchase a piece, she declined. Her sketchbook gave life to what she missed most. It was her connection. It also contained drawings of the people going about their normal days. What would her life be now, had her son lived, she wondered? She'd drawn him too. There was no record of him anywhere. He lived only in her mind. There was a cross where he was buried, but no name. She'd been unable to afford the engraving. Clarisse closed her eyes as the child crossed her mind. His sweet face, tinged with blue lips and stillness. It hurt her still, even all these years later. Her mind went to Claudia, whom she was told was a beautiful child, though her mind was that of a woman grown. She had heard that she had beautiful flaxen curls and big, round blue eyes that seemed to see all and know all. That she was wise beyond her years. She had the finest attire and was as refined as anyone. Claudia sounded like someone she would have delighted in a meeting. However, her bitterness ultimately caused her demise. Clarisse did want to feel sympathy for her--and she did. To create a child vampire was cruel. Lestat ought to have known better. Yet, she could not fault Claudia for feeling anger towards her sire and for trying to kill him. She had done the same on the night of her own siring. Like Claudia, she was unsuccessful in that. Claudia, however, had given Louis the nerve he needed to leave. If her goal had been to isolate Lestat, well, she had done that. Clarisse had no idea what had become of Colin. She'd thought him dead, but he was, much to her chagrin, alive and well. Scarred from his burning, but alive and someday, he would have his vengeance.   Putting him out of her mind, she found herself thinking of the child vampire again. Clarisse tried to envision what her last moments were like before the sun touched her porcelain skin for the first time in years. Did she hope that there would be an escape? That someone could save her? And the agony she must have felt once her flesh burnt away to nothing. She wondered if she would ever subject herself to that. If when she tired of life, if she'd step into the sun and end it all. It was something all vampires considered, she supposed. Didn't they? She didn't know. She had never had the opportunity to ask another one. Frederick was in Rome--and not speaking to her, her sister Vivienne...she didn't care to know. The rest of their family was long dead. She was, essentially, alone in the world, except for the occasions where she took a lover. And that was rare. Who would ever want a walking corpse? Along with drawing, she read and practiced her English with the maid. By the time they reached New Orleans, Clarisse felt confident in her English speaking abilities. It was always a delight to master a language. It was simply her accent that would make things challenging. Clarisse would manage though. She was an actress. It was what she did, not to mention, whatever hurdle was tossed at her, she endured. Much to the chagrin of many. What could she say? It was just her lot in life. To endure where others did not, could not. She surprised even herself at times. But ah, New Orleans! When her feet touched the ground, she felt the same feeling she felt in Paris--that she was home. It cemented her plan that she would make it official and buy something whilst she was here. To deny herself the pleasure was absurd. Hailing a hansom cab and seeing to it that her trunks were packed on and she climbed in with Celine at her side. For the first week that she was there, Clarisse had rented out a room in the quarter. She'd also put a deposit in for a townhouse within the quarter. It needed some work done and she had her maid, named Celine, tend to the business for her during the day time. At night time, Clarisse reacquainted herself with the city. She was always struck by the diversity of the people here. There were as many people of color here as there were white people. She loved the melting pot that was New Orleans. She loved the vibrancy, how even at night, the city felt alive. She loved the scent of the banana trees and the earth after a day of rain. The food with all of its rich spices and flavors, the stories... many things made Nouvelle Orleans a beautiful place. It was also no wonder that other vampires came to visit. She listened to them and one evening, she heard what she wanted most to hear. The following night, Clarisse was heading to Prytania Street. It was a quiet street, near to the Layfayette Cemetary. It was not where she'd want to live, a stark reminder of where she ought to be. She was just over a century old--most of those as a vampire. She had been 'dead' more than she'd been alive. She was looking out of the window of her hansom cab before finally asking the driver to stop. Stepping down, she smoothed out the folds of her dark blue dress and closed her eyes for a moment, letting her senses tell her if this was the right place. Within moments, something told her to leave. That she was in danger where she stood. However, Clarisse was not one to listen. She was not afraid. Perhaps she should have been, but she had endured enough that she was not bothered with being scared. The house was small but lovely. It was inviting. Certainly different from the home she resided in back in Paris. Some teased and said her estate looked like something the royals might have lived in. It had been somewhere the Duc de Orleans had visited a century prior. But the Greek Revival styled home was beautiful. Clarisse liked the columns and the porch, as well as the wrought iron fence. She paused to trace her fingers over the design for a moment, tracing over the fleur de lis and finally, she found her nerve--rather, more than likely, her audacity. She walked up the cobblestone pathway and onto the porch, raising her hand to the doorknocker and knocking, allowing him to know he had company. Wanted or not. monsieur, i have come a long way to meet you, she called out to him telepathically, letting down her guard and allowing her thoughts to be read; allowing him to see that she was not here to harm--as if!--him. That she had no ill intention, but only to be a friend. "Monsieur de Lioncourt," she spoke as the door opened finally. The moment was here. There was no going back now. There was no mistaking him. The violet hue of his eyes, the glassy nails, the blonde hair curling just above his shoulders. But there was a weakness in him. She could feel it. It came from a place of despair and her heart swelled in sorrow for him. She knew that this was most certainly unconventional and God knew, it was rude to drop in like this. However, the word was that he had no friends. Louis was with Armand, supposedly. Lestat de Lioncourt was alone. But if this went well, he would accept the friendship she offered and the care.   The dark moons under his eyes revealed he required blood. He looked worse for wear...and perhaps she should have turned and run the other way, but she squared her shoulders looking up at him. "Monsieur, I am Clarisse du Volde," she introduced herself, slowly in English. "It is truly an honor to make your acquaintance," she dipped into a respectful curtsy and then...it was a matter of waiting to see what he was going to do.

[euroman1945-blog]

The Daily Tulip

The Daily Tulip – News From Around The World

Thursday 7th June 2018

Good Morning Gentle Reader….  Today’s look at the news is a little different as I have found a series of animal stories and after walking my Bella today thought it would be something you would like to read… The world is not a perfect place, it maybe for you, but what about the animals that suffer everyday..

WHALE THAT DIED OFF THAILAND HAD EATEN 80 PLASTIC BAGS…. A pilot whale has died off southern Thailand after swallowing 80 plastic bags, Thai marine officials say. The whale vomited five bags during a vain attempt by conservation officials to save it in a canal in Songkhla province. The bags, weighing about 8kg (17lbs), had made it impossible for the whale to eat food, a marine expert said. A recent report warned the amount of plastic in the ocean could triple in a decade unless litter was curbed. Thailand is a major user of plastic bags and its government last month announced it was considering a levy on them. They are believed to kill hundreds of marine animals there each year. The small male pilot whale had been discovered ailing and unable to swim in the Na Thap Canal last Monday. Environmental officials used boats to try to help float the whale and erected a sunshade for it. They nursed the whale through the week but it died on Friday afternoon. Marine biologist Thon Thamrongnawasawat told Agence France-Presse the bags would have made it impossible for the whale to eat nutritional food. "If you have 80 plastic bags in your stomach, you die," he said.

CRAFTY CRAYFISH REMOVES OWN CLAW TO ESCAPE CHINA HOTPOT…. A crayfish desperate to remove itself from the menu sacrificed one of its own claws to escape a boiling pot of spicy soup at a restaurant in China. In footage viewed more than a million times online, the crustacean is seen gripping one of its claws before successfully detaching it and fleeing. The dramatic film was captured by social media user Jiuke, who posted it on the popular Chinese platform Weibo. Jiuke later told users of the site that he had adopted the crayfish as a pet. Weibo users had left comments in support of the courageous crayfish, urging "let him go" and "don't eat him, seeing how hard he's trying to survive", the Taiwan News website reported. Juike then responded: "I let him live, I already took him home and am raising him in an aquarium." China has found itself in the grip - or should that be the claws - of a crayfish food craze in recent years that has seen a boom in crayfish restaurants and farms. The country is the world's largest source of the crustaceans, according to China's state news agency Xinhua, citing a report by the Ministry of Agriculture and Rural Affairs. Output in China rose to 852,300 tonnes in 2016 from 265,500 tonnes in 2007, Xinhua adds.

US TEACHER 'WHO FED SICK PUPPY TO SNAPPING TURTLE' CHARGED….  An American schoolteacher has been charged after allegedly feeding a sick puppy to a snapping turtle in front of his students. Robert Crosland, who teaches in Preston, Idaho, was charged with misdemeanour animal cruelty. After the incident in March the turtle was "humanely euthanized" as it is considered an invasive species. Mr Crosland could be jailed for up to six months and fined up to $5,000 (£3,700) if convicted. Several US media outlets said attempts to contact Mr Crosland had proven unsuccessful. The incident sparked rival petitions for and against Mr Crosland, who has taught at Preston Junior High School for a number of years. One calling for him to be fired and asking "Do we really want teachers killing living animals in front of impressionable junior high students?" has attracted nearly 190,000 signatures. The People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (Peta) said Mr Crosland was "a bully who should not be allowed near impressionable young people". A counter "We Support Crosland" petition urging people "to show our support for the man that taught us science in a new way and truly loves his job" so far has attracted more than 3,700 signatures, many from colleagues, ex-students and members of the local community. Some of his supporters say the puppy was dying and it was the right thing to do. The incident reportedly happened after school in front of a small number of students, with authorities saying it was not part of school activities. The turtle was seized by the Idaho State Department of Agriculture when it learned there was no permit for it.

GIANT OWL MISSING IN WILTSHIRE ENGLAND AFTER HOSEPIPE FRIGHT…. European eagle owl Bella, who has a 5ft (1.5m) wingspan, "just took off" from Mere Down Falconry, near Salisbury, on 14 May. Volunteers have been out looking for her every night and she has been spotted in the Gasper and Zeal areas. Volunteer Sharon Dixon said: "It's amazing how this huge lady is able to keep hidden and ahead of the game." Ms Dixon said the one-year-old "got spooked by a hosepipe on the floor" and flew away. Bella has been spotted at a nearby chicken farm three times - described as "her KFC" "We've got no concerns about her surviving because she's a massive bird and there isn't much out there that could hurt her," she said. "But we honestly thought she might fly down to someone to ask for food and we'd catch her that way but she hasn't done that."

DISTENDED CHESHIRE ENGLAND DACHSHUND DEFLATED BY VETS…. It's the wurst thing that can happen to a sausage dog - ending up looking more like a meatball. The four-year-old pet, named Trevor, went from wiener to whopper when a hole in its windpipe left air trapped under its skin in a rare condition. But vets soon had the distended dachshund back to its saveloy-like self after a minor operation to "deflate" it from three times its normal size. "He'd blown up like a balloon," said owner Fran Jennings. Worried Ms Jennings, from Lymm in Cheshire, rushed the animal to an emergency vet after it bloated and began to suffer breathing difficulties. Media captionThe distended dachshund had to be deflated by vets. X-rays showed every time the pet drew a breath, air was being forced under its skin and was affecting its heart. Ms Jennings said: "We put him straight in the car and took him to the emergency vets and they had never seen anything quite like it. "Whatever it was, it affected his breathing so we had to leave him there while they tried to find out what was wrong." Tests were carried out and the dog was diagnosed with sub-cutaneous emphysema, an abnormal collection of air under the skin. Vet Michelle Coward of Beech House Surgery in Warrington performed a procedure to relieve the pressure and stitch up a hole in the dog's windpipe. She said: "I have never seen a case like this before and it was a new surgery for me. "There were no external injuries that would explain how air had got under the skin, so we suspected that an internal injury to the airway could have been allowing the air in. "Every time he took a breath, some of the inhaled air escaped through a hole in his windpipe." Ms Jennings' daughter Jessica, who shows sausage dogs at Crufts, added: "He looked like a big fat seal. His whole body was like a blob. "It was horrible seeing him like that. We had to deflate the air out of him, it was weird. "But now he's back to his normal self, chasing the chickens and we wouldn't have him any other way."

Well Gentle Reader I hope you enjoyed our look at the news from around the world this, Thursday morning… …

Our Tulips today are in keeping with the stories, can you spot the dog?

A Sincere Thank You for your company and Thank You for your likes and comments I love them and always try to reply, so please keep them coming, it's always good fun, As is my custom, I will go and get myself another mug of "Colombian" Coffee and wish you a safe Thursday 7th June 2018 from my home on the southern coast of Spain, where the blue waters of the Alboran Sea washes the coast of Africa and Europe and the smell of the night blooming Jasmine and Honeysuckle fills the air…and a crazy old guy and his dog Bella go out for a walk at 4:00 am…on the streets of Estepona…

All good stuff....But remember it’s a dangerous world we live in

Be safe out there…

Robert McAngus #news #blog #animals #travel