THE SECRETARY: It’s quite simple, surely. You must state your reasons for being alive.
THE FISHERMAN: My reasons for being alive! But what the devil do you expect me to say?
THE SECRETARY: Aha! Make a note, Mr. First Alcalde, that the undersigned admits that his existence is unjustifiable. That will simplify matters when the time comes for us to deal with him. Also, that will bring it home to you, the undersigned, that the certificate of existence granted you is temporary and of short duration.
THE FISHERMAN: Temporary or not, let me have it. They’re waiting for me at home and I want to get away.
THE SECRETARY: By all means. Only you must begin by submitting to us a certificate of health. You can procure this, after complying with some formalities, on the first floor, Department of Current Affairs, Bureau of Pending Cases, Auxiliary Division. [The FISHERMAN goes away. Meanwhile the death-cart has reached the cemetery gate and is being unloaded. Suddenly NADA jumps down from the cart, staggering and bawling.]
NADA: But, damn it all, I tell you I’m not dead! [They try to replace him on the cart, but he breaks loose and runs into the food office.] Did you ever hear the like! Telling me I’m dead when I’m alive and kicking! Oh, pardon …!
THE SECRETARY: Don’t mention it. Come.
NADA: They loaded me onto the cart. But I wasn’t dead—only dead drunk. It’s my way of suppressing.
THE SECRETARY: Suppressing what?
NADA: Why, everything, my dear young lady. The more one suppresses, the better things are. Ah, if only one could suppress everything and everyone, wouldn’t it be fine! Lovers, for instance—there’s nothing I loathe more. When I see a loving couple in front of me I spit at them. On their backs, of course; some of them might turn nasty. And children, filthy little brats! And flowers that goggle at you like half-wits, and rivers that have only one idea. So let’s annihilate everything, I say. That’s my philosophy. God denies the world, and I deny God. Long live nothing, for it’s the only thing that exists.
THE SECRETARY: And how do you propose to suppress all that?
NADA: By drinking, drinking till I’m blind to the whole damned world.
THE SECRETARY: A clumsy way of going about it. We have a better one. What’s your name?
NADA: Nothing.
THE SECRETARY: What?
NADA: Nothing.
THE SECRETARY: I asked you to tell me your name.
NADA: That is my name.
THE SECRETARY: Fine! With a name like that, we should get on well together. Come this way. We’ll find you a job in our administration. [The FISHERMAN comes back.] Mr. Alcalde, would you please instruct our friend Nothing in his duties? Meanwhile you, the Guards, get busy selling our badges. [She goes toward DIEGO.] Good day. Would you like to buy a badge?
DIEGO: What badge?
THE SECRETARY: Why, the plague badge, of course. [Pauses.] You are free to refuse it, of course. It’s not compulsory.
DIEGO: In that case, I refuse.
THE SECRETARY: Very good. [Turning to VICTORIA] And you?
VICTORIA: I don’t know you.
THE SECRETARY: Quite so. But I feel I should inform you that those who refuse to wear that badge are obliged to wear another.
VICTORIA: And what is that?
THE SECRETARY: Why, the badge of those who refuse to wear the badge, obviously. That way we see at once with whom we have to deal.
THE FISHERMAN: I beg your pardon, miss.…
THE SECRETARY [to DIEGO and VICTORIA] : Good-by then, for the present. [To the FISHERMAN] Well, what is it now?
THE FISHERMAN [with rising exasperation]: I’ve been up to the office on the first floor and they told me to come back here. It seems I have to get a certificate of existence before I can get a certificate of health.
THE SECRETARY: That goes without saying.
THE FISHERMAN: “Goes without saying!” What do you mean by that?
THE SECRETARY: Why, it proves that this city is beginning to reap the benefits of a strong administration. We start with the premises that you are guilty. But that’s not enough; you must learn to feel, yourselves, that you are guilty. And you won’t feel guilty until you feel tired. So we weary you out; that’s all. Once you are really tired, tired to death in fact, everything will run quite smoothly.
THE FISHERMAN: Anyhow, is there some way of getting this damned certificate of existence?
THE SECRETARY: Well, it really looks as if you couldn’t. You see, you need to get a certificate of health first, before you are given a certificate of existence. It’s a sort of deadlock, isn’t it?
THE FISHERMAN: Then—what?
THE SECRETARY: Then you have to fall back on our good will. But like most sorts of good will ours is of limited duration. Thus we may grant you this certificate as a special favor. Only I warn you it will be valid for one week only. After that, we’ll see.…
THE FISHERMAN: See what?
THE SECRETARY: See if there are reasons for renewing it for you.
THE FISHERMAN: And supposing it’s not renewed?
THE SECRETARY: Since there is then no proof of your existence we may have to take steps for your elimination. Alcalde, would you draw up the certificate? Thirteen copies, please.
FIRST ALCALDE: Thirteen?
THE SECRETARY: Yes. One for the applicant and twelve for our files.
[Light on the center of the stage.]
THE PLAGUE: Now we can get started on the great useless public works. And you, my dear, get busy with the record of deportations and concentrations. We must speed up the transformation of innocent into guilty parties; that’s the only way of making sure of our labor supply. Just now it looks as if our man power might run short. How far have you got with the census?
THE SECRETARY: It’s under way, all is for the best, and I think these good people are getting to understand me.
THE PLAGUE: Really, my dear, you shock me. Fancy wanting to be understood. That’s a sentimental fancy; in our profession we have no right to indulge in sentiment. Of course these good people, as you call them, haven’t understood a thing—but that has no importance. What we want of them isn’t comprehension but execution of their duties. Not a bad expression. Singularly apt under the circumstances, you’ll agree?
THE SECRETARY: An excellent slogan, yes.
THE PLAGUE: It covers everything. Execution—that puts it in a nutshell. And the man who is to die is expected to collaborate in his own execution—which is the aim and the bedrock, too, of all good government. [Noises in the background.] What’s that?
[The CHORUS OF WOMEN is showing signs of excitement.]
THE SECRETARY: It’s the women making a demonstration.
CHORUS OF WOMEN: This lady has something to say.
THE PLAGUE: Let her step forward.
A WOMAN [coming forward]: Where’s my husband?
THE PLAGUE: There now! Your heart’s in the right place, my good woman, I can see. And what has happened to this husband of yours?
THE WOMAN: He didn’t come home last night.
THE PLAGUE: What’s remarkable about that? He found another bed to sleep in, most likely. Try to take it in your stride.
THE WOMAN: But my husband isn’t that sort of man; he respects himself.
THE PLAGUE: Ah, I see: a model husband. [To the SECRETARY] You’d better look into this, my dear.
THE SECRETARY: Surname and Christian name?
THE WOMAN: Galvez, Antonio.
[The SECRETARY inspects her writing-pad and whispers in the PLAGUE’S ear.]
THE SECRETARY: Well, you may congratulate yourself. He’s alive and well looked after.
THE WOMAN: Where is he?
THE SECRETARY: In a palatial residence, where the company’s select.
THE PLAGUE: Yes, I deported him along with some others who were giving trouble but whose lives I wished to spare.
THE WOMAN [shrinking away]: What have you done to them?
THE PLAGUE [his voice shrill with fury]: What have I done to them? I have concentrated them. They had been living at a loose end, frittering their time away, dispersing their energies. Now they’ve been pulled together, they are concentrated.
THE WOMAN [running to the CHORUS, whose ranks open to make way for her]: Pity! Pity on me!
CHORUS OF WOMEN: Pity on us all!
THE PLAGUE: Silence! Don’t idle about! Do something! Get busy! [Pensively murmurs to himself] Execution, occupation, concentration. Ah, how useful those long words are! We couldn’t do without them.
[Light is flashed on the food office, showing NADA seated beside the ALCALDE, with batches of petitioners lined up before them.]
A MAN: The cost of living has gone up and our wages aren’t enough to live on.
NADA: We are aware of that, and we have a new wage scale all ready. It has just been drawn up.
THE MAN: Good! What sort of raise can we expect?
NADA: I’ll read it out to you. It’s quite easy to follow if you listen carefully. [Reads] “Wage Scale Number 108. This reassessment of the wage-earner’s emoluments and all remunerations thereto assimilated involves the suppression of the basic living wage and entire decontrol of the sliding scales hitherto in force, which now are free to reach the level of a maximum wage whose monetary value is to be determined subsequently. Nevertheless, the sliding scale, after deduction of the increases nominally accorded under Wage Scale Number 107 shall continue being assessed, irrespective of the terms and conditions of the above-mentioned reassessment, in terms of the basic living wage suppressed by the first clause of this regulation.”
THE MAN: That sounds fine! But what raise exactly can we count on?
NADA: The raise will come later; meanwhile you have our new wage scale to go on with. We are increasing your pay by a wage scale; that’s what it amounts to.
THE MAN: But what the hell can we do with your new wage scale?
NADA [shrilly]: Eat it! Put it in your pipes and smoke it! Next. [Another man steps forward.] Ah,
