Characters
50s. An immigrant who survived a dictatorship after being imprisoned and tortured. He knows exactly what the signs look like. He denies the present not out of ignorance, but because forgetting once meant survival — and he hopes it still might.
40s. Héctor’s younger brother. He recognizes the warning signs immediately and refuses to normalize them. His fear turns into vigilance rather than silence.
Late 70s–80s. Physically fragile. Mostly silent. She has lived through this before. When she speaks, memory speaks through her.
(A modest apartment living room. Sparse. Lived in. A television is visible.)
(Night. Present day.)
(The television is on. News footage plays silently: images of police, arrests, blurred faces.)
(HÉCTOR sits watching. He is still, but alert.)
(THE MOTHER sits in a chair, knitting. The soft click of needles fills the room.)
(ANÍBAL enters, removing his jacket.)
ANÍBAL
You’ve been watching the news again.
HÉCTOR
I just leave it on.
I’m not listening.
ANÍBAL
That’s worse.
(THE MOTHER’s needles click.)
HÉCTOR
Why are you here so late?
ANÍBAL
Why are you pretending nothing’s happening?
HÉCTOR
I didn’t say that.
ANÍBAL
You don’t have to.
(Silence.)
HÉCTOR
They arrested three people.
ANÍBAL
That’s what they say.
HÉCTOR
And what do you say?
ANÍBAL
I say it’s starting.
HÉCTOR
No.
This isn’t the same place.
ANÍBAL
That’s what you said before.
HÉCTOR
Before was different.
ANÍBAL
Before always is.
(THE MOTHER pauses her knitting. Then resumes.)
HÉCTOR
(lower)
Don’t start this in front of her.
ANÍBAL
She knows.
(THE MOTHER does not look up.)
THE MOTHER
The noise always comes before the footsteps.
(A beat.)
HÉCTOR
They’re criminals.
ANÍBAL
That’s what they called us too.
HÉCTOR
We don’t belong here.
ANÍBAL
We live here.
HÉCTOR
That doesn’t make it ours.
ANÍBAL
It makes it real.
(HÉCTOR shifts. He looks at the TV.)
HÉCTOR
The laws here are strong.
They won’t allow it.
ANÍBAL
They never do.
At first.
HÉCTOR
You want trouble.
ANÍBAL
I want certainty.
HÉCTOR
Certainty gets people killed.
ANÍBAL
So does silence.
(THE MOTHER’s needles stop.)
THE MOTHER
They said it was for safety last time too.
(Silence stretches.)
HÉCTOR
I remember.
I’m afraid.
ANÍBAL
Then say it.
HÉCTOR
I’m trying to protect us.
ANÍBAL
From what?
HÉCTOR
From remembering.
ANÍBAL
That’s the problem.
HÉCTOR
No.
That’s how you live.
ANÍBAL
That’s how you wait.
(Sirens sound faintly outside. They fade.)
HÉCTOR
Here we sleep at night.
No boots.
No doors kicked in.
ANÍBAL
Not yet.
HÉCTOR
(lower, warning)
Don’t say that.
ANÍBAL
Why?
Are the walls listening again?
HÉCTOR
You think everything means something.
ANÍBAL
You think nothing does.
(HÉCTOR stands. He is shaken now.)
HÉCTOR
I survived by knowing when to stay quiet.
ANÍBAL
You survived by being lucky.
HÉCTOR
No.
I survived by adapting.
ANÍBAL
You survived by disappearing.
(A long silence.)
HÉCTOR
If you keep pushing, you’ll regret it.
ANÍBAL
If I stop, I already will.
HÉCTOR
Then don’t expect me to save you.
ANÍBAL
You’re the same as me.
As all of us.
(ANÍBAL moves toward the door.)
HÉCTOR
Don’t go out tonight.
ANÍBAL
I’m already outside.
(ANÍBAL exits.)
(The TV volume rises slightly. News audio remains indistinct.)
THE MOTHER
They always take the loud ones first.
(A shot is heard in the distance.)
(Then silence.)
(HÉCTOR does not move.)
(THE MOTHER sits again. She resumes knitting.)
(HÉCTOR stares at the door.)
(BLACKOUT.)