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Oh Celos!

Desdemona's monologue

 

 

 

 

Desdemona speaks when Emilia dies. You can hear someone singing or whispering a melody. 

 

What did your song announce, dear mistress? Listen to me if you can still hear me: I want to die singing like the swan. . The willow and its lush greenness sing ... Moor, it was lineage, cruel moor, I loved you. I am telling the truth, that's how I achieved glory. And speaking as I think, I die, oh, I die.

 

 

Desdemona has her back turned, she’s on her knees, behind a white bed sheet . You can see her shadow. The melody can be heard. Maybe it is her. She is wearing a white t-shirt to sleep.

 

  Emilia, Nooooo! Don't let yourself die! Sister, my friend, my accomplice in my escapes. Stop singing, that song, it takes you....it takes you to death...  Emilia... It is my fault, my fault..? No!...for him! For them! For Othello! For those who kept quiet!

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 Be witnesses, now, in this moment. Please be witnesses, so that this does not happen again. The only one who could defend me is gone and my hope of saving me from misfortune is gone with her. I will not convince you that I am innocent of these false accusations. You wouldn't listen to me anyway. Because I'm a woman, I'm a ghost, you don't ask me or care if I have anything to say. My right to defend myself vanishes with my death. Emilia wanted to speak, save me from the perverse cruelty of her husband, who poisoned the mind of my beloved with his words. But it was too late. She accompanies me, even in death. Did she deserve it? No! Her only sin was to be my loyal friend, my accomplice, knowing well that everyone, everyone would be against this relationship. Do not do as I do, believing that unconditional love can do anything. 

 

To Othello

 

(Furious) Do You Hear Me Othello? "Love can do anything! "Remember? Those words were ours when... (He fades, his voice is sad) when your hands had another purpose. 

 

I always thought something about you set you apart from others. Did you know that I don't remember the face or the name of any of the suitors my father introduced me to? I smiled at them, and acted as I was expected. But it was only appearance, acting as a daughter who must disguise her discontent. My smile was destined for you, because I knew that in a few hours, with the help of Emilia, I would not have to pretend anymore, I would not have to receive dukes, counts or senators. Those long days when I preferred to rest instead of receiving guests and “convenient” marriage proposals. I wanted to sleep, to have the necessary energy when you passed through my bedroom window to be able to stay awake until impossible hours, until my father woke up. Had he found you by mistake, he would have killed you in that very instant, no questions asked! But that fatality did not frighten us, neither you nor me, as we discovered how our senses met. 

 

(Erotic part-behind the sheet?)

Under the white flowers of my lap

I was waiting, lying, full of innocence

 for you to take me with passion

and my entire certainty of the eternal

That flower that a crow takes and devours 

eager to satisfy its hunger

given to it with pain in the wings of death.

 

I threw my love at your dark skin

like the day surrendering to the night.

My legs longing for warmth

like a thrust

that kills slowly.

And one inside the other 

I let you kill my desire.

 

 

 

When we were denounced, I thought those moments of euphoria were lost forever, and I thought I would witness your death. How could Senator Brabantio's daughter get together with this wild moor? As if eyes could close to love. Yes Othello, this is how they talk about people like you: inferior, moor, black, wild, barbarian! You have never seen my father's fury the way I did. After killing you, he would have killed me, his own daughter and he would've taken away the pain of imagining how he could get to you. 

 

Not even for a moment did I think about leaving you, Othello! I wanted to be with you in life or death. How could you doubt it? Do you know the courage it takes to take on this love? 

 

And no, it wasn't the stories of your heroic battles what seduced me. That argument was enough to convince men who value each other for their medals; those are the heavy burdens that men put on themselves: they need you to win their battles. That is the only way they will value, that’s what you can bring to them.

 

Your deeds made me travel, discover other cultures, other landscapes, but what I fell in love with was you Othello, only you without titles or medals. You didn't drug me like my father accused you, neither with plants nor with words. I desire you Othello. You, man of my dreams. They accepted you for your military gifts, but I want you, I want your mouth, your dark skin, your hands... when they were still caresses. 

 

Why is that so hard to believe, Othello? 

 

My father says people like you are made to scare, not to please. Your hands proved him right. Your hands... proved him right... . Not only does he think you're less, but so do you! 

 

Don't make me believe it's all Yago's fault. No, that would be too easy. He played with your ghosts but you were willing to let yourself be poisoned, because you yourself do not feel that you deserve this love! Take it! This unconditional love, without color, without classes, without judgment, without honors! Remember everything you have lived, how you fought, how they hurt you, how they spit on you! You were bought and sold as a slave. But you would always get up again, you did not accept one single defeat. 

 

Do you feel like you deserve the title of senator? But it takes more to think of yourself as superior to others Othello! You need self-love! You're still a slave to what they think of you, a barbarian! Look what you did! You fulfilled the prophecy! You let them write your fate!

 

Why didn't you listen to me when I told you I was innocent? Did I deserve your beating? Your blind jealousy had me killed without thinking about the love that floods you with my entire being.

 

But this is the destiny of my condition, being a woman subject to unfounded outbursts. They need us, but when frustration reaches them, we are on the front line to receive the putrefaction they have inside. I do not have the credibility by myself, you men decide for me. My father called me a whore, remember? For loving a moor but, above all, for not acting according to his wishes.. . He judged me for choosing my destiny and not being a medal that could be hung on someone´s chest, to be shown as a triumph of their own; for being quiet and submissive.

 

I'm only worth if I seduce them, if I act as they want.

 

I'm not a whore for loving the nigger dad!

I'm not a whore, Othello! I only played the main role of your rotten imagination, if only you had trusted me, and you! Only love and not misfortune would have found us!

 

 

You want to see me as a whore to justify your miserable acts?

 

 

My word is sincere, but unfortunately it has no authority.

And neither do you, Emilia...

 

I forgive you, father, because so you learned from your ancestors, I forgive you, Othello for letting your poor self-love fade with every doubt. Your fear of love turned you into the grave of my caresses, and ended up drowning my voice in your killer hands. it took over you, your fear of being loved. 

 

I forgive you men. Because I am convinced that you are also victims of the world and the society of monsters that we let grow as we keep quiet.

  

 

Silence makes us guilty so be witnesses (to the public) you and you, be witnesses because I am no longer here. I died unclaimed and (to the audience) you, you, you and you are the ones who can now change things. Raise your voice, educate your daughters and sons with values of love, respect and humbleness. Those medals are not burdens on men. 

 

 

(To Emilia) maybe you're right Emilia, maybe I'm better off where I am. Now white as death. I have been honest in this life, but not listened to. In this life I have loved and was treated as a whore. In this life I believed that love and equality would defeat to challenge my blood, but even the man does not have an open heart to love himself. 

Maybe I'd rather be sacrificed than killing and staying in that beautiful and attractive illusion that one day we will be the same.

 

 

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