Statues, or, Being a Foreigner

 

 

I arrived at a large, empty town square whose gray paving stones seemed to have been laid only recently. There were no buildings or houses around it, just a few tufts of trees. It was its oblong shape that made me realize this was a town square. Some squares don’t have a clock tower, wooden benches with iron dragon’s feet, a little church, or even a simple jailhouse, so I recognize them by their shape. This was one of those squares. The trees were withering, their leaves dry and their trunks looking like they were about to crack. I wandered down one side of the square and observed the indistinct pattern of the leaves. But the square was full of statues. I couldn’t tell if they had been there always, or only for a little while. They were in groups of three or four, in circles. Some were seated, knitting, and their bodies merged with the chairs, forming a single piece. Others had their mouths open, as if about to utter some sound or to begin speaking. Those furthest away were standing, leaning against the older statues. They had an expression of ennui, perhaps even of lassitude.

I looked at one of them, a young woman with a pale, listless body, her limp hair gathered in a bun at the back of her neck. She had a vacant gaze. I think she was looking beyond the square, beyond the tufts of withering trees. That most distant group formed a curve, an incomplete circle that left a small opening. They almost seemed to be moving, their skirts fluttering a circle, their arms away from their bodies, their heads bowed as if by the wind, a wind that only blew on that side of the square, in the small area they occupied (the landscape was otherwise motionless, still, calm). There were no outsiders, no foreign presence in any of the groups. Not even a dog could be seen roaming about on that frozen dawn. And yet, it seemed to me that the paving stones had been laid very recently. The statues didn’t appear to have noticed, however. Self-absorbed in their circles, in their concentric movements, they did not appear to notice anything around them.

I felt like a foreigner, a disturbance, although the sort of disturbance I represented could only be perceived by me. Not wanting to intrude, I looked for a path that would lead me away from the gathering. No one was watching me, and it was precisely that inattention that made me feel out of place. It was then that I discovered that at the heart of being a foreigner is a void, not being recognized by those who occupy a place solely by virtue of their occupying it.