Miss Julie and Other Plays

by Strindberg August

Guimard. Head? That’s my feet. Isn’t that my feet?

Biskra. Yea, surely.

Guimard. I thought so. Give me a stool, now, under my head.

Biskra.[Drags along an aloe-tree and puts it under GUIMARD’S knees.] There is a stool for thee.

Guimard. And water—water!

Biskra.[Takes the empty bowl, fills it with sand and hands it to GUIMARD.] Drink it while it is cold.

Guimard.[Sips from the bowl.] It is cold, but none the less it does not slake my thirst. I cannot drink. I abhor water, take it away.

Biskra. That’s the dog that bit thee.

Guimard. What dog? I have never been bitten by any dog.

Biskra. Simoon has shrivelled up thy memory. Beware of the phantoms of Simoon. Thou rememberest the mad wind-hound that bit thee on thy last hunt but one in Bab-el-Oued.