From Litro’s Mexico issue, Sara Uribe’s “Every House Learnt How to Burn” uses dialogue, silence and repetition to explore memory, departure, possibility and the rooms people leave behind.
One: Is it possible that I once..? That I? That before?
Two: Yes, it is possible that your name.
One:
Two: It is possible the bodies.
One:
Two: It is possible that your name and the bodies. That you once. That before.
One: And the isles? The conversations? The delay?
Two:
One: The houses we abandoned? All those patios?
Two:
One: Did we leave the lights on? Did we leave the doors unlocked?
Two:
One: Were we the ones that on escaping..?
Two: Yes, it’s possible we were the ones. It’s possible; all the patios and all the doors, and all those abandoned houses with the lights on. The delay and the conversations; but not the isles. Those belong to fiction and asylum.
One: Let’s say, was there ever an isle bearing your name? Was there a before? Was there an I?
Two: Yes, there was a name and there were the bodies; a before and an us.
One: There was an I, then. Isles.
Two: It’s also possible that I was lying and that the isles, and the I, and the could have.
One:
Two: It’s also possible that I wasn’t lying and that in present tense there are no hurries and no escapes. No nothing.
One:
Two:
One: Is the isle of us possible?
Two: Yes, it is possible. The journey and the delay. Yes.
One:
Two:
One:
Two:
One:
Two:
One: But, is it also possible you are lying?
Two: Yes, it is possible; the name, the I, the isles.
Translation by Diego Gómez Pickering
