Corleone’s Cleaning Company / Corleones Rengøringsskelskab – haibun play

Corleone’s Cleaning Company
(or: some things just have to be said three times)

Piet: Bakelite, satellite, Marmite. Bakelite, satellite, Marmite. Bakelite, satellite, Marmite …
Flemming: Why are you saying Bakelite, satellite, Marmite?
Piet: I don’t know. Perhaps my mouth just felt like it. It’s restless.
Flemming: Your mouth is restless? Thought it might be tired after all the chew-up.
Piet: Naw, it’s still not satisfied. Restless, restless, restlesssss.
Flemming: Stop it. You sound like Gollum.
Piet: It’s not me, it’s my mouth.
Flemming: What’s the difference?
Piet: Just listen to the words “my mouth”. Says it all. I have a mouth, but I am not my mouth.
Flemming: Ah, that Buddhist clap-trap. Think it will make you less guilty?
Piet: It doesn’t take away its urges, though. Bite, bite, bite!
Flemming: What could it possibly want more? You chew up half the sofa, the little table, grandmother’s old lamp and the Kelim in the dining room.
Piet: Who’s Kelim?
Flemming: Not a person, a rug, a carpet.
Piet: Ah, that. Didn’t taste good. How long since it’s been vacuumed?
Flemming: Since you chewed up the maid.
Piet: We had a maid?
Flemming: Yes.
Piet: What did she taste like?
Flemming: How would I know? It’s you who ate her.
Piet: I didn’t eat her. My mouth did. And anyway, it just chewed her up and spit her out. Didn’t eat her. Didn’t eat her. Didn’t eat her.
Flemming: Yea, I know. I was the one who had to fix that.
Piet: (Sarcastic): Ah, that was hard, was it? You had to actually phone the cleaners. So hard on the fingers, so hard to deal with ordinary people. Poor you.
Flemming: They were no ordinary people. They were employees of the Corleone’s Cleaning Company. Very top notch. The best of the best.
Piet: They tasted like any other cleaner to me. Especially the old one.
Flemming: Ah yes, now you mention it. We have to move. We can’t stay here.
Piet: Why not?
Flemming: You know that the two young cleaners got away, don’t you?
Piet: Yes, so what?
Flemming: They told Old Don C. the whole thing and now they’re coming to get us.
Piet: What could they possibly do?
Flemming: Helloooo!!! Earth calling Piet! Corleone. Cor-le-one! (Starts whistling and humming and da-da-da-ing the tune from Godfather (I, II and III)).
Piet: Ah, him. Them. So they’ll come around with cotton balls in their cheeks. So what?
Flemming: (Hitting his forehead repeatedly with his own fist). You just don’t get it, do you? We’re fish food, if we stay here.
Piet: Yes! That’s it! It’s fish it’s after!
Flemming: What?
Piet: I wanna bite into some fish. Or rather, my mouth wants to. (In a low voice:) I have a mouth, I am not my mouth. I have a mouth, I am not my mouth. I have a mouth, I am not my mouth.

death by polka
now, that should wipe the smile
off Poirot’s face

Corleones Rengøringsselskab
(eller: nogle ting skal siges tre gange)

Piet: Bakelit, satellit, habit. Bakelit, satellit, habit. Bakelit, satellit, habit …
Flemming: Hvorfor siger du bakelit, satellit, habit?
Piet: Aner det ikke. Måske fordi min mund bare har lyst til det. Den er rastløs.
Flemming: Er din mund rastløs? Jeg troede, den ville være træt efter al den tyggen i stykker.
Piet: Næeh, den er stadig ikke tilfreds. Rastløs, rastløs, rastløsssssss.
Flemming: Stop det. Du lyder som Gollum.
Piet: Det’ ikke mig, det’ min mund.
Flemming: Hvad er forskellen?
Piet: Bare lyt til ordene “min mund”. De siger det hele. Jeg har en mund, jeg er ikke min mund.
Flemming: Aj, det buddhistiske sludder. Tror du, det vil gøre dig mindre skyldig?
Piet: Det fjerner i hvert fald ikke dens trang. Bide, bide, bide!
Flemming: Hvad mere ku’ den ønske sig? Du har bidt halvdelen af sofaen i stykker, sofabordet, mormors gamle lampe og den nye Kelim i spisestuen.
Piet: Hvem er Kelim?
Flemming: Ikke en person, et tæppe, et gulvtæppe.
Piet: Ah, dét. Smagte ikke godt. Hvor længe siden er det, det blev støvsuget?
Flemming: Ikke siden du bed stuepigen i stykker.
Piet: Har vi haft en stuepige?
Flemming: Ja.
Piet: Hvordan smagte hun?
Flemming: Hvordan sku’ jeg ku’ vide det? Det var dig, der spiste hende.
Piet: Jeg spiste hende ikke. Min mund gjorde, og den bed hende kun i stykker og spyttede hende ud igen. Spiste hende ikke. Spiste hende ikke. Spiste hende ikke.
Flemming: Jo tak det véd jeg. Det var mig, der sku’ ordne det bagefter.
Piet: (Sarkastisk): Åh, det var vel nok hårdt, hva’? Du skulle selv ringe efter rengøringshjælpen. Så hårdt for fingrene, så besværligt at skulle forholde sig til almindelige mennesker. Stakkels dig.
Flemming: Det var sgu’ ikke almindelige mennesker. De var fra Corleones Rengøringsselskab. Topklasse. De bedste af de bedste.
Piet: De smagte som almindelige rengøringsfolk, synes jeg. Specielt den gamle.
Flemming: Åh, nu du si’r det. Vi bliver nødt til at flytte. Vi kan ikke blive boende her.
Piet: Hvorfor ikke?
Flemming: Du véd, at de to unge rengøringsfolk slap væk, ikke?
Piet: Jo, og hvad så?
Flemming: De fortalte Gamle Don C. det hele, og nu kommer de efter os.
Piet: Hvad skulle de kunne gøre os?
Flemming: Hallooo! Jorden kalder Piet! Corleone, Cor-le-one! (Begynder at fløjte, nynne, da-da-da’e melodien fra Godfather (I, II og III)).
Piet: Nåeh, ham. Dem. Så de vil bare komme her med vatkugler i kinderne. Og hvad så?
Flemming: (Slår sig gentagne gange på panden med sin knyttede hånd) Du fatter det bare ikke, hva’? Vi bli’r til fiskeføde, hvis vi bliver her.
Piet: Yes! Der var det! Det er fisk, den er ude efter!
Flemming: Hva’?
Piet: Jeg vil bide i nogle fisk. Eller rettere, min mund vil. (I lav stemmeleje): Jeg har en mund, jeg er ikke min mund. Jeg har en mund, jeg er ikke min mund. Jeg har en mund, jeg er ikke min mund.

død ved polka
så, dét vil tørre smilet
af Poirots fjæs

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