Confused, scared, he tries to answer questions too big for him, and it is precisely when the effort becomes almost ridiculous that memories emerge and take us on his journey. We set off, close to him, to meet his “madmen of God”… Los locos del Calvario, the street kids of Managua who every day, with jerks, bites and spits, try to extend their run by a few more centimeters. “El Calvario” is the name of a church that stands near the Mercado Oriental of that city, practically their refuge. The niños de la calle, the church of Calvario, the Mercado Oriental of Managua, Francisco and his brothers, Chiara and her children, events that become stories, fears and anguish; desire for love, need to love. I remember the days in Managua, close to the kids along the alleys of the Mercado Oriental, I remember the words, the smells, the colors; I remember my thoughts at the time: “If I were to stage a Saint Francis, this is where it would make sense to start.” In those faces I saw “the poor people of Assisi,” who, barefoot and in rags, continued undaunted to mortify a flesh that retained very little of its former splendor. Nothing that is narrated in the theatrical work is the product of fantasy, everything is mercilessly real. Those boys I speak of exist, they have the same names, the same faces, the same joy and the same desperation recounted, just as the events that unfold in the flow of words are true events. Francisco, Chiara, his companions exist “unseen,” “unwanted” in the streets of the Mercado Oriental, I met them and I cannot help but talk about them. I am obliged to do so.
Giancarlo Biffi
