DRAMATIC MONOLOGUE Poem: THE SPECTRE, by Bets Swadis

I was born and raised in South Philadelphia.
1921, of course.
I was born
in my house in Devil’s Pocket, before it…
You know, stopped being Devil’s Pocket.

I guess, long story short: I grew up poor, I met a perfect, beautiful girl…

The war came, and uh, I went…
There was nothing
super about me at the time.
Just a duty to my country, and to humanity.
And an absolute devotion to protecting my wife.

All I’d ever wanted was to be a dad.
And… the war came, so we stopped trying, because…
I had to go.

This wasn’t Vietnam, kid. This wasn’t the “War on Terror.”
This was World War II.
So, yes, I did
have to go.
And I went. I went with my best friend.
My best friend since I was 10. He- She…

I have to call her “Emile,” because I never got the chance to–
To ask her…

She… got me through it. Through the killing.
She helped me remember that I was human.
That, although what we were doing was violent, the people we were committing
the violence against…
That those people, those
devils… who could do that– do that to other people…
other human beings… just because–
Not because of anything they’d
done but just how they were
born– who they were
born to…

That the devils who could do those things, they were the ones who weren’t human.

You’d have to become something else– you’d have to become somethingunforgivable to do those things to another person… to so… many people.
And, the night before, she– Emile, I mean– she told me.
She told me about herself. And she said–

Well, first she… She just— She came over to my bunk, a little while after lights out–
I never slept overseas. I was awake most of the night, most nights…

And she– She came over and kneeled and leaned in so close…
And like the most important secret of your life…
She said,
“Francis. I have to tell you something and I don’t think you will want to hear it.
In fact, I think you might hate me when I tell you… and you may even kill me
tonight because of it.”

And she said, “I’m not a man. I’m a woman. I know that doesn’t make sense to
you, but I… I
know, Frank. I
know.”

And she– She said, “I don’t care how awful dying is… whether it’s you and these
boys, or the Nazi scum, or some redneck back home after the war behind a bar…no death could be worse than leaving this world without ever telling someone who
I am… Not someone. Not ‘anyone.’ Someone I love.”

And then she just– She kissed my cheek.
And she went back to her bunk.

Before she could get 10 feet away, I was following her with my blanket.

And I crawled into her bunk with her. And I held her while she cried.
And I cried too.

And we just cried and laid together. And after about 20 minutes, when she fell asleep, I kissed her cheek. And I told her I loved her.
And I went back to bed.

When I woke up in the morning, there were spots on my arm from where her tears
had landed, spots glowing with the most beautiful light…

They just—they just barge in and wake you up so damn early.
I never got a chance… to show her the glowing spots.

She died.
Uh, on D-Day. She died. She died and, um, I didn’t…

I went home.
And
I kissed my wife.
And

I bought a house.
And
I had a baby…
I know I’m not supposed to be telling you so many details, but we…

We named her Emilia… That’s my daughter’s name.(Chuckling)
The Boomer.
After Emile… who was the strongest person I’ve ever met.(Trying to lighten to mood a bit)
And I’ve met Tony-Two-Tons!(Smiles sadly)