A Sketch by Jean-Pierre Martinez
The postman slips letters into each mailbox. A tenant arrives.
Tenant – Can’t you read?
Postman – Of course! And you?
Tenant – No Junk Mail, it says there on my box!
Postman – Ah, but this isn’t junk mail! I am your new postman.
Tenant – Oh, really? And what’s this then?
Postman – It’s an initiative we’ve just launched at Post Office. You know, now with the internet, we have to diversify our tasks…
Tenant – So what?
Postman – For those who no longer receive letters, we’ve decided to distribute royalty-free letters.
Tenant – Royalty-free?
The postman shows what he has in his bag.
Postman – ‘Letters from My Windmill,’ ‘Persian Letters,’ ‘Letters from Madame de Sévigné’…
Tenant – Why?
Postman – To re-enchant the world! And re-enchant The Post Office! Traditional mail has disappeared, fine. It saves paper. And so, it avoids cutting down trees. But people don’t read anymore! And that’s terrible, isn’t it?
Tenant – Yes, of course.
Postman – Literature is the memory of the world! Wanting to save the forests is perfect. But we must also preserve what constitutes our true wealth! Our cultural heritage – books! Do you know how many letters there are in our alphabet?
Tenant – Approximately 26, right?
Postman – Can you imagine?
Tenant – What?
Postman – With just 26 letters, by combining them, man can express everything.
Tenant – Yes…
Postman – And yet, when I say 26… Do you know which language in the world has the fewest letters?
Tenant – Well, no…
Postman – Rotokas. A language spoken in the Solomon Islands. Its alphabet has only 12 characters.
Tenant – Really?
Postman – A dozen letters to express all of humanity’s thoughts.
Tenant – Yes, that’s… Do you have mail for me?
Postman – Ten numbers to understand the mechanics of the universe.
Tenant – Can I have my mail?
Postman – And seven notes to compose all the music in the world.
Tenant – So, no mail…
Postman – And what will remain of all this in a few billion years? When the sun, in its grand finale, has reduced us all to ashes?
Tenant – I don’t know…
Postman – A few hieroglyphs engraved on stones that haven’t melted yet. Some concise remarks like in the early days of writing. Truly, I tell you – the first stammerings of humanity will also be its final breath.
Tenant – Yes…
Postman – When The Post Office is gone, the epitaphs of our ancestors will survive us for a moment. Like a delivery notice. But remember one thing. (With emphasis) Only the memory of the music of the spheres will survive us forever.
Tenant – I didn’t understand anything…
Black.
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A sketch from the collection Open Letters
Link to the collection for free download (PDF)
Find all of Jean-Pierre Martinez’s plays on his website:
https://jeanpierremartinez.net