El Krapp de Bob Wilson

Despues de 20 años Bob Wilson, una de las figuras mas respetadas del teatro en el mundo actualmente, regresa a Colombia al Festival Iberoamericano de teatro de Bogotá, con la compañia "Change Performing Arts" de Milán. Esta se especializa en producciones de ópera, danza, musica y teatro.
Esta vez Wilson, emblemática figura del teatro experimental con medio siglo de trayectoria, viene con un nuevo clásico del irlandés Samuel Beckett, "La Ultima cinta de Krapp", obra de un solo acto en la que se pretende mostrar la luz como un actor mas en escena. Mientras se preparan para su estreno en la sala Fanny Mickey del Teatro Nacional, se narra la historia en la que un maestro, una compañia, las tablas y el público se unen para dar vida al teatro como reflejo de la vida misma.

Bob Wilson ensaya con el micrófono encendido. Es importante medir el volumen de su voz, temen que el sonido programado para el espectáculo pueda fallar debido a la fuerte gripa que ha afectado su salud desde que arrivó a Bogotá hace un par de dias. Esta cansado. A sus casi 70 años, ha pasado mucho tiempo, casi medio siglo, desde su debut en las tablas. Hoy, despues de mucho trabajo, mucha suerte y mucho camino recorrido, cuenta con un equipo que entiende su lenguaje y lo escucha en el idioma universal del arte, la creación y la estetica. Su voz es clara y sigue siendo fuerte. Se puede entender claramente lo que dice entre dientes, aunque no haga un profundo esfuerzo por ser escuchado. Lo hace con la naturalidad con la que se respira. Recorre cuidadosamente cada cuadro y frente a la sala vacia que se extiende ante él, se convierte en el viejo Krapp que igual que el actor, llega a sus séptima década, para descubrir por medio de los archivos de su vida (que ha guardado con rigor durante muchos años en cintas y libros) que su vida ha sido una gran desilusión y ya no hay vuelta atrás.
La obra se ha venido presentando desde junio de 2009 alrededor de Europa en escenarios tan maravillosos como la Opera de Roma. Despues de eso, ninguna sala intimida al equipo. Tienen a Bob (maestro del teatro en todos sus ambitos) actuando y dirigiendo una obra maestra del teatro contemporáneo. Wilson es el sol y la compañia su galaxia.
Se escuchan las ultimas palabras de su voz:" [ I bent over her to get them in the shadow and they opened... Let me in. We drifted in among the flags and stuck. The way they went down, sighing, before the stem! I lay down across her with my face in her breasts and my hand on her. We lay there without moving. But under us all moved, and moved us, gently, up and down, and from side to side... Past midnight.... Never knew such silence. The earth might be uninhabited.] ... I'm ready (estoy listo)" Luego silencio.
Se baja el telón. La funcion va a empezar. El público entra a la sala con la espectativa de la primera función de uno de los festivales mas esperados en el ambito teatral actualmente, como decia Fanny: "Es el festival mas grande del mundo". Todos estan listos desde antes de llegar. Público y teatro, con todos sus componentes se confrontan antes la probablidad de entretener, hacer sentir, evocar... enviar y recibir un mensaje que tal vez no todos entiendan, pero estan ahi para hacer el intento.
Y comienza la obra. Un trueno que nadie espera deja la sala en silencio y se abre el telón para dejar al descubierto la imagen blanco y negro que enmarca la solida y palida figura de Krapp. Con la serenidad de la experiencia, se mueve lentamente, recorriendo la estructura de cada uno de sus movimientos en el espacio, creado la tension de lo inesperado... de lo que quizás nunca ocurra. El público mientras tanto observa atento, se escuchan risas de varios adultos mayores que se ven reflejados en la existencia de aquel pobre personaje creado por Beckett hace casi medio siglo. Ese que se unde en la desgracia de su propia existencia, al limite de no reconocerse a si mismo 30 años atras, en aquella época en la que aún no habia renunciado al amor y recordaba con nostalgia el tacto de su piel con la de alguna amante del pasado. Con la nostalgia del recuerdo de aquel tiempo pasado, se pide a si mismo volver a vivir; terminando en el encierro de la memoria dentro de lo que recuerda como felicidad. Las luces se apagan y se acaba la obra. Por cuestión de segundo el silencio es conmovedor... luego, la sala se llena de aplausos y las luces se prenden para recibir ahora a Wilson, que envuelto en ovaciones sale a agradecer al publico y este de vuelta le da las gracias con emoción.
Todo ha terminado y es solo la primera de cinco funciones planeadas en esta ciudad. Ante los ojos del publico todo salio bien, pero la compañia no descansa, todavia hay cosas que arreglar, cambiar, mejorar. La obra ha terminado, pero la vida sigue su curso y cada dia, cada presentación, es una oportunidad nueva para hacer las cosas mejor.

Krapp's Last Tape

Samuel Beckett

Krapp's Last Tape

---

A late evening in the future.

Krapp's den.

Front centre a small table, the two drawers of which open towards audience.

Sitting at the table, facing front, i.e. across from the drawers, a wearish old man: Krapp

Rusty black narrow trousers too short for him. Rust black sleevless waistcoat, four capaciou pockets. Heavy silver watch and chain. Grimy white shirt open at neck, no collar. Surprising pair of dirty white boots, size ten at least, very narrow and pointed.

White face. Purple nose. Disordered grey hair. Unshaven.

very near-sighted (but unspectacled). Hard of hearing.

Cracked voice. Distinctive intonation.

Laborious walk.

On the table a tape-recorder with microphone and a number of cardboard boxes containing reels of recorded tapes.

table and immediately adjacent area in strong white light. Rest of stage in darkness.

Krapp remains a moment motionless, heaves a great sigh, looks at his watch, fumbles in his pockets, takes out an evelope, puts it back, fumbles, takes out a small bunch of keys, raises it to his eyes, chooses a key, gets up and moves to front of table. He stoops, unlocks first drawer, peers into it, feels about inside it, takes out a reel of tape, peers at it, puts it back, locks drawer, unlocks second drawer peers into it, feels about inside it, takes out a large banana, peers at it, locks drawer, puts keys back in his pocket. He turns, advances to edge of stage, halts, strokes banana, peels it, drops skin at his feet, puts end of banana in his mouth and remains motionless, staring vacuously before him. Finally he bites off the end, turns aside and begins pacing to and fro at edge of stage, in the light, i.e. not more than four or five paces either way, meditatively eating banana. He treads on skin, slips, nearly falls, recovers himself, stoops and peers at skin and finally pushes it, still stooping, with his foot over the edge of the stage into pit. He resumes his pacing, finishes banana, returns to table, sits down, remains a moment motionless, heaves a great sigh, takes keys from his pockets, raises them to his eyes, chooses key, gets up and moves to front of table, unlocks second drawer, takes out a second large banana, peers at it, locks drawer, puts back his keys in his pocket, turns, advances to the edge of stage, halts, strokes banana, peels it, tosses skin into pit, puts an end of banana in his mouth and remains motionless, staring vacuously before him. Finally he has an idea, puts banana in his waistcoat pocket, the end emerging, and goes with all the speed he can muster backstage into darkness. Ten seconds. Loud pop of cork. Fifteen seconds. He comes back into light carrying an old ledger and sits down at table. He lays ledger on table, wipes his mouth, wipes his hands on the front of his waistcoat, brings them smartly together and rubs them.

KRAPP

(briskly). Ah! (He bends over ledger, turns the pages, finds the entry he wants, reads.) Box . . . thrree . . . spool . . . five. (he raises his head and stares front. With relish.) Spool! (pause.) Spooool! (happy smile. Pause. He bends over table, starts peering and poking at the boxes.) Box . . . thrree . . . three . . . four . . . two . . . (with surprise) nine! good God! . . . seven . . . ah! the little rascal! (He takes up the box, peers at it.) Box thrree. (He lays it on table, opens it and peers at spools inside.) Spool . . . (he peers at the ledger) . . . five . . . (he peers at spools) . . . five . . . five . . . ah! the little scoundrel! (He takes out a spool, peers at it.) Spool five. (He lays it on table, closes box three, puts it back with the others, takes up the spool.) Box three, spool five. (He bends over the machine, looks up. With relish.) Spooool! (happy smile. He bends, loads spool on machine, rubs his hands.) Ah! (He peers at ledger, reads entry at foot of page.) Mother at rest at last . . . Hm . . . The black ball . . . (He raises his head, stares blankly front. Puzzled.) Black ball? . . . (He peers again at ledger, reads.) The dark nurse . . . (He raises his head, broods, peers again at ledger, reads.) Slight improvement in bowel condition . . . Hm . . . Memorable . . . what? (He peers closer.) Equinox, memorable equinox. (He raises his head, stares blankly front. Puzzled.) Memorable equinox? . . . (Pause. He shrugs his head shoulders, peers again at ledger, reads.) Farewell to--(he turns the page)--love.

He raises his head, broods, bends over machine, switches on and assumes listening posture, i.e. leaning foreward, elbows on table, hand cupping ear towards machine, face front.

TAPE

(strong voice, rather pompous, clearly Krapp's at a much earlier time.) Thirty-nine today, sound as a--(Settling himself more comfortable he knocks one of the boxes off the table, curses, switches off, sweeps boxes and ledger violently to the ground, winds tape back to the beginning, switches on, resumes posture.) Thirty-nine today, sound as a bell, apart from my old weakness, and intellectually I have niw every reason to suspect at the . . . (hesitates) . . . crest of the wave--or thereabouts. Celebrated the awful occasion, as in recent years, quietly at the winehouse. Not a soul. Sat before the fire with closed eyes, separation the grain from the husks. jotted down a few notes, on the back on an envelope. Good to be back in my den in my old rags. Have just eaten I regret to say three bananas and only with difficulty restrained a fourth. Fatal things for a man with my condition. (Vehemently.) Cut 'em out! (pause.) The new light above my table is a great improvement. With all this darkness around me I feel less alone. (Pause.) In a way. (Pause.) I love to get up and move about in it, then back here to . . . (hesitates) . . . me. (pause.) Krapp.

Pause.

The grain, now what I wonder do I mean by that, I mean . . . (hesitates) . . . I suppose I mean those things worth having when all the dust has--when all my dust has settled. I close my eyes and try and imagine them.

Pause. Jrapp closes his eyes briefly.

Extraordinary silence this evening, I strain my ears and do not hear a sound. Old Miss McGlome always sings at this hour. But not tonight. Songs of her girlhood, she says. Hard to think of her as a girl. Wonderful woman, though. Connaught, I fancy. (Pause.) Shall I sing when I am her age, if I ever am? No. (Pause.) Did I sing as a boy? No. (Pause.) Did I ever sing? No.

Pause.

Just been listening to an old year, passaages at random. I did not check in the book, but it must be at least tne or twelve years ago. At that time I think I was still living on and off with Bianca in Kedar Street. Well out of that, Jesus yes! Hopeless business. (Pause.) Not much about her, apart from a tribute to her eyes. Very warm. I suddenly was them again. (Pause.) Incomparable! (Pause.) Ah well . . . (Pause.) These old P.M.s are gruesome, but I often find them--(Krapp switches off, broods, switches on)--a help before embarking on a new . . . (hestitates) . . . retrospect. Hard to believe I was ever that young whelp. The voice! Jesus! And the aspirations! (Brief laugh in which Krapp joins.) And the resolutions! (Brief laugh in which Krapp joins.) To drink less, in particular. (Brief laugh of Krapp alone.) Statistics. Seventeen hundred hours, out of the preceding eight thousand odd, consumed on licensed premises alone. More than 20%, say 40% of his waking life. (Pause.) Plans for a less . . . (hesitates) . . . engrossing sexual life. Last illness of his father. Flagging pursuit of happiness. Unattainable laxation. Sneers at what he calls his youth and thanks to God that it's over. (Pause.) False ring there. (Pause.) Shadows of the opus . . . magnum. Closing with a --(brief laugh)--yelp to Providence. (Prolonged laugh in which Krapp joins.) What remains of all that misery? A girl in a shabby green coat, on a railway-station platform? No?

Pause.

When I look--

Krapp switches off, broods, looks at his watch, gets up, goes backstage into darkness. Ten seconds. pop of cork. Ten seconds. Second cork. Ten seconds. Third cork. Ten seconds. Brief burst of quavering song.

KRAPP

(sings).

Now the day is over,
Night is drawing nigh-igh,
Shadows--

Fit of coughing. He comes back into light, sits down, wipes his mouth, switches on, resumes his listening posture.

TAPE

--Back on the year that is gone, with what I hope is perhaps a glint of the old eye to come, there is of course the house on the canal where mother lay a-dying, in the late autumn, after her long viduity (Krapp gives a start), and the--(Krapp switches off, winds back tape a little, bends his ear closer to the machine, switches on)--a-dying, after her long viduity, and the--

Krapp switches off, raises his head, stares blankly before him. His lips move in the syllables of "viduity." No sound. He gets up, goes back stage into darkness, comes back with an enormous dictionary, lays it on table, sits down and looks up the word.

KRAPP

(reading from dictionary). State--or condition of being--or remaining--a widow--or widower. (Looks up. Puzzled.) Being--or remaining? . . . (Pause. He peers again at dictionary. Reading.) "Deep weeds of viduity" . . . Also of an animal, especially a bird . . . the vidua or weaver bird . . . Black plumage of male . . . (He looks up. With relish.) The vidua0bird!

Pause. He closes dictionary, switches on, reusmes listening posture.

TAPE

--bench by the weir from where I could see her window. There I sat, in the biting wind, wishing she were gone. (Pause.) Hardly a soul, just a few regulars, nursemaids, infants, old men, dogs. I got to know them quite well--oh by appearance of course I mean! One dark young beauty I recall particularly, all white and starch, incomparable bosom, with a big black hooded perambulator, most funereal thing. Whenever I looked in her direction she had her eyes on me. And yet when I was bold enough to speak to her--not having been introduced--she threatened to call a policeman. As if I had designs on her virtue! (Laugh. Pause.) The face she had! The eyes! Like . . . (hesitates) . . . chrysolite! (Pause.) Ah well . . . (Pause.) I was there when--(Krapp switches off, broods, switches on again)--the blind went down, one of those dirty brown roller affairs, throwing a ball for a little white dog, as chance would have it. I happened to look up and there it was. All over and done with, at last. I sat on for a few moments with the ball in my hand and the dog yelping and pawing at me. (Pause.) Moments. Her moments, my moments. (Pause.) The dog's moments. (Pause.) In the end I held it out to him and he took it in his mouth, gently, gently. A small, old, black, hard, solid rubber ball. (Pause.) I shall feel it, in my hand, until my dying day. (Pause.) I might have kept it. (Pause.) But I gave it to the dog.

Pause.

Ah well . . .

Pause.

Spiritually a year of profound gloom and indulgence until that memorable night in March at the end of the jetty, in the howling wind, never to be forgotten, when suddenly I saw the whole thing. The vision, at last. This fancy is what I have cheifly to record this evening, againt the day when my work will be done and perhaps no place left in my memory, warm or cold, for the miracle that . . . (hesitates) . . . for the fire that set it alight. What I suddenly saw then was this, that the beleif I had been going on all my life, namely--(Krapp switches off impatiently, winds tape foreward, switches on again)--great granite rocks the foam flying up in the light of the lighhouse and thw wind-gauge spinning like a propellor, clear to me at last that the dark I have always struggled to keep under is in reality--(Krapp curses, switches off, winds tape foreward, switches on again)--unshatterable association until my dissolution of storm and night with the light of the understanding and the fire--(Krapp curses loader, switches off, winds tape foreward, switches on again)--my face in her breasts and my hand on her. We lay there without moving. But under us all moved, and moved us, gently, up and down, and from side to side.

Pause.

Past midnight. Never knew such silence. The earth might be uninhabited.

Pause.

Here I end--

Krapp switches off, winds tabe back, switches on again.

--upper lake, with the punt, bathed off the bank, then pushed out into the stream and drifted. She lay streched out on the floorboards with her hands under her head and her eyes closed. Sun blazing down, bit of a breeze, water nice and lively. I noticed a scratch on her thigh and asked her how she came by it. Picking gooseberries, she said. I said again I thought it was hopeless and no good going on, and she agreed, without opening her eyes. (Pause.) I asked her to look at me and after a few moments--(pause)--after a few moments she did, but the eyes just slits, because of the glare. I bent over her to get them in the shadow and they opened. (Pause. Low.) Let me in. (Pause.) We drifted in among the flags and stuck. The way they went down, sighing, before the stem! (Pause.) I lay down across her with my face in her breasts and my hand on her. We lay there without moving. But under us all moved, and moved us, gently, up and down, and from side to side.

Pause.

Past midnight. Never knew--

Krapp switches off, broods. Finally he fumbles in his pockets, encounters the banana, takes it out, peers at it, puts it back, fumbles, brings out the envelope, fumbles, puts back envelope, looks at his watch, gets up and goes backstage into darkness. Ten seconds. Sound of bottle against glass, then brief siphon. Ten seconds. Bottle against glass alone. Ten seconds. He comes back a little unsteadily into light, goes to the front of table, takes out keys, raises them to his eyes, chooses key, unlocks first drawer, peers into it, feels about inside it, takes out reel, peers at it, locks drawer, puts keys back in his pocket, goes and sits down, takes reel off machine, lays it on dictionary, loads virgin reel on machine, takes envelope from his pocket, consults back of it, lays it on table, switches on, clears his throat and begins to record.

KRAPP

Just been listening to that stupid bastard I took myself for thirty years ago, hard to beleive I was ever as bad as that. Thank God that's all done with anyway. (Pause.) The eyes she had! (Broods, realizes he is recording silence, switches off, broods. Finally.) Everything there, everything, all the--(Realizing this is not being recorded, switches on.) Everything there, everything on this old muckball, all the light and dark and famine and feasting of . . . (hesitates) . . . the ages! (In a shout.) Yes! (Pause.) Let that go! Jesus! Take his mind off his homework! Jesus (Pause. Weary.) Ah well, maybe he was right. (Broods. Realizes. Switches off. Consults envelope.) Pah! (Crumples it and throws it away. Broods. Switches on.) Nothing to say, not a squeak. What's a year now? The sour cud and the iron stool. (Pause.) Revelled in the word spool. (With relish.) Spooool! Happiest moment of the past half million. (Pause.) Seventeen copies sold, of which eleven at trade price to free circulating libraries beyond the seas. Getting known. (Pause.) One pound six and something, eight I have little doubt. (Pause.) Crawled out once or twice, before the summer was cold. Sat shivering in the park, drowned in dreams and burning to be gone. Not a soul. (Pause.) Last fancies. (Vehemently.) Keep 'em under! (Pause.) Scalded the eyes out of me reading Effir again, a page a day, with tears again. Effie . . . (Pause.) Could have been happy with her, up there on the Baltic, and the pines, and the dunes. (Pause.) Could I? (Pause.) And she? (Pause.) Pah! (Pause.) Fanny came in a couple of times. Bony old ghost of a whore. Couldn't do much, but I suppose better than a kick in the crutch. The last time wasn't so bad. How do you manage it, she said, at your age? I told her I'd been saving up for her all my life. (Pause.) Went to Vespers once, like when I as in short trousers. (Pause. Sings.))

Now the day is over,
Night is drawing nigh-igh,
Shadows--(coughing, then almost inaudible)--of the evening
Steal across the sky.

(Gasping.) Went to sleep and fell off the pew. (Pause.) Sometimes wondered in the night if a last effort mightn't--(Pause.) Ah finish yout booze now and get to your bed. Go on with this drivel in the morning. Or leave it at that. (Pause.) Leave it at that. (Pause.) Lie propped up in the dark--and wander. Be again in the dingle on a Christmas Eve, gathering holly, the red-berried. (Pause.) Be again on Croghan on a Sunday morning, in the haze, with the bitch, stop and listen to the bells. (Pause.) And so on. (Pause.) Be again, be again. (Pause.) All that old misery. (Pause.) Once wasn't enough for you. (Pause.) Lie down across her.

Long pause. He suddenly bends over machine, switches off, wrenches off tape, throws it away, puts on the other, winds it foreward to the passage he wants, switches on, listens staring front.

TAPE

--gooseberries, she said. I said again I thought it was hopeless and no good going on, and she agreed, without opening her eyes. (Pause.) I asked her to look at me and after a few moments--(pause)--after a few moments she did, but the eyes just slits, because of the glare. I bent over her to get them in the shadow and they opened. (Pause. Low.) Let me in. (Pause.) We drifted in among the flags and stuck. The way they went down, sighing, before the stem! (Pause.) I lay down across her with my face in her breasts and my hand on her. We lay there without moving. But under us all moved, and moved us, gently, up and down, and from side to side.

Pause. Krapp's lips move. No sound.

Past midnight. Never knew such silence. The earth might be uninhabited.

Pause.

Here I end this reel. Box--(pause)--three, spool--(pause)--five. (Pause. Perhaps my best years are gone. When there was a chance of happiness. But I wouldn't want them back. Not with the fire in me now. No, I wouldn't want them back.

Krapp motionless staring before him. The tape runs on in silence.

Marzo del 85

La memoria se evaporó, esta sería la mejor aproximación a lo que había ocurrido con todos los archivos de su vida. En sí misma no había nada, solo un vacío sin dimensiones, enorme y oscuro. No había dolor ni tristeza por pérdida. No había recuerdo alguno de nada, no recordaba siquiera cual era el sonido de su voz, ni el color de su piel. Es posible que no recordara como sentir.
Abrió los ojos después de meses de un sueño largo del que tenía la sensación había sido muy placentero, pero era solo una vaga impresión porque al parecer, tampoco recordaba detalle alguno de este.
La luz de la tarde entraba de frente por la ventana. Un lindo día de primavera caribe (algo que al parecer veía por primera vez) y se vio totalmente conmovida por la inmensidad y brillo de las enormes y aterciopeladas nubes, increíble contraste con el azul profundo del cielo de las 4:30 de la tarde. Sintió la necesidad de alcanzarlas y probarlas, en el proceso descubrió sus manos. Las miro, las sintió entumecidas como muchas picadas que produjeron dolor pero ganas de reír al mismo tiempo, se movían. Las levantó y las miro fijamente. Con la luz que se le metía por los dedos descubrió la forma de estos y de igual manera descubrió que se movían cada uno por separado. No supo cómo llamarlos, pero si descubrió en seguida que con ellos podía agarrar y tocar. Los estiró lentamente hasta un tubo de metal cercano y sintió su temperatura fría. Le gustó, así que lo apretó fuerte y luego lo soltó cuando descubrió que tampoco era posible llevárselo a la boca.
Siguió manoseando todo, reconociendo el espacio hasta que de pronto, como magia, sintió una energía envolvente que la recorrió desde los pies hasta la cabeza, se enrizó y sonrío abstraída por ese momento. Fue tan fugaz que con el fin del instante se sintió devastada. Así que arrancó a llorar desconsoladamente con todas las fuerzas que le permitió su cuerpo. Pero fue casi enseguida y muy de repente que lo sintió de nuevo. Entonces, el llanto ceso y se acostumbró pronto a la idea de sentir esos momentos de felicidad en intervalos.

Estuvo sola por un largo rato, pero no tuvo concepción de esto porque no sabía tampoco lo que se sentía estar en presencia de alguien más. Ojalá hubiera podido quedarse para siempre así, sumergida en un mar de novedades, reconfortada ante la sensibilidad de su propia piel.

Pero entonces pasó lo inevitable. Escuchó un sonido y vio como la enorme pared blanca se abría y dejaba entrar más luz desde otra perspectiva. Primero las formas cambiaron, luego sintió la presencia de otro igual a ella. Se sintió intimidada ante el descubrimiento, pero no pudo hacer nada, estaba totalmente paralizada.

Perder la inocencia es reconocer la multidimensionalidad de todo. Trascender el momento y hacerlo llegar más allá de lo que alguna vez pensamos que era posible. Reconocer el lado oscuro, descubrir que detrás de la refracción de la luz, existe la sombra. Entender la magnitud de las cosas, hacerlas nuestras, o peor aún, ajenas. Es dudar ante la certeza, es cuestionar el propio ser incluso sabiendo que es lo único verdadero. Olvidar el miedo, abrazar silenciosamente la posibilidad de no ser felices nunca más y quedarse encerrado para siempre en ese momento. Entonces, la falta de poder sobre si mismo trae la inminente duda sobre un cuestionamiento que nunca debió ser. Preguntarse si se es realmente, si “existo”. No hay respuesta.

La puerta se abrió con la delicadeza inofensiva de la complicidad. Un cuerpo amable se acercó y regalo su calor al suyo con especial afecto. El miedo estremecedor producido por la vulnerabilidad de la pequeñez de su propia materia, pronto mutó al confort de los brazos prestados de quien podría ser su dios y su más anhelado refugio. Cerró los ojos en el pecho de su madre y en ese instante de gloria, con el regreso de la brisa, recordó amar.

*A mamá y sus dias de primavera con flores rosa

Cherry Blossom Girl