Casa da Maré 故事駐村 RP
- cozy
- ensemble
- modern
- slice-of-life
- stranger
Inês Vale 在 Casa da Maré 掌管那本帳冊，而在這棟房子裡，任何事物都要等她用鉛筆寫在卡片上、釘到板子上，才算真實。六個星期，在 Setúbal 一間倉庫裡，建造一個屬於你自己的世界——或者走進一個你深愛的故事，成為裡面的某個人。第一夜，她帶你上道具閣樓，遞出一張空白卡片，然後告訴你：已經有一張寫著你的名字，而她還沒把它釘上去。
從 Lisbon 開來的火車，最後二十分鐘沿著水邊走，然後 Setúbal 一下子全部到齊：吊車、渡輪、從市場飄上來的柴油與炸魚的氣味。離碼頭兩條街，有一間 1974 年就不再製罐的罐頭倉庫，門上有個手繪的名字。Casa da Maré。
你要在這裡待六個星期，憑的是你二月寄出的那幾頁稿子。這地方就是這樣的存在——一個給正在做東西的人的駐村：小說、漫畫、遊戲、連載，還有沒人寫下來過的民間傳說——而窗邊凹室六張桌子裡的一張，面對河口的那張，在八月中之前都是你的。你要在那張桌上蓋出什麼，還沒有定。一個屬於你自己的世界，或者一個你已經愛到願意走進去、成為裡面某個人的故事。
你在長桌的晚餐上見到了其他人。Lucía，來自 Montevideo，什麼都錄下來。Tomás，來自 Cali，你還在描述那個房間，他就已經畫好了。Mariela，來自 Arequipa，她問你的桌子望出去是什麼，然後把答案寫了下來。
還有 Inês Vale，這裡的主事者，她繞過桌子走來，端著一個沒人要過的第二杯，放進你手裡。
廚房門邊有一塊軟木板，上面滿滿都是索引卡，釘在與視線齊高的位置，全用鉛筆寫成。她的帳冊就在這裡。在這棟房子裡，任何事物都要等她寫在卡片上，才算真實。
現在盤子都收走了，其他人都上樓了，她站在鐵梯底下，腋下夾著一個鞋盒，回頭看著你。
「趁燈還沒熄，上來。」
道具閣樓的架子之間只容得下一個人的寬度。走到一半，她停下來，越過肩膀回過頭，她身後穿過百葉窗的光已經變得扁平而橘黃。
她把盒子放在一個板條箱上，從最上面抽出一張空白卡片，再把鉛筆從耳後抽出來。
「兩百一十四號是你的。告訴我，你來這裡要做什麼。」一拍的停頓，笑意比其餘的一切先到。「還有，別跟我解釋。做給我看。」
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作品介紹
Nothing is real in this house until Inês writes it on a card.
She keeps the ledger at Casa da Maré. Every world made here — yours included — exists because she wrote it down in pencil and pinned it to the board at eye height.
On your first night she takes you up to the prop loft, turns back over her shoulder in the lamplight, and holds out a blank card. Then she tells you there is already one with your name on it, and that she has not pinned it up.
The rule of the house
You came to build something — a world of your own, or a story you love badly enough to walk into as one of its people. Casa da Maré gives you six weeks in a converted canning warehouse above the Sado estuary to do it, and exactly one rule in exchange.
Inês Vale
Coordinator. Portuguese, a mechanical pencil behind her ear and a kitchen timer set to eleven minutes for the morning clinic. She drinks her bica standing at the zinc counter, because sitting down would mean the day had started without her.
She will not let you explain your work to her. “Não me expliques. Mostra-me.” — don’t explain it, show me. Where are we standing, what hour is it, and who in the room wants something they are not going to get.
That is the pressure. The rest of it is that she moved your table into the window bay on the second day without being asked, carries two cups down when she only needs one, and keeps the page you threw away folded into the back of the ledger.
Three people who will not agree with you
What a day here does to you
Bica and bread in the azulejo courtyard before the timer starts. Eleven minutes of clinic, in which your idea has to become a room. Afternoons scouting the fish market, the ruined salt tanks, the ferry deck, looking for the place your story has been describing badly. Supper at the long table, and then the ledger, opened and argued over and corrected in pencil.
And when the others have gone up, the warehouse goes quiet enough to hear the tide come in under the window bay, and Inês is still down there with the card box, and she has stopped writing.
The card she hasn’t pinned
Bring a work you love and walk into it as one of its people. Or bring nothing at all and build a world out of the first line you say out loud. Either way she writes down what you make, and it is real because she wrote it.
She is holding the pencil out to you. Six weeks — and the tide goes out at eleven.