by Jane Bowles
Señor Ramirez insisted on feeding Julia with his own fingers. This rather vexed Inez, so she devoted herself to eating copiously. Señor Ramirez drank quantities of whiskey out of a tin folding cup. At the end of fifteen or twenty minutes he was already quite drunk.
"Now, isn't it wonderful to be all together like this, friends? Alfredo, aren't these two women the finest, sweetest women in the world? I do not understand why in the eyes of God they should be condemned to the fires of hell for what they are. Do you?"
Julia moaned and rose to her feet.
"No, no!" she said, looking up helplessly at the branches overhead.
"Come on," said Señor Ramirez. "We're not going to worry about this today, are we?" He took hold of her wrist and pulled her down to the ground beside him. Julia hid her face in her hands and leaned her head against his shoulder. Soon she was smiling up at him and stroking his face.
"You won't leave me alone?" she asked, laughing a little in an effort to bring him to terms with her. If anyone were to be pitted successfully against the Divine, she thought, it would certainly be someone like Señor Ramirez. The presence of such men is often enough to dispel fear from the hearts of certain people for whom God is more of an enemy than a friend. Señor Ramirez's principal struggle in life was one of pride rather than of conscience; and because his successes were numerous each day, replenishing his energy and his taste for life, his strength was easily felt by those around him. Now that he was near her, Julia felt that she was safe from hell, and she was quite happy even though her side still hurt her very badly.
"Now," said Inez, "I think that we should all play a game, to chase gloomy thoughts out of this girl's head."
She rose to her feet and snatched Señor Ramirez's hat from where it lay beside him on the ground, placing it a few feet away upside down on the grass. Then she gathered some acorns in the picnic basket.
"Now," she said. "We will see who can throw these acorns into the hat. He will win."
"I think," said Señor Ramirez, "that the two women should be naked while we are playing this; otherwise it will be just a foolish children's game."
"And we are not children at all," said Inez, winking at him. The two women turned and looked at Alfredo questioningly.
"Oh, don't mind him," said Señor Ramirez. "He sees nothing but numbers in his head."
The two girls went behind some bushes and undressed. When they returned, Alfredo was bending over a ledger and trying to explain something to Señor Ramirez, who looked up, delighted that they had returned so quickly, so that he would not be obliged to listen.
"Ah," he said. "Now this looks much more like friends together, doesn't it, Alfredo?"
"Come on," said Inez. "We will all get into line here with this basket and each one will try to throw the acorn into the hat."
Señor Ramirez grew quite excited playing the game; then he began to get angry because he never managed to get the acorn into the hat. Inez screeched with laughter and threw her acorn wider and wider of the mark, each time purposely, in order to soothe, if possible, the hurt pride of Señor Ramirez. Alfredo refused to play at all.
"Games don't interest me," said Señor Ramirez suddenly. "I'd like to play longer with you, daughters, but I can't honestly keep my mind on the game."
"It is of no importance at all, really," said Inez, busily trying to think up something to do next.
"How are your wife and children?" Julia asked him.
Inez bit her lip and shook her head.
"They are well taken care of. I have sent them to a little town where they are staying in a pension. Quiet women—all three of them—the little girls and the mother. I am going to sleep." He stretched out under a tree and put his hat over his face. Alfredo was absorbed in his ledger. Inez and Julia sat side by side and waited.
"You have the brain of a baby chicken," Inez said to Julia. "I must think for both of us. If I had not had a great deal of practice when I had to keep count of all the hundreds of tortillas that I sold for my mother, I don't know where we would be."
"Dead, probably," said Julia. They began to feel cold.
"Come," said Inez. "Sing with me." They sang a song about leaving and never returning, four or five times through. When Señor Ramirez awakened he suggested to Julia that they go for a walk. She accepted sweetly, and so they started off through the woods. Soon they reached a good-sized field where Señor Ramirez suggested that they sit for a while.
"The first time I went to bed with a woman," he said, "it was in the country like this. The land belonged to my father. Three or four times a day we would come out into the fields and make love. She loved it, and would have come more often if I had asked her to. Some years later I went to her wedding and I had a terrible fight there. I don't even remember who the man was, but in the end he was badly hurt. I can tell you that."
"If you put your arms around me," said Julia, "I will feel less cold. You don't mind my asking you to do this, but I love you very much and I feel very contented with you."
"That's good," said Señor Ramirez, looking off at the mountains and shielding his eyes from the sun. He was listening to the sound of the waterfall, which was louder here. Julia was laughing and touching various parts of his body.
"Ah," she said. "I don't mind my side hurting me so badly if I can only be happy the way I am now with you. You are so sweet and so wonderful."
He gave her a quick loud kiss on the mouth and rose to his feet.
"Listen," he said. "Wouldn't you like to come into the water with me?"
"I am too sick a woman to go into the water, and I am a little bit afraid."
"In my arms you don't have to be afraid. I will carry you. The current would be too strong for you to manage anyway." Señor Ramirez was now as gay as a lark, although he had been bored but a moment before. He liked nothing better than performing little feats that were assured of success from the beginning. He carried her down to the river, singing at the top of his voice.
The noise of the falls was very loud here, and Julia clung tightly to her escort.
"Don't let go, now," she said. But her voice seemed to fly away behind her like a ribbon caught in the wind. They were in the water and Señor Ramirez began to walk in the direction of the falls.
"I will hold tight, all right," he said. "Because the water runs pretty swiftly near the falls." He seemed to enjoy stepping precariously from one stone to another with Julia in his arms. "This is not so easy, you know. This is damned hard. The stones are slippery." Julia tightened her grip around his neck and kissed him quickly all over his face.
"If I let you go," he said, "the current would carry you along like a leaf over the falls, and then one of those big rocks would make a hole in your head. That would be the end, of course." Julia's eyes widened with horror, and she yelled with the suddenness of an animal just wounded.
"But why do you scream like that, Julia? I love you, sweetheart." He had had enough of struggling through the water, and so he turned around and started back.
"Are we going away from the waterfall?"
"Yes. It was wonderful, wasn't it?"
"Very nice," she said.
He grew increasingly careless as the current slackened, with the result that he miscalculated and his foot slipped between two stones. This threw him off his balance and he fell. He was unhurt, but the back of Julia's head had hit a stone. It started to bleed profusely. He struggled to his feet and carried her to the riverbank. She was not sure that she was not dying, and hugged him all the more closely. Pulling her along, he walked quickly up the hill and back through the woods to where Inez and Alfredo were still sitting.
"It will be all right, won't it?" she asked him a bit weakly.
"Those damn rocks were slippery," he growled. He was sulky, and eager to be on his way home.
"Oh, God of mine!" lamented Inez, when she saw what had happened. "What a sad ending for a walk! Terrible things always happen to Julia. She is a daughter of misfortune. It's a lucky thing that I am just
the contrary."
Señor Ramirez was in such a hurry to leave the picnic spot that he did not even want to bother to collect the various baskets and plates he had brought with him. They dressed, and he yelled for them all to get into the car. Julia wrapped a shawl around her bleeding head. Inez went around snatching up all the things, like an enraged person.
"Can I have these things?" she asked her host. He nodded his head impatiently. Julia was by now crying rhythmically like a baby that has almost fallen asleep.
The two women sat huddled together in the back of the car. Inez explained to Julia that she was going to make presents of the plates and baskets to her family. She shed a tear or two herself. When they arrived at the house, Señor Ramirez handed some banknotes to Inez from where he was sitting.
"Adios," he said. The two women got out of the car and stood in the street.
"Will you come back again?" Julia asked him tenderly, ceasing to cry for a moment.
"Yes, I'm coming back again," he said. "Adios." He pressed his foot on the accelerator and drove off.
The bar was packed with men. Inez led Julia around through the patio to their room. When she had shut the door, she slipped the banknotes into her pocket and put the baskets on the floor.
"Do you want any of these baskets?" she asked.
Julia was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking into space. "No, thank you," she said. Inez looked at her, and saw that she was far away.
"Señor Ramirez gave me four drinking cups made out of plastic," said Inez. "Do you want one of them for yourself?"
Julia did not answer right away. Then she said: "Will he come back?"
"I don't know," Inez said. "I'm going to the movies. I'll come and see you afterwards, before I go into the bar."
"All right," said Julia. But Inez knew that she did not care. She shrugged her shoulders and went out through the door, closing it behind her.
A Quarreling Pair
The two puppets are sisters in their early fifties. The puppet stage should have a rod or string dividing it down the middle to indicate two rooms. One puppet is seated on each side of the dividing line. If it is not possible to seat them they will have to stand. Harriet, the older puppet, is stronger-looking and wears brighter colors.
HARRIET (The stronger puppet) I hope you are beginning to think about our milk.
RHODA (After a pause) Well, I'm not.
HARRIET Now what's the matter with you? You're not going to have a visitation from our dead, are you?
RHODA I don't have visitations this winter because I'm too tired to love even our dead. Anyway, I'm disgusted with the world.
HARRIET Just mind your business. I mind mine and I am thinking about our milk.
RHODA I'm so tired of being sad. I'd like to change.
HARRIET You don't get enough enjoyment out of your room. Why don't you?
RHODA Oh, because the world and its sufferers are always on my mind.
HARRIET That's not normal. You're not smart enough to be of any use to the outside, anyway.
RHODA If I were young I'd succor the sick. I wouldn't care about culture, even, if I were young.
HARRIET You don't have any knack for making a home. There's blessed satisfaction in that, at any rate.
RHODA My heart's too big to make a home.
HARRIET No. It's because you have no self-sufficiency. If I wasn't around, you wouldn't have the leisure to worry. You're a lost soul, when I'm not around. You don't even have the pep to worry about the outside when I'm not around. Not that the outside loses by that! (She sniffs with scorn)
RHODA You're right. But I swear that my heart is big.
HARRIET I've come to believe that what is inside of people is not so very interesting. You can breed considerable discontent around you with a big heart, and considerable harmony with a small one. Compare your living quarters to mine. And my heart is small like Papa's was.
RHODA You chill me to the marrow when you tell me that your heart is small. You do love me, though, don't you?
HARRIET You're my sister, aren't you?
RHODA Sisterly love is one of the few boons in this life.
HARRIET Now, that's enough exaggerating. I could enumerate other things.
RHODA I suppose it's wicked to squeeze love from a small heart. I suppose it's a sin. I suppose God meant for small hearts to be busy with other things.
HARRIET Possibly. Let's have our milk in my room. It's so much more agreeable to sit in here. Partly because I'm a neater woman than you are.
RHODA Even though you have a small heart, I wish there were no one but you and me in the world. Then I would never feel that I had to go among the others.
HARRIET Well, I wish I could hand you my gift for contentment in a box. It would be so lovely if you were like me. Then we could have our milk in either room. One day in your room and the next day in mine.
RHODA I'm sure that's the sort of thing that never happens.
HARRIET It happens in a million homes, seven days a week. I'm the type that's in the majority.
RHODA Never, never, never . . .
HARRIET (Very firmly) It happens in a million homes.
RHODA Never, never, never!
HARRIET (Rising) Are you going to listen to me when I tell you that it happens in a million homes, or must I lose my temper?
RHODA You have already lost it. (HARRIET exits rapidly in a rage. RHODA goes to the chimes and sings)
My horse was frozen like a stone
A long, long time ago.
Frozen near the flower bed In the wintry sun.
Or maybe in the night time
Or maybe not at all.
My horse runs across the fields
On many afternoons.
Black as dirt and filled with blood
I glimpse him fleeing toward the woods
And then not at all.
HARRIET (Offstage) I'm coming with your milk, and I hope the excitement is over for today. (Enters, carrying two small white glasses) Oh, why do I bring milk to a person who is dead-set on making my life a real hell?
RHODA (Clasping her hands with feeling) Yes, Why? Why? Why? Why? Oh, what a hideous riddle!
HARRIET You love to pretend that everything is a riddle. You think that's the way to be intellectual. There is no riddle. I am simply keeping up my end of the bargain.
RHODA Oh, bargains, bargains, bargains!
HARRIET Will you let me finish, you excitable thing? I'm trying to explain that I'm behaving the way I was molded to behave. I happen to be appreciative of the mold I was cast in, and neither heaven, nor earth is going to make me damage it. Your high-strung emotions are not going to affect me. Here's your milk.
(She enters RHODA'S side of the stage and hands her the milk, but RHODA punches the bottom of the glass with her closed fist and sends it flying out of HARRIET'S hand. HARRIET deals RHODA a terrific blow on the face and scurries back to her own room. There is silence for a moment. Then HARRIET buries her face in her hands and weeps. RHODA exits and HARRIET goes to the chimes and sings.)
HARRIET (Singing)
I dreamed I climbed upon a cliff,
My sister's hand in mine.
Then searched the valley for my house
But only sunny fields could see
And the church spire shining.
I searched until my heart was cold
But only sunny fields could see
And the church spire shining.
A girl ran down the mountainside
With bluebells in her hat.
I asked the valley for her name
But only wind and rain could hear
And the church bell tolling.
I asked until my lips were cold
But wakened not yet knowing
If the name she bore was my sister's name
Or if it was my own.
HARRIET Rhoda?
RHODA What do you want?
HARRIET Go away if you like.
RHODA The moment hasn't come yet, a
nd it won't come today because the day is finished and the evening is here. Thank God!
HARRIET I know I should get some terrible disease and die if I thought I did not live in the right. It would break my heart.
RHODA You do live in the right, sweetie, so don't think about it. (Pause) I'll go and get your milk.
HARRIET I'll go too. But let's drink it in here because it really is much pleasanter in here, isn't it? (They rise) Oh, I'm so glad the evening has come! I'm nervously exhausted. (They exit)
A Stick of Green Candy
The clay pit had been dug in the side of a long hill. By leaning back against the lower part of its wall, Mary could see the curved highway above her and the cars speeding past. On the other side of the highway the hill continued rising, but at a steeper angle. If she tilted her head farther back, she could glimpse the square house on the hill's summit, with its flight of stone steps that led from the front door down to the curb, dividing the steep lawn in two.
She had been playing in the pit for a long time. Like many other children, she fancied herself at the head of a regiment; at the same time, she did not join in any neighborhood games, preferring to play all alone in the pit, which lay about a mile beyond the edge of town. She was a scrupulously clean child with a strong, immobile face and long, well-arranged curls. Sometimes when she went home toward evening there were traces of clay on her dark coat, even though she had worked diligently with the brush she carried along every afternoon. She despised untidiness, and she feared that the clay might betray her headquarters, which she suspected the other children of planning to invade.
One afternoon she stumbled and fell on the clay when it was still slippery and wet from a recent rainfall. She never failed to leave the pit before twilight, but this time she decided to wait until it was dark so that her sullied coat would attract less attention. Wisely she refrained from using her brush on the wet clay.