BELISARIO: Well, it won’t be a love story, but it’s certainly romantic. That much is clear. As far back as you can remember, and as far back as my mother could remember, you were both as thick as thieves. But all those years of living in the same house, wasn’t there ever any friction, any jealousy between them? They shared their lives, but didn’t they ever feel envious of each other? (He looks sardonically at them both.) Well, I don’t suppose you actually shared Grandfather. But you certainly shared the children, didn’t you?
(He walks round GRANDMOTHER and MAMAE, looking at them carefully.
That is to say, you produced them, Grandma, but it was you, Mamaé, who had all the anxiety and the sleepless nights. You gave them their bottles and changed their nappies and watched over their cradles, and it was you who stayed at home so that Grandmother and Grandfather could go to the theatre or the cinema, or to parties, when they were still able to afford such luxuries.
(He goes towards the desk, where he leaves his papers and pencils. He rolls up his trousers, like a child about to wade across a stream, and suddenly starts to skip and jump about, as if he were spinning a top or playing hopscotch.)
But there was someone else you were even more patient with, Mamaé – infinitely patient with in fact – and that was that budding little lawyer, over in Bolivia – yes, the future saviour of the family.
(During BELISARIO’s speech, AGUSTIN and CESAR have come in from the street. They kiss GRANDMOTHER and their sister, AMELIA, and go up to greet MAMAE, who smiles politely and bows when she sees them coming. They embrace her. She lets them, but suddenly shouts out:)
MAMAE: Long live Herod! Long live Herod! Ahhh!
(As MAMAE shouts, BELISARIO carries on writing. He seems to be enjoying himself very much. In fact he is so delighted he can hardly sit still. He stops working from time to time to observe MAMAE. He imitates her gestures and expression – she raises his hand to his throat as if he were attempting to throttle someone.)
GRANDMOTHER: Quiet, Elvira, stop shouting like a maniac. What’s this stupid habit you’ve got of shrieking ‘Long live Herod!’ whenever Agustín and César appear? (To AGUSTIN and CESAR) Dear oh dear, what with Mamaé who lives in a world of her own, and my husband who doesn’t remember anything from one moment to the next, I don’t know what’s to become of me, I really don’t. I’m just going to see if Pedro’s awake. He went to have a little rest.
(She goes out. AMELIA, AGUSTIN and CESAR gather round MAMAE.)
MAMAE: Of all the characters in history, he’s quite my favourite. He had every one of the little blighters killed. I’d do the same – I’d do away with the lot of them. I wouldn’t leave a single one, not even as a specimen.
CESAR: (To his brother) And there were you wanting me to get the children out of the car so they could say hello to Mama and Papa.
MAMAE: Because I loathe them! And do you know why? Because of all those thousands and thousands of dirty nappies.
AGUSTIN: (Stroking her hair) You’ve spent your life looking after other people’s children, and now it turns out you detest the little mites.
MAMAE: Because of those millions of bibs they’re sick over, they’re always about to burst into tears – they’re always drooling, their noses need wiping, and their knees are always dirty and covered in scabs. And they won’t even let the grown-ups have their meals in peace, what with their bad table manners and naughty little pranks.
(MAMAE talks to them calmly, smiling and bowing, but she gives the impression that she neither hears nor understands a word of what they say.)
AMELIA: And to think that when Belisario had chickenpox, she was the one who threw me out of the room so that she could sleep beside him.
MAMAE: Because they shout and throw tantrums; everything gets broken, mucked up, or ruined.
BELISARIO: (Interrupting his work) You’d spend the day covering me with that ghastly black ointment. Every little spot, one by one. Then you’d take me by the hands and tell me stories to take my mind off it so I wouldn’t scratch. But even that didn’t stop me looking a sight, Mamaé!
MAMAE: They’re selfish little brutes, they don’t care about anyone. They’re like sultans, you’ve got to pander to all their stupid little fads. So, like Herod, every single one of them. Like so, and like so!
CESAR: What about that time in Arequipa, Mamaé, when I’d invite my schoolmates home? You used to make tea for all thirty of us, remember? So you can swear you hate children till you’re blue in the face, I just don’t believe it.
(AMELIA signals to AGUSTIN and they both move aside a few steps. BELISARIO is sitting at his desk. He looks on intrigued, as AMELIA and AGUSTIN talk.)
AMELIA: I want to have a word with you, Agustín.
AGUSTIN: Yes, Amelia.
AMELIA: I’ve been meaning to tell you, I … I can’t go on like this any more.
(When CESAR hears her, he goes up to them. MAMAE falls asleep.)
CESAR: What’s the matter, Amelia?
AMELIA: I’m quite exhausted. You’ll just have to take on a maid.
AGUSTIN: We’d have done that some time ago if it had been at all possible. I thought we agreed that César and I would help Belisario finish his course at university and you would look after the house.
AMELIA: Yes, I know. But I can’t go on like this, Agustín. It’s too much work for one person. And besides I’m slowly going out of my mind in this crazy household. What with Father and Mother and Mamaé – they’re all getting so old now. And Father doesn’t remember a single thing. I give him his lunch, he eats it, and five minutes later he asks for it all over again. And if I don’t do exactly as he wants, Mother bursts into tears.
CESAR: Don’t talk so loud, Amelia. Mamaé will hear you.
AMELIA: Let her hear me; she doesn’t understand. Her mind’s completely gone, César. (Looks at MAMAE.) Not to mention her body. God knows I’m patient, and I’m very fond of her. But there are limits. Can’t you see she’s like a child? Washing her knickers and her dirty nighties has become a nightmare. Then there’s the cooking, the cleaning, the ironing, the beds to be made and the dishes to be washed. I just can’t cope any more.
CESAR: (To AGUSTIN) Perhaps we really should consider taking on a maid, after all.
AGUSTIN: Oh, that’s brilliant, César. Yes, why don’t we? You’d be paying for her, I suppose.
CESAR: There’s no need to be sarcastic, Agustín. You know I’m hard up at the moment.
AGUSTIN: Then don’t talk about taking on a maid. Have you any idea what it costs to run this house? Has it ever occurred to you to pick up a pencil and work it out? Well, there’s the rent, the housekeeping, the water rates, the electricity, dustmen, doctor’s bills, medicine, not to mention the three thousand for Amelia. Do you know how much it all comes to? Fourteen or fifteen thousand soles a month. And what do you contribute apart from belly-aching the whole time? Two thousand soles.
(JOAQUIN comes in, as discreetly as a ghost, dressed in the same uniform he was wearing at the beginning of the play. He sits down next to MAMAE.)
CESAR: It’s hard enough for me to manage the two thousand. I don’t even earn enough to cover my own expenses. I’m in constant debt, as you well know … I’ve got four children, Agustín. I’ve had to put the two younger ones into a state school this year, along with all the mestizos and the negroes …
MAMAE: (Opening her eyes) The mestizos … Yes, it was there, every evening, just when the labourers were returning from the plantations. In the suburb, where the mestizos and the negroes live. In the shanties of La Mar.
AMELIA: You don’t imagine I spend those three thousand soles you give me on myself, do you, Agustín? Every cent goes on Belisario’s education. I can’t even buy myself a handkerchief. I’ve even given up smoking, to save you any more expense.
BELISARIO: (Looking at the audience, exaggerating) Me, get a job? No, mother, it’s out of the question. What about the statutory regulations? What about the civil code? The constitutions? The laws of contract?
Written law? Common law? I thought you wanted me to become famous so I’d be able to help you all out one day? Well, you’ve got to give me more money for books then! How cynical you could be at times, Belisario.
AGUSTIN: But Belisario could always get a part-time job, Amelia. Hundreds of university students do. You know I’ve always supported your son – and you, ever since your husband killed himself in that stupid way. But things have become very tough recently, and Belisario is quite grown up now. Let me look for a job for him.
CESAR: No, Agustín, Amelia’s right. He must be allowed to finish at the university first. Or he’ll go the same way as I did. I gave up studying to start a job and look at the result. But he was always top of the class. He’s bound to go far. He needs a degree though, because nowadays … (His voice fades down to a whisper, as MAMAE’s voice comes to the fore.)
MAMAE: I’ve often been past those shanties. With Uncle Menelao and Aunt Amelia, on the way to the sea. Negroes, mestizos and Indians would come up to us, begging. They’d put their hands right inside the carriage and I remember Uncle Menelao saying: ‘What revolting nails they have.’ I used to be so frightened of them. La Mar looks pretty from a distance with its thatched huts and sandy streets. But when you’re there, you can see that it’s poor, dirty and smelly and it’s full of savage dogs. So it was there you used to meet her.
JOAQUIN: Yes. There. In La Mar. Every evening. We’d meet and watch the sun going down.
(The conversation between AGUSTIN, AMELIA and CESAR now comes to the fore.)
AGUSTIN: Everyone has his reasons, of course. Well, I’ve got mine too. You see, I could say I was fed up with living in lodgings, travelling by bus, and not being able to get married. Ever since the day I started work, over half my salary has been going towards helping Mother and Father, not to mention Amelia and my nephew. I could say I was fed up never being able to go to a good restaurant, never having any holidays, and always having to have my suits repaired. And because I’m fed up, from now on I’m only going to contribute two thousand soles a month towards the upkeep of this house. The same as you. What then would happen to Father and Mother and Mamaé – and what would happen to our future legal genius?
AMELIA: Don’t be so scornful, Agustín. My son will be a great lawyer one day, you’ll see, he’ll have masses of clients and he’ll earn a fortune. I’m not sending him out to work until he finishes his studies. He won’t be a failure and a mediocrity.
AGUSTIN: Like me, you mean.
MAMAE: So every evening, after your guard duty, as I waited for you, saying rosary after rosary to make the time pass more quickly, you were already on your way to her, to La Mar, where you’d talk passionately to her for hours.
JOAQUIN: My little soldier’s girl, my love, your hands – they’re so strong – and yet so soft and gentle. Hold my head here, at the temples, I’ve been riding all morning and my body is throbbing. Press a little harder. It’s so soothing. That’s right. Ah yes, I feel as if my head were sinking into a bed of jasmine.
BELISARIO: You saw straight through me, didn’t you, Uncle Agustín?
CESAR: No. Please, don’t start up again. It’s the same thing day after day. Hasn’t it caused enough bad blood as it is? Instead of arguing, why don’t you think seriously about what I suggested?
AMELIA: I have, César. I’m ready to go along with it. I was against it at first, but I’ve changed my mind.
CESAR: Of course, Amelia. It’s the only sensible thing to do.
(Looks at MAMAE.) She’s already living in another world; she won’t even notice the change. You’ll be more relaxed; you’ll have more time for Mother and Father. They’ll live more comfortably. And it’s even quite likely that Mamaé will be happier, too.
(JOAQUIN has taken hold of MAMAE’s hands; he kisses them passionately.)
JOAQUIN: But there’s something else about you, Carlota, something I like even more than your hands.
MAMAE: (Frightened) What? What else was it you liked about that woman?
AGUSTIN: So we put Mamaé into a home, do we? I see. Do you really think that’s going to solve things. Of course it’s very easy. Especially when you’re all no doubt thinking of that private place, San Isidro, where Aunt Augusta was. I’m sure Mamaé would be fine there. It’s so clean, and they’ve got nurses looking after the old people day and night, they take them out for walks in the gardens. They even show them a film once a week, don’t they? (Sarcastically) Have you any idea how much that place costs?
JOAQUIN: Your neck. Let me kiss it, let me smell your sweetness. Yes. Yes, that’s right. Now I want to kiss your ears, put my tongue into those snug little lairs, nibble those pink little lobes. That’s why I love you, my little soldier’s girl. You know how to give me pleasure. You’re not like Elvira, that passionless dummy. She thinks love is all about reading poetry by an idiot who calls himself Federico Barreto.
AGUSTIN: Mamaé wouldn’t go to San Isidro. She’d go to the Beneficencia, which is free. You don’t know about that place, do you? But I’ve taken the trouble to go and see it. The old people there all live on top of each other in the most filthy conditions. They hardly even have any clothes to wear. They’re eaten alive by lice, and they sleep on the floor on sacks. What’s more, it’s in Santo Cristo next to the cemetery so that the old people spend all day watching funerals. Do you really want to send Mamaé there?
MAMAE: (Very distressed, almost in tears) We weren’t yet married, Joaquín. I couldn’t let you lose respect for me. It would have lowered me in your eyes. It was for you I did it, for you. So that you would have a wife you wouldn’t be ashamed of.
CESAR: And do you really think Mamaé lives well here? Have you lost all sense of smell, Agustín. You say yourself that every time you have to have a cup of milk in this house, it practically turns your stomach. You must understand I’m not suggesting the home out of spite or anything, but to save you expense. I love her as much as you do.
MAMAE: And what was so wrong about the poetry? That’s how things were in those days. When a woman was in love she read poetry. That’s what young ladies and gentlemen did, Joaquín. Federico Barreto was certainly no fool. He was a great poet. All the girls in Tacna were dying of envy when he wrote those lines on my fan.
AMELIA: (To AGUSTIN) Do you think I’ve no feelings? I’m the one who baths her, puts her to bed, dresses her; I’m the one who feeds her, don’t forget. But … you’re right. We can’t send Mamaé there. Besides, it’s true – Mother would never agree to it.
JOAQUIN: What a wonderful couple we’d have made, my little soldier’s girl. Such a pity you’re married! When I think of that frigid little saint … I ask myself, will she be capable of satisfying me, when I feel those waves of passion welling up inside me as I do now, ready to break at any moment? (Speaking in her ear) Shall I tell you what I’m going to do to Elvira when she’s my wife?
MAMAE: (Covering her ears) No! No! I don’t want to know.
CESAR: All right. Then I’m sorry I even spoke. Let’s forget about the home. I’m only trying to help, to throw out a few ideas. And all you do is to make me feel worthless.
JOAQUIN: With these hands … I’ll undress her. I’ll take off her bridal veil, her dress, her petticoat, her bodice. Her shoes. Her stockings. Slowly, watching her blush, not knowing what to say, what to do, where to look. A young girl overcome with shyness and fear is an exciting prospect.
AGUSTIN: Come down to earth, César. You’re not going to solve the problem with brainless suggestions. If, instead of all these far-fetched schemes, you were to give me another five hundred soles towards the running of this house, you really would be helping.
(Throughout the scene, BELISARIO has been writing at his desk. He has also been listening and observing his family, MAMAE and JOAQUIN. He now starts to yawn. He works more and more reluctantly.)
JOAQUIN: And when her skin starts to quiver with fear, as I gradually uncover it, I’ll lean over, and smell it, taste it, cover it with feverish kisses. Are you jealous my
little soldier’s girl? Can you see me running my hands, my eyes, my lips over that tender little body? Can you see her trembling, her eyes closed. Are you jealous? I want you to be jealous, Carlota.
MAMAE: I’m not listening to you. I’m covering my ears, I’m shutting you out. I’m closing my eyes, I don’t want to see you either. You can’t insult me however hard you try, you’re not going to drag me down to your common level. Oh, this crazy little head …
(She hits her head as if punishing it for giving her these hallucinations.)
AMELIA: Quiet now, Father’s coming.
(Enter GRANDFATHER and GRANDMOTHER. AGUSTIN and CESAR come forward to kiss their father. BELISARIO has put down his pen. He rests for a moment, his head on his arm.)
BELISARIO: (Yawning) The world won’t come to an end because you can’t finish a story, Belisario. Go on, have a little nap.
GRANDFATHER: You got all worked up about nothing. I’m perfectly all right. That … that brigand didn’t do me any harm. But at least it’s got them to pay us a visit. They haven’t been here for weeks.
CESAR: But we were here all yesterday afternoon, Father.
JOAQUIN: And then, when she’s surrendered herself totally to me, and her body’s all wet with my kisses, I’ll make her take all my clothes off too. Just as you do. I’ll teach her obedience. I’ll train her like my horse: so that she’ll only allow me to handle her. And while she’s undressing me, I’ll be thinking about you. About all those things only you know how to do to me. I’ll feel my blood getting hotter. I’ll put off making love to her till the very last moment, then when I do, I’ll be thinking all the time I’m with you, Carlota.
(He caresses MAMAE’s breasts.)
MAMAE: No. No. Go away, get out of here. I won’t let you, not even in my wildest dreams, not even when I’m your wife. Aunt Amelia! Uncle Menelao! Carmencita! Ahhh! Ahhh!
(JOAQUIN disappears, smiling. AMELIA, AGUSTIN, CESAR, and the GRANDPARENTS turn to look at MAMAE when they hear her shouting.)
Three Plays: The Young Lady from Tacna, Kathie and the Hippopotamus, La Chunga Page 4