FLACA:
Start by asking me something you can stand. But start. Somewhere. Now.
Pause.
FAT JORGE:
Um. Chacabuco. Okay. You were in Chacabuco. With who? Who else was there?
FLACA:
With the crème de la crème. All the union leaders, the party leaders, the students, the actors, the miners, the priests. I was with them. God I miss them.
FAT JORGE:
Don’t cry.
FLACA:
I’m not crying. I’m talking. I don’t know how you dealt with it, Fat Jorge, because you weren’t involved. But I was. I sat on the plane, handcuffed to that seat, my heart pounding. I hadn’t seen you and the kids for so long. Months. Centuries. Lifetimes upon lifetimes. Then you came down the aisle and when I saw you I just …
FAT JORGE:
What?
FLACA:
You were like a mirror. You’ve changed so much. When I saw your eyes look at me, I saw the reflection of how much I’ve changed.
FAT JORGE:
My Mona Lisa.
Pause.
FLACA:
What do you scream and puke about?
FAT JORGE:
The time spent there.
FLACA:
What? Talk to me.
FAT JORGE:
I can’t.
FLACA:
Okay.
CALLADITA, CRISTINA, MANUELITA, and JOSELITO enter. They are drenched.
CRISTINA:
Every time I leave this place I don’t see a soul.
JOSELITO:
They’re all in their cars!
MANUELITA:
Were you crying, Mom?
FLACA:
No. But, hey! Why don’t we all go to our room? I’ll make us some milk with tea and I’ll teach you some of the card games I learned in Chacabuco.
JOSELITO:
Yayyy!
They all start going up the stairs.
FLACA:
We’ll start with Mao-Mao. The key to the game is that every time you’re finished your move you say: Mao-Mao.
CRISTINA:
As opposed to Ho Chi Minh-Ho Chi Minh?
FLACA:
That’s another game.
The leader of the copper miners’ unions taught it to me. We called him Titicaco ’cause he was full-blooded Quechua Indian; it was like looking into the very heart of the highlands when you looked in his eyes. He taught me so many great games, I don’t want to forget them. We’ll start with Mao-Mao, move on to Run, Che, Run and continue with Go Tupac Amaru.
Scene Eight
The SOCIAL WORKER enters with MANUEL. He is
wearing a poncho. His head is shaved. He looks like a skeleton.The SOCIAL WORKER rings the bell on the desk. The RECEPTIONIST appears.
SOCIAL WORKER:
(to the RECEPTIONIST) This one’s called Manuel Iturra.
RECEPTIONIST:
You didn’t tell me about this one.
SOCIAL WORKER:
He’s come directly from a concentration camp on Dawson Island, near Antarctica—
RECEPTIONIST:
Please. No details.
SOCIAL WORKER:
Set him up while I get a doctor.
RECEPTIONIST:
Okay.
The RECEPTIONIST takes MANUEL to his room and goes back to his counter. He breaks down and cries. Everyone else plays cards in FLACA and FAT JORGE’s room. The SOCIAL WORKER arrives with the DOCTOR. The DOCTOR goes to MANUEL’s room; the RECEPTIONIST and the SOCIAL WORKER stay behind. When the DOCTOR arrives, MANUEL takes his clothes off. The DOCTOR performs a physical on him.
MANUEL:
Cigarette burns. Blow torches. Electricity. Many blows to the head. Heart failure. Brought back to life. Fingernails pulled out. Raped by men. Raped by dogs. Electricity. To the gums. To the eyes. To the tongue. To the anus. To the testicles. Starvation. Dehydration. Hypothermia. Solitary confinement. Many, many, many blows to the head. And I’m alive.
The DOCTOR places a stethoscope to MANUEL’s heart. The sound of a beating heart fills the theatre. The lone male CUECA DANCER emerges, doing the zapateo in the background.
MANUEL:
I’m alive.
The DOCTOR leaves. MANUEL continues to stand, naked.
The CUECA DANCER continues to dance.
Scene Nine
Two days later. CALLADITA, FLACA, FAT JORGE, CRISTINA, JOSELITO , MANUELITA, and MANUEL descend the stairs. MANUEL is aided by the CUECA DANCER, who is invisible to everyone else.
FLACA:
(to MANUEL) Need any help?
MANUEL shakes his head no.
MANUELITA:
I bet there’s finally a letter from Grandma.
JOSELITO:
I don’t see why we have to check the mail every day. It’ll take a month for a letter to get here.
FLACA:
Because it’s a ritual. And those are important.
MANUELITA:
Uncle Manuel, can I hold your hand?
MANUEL nods.
BILL O’NEILL enters. He is drenched.
JOSELITO:
Hey! (pointing at BILL) Look at that hippie!
FLACA:
(to JOSELITO) Don’t point.
BILL:
How beauty to look you! Me can’t believe this! Me feel like I’m in Chile once more!
MANUELITA:
You’re not. You’re in Canada.
FAT JORGE:
I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it! You’re the first gringo we meet here who speaks Spanish and there’s so many things we need to talk about, comrade.
BILL:
(to the Chileans) Me Bill. Just got back of Santiago. Hear me, me spend four weeks on the National Stadium and then four weeks on Chile Stadium—
CRISTINA:
Shit.
BILL:
Shit is correct. Me thumb, uh, climb?
CRISTINA:
Hitchhike!
BILL:
Yes. Yes. Hitchhike. South America. Hitchhike Chile as coup take place. Arrested for long hair and beard. Fifty-six days in camps of concentrations and me learn that life is intense, precious, like jewel.
I find out you chilis here and I come down to look at you immediately. Me want to let you understand that many, many gringos in solidarity with you chilis and we provide couches—no, um, support—anything you desire. Not just gringos. The Palestinians wants express their fraternal hellos—
MANUEL:
Did you see Galindo Rodríguez in Chile Stadium?
BILL:
Uh—
MANUEL:
What about Carmen Rojas?
BILL:
Okay, me look at too many people—
MANUEL:
You must have seen Emilio Moreno and his wife Matilde—
BILL:
That names sound familiars, but me has very many names on my head, you understand—
MANUEL:
I just want to know if they’re still alive, or what happened to them—
FLACA:
Calm down, Manuel. The poor man has just arrived and we haven’t even offered him a seat.
CRISTINA puts her hand on MANUEL’s back and rubs it.
BILL:
No, no. Me understand. Me assemble list with help of Interfaith Church, they wants get people out of Chile soon possible, you have names to sprinkle on list?—
FLACA:
Please, sit down. Make yourself at home.
BILL:
Hear me, me acquire name of government workperson on your case. Me investigate your situation. Me inform you.
FAT JORGE:
All I know is that this is a hotel we’re staying in and I know that hotels are expensive. I’ve never stayed in a hotel. Ever in my life. And now here we are for five nights already and we don’t have a penny to pay for it. So we’ve been looking for jobs but to no avail—
BILL:
Oh, God me. You NO pay for hotel—
JOSELITO:
Told ya!
BILL:
Don’t be nervous. Me speak on the worker. Me speak on the receptionist and inform you. (opening his backpack, pulling out a bottle of wine) But right now, time celebrate our arrival on Canada. Look me!
CRISTINA:
Wine!
BILL:
Yes. Come join us. No Chilean however. We boycott Chilean wine, correct?
FAT JORGE:
Of course, comrade.
BILL:
Italian.
The RECEPTIONIST brings glasses. BILL pours the wine for everybody.
BILL:
I’ll get the kids some pop.
BILL buys two Cokes from the vending machine.
FAT JORGE:
So that’s how the stupid thing works! Shoulda known. You have to pay for everything in this country. Capitalism is—
FLACA:
Fat Jorge, don’t start with one of your speeches. (to BILL) You have to forgive him. You see, his conscience was born in prison, and now he has to keep trying it out all the time.
BILL:
Me. I the same.
FLACA and BILL share a look.
BILL:
You are Camila Urrutia?
FLACA:
Yes, I am.
BILL:
Oh, God me. You’re … (choosing his words carefully, aware that her children are in the room) You’re … well, you be example. There be many stories about you in the prisoners. You know, about the pain you endure and in spite you keep all information inside, give nobody away … You resistance symbol … Excuse me: you not be executed one week ago?
FLACA:
I was headed for the firing squad with the nine others and then all of a sudden the blindfold gets taken off and I’m loaded into a Canadian embassy car, driven for eighteen hours straight to Santiago airport, taken to a plane and handcuffed.
FAT JORGE:
We were waiting to enter the plane, where she was supposed to be waiting for us, but I never thought it was true.
FLACA:
And then there they all were. Walking down the aisle. My kids were so big and my husband was almost skinny!
MANUELITA:
He’s always throwing up.
JOSELITO:
Shhhh.
BILL:
Oh, comrades. My heart is big with you. (holding up his drink) Me want welcome you chilis to Canada, my country. Me toast you for survive, for come here, for enrich my country with your wisdom. Me want you stay on many years, but me hopes that Pinochet fall and you return your homeland much sooner than later!
FAT JORGE:
A toast! To us, to you, to the old gringo, to the refugee hotel!
They all drink.
CRISTINA:
(to MANUEL, intimately) And to you, the martyr of Dawson Island.
Scene Ten
Later that night. Everyone is asleep in their rooms. FAT JORGE, drunk, has fallen asleep on the couch. His nightmare continues. The lights change. He gets up and takes on a position as if he’s hanging by his wrists from the ceiling. FLACA, in the family’s room, takes on the position of a woman hanging, as if crucified, from a wall. MANUEL, in his room, takes on the “man” character, also hanging. The remainder of the cast moans and weeps.
MAN:
Tortured you badly.
FAT JORGE:
Yeah.
MAN:
Got you on the street?
FAT JORGE:
No. At the bank.
MAN:
Bank of America?
FAT JORGE:
Bank of Chile.
MAN:
So. We’re robbing national banks now too.
FAT JORGE:
Robbing?
MAN:
Was your whole cell caught?
FAT JORGE:
Uh—
MAN:
Or just you?
FAT JORGE:
I was working at the bank and—I’m an accountant—and they raided the place. I think they wanted the guy who works at the desk next to mine. He’s been missing for days—
MAN:
You weren’t robbing the bank?
FAT JORGE:
No! I’m not a common criminal—
MAN:
I mean for the cause.
FAT JORGE:
The cause?
MAN:
Robbing the bank as a revolutionary, anti-imperialist act—
FAT JORGE:
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
MAN:
They wanted your colleague.
FAT JORGE screams, runs to the window, opens it and pukes. FLACA runs down the stairs.
FLACA:
(rubbing his back) It’s okay, my little big bear, everything’s going to be okay.
Scene Eleven
All the Chileans, having heard the scream, are coming down the stairs. BILLO’NEILL enters with JUAN. They are both drenched.
BILL:
Comrades!
FLACA:
Oh, hello, Bill.
JOSELITO:
Bill O’Neill!
MANUELITA:
(to JUAN) What’s your name?
JUAN:
Juan. Reyes—
MANUELITA:
I’m Manuelita.
CRISTINA:
Are you staying here too?
JUAN:
I don’t know, I just ran away from the jail in Valparaíso and—
FAT JORGE:
You ran away from the jail in Valparaíso?!
JUAN:
Yeah—
FLACA:
Please, make yourself at home—
JUAN:
Thank you. It was during a transfer, actually. I slipped out of the van and ran for my life. Next thing I know, I’m sharing my meals with rats at the bottom of a freighter—
JOSELITO:
Like a ship?
JUAN:
Huge ship and—
BILL:
Me come rapid to port because my mother tell me she saw news say that chili found hiding in Swedish ship here on harbour and they want deport him back on Chile. So my mother give me keys for her station wagon and I arrive there soon possible so help him—
FAT JORGE:
Keys for what?
BILL:
Station wa—car.
JUAN:
Yeah, I’m standing there with all these reporters blinding me with their flashes and these gringo cops built like tractors and two heads taller than me and this hippie arrives in this car like that show about that family with the six kids—
JOSELITO:
Wow!
FAT JORGE:
(to JUAN) You’re my hero. You are my hero, comrade. Ha! He runs away from the jail during a transfer and ends up with the Swedes! Ha!
CRISTINA runs upstairs to her room to get the bottle of pisco.
JUAN:
(to BILL) Am I going to be deported?
BILL:
No absolutely.
FLACA:
No! That would be absolutely criminal!
BILL:
Me make sure you not fucking deportation. I sit on the Immigration Ministry with me friends.
FLACA:
(to JUAN) Sit down.
CRISTINA:
What did you do in Valparaíso, comrade?
JUAN:
I was with the railway. Railworkers’ Union. Beautiful job. To see that railway stretch out before you. And behind you. So sensual. So complete. And it requires a great deal of knowledge, too. You’ve gotta know about algebra, about trigonometry. You’ve gotta know about cables. My father was in the union. I started work on the railway when I was a kid. Right after the country got electrified. We rail workers have a great deal of power in the country. We can shut everything down. Or start everything up. I’ve gotta get a job. Fast. I’ve gotta send money to my girlfriend. Her and I met in the choir. (sings) La Chueca has the voice of an angel. I call her La Ch
ueca ’cause her legs go like this. I’ve gotta bring her here. (going towards pay phone) Oh, good. Here’s a phone. I’ve gotta call her and tell her to pack her bags—
FLACA:
You’ve gotta wind down, Juan. You’re still shaking. You just got here. Relax.
FAT JORGE:
We’ll go on a job search tomorrow—
JUAN:
Right after I call her—
FAT JORGE:
(to JUAN, referring to job search) —You, me, and Manuel.
BILL:
No, you no need go on job search—
JUAN:
(still referring to phone call) Is it the same day in Chile tomorrow?
CRISTINA:
(handing out the drinks to everyone) The ultimate: pisco made by the Artesanos of Cochiguáz.
JUAN:
Holy Mary, Mother of God.
FAT JORGE:
(to CRISTINA) And you’ve been keeping this from us for five days? (holding up glass) A toast to our comrade the railworker, the brave and valiant revolutionary who risked his life—
JUAN:
(holding up glass) Chi Chi Chi le le le.
EVERYONE:
VI-VA CHI-LE!
Scene Twelve
Later that same night. FAT JORGE, FLACA, JOSELITO , MANUELITA, CALLADITA, JUAN, BILL, and CRISTINA are still in the lobby of the hotel. The adults are drinking pisco. The RECEPTIONIST is behind his desk, drinking a little pisco too. MANUEL is in his room.
FLACA:
We won’t be in this hotel for long—
FAT JORGE:
We’ll all find jobs, we’ll pay the bill—
BILL:
No. You no pay no bill here—
FAT JORGE:
And we’ll all find a house together—
FLACA:
And we’ll go back as soon as Pinochet falls.
CALLADITA sadly shakes her head no.
FLACA:
What’s that, comrade?
CALLADITA shakes her head no.
CRISTINA:
I don’t see it getting any better in the next few months—
JUAN:
You’ll have to light a candle to Saint Teresa of the Andes if you want old Pinocchio to fall anytime soon—
FLACA:
But people are fighting to topple—
CRISTINA:
Comrade, you’ve been in Chacabuco since the coup, surrounded by heroes, so you have a romantic notion of what’s going on: Chileans are cowering in their houses. I’ve come to the conclusion that our country is a country of cowards—
FAT JORGE:
Comrade! How dare you!
CRISTINA:
It’s true, Fat Jorge. We live in a country of cowards and until we find our balls, nothing will change! You hear me? Nothing!
The Refugee Hotel Page 3