by Nick Joaquin
[She suddenly presses her knuckles to her forehead.]
Oh, we blame ourselves for what happened!
BITOY: But why should you? It was an accident.
CANDIDA [after a pause]: Yes . . . Yes, it was an accident.
[She picks up chocolate-pot again and pours a cup for Paula. Bitoy watches her in silence. Paula appears joyously in doorway.]
PAULA: Come, Bitoy! Hurry! Papa is delighted! He begs you to come at once!
BITOY [walking to doorway]: Thank you, Paula.
CANDIDA: Bitoy—
[He stops and looks at her.]
You will be very careful, Bitoy? Remember: you are not a reporter, you are a friend. You have not come to interview him or to take his photograph. You have only come to visit him.
BITOY: Yes, Candida.
[Exeunt Paula and Bitoy. Candida sits down and begins to eat. The day’s mail is stacked on the table. She opens and glances through the letters as she eats. Paula comes back.]
PAULA [sitting down and sipping her chocolate]: Father was really delighted. He even got out of bed to shake hands with Bitoy. And they were talking very gaily when I left them. Oh, father is really getting better, Candida! Do you not think so? [Candida does not answer. She has propped an elbow on the table and is staring at a letter, her head leaning on her hand. Paula leans sideways to look at letter.] More bills, Candida?
CANDIDA [picking up and dropping one by one the letters she has opened]: The water bill. The gas bill. The doctor’s bill. And this—[waving the letter she’s holding]—this is the light bill. Listen. [She reads.] “We again warn you that unless these accounts are immediately settled, we shall be obliged to discontinue all further service.” And this is the third warning they have sent.
PAULA: Have you told Manolo?
CANDIDA: I called up Manolo, I called up Pepang—and they said: Oh yes, yes—they would send the money right away. They have been saying that all this month, but they never send the money.
PAULA [bitterly]: Our dear brother and sister!
CANDIDA: Our dear brother and sister are determined that we give up this house.
PAULA: Well, they are not going to make us do it. You and I are going to stay right here. We were born here and we will die here!
CANDIDA: But what if they continue not to send us any money? What if they flatly refuse to support us any longer? All these bills . . .
PAULA [pensively]: There must be something we can do!
CANDIDA [leaning toward Paula]: Listen, I have some new ideas.
PAULA [not paying attention]: But what can we do? We are two useless old maids . . .
CANDIDA [rising and looking about]: Where is that newspaper?
PAULA: Oh, I lie awake night after night wondering how we can make money, money, money!
CANDIDA [who has found newspaper and is standing by the table searching through the pages]: Ah, here it is. Now listen, Paula. Listen to this. It says here—
[She stops. Below, in the street, a car is heard stopping. The sisters listen; then glance at each other. Candida sighs, folds newspaper, places it on table, and sits down. Paula pours herself more chocolate. Footsteps are heard on the stairway. The sisters pick up their cups and sip their chocolate. Enter TONY JAVIER, carrying books and his coat in one hand. He glances toward the sisters, pushes the hat off his brow, and calls out: “Good afternoon, ladies!” Then he opens the closed door at left and flings his coat, hat, and books inside. He pulls the door shut again and, smiling confidently, walks into the sala. Tony is about twenty-seven, very masculine, and sardonic. His shirt and tie are blissfully resplendent; his charm, however, is more subtle—and he knows it.]
TONY: Ah-ha, merienda!
CANDIDA [very old-maidish]: Will you have some chocolate, Mr. Javier?
TONY: Tch-tch. That’s bad business, ladies. Remember: I’m just paying for room without board.
CANDIDA [severely]: Mr. Javier, anybody who lives under our roof is welcome to our table.
TONY: But are good manners good business?
CANDIDA: Mr. Javier, will you have some chocolate?
TONY [picking up a biscuit and popping it into his mouth]: Yes, thank you! [He sees Bitoy’s cup.] Oh, you had a visitor!
CANDIDA: An old friend of ours. Paula, get another cup.
TONY: Oh, what for?
[As Paula rises, he reaches across the table and presses a hand on her shoulder. She starts and looks at him, not angry but wondering. He slowly withdraws his hand, their eyes interlocked.]
Please do not bother, Miss Paula. I can use this cup. I’m not particular.
CANDIDA [grimly]: Paula, get another cup.
TONY: Or perhaps you would like to offer me your cup, Miss Paula?
PAULA [her eyes still innocently fascinated]: My cup?
TONY [picking up Paula’s cup]: Do you still want this chocolate?
PAULA: [shaking her head]: No.
TONY: Then, may I have it?
CANDIDA [rising]: Mr. Javier, I ask you to put down that cup at once!
TONY [ignoring Candida]: Thank you, Miss Paula.
[He lifts the cup above his head.]
To better business!
[Then he throws his head back and slowly, deliberately drinks the chocolate, the sisters staring at his throat in horror and fascination. Then he sets the cup down and smacks his lips.]
CANDIDA [coming to life]: Mr. Javier, it is outrageous—
TONY [picking up and gobbling another biscuit]: Oh no—it was delicious!
CANDIDA: It is useless to treat you with decency!
TONY [bowing]: Permit me to remove my indecent person from your sight.
[He walks toward his room. The sisters exchange glances. He stops and looks back.]
Oh—and thanks a lot for the merienda!
CANDIDA: Mr. Javier, you will please come back here. There is something we have to ask you.
TONY [walking back]: Okay, shoot.
PAULA [quickly picking up chocolate-pot]: I must just take this out to the kitchen.
CANDIDA: Put that down, Paula. You will stay right here.
TONY: Well, what is it? Come on, hurry up. I haven’t got much time. I’d like to lie down a moment before I go out again.
[He yawns and stretches his arms; his brows darken with momentary irritation.]
God—but am I tired! I never get any sleep! I never get any sleep at all!
[He goes to table and picks up another biscuit.]
Studying all day, working all night! Ambition—hah! Everybody has it!
[Nibbling the biscuit, he goes to a rocking chair and flops down.] Look at me—a cheap little vaudeville piano-player. Not a pianist—oh no, no—certainly not a pianist! Hey, you know what’s the difference between a pianist and a piano-player? I can tell you. A pianist is uh—A pianist is—well—highbrow stuff. Oh, you know. He had professors to teach him; he went to the right academies; and he gives concerts for the high society dames. Culture—that’s a pianist! While a piano-player—oh, that’s me! Nobody ever taught me how to play. I taught myself—and I know I stink!
[He rises and thrusts his hands into his pockets.]
A cheap little vaudeville piano-player. Three shows a day in a stinking third-class theatre. The audience spits on your neck and the piano rattles like an old can. And you never know how long the job will last . . .
[A pause, while he stares at the floor. Then he sighs deeply and shrugs.]
So what do I do? So I get ambitious! So I tell myself I’m not going to be just a piano-player all my life. No, siree! I’m gonna be a lawyer—a big, rich, crooked lawyer! So I’m going to school—yes, siree! Go to school all day, play the piano all night. What a life! Oh well, it used to be worse . . .
[He suddenly turns to the sisters.]
Can you, ladies, have a
ny idea what kind of a life I’ve had?
CANDIDA: We are not interested in your private life.
TONY [looking her in the eye]: Oh no?
[Her eyes falter: she looks away. He smiles.]
God! You ladies ought to be—
CANDIDA [interrupting]: Mr. Javier, when we allowed you to rent a room in our house, it was with the condition that you would permit no gambling, no drinking, and no women in your room.
TONY: So what now?
CANDIDA: You have broken our rules.
TONY: But I don’t do my gambling here.
CANDIDA: I was not referring to gambling.
TONY: Well, I bring home a beer now and then.
CANDIDA: Nor to drinking either.
TONY [his eyes widening]: Oh, you mean—
[Grinning, he traces a woman’s form in the air with his hands.]
CANDIDA [not smiling]: Yes!
TONY: But when?
CANDIDA: Last night, Mr. Javier, my sister and I heard you arriving with a woman.
TONY: Holy cow, were you still awake when I arrived last night?
CANDIDA: We happened to be still awake.
TONY [bashfully dropping his eyes ]: Were you . . . waiting up for me?
CANDIDA: Mr. Javier, did you or did you not bring a woman here last night!
TONY [wide-eyed]: My dear ladies, you must have been dreaming! That was a wonderful, wonderful dream you had last night—and I sure hate to spoil your fun. So, you ladies dream about me, eh?
CANDIDA: No, we were not dreaming—and yes, you had a woman with you!
TONY: Yes, you were dreaming—and no, I did not have a woman with me!
CANDIDA: How can you have the nerve to lie! I distinctly heard a woman laughing—and so, I told my sister to get up and look out the window. Go on, Paula—tell him. Did you see a woman?
PAULA [timidly]: Well . . . it . . . it may have been a woman—
CANDIDA: May have been—! I thought you said you were sure you saw one!
PAULA: Only because you said you were sure you heard one! But it was so dark really—and all I could see was something white. It may have been a woman’s dress—or it may have been a man’s shirt . . .
TONY: It was a man’s shirt! And the man inside the shirt was—uh— Oh yes, he was the drummer in our band! And he came along with me last night because I had some of his music in my room. So he came up; and I gave him his music; and then he went away. And that’s all there is to it!
CANDIDA: Are you telling us the truth?
TONY [putting up his hand]: The whole truth and nothing but the truth.
CANDIDA: I wonder!
PAULA: Oh Candida, if we have falsely accused Mr. Javier, the least we can do now is to apologize for having hurt his feelings!
TONY [instantly pitying himself]: Oh no—why apologize to me? I’m just an animal! Animals have no feelings! It is useless to treat them with decency!
CANDIDA [stiffly]: Mr. Javier, if we have made a mistake, we are sorry—and we apologize.
TONY [ignoring her; laying on the misery]: Just a pile of trash . . . Rotten trash. Not worthy even to be stepped on—too sickening, too repulsive. . . Just something the garbage–collector ought to take away quick so I don’t pollute the air for nice people!
CANDIDA: Mr. Javier, this is not funny at all!
TONY: You bet it’s not funny!
[He stands scowling at her. Bitoy appears in doorway, carrying tray. Tony’s expression changes into surprise.]
Why, hello there, guy!
BITOY: Hi, Tony. Paula, where do I put this?
PAULA [approaching]: Give it to me.
[She takes tray and exits.]
BITOY [walking in]: Well, well, Tony!
TONY: Hi, guy.
CANDIDA: Do you two know each other?
BITOY: We used to work together.
TONY: At the piers.
BITOY [making a face]: The most horrible memory of my life!
TONY: Not of mine! What are you doing here, guy?
BITOY: What are you doing here?
TONY: I live here.
BITOY: No!
TONY: Yes! See that room over there? It’s mine. For fifteen pesos a month.
BITOY: Candida, are you taking in boarders?
CANDIDA: Oh, you know how poor we are! Paula and I—we thought we would try running a boarding-house. But Mr. Javier is our first—and so far—our only customer.
[Offstage, Paula is heard shouting “Candida! Candida!” Candida raises her voice.]
Yes? What is it, Paula?
[Paula appears in doorway, still carrying tray.]
PAULA: Oh Candida, a rat! A rat in the kitchen!
CANDIDA: [with a shake of the head]: Oh Paula, Paula!
PAULA [pleadingly]: And such a big, big rat, Candida!
CANDIDA: All right, I am coming. [To Bitoy and Tony] Excuse me. [Exeunt Paula and Candida.]
TONY [contemptuously]: A pair of crazy dames!
BITOY [rather stiffly]: They are old friends of my family, Tony.
TONY [carelessly]: Well, you better stay away from them. They’re man-hungry.
BITOY [smiling in spite of himself]: Why, have they been trying to eat you up?
TONY: Ah, they’re crazy. If I just look at them, they start shivering. When I talk to them, they get a fever. And if I touch them—
BITOY: So, you make love to them!
TONY: Me? Make love to them? Pah! [He spits.] I’d sooner make love to the Jones Bridge! Nah—it’s them that’s crazy, not me.
BITOY: It must be the poverty . . . I didn’t know they had become so poor . . .
TONY: Poor? They’re desperate!
BITOY: But they still have a married brother, and a married sister.
TONY: The brother and sister have been paying all the expenses—but it looks like they don’t want to anymore. They want to sell this house and put the old man in a hospital.
BITOY: And what becomes of Paula and Candida?
TONY: Candida goes to live with the brother, Paula goes to live with the sister.
BITOY: Oh, poor Candida! Poor Paula! They won’t like that!
TONY: You bet they don’t like it! That’s why they’re desperate. They’ve been trying all sorts of crazy schemes—like trying to run a boarding-house—hah! Who wants to live in a house like this? Oh, Intramuros is full of students looking for a place to sleep in. They come here, they take one look, and they go away fast! They’re scared! They wouldn’t feel at home here.
BITOY: You seem very much at home anyway.
TONY: Oh, I like it here. I’m educating myself, you know. Paula and Candida, they’ve been wanting to throw me out—but they don’t dare. They need the money too much. Besides, they like having me around. Oh, they’re crazy. Why, they could have some big money if only—
[He stops and looks toward PORTRAIT.]
BITOY: If only what?
TONY [coming downstage]: See this painting? Well, I know an American who’s willing to pay two thousand dollars for it. Dollars, mind you—not pesos.
BITOY [coming downstage, too]: And Paula and Candida refuse to sell?
TONY: They absolutely refuse to sell. Just think of it—two grand! Oh, I’ve been trying and trying to make them sell—
BITOY: You, Tony?
TONY: Sure—me. This American, he hired me to put over the deal, see?
BITOY: And no dice.
TONY: Those dames are crazy!
BITOY: Maybe they love this picture too much.
TONY: Love it? They hate it!
BITOY: How do you know?
TONY: Oh, I just do. And I hate it myself!
BITOY: Oh Lord—but why?
TONY [staring at PORTRAIT]: The damn thing’s always lo
oking at me, always looking down at me. Every time I come into this house; every time I come up those stairs. Looking at me, looking down at me. And if I turn around and face it—then it smiles, damn it! And if I go into my room and close the door, I can still feel it through the door, and through the walls—looking at me, smiling at me! Oh, I hate those eyes, I hate that smile, I hate the whole damn thing!
BITOY: Oh come, come, Tony! It’s only a picture. It won’t eat you up.
TONY: Who does he think he is? Who the hell does he think he is?
BITOY: Are you referring to the painting or to the painter?
TONY: You were in his room just now, weren’t you?
BITOY: Are you speaking of Don Lorenzo?
TONY: Yes, yes! This Don Lorenzo Marasigan—this great Don Lorenzo who has so much damn pride in his head and nothing at all in his pockets. He had you in his room, didn’t he? He talked to you, didn’t he?
BITOY: He was very friendly.
TONY: I’ve been living here for months and he hasn’t once asked me to his room!
BITOY: But he doesn’t know you, Tony.
TONY: He doesn’t want to know me! He thinks it’s shameful I should be living here! He feels ashamed because his house has become a flop-house! And why should he feel ashamed, I’d like to know! What is he anyway, I’d like to know!
BITOY: Well, among other things, he’s a scholar, an artist, and a patriot.
TONY: So he’s a great man. So he’s a great painter. So he fought in the Revolution. And so what? And what’s that old Revolution of his to me? I went hungry and I got kicked about just the same in spite of that old Revolution he’s so damn proud of! I don’t owe him any thanks! And what the hell is he now? Just a beggar! That’s what he is now—just a miserable old beggar! And he has the nerve to look down on me!
BITOY: How do you know he does?
TONY: Oh, I know. I’ve talked to him. I forced my way into his room once.
BITOY: And he threw you out?
TONY: Oh no, no! He was very courteous, very polite. I went there to tell him about this American wanting to buy this painting for two grand—and he listened very courteously, he listened very politely. And he said he was very sorry but it was none of his business. He said: “The picture belongs to my daughters, it does not belong to me. If anyone wants to buy it, they will have to talk to my daughters.” And then he asked me to excuse him, he said he wanted to take a nap—and I found myself on my way out. Oh, he threw me out all right—but very courteously, very politely—the damn beggar— But he’s going to pay for it! Oh, I’ll make him pay for it!