by Nick Joaquin
PETE: Go on—tell us about their gatherings—the gatherings of these old men, these old veterans, these relics of the glorious Past! You know, you were there. What do you call those gatherings?
BITOY: Tertulias.
PETE: Yes, the Tertulias! And what did they do there? What did these old men do?
BITOY: Well, they . . . they talked.
PETE: About what? But don’t tell me. I can guess. They talked about the Past. They talked about their student days in Manila and in Madrid and in Paris. They talked about the old feuds and bickerings among the patriots. And, of course—in tones of hushed adoration—they talked about their General!
BITOY: Yes—but they also talked about poetry and art and the theatre, and about politics, and about religion.
PETE: Oh, I can almost see them—those pitiful old men—gathered in this room and consoling each other; drinking chocolate and fighting over and over again the Battle of Balintawak and the Battle of San Juan and the Battle of Tils Pass! They had to feel important—so, they reminded each other how brave they used to be. They had been thrust aside and forgotten—so, they hated the Present. They thought it rude and vulgar and on its way to damnation. Isn’t that right, Bitoy?
BITOY: There were many things they didn’t like about the Present.
PETE: But most of all, they didn’t like the men now running the government.
BITOY: No—not much.
PETE: And that’s how the Revolution ended! That’s how the Revolution ended! Groups of embittered envious old men gathering in dusty bookshops and bankrupt drugstores and broken-down tenements like this one! Just look around this room—what does it proclaim? Failure! Defeat! Poverty! Nostalgia! And here they would gather—those bitter old men—to sigh over the Past, to curse the Present, and to execrate the men in power! But what had happened to these old warriors? During the Revolution, they were the big ones, they were the men in power. Why did they lose that power? Why were they thrust aside and forgotten? Because they were not big enough after all to handle the Future! Because they tried to stop the clock! Oh, it’s always the same story: the revolutionaries of today, the reactionaries of tomorrow! And so new men arose—new men displaced them—younger and bolder men who were not afraid to be rude and vulgar and damned! Can you name a single top figure of the Revolution who managed to remain on top in the age that followed? No—they were all swept away! Oh, maybe it’s just as well that Rizal and Bonifacio and Mabini died young! Who knows? They may only have swelled the ranks of the old and the obsolete; they may only have rotted away in obscurity and resentment; they may only have frittered their lives away going from one tertulia to another, to drink chocolate and to regret. Like Don Lorenzo here. Yes, like this great Don Lorenzo! Look at him! He has been eating his heart away in obscurity and resentment. He wants to comfort his pride, to justify his failure—so, what does he do? So, he paints himself as a hero—as THE hero, in fact—as Aeneas! There he stands—in classic raiment, in a classic pose, and with the noble classic landscape behind him. He has removed himself completely from his native land—because his native land has discarded him. He has placed himself entirely above the rude and vulgar Present—because the Present refuses to recognize his importance. What a pitiful picture! Oh, what a pitiful, pitiful picture! A Portrait of the Artist as Obsolete!
[A silence. They are all staring at PORTRAIT. Unnoticed, SUSAN and VIOLET come up the stairs and pause on the landing, surprised at the mutely staring people in the sala. They glance at each other and giggle behind their hands. Susan and Violet are “old girls,” plumpish, cute-mannered, and thickly painted. They are wearing tight-fitting sleeveless frocks; and they are both quite tipsy.]
VIOLET [leaning forward, cupping her mouth with a hand]: Yoo-hoo!
[Everybody in the sala gives a nervous start. Susan and Violet giggle wildly.]
CORA [tartly]: Who are you?
TONY [rising]: Holy cow!
SUSAN [ignoring Tony]: Excuse us for intruding.
VIOLET: Don’t you people know us?
SUSAN: I’m Susan.
VIOLET: And I’m Violet.
SUSAN: We’re artists.
VIOLET: At the Parisian Theatre. You know, [wiggling her torso] vaudeville!
PETE [hurrying toward them]: But of course we know you! Certainly we know you! Susan and Violet, the brightest stars of the Manila stage! Why, girls—I’m one of your most avid admirers! I never miss a show!
[More giggles from Susan and Violet.]
And what a break! What a God-given break! Come in, girls—come right in! Cora, get your camera.
CORA [rising]: What are you up to now?
PETE: I said, get your camera.
[Cora goes for camera.]
VIOLET: Goodness, do you want to take pictures of us?
SUSAN: Are you people from the newspapers?
PETE: We’re from the “Daily Scream”—and we’re going to put you girls right on the cover of our Sunday magazine.
SUSAN [suspiciously]: Why?
PETE: Because you are great and honest artists.
SUSAN: Quit your kidding, mister.
PETE: Don’t you want your picture taken?
VIOLET: Oh, but not now! We look terrible now!
PETE: You look wonderful.
VIOLET [giggling]: Frankly, mister—we’re groggy.
SUSAN: I’m not. I feel just fine.
VIOLET: We met a couple of sailors down the street. We just said to them, we just said: “Keep ’em flying, boys!” And you know what? They took us off with them and bought us all the drinks we could hold!
SUSAN: Oh, they were nice. Real gentlemen.
TONY [approaching at last; grimly]: What are you two doing up here?
VIOLET: Hi, Tony.
SUSAN: We just wanted to see where you live.
TONY: Okay, you’ve seen it. Now, scram!
SUSAN: Now look here, Tony—don’t you talk to me that way! We’ll stay as long as we like!
PETE: Of course you’re going to stay. Come on, Tony—be a pal. We want to take their pictures.
VIOLET: Can you beat it! The man is serious!
PETE: You bet I’m serious! Come over here, girls.
VIOLET [giggling; hurriedly fixing herself up]: Oh, but we look awful really! Fine cover girls we’ll make!
SUSAN [following sullenly]: I hope this ain’t a gag or something.
CORA: What girlish optimism!
PETE [posing girls in front of PORTRAIT; their backs to audience]: Now, just stand right there. Ready, Cora?
CORA: I hope you know what you’re doing.
BITOY: Pete, lay off for God’s sake!
EDDIE: Oh, leave him alone. He’s just putting Don Lorenzo in his place.
PETE: Yeah—among his fellow-artists. I’ll teach him to act superior. Now look, girls. [Pointing up to PORTRAIT] See that picture?
VIOLET [looking up]: Hm, very pretty.
SUSAN: What are those two guys doing? Playing leap-frog?
PETE: The young man is carrying the old man on his back. They’re evacuating from a war, see?
VIOLET: What happened to their ottomobile?
EDDIE: Oh, it got commandeered by the army.
SUSAN [still staring up]: What horrible eyes!
PETE: You mean, the old man?
SUSAN [nervously adjusting a shoulder-strap]: He makes me feel naked, he gives me the creeps—
[Both girls are staring fixedly at PORTRAIT.]
PETE [backing away from camera-range]: Hold it, girls! No, no—don’t look at the camera—look up at the picture! That’s right. Get it, Cora!
[Cora flashes picture.]
And there we are—all nice and pretty. Thank you, girls.
VIOLET [approaching Pete]: Will you really put us on your magazine cover?
PETE: A
bsolutely! And with the fanciest title I can think of. What would you suggest, Eddie?
EDDIE: How about “A Portrait of One Dead Artist and Two Live Ones”?
CORA: Corny.
PETE: Yeah. I want something with more snap to it.
CORA: Why not try a four-letter word?
SUSAN [who’s still standing in same place, staring up at PORTRAIT]: He really has got horrible eyes!
VIOLET: Can you beat it! She’s fascinated with that old bird! Hey, Susan—he won’t eat you up!
SUSAN [her eyes never leaving PORTRAIT]: He looks like my father . . .
EDDIE: Your father must be a very distinguished man.
SUSAN [impatiently]: Oh, I don’t mean they look alike! I mean they look at me in the same way—
EDDIE: Your father must be a very refined man.
SUSAN: Oh yes—very refined. That’s why I left home. Whenever I did something bad, he never said anything. He just looked at me [nodding at PORTRAIT] like that old guy up there. Oh, damn him! He gives me the creeps!
PETE: Why, you haven’t been doing anything wrong, have you?
SUSAN: No, I haven’t! And even if I have, what right has he to look at me like that? He’s not my father!
EDDIE: Nobody says he is.
SUSAN [suddenly screaming]: Then why the hell is he looking at me like that!
TONY: [approaching]: Now look, Susan—you’re dead drunk. And we’ve got a show in an hour. You go home— [He lays a hand on her arm.]
SUSAN: I’ll go home when I damn please! And take your hands off me!
TONY: What’s eating you anyway?
SUSAN: A lot you care!
TONY: Oh, it’s something I did, is it?
SUSAN: Where were you last night? Where did you go after the show?
TONY: I had a head-ache. So I came straight home.
SUSAN: You never bothered to tell me, did you? You didn’t even remember we had a date, did you?
TONY: Sorry. I forgot. But I had such a splitting head-ache—
SUSAN: Don’t make me laugh!
TONY: Now listen, Susan—the show goes on in an hour. You’ve got to sober up. Violet, you take her home and give her a bath.
VIOLET: I’ll do nothing of the sort. We came here to rehearse.
TONY: Rehearse what?
VIOLET [singing and wiggling]: “A-tisket, a-tasket, a brown and yellow basket—” It’s the new number we do. We were supposed to rehearse it last night after the show but we couldn’t find you anywhere.
SUSAN: He had a head-ache, Violet. Hah!
TONY [striding fiercely toward piano]: Okay, okay—so let’s rehearse!
VIOLET: You won’t mind, boys, will you?
EDDIE: We’ll be delighted!
VIOLET: Come on, Susan.
[They go to piano where Tony is already seated and rattling off the opening flourish. Standing side by side, just behind Tony, they go into the “A-tisket, a-tasket” number with all the appropriate motions. The girls being—uh—plastered, their performance is spirited, of course, but hardly melodious. The newspaper folk listen a moment; then resume their talk, being obliged to raise their voices.]
CORA: Enjoying yourself, Pete?
PETE: I’m thrilled!
EDDIE: So am I! Hooray for boogie-woogie!
BITOY [grimly]: I hope the war breaks out tomorrow!
CORA: I hope it breaks out tonight!
PETE: Look around you, fellows! Think of it! This room—those chairs—that classic painting—those pictures on the walls—
CORA: They ought to drop down from the walls!
PETE: But they don’t! They can’t!
EDDIE: They’re helpless! They’re dead!
PETE: Hooray!
CORA [sarcastic]: But we’re alive—hooray! We can do what we please!
BITOY: Like playing boogie–woogie here!
PETE: Exactly! Oh, think of it! The boogie–woogie—in this room—in this house—in this Temple of the Past—where the bitter old men gathered to recall the old days! Oh, look around you! Savor it fully!
BITOY: What? The outrage?
EDDIE: And there’s your title, Pete! “The Boogie–Woogie Invades a Temple of the Past”!
CORA: It’s an invasion all right! Are we the barbarians?
BITOY: No, we’re Nero—with his fiddle!
[Candida and Paula have appeared in doorway and are looking rather dazedly round the room. Tony, intent on his playing, does not see them. Susan and Violet go on singing and dancing.]
PETE: And there you are, Miss Marasigan and Miss Marasigan!
[Candida and Paula come downstage.]
We’re speechless with admiration for your father’s painting!
CANDIDA: What did you say?
PETE [shouting]: I said, we admire your father’s painting! We love it, we adore it, we are delirious over it! Could we borrow it for a few weeks?
CANDIDA: What was that?
BITOY: Oh, cut it out, Pete!
EDDIE: But that’s what we came for!
CORA: Then, dammit, let’s shelve the whole idea!
PETE: Will you people shut up and let me handle this!
CANDIDA: But what are you saying? What is all this?
PAULA: Please! Just what do you want of us?
PETE: We want you to lend us this painting!
CANDIDA: What!
PAULA: Lend you our painting!
EDDIE: For a worthy cause!
CANDIDA: What will you do with it?
PETE: We are putting on an Art Show—a benefit Art Show!
EDDIE: We belong to the G.U.D.M!
PAULA: What is that?
PETE: The Global Union of Democratic Men—and we are putting on this show to raise funds!
EDDIE: Funds to help the Democratic cause all over the world!
PETE: We need this painting, Miss Marasigan!
EDDIE: You must lend it to us!
PAULA: We are sorry but we cannot do it!
CANDIDA: It is impossible!
PETE: Only for a few weeks!
BITOY: You heard what they said!
EDDIE: But why impossible?
PETE: They can do it—only they won’t!
CORA: After all, the picture is their property!
PETE: If it’s a Work of Art it belongs to the people!
EDDIE: It belongs to the whole world!
CANDIDA: No, no—no! The picture belongs to us! It must never leave our house!
PETE [thundering]: Miss Marasigan, your father fought for freedom, he fought for democracy! He is an old man now and can fight no more in the battlefields—but it is merely right and fitting that this picture of his should go forth in his place—to fight for freedom, to fight for democracy—in this dark hour when all over the world freedom and democracy are in peril! He himself would wish it so! Miss Marasigan, it is your duty to lend us this picture for the Cause! It is your duty to help in the struggle to preserve this way of life we all enjoy! This life of happiness, peace, and dignity!
[Susan and Violet have reached the climax of their number and are now really yelling at the tops of their voices. So is Pete.]
Think, Miss Marasigan—think of what’s going on right now all over the world! Young men dying by the thousands! Women and children shattered into pieces! Entire cities wiped out as bombs rain down from the skies! Death, hunger, murder, and pestilence—and power-mad dictators wallowing in the blood of humanity! This is no time for selfishness! This is no time for private sentiments! We are all involved, we are all in danger! The bell tolls for all mankind! And it is your duty to send this picture to fight! It is your duty to help the Cause of your father! It is your duty—
CANDIDA [clapping her hands to her ears and screaming]: Oh stop, stop, STOP! [The group
at piano breaks off abruptly. There is a moment of startled silence. Candida recovers herself.]
I . . . I am sorry. Please excuse me.
VIOLET: Can you beat it! They’re hysterical! What’s the matter? Don’t you people like our singing?
TONY [rising]: Okay, girls—go home.
SUSAN: Wait a minute! Just what did we do?
TONY: I said, go home.
VIOLET: But why? Oh, are those your landladies, Tony? Well, why not introduce us?
SUSAN [ambling forward; an arm akimbo]: He’s ashamed of us, Violet. He thinks we don’t look decent. He thinks we’re drunk.
TONY [hurrying after her and grabbing her arm]: I told you to get out of here!
SUSAN [wrenching her arm loose]: I’ll go when I damn please! I’ve got as much right to stay here as anybody else! You think I don’t know what kind of a house this is? Oh, I found out last night, dearie! I saw you and that Shanghai woman—
TONY [raising a fist]: SHUT UP! Shut up or, by God, I’ll—
SUSAN [backing off]: Yes, I saw you! I saw you last night! And I saw you bring that woman in here!
[She turns to the sisters] Now, is that the kind of a house you run?
[She turns to PORTRAIT]: And is that the kind of a house you run?
TONY [grabbing her arm and dragging her off]: You’re getting out of here if I have to throw you out!
SUSAN [screaming & struggling]: Let me go! Let me go! Let me—AOUH!
[He has slapped her hard across the mouth. She cowers away, holding her mouth.]
TONY: Now get out! GET OUT OF HERE!
VIOLET [taking the sobbing Susan in her arms]: Okay, big boy—keep your shirt on! We’re going. Come on, Susan.
[She leads the sobbing Susan away. At stairway, she pauses and looks back.]
Hitting a woman when she’s drunk—pah!
[Tony waits until they have gone down the stairs; then he strides off to his room, slamming the door behind him.]
BITOY: Fellows, I think we had better go.
PETE: Miss Marasigan, about that matter—
CANDIDA [quietly]: It is quite impossible. We cannot lend you the picture. We are sorry.
PETE: Well . . . [He shrugs.] Well, thanks just the same—and thanks for letting us come. And good afternoon.
[Chorus of “Thank you’s” and “Good afternoon’s” from the others as they move to stairway, Candida and Paula accompanying them. Exeunt Pete, Eddie, and Cora. Bitoy lingers behind on the landing.]