Latin American Plays

by Sebastian Doggart

  BEBA, who has been upstage cleaning some old furniture and pots and pans with a rag, moves downstage. She smiles. Her movements are slightly reminiscent of LALO’s.

  BEBA. Those corpses are unreal. Spectacular! They give me goose pimples. I don’t want to think any more. I’ve never felt so happy. Look at them. They’re flying, they’re breaking up.

  LALO (grandly). Have the guests arrived?

  BEBA. I heard them coming up the stairs.

  LALO. Who?

  BEBA. Margaret and old Pantaleón.

  CUCA doesn’t stop her work, although occasionally she pauses to look at them.

  LALO (contemptuously). I don’t like those two. (In another tone of voice. Violently.) Who told them?

  BEBA. I don’t know! No, don’t look at me like that. I swear it wasn’t me.

  LALO. Then it was her. (Points to CUCA.) Her.

  CUCA (still cleaning the furniture). Me?

  LALO. Yes, you. As if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.

  BEBA. Perhaps no-one told them. Perhaps they decided to come themselves.

  LALO (to BEBA). Don’t try and cover for her. (To CUCA, who gets up and mops her brow with her right arm.) You! You are always spying on us. (Starts walking around CUCA.) You watch our every step, every word we say, everything we think. You hide behind curtains, doors, windows . . . (With a sly smile.) Ha! The spoilt brat plays detective. (Roars with laughter.) Two and two make four. Elementary, my dear Watson. (Suddenly.) Ugh! (Softly, like a cat watching its prey.) You’re never satisfied. What do you want to know?

  CUCA (fearful, not knowing what to do). Nothing, Lalo, nothing . . . honestly . . . (Sharply.) Don’t get at me.

  LALO. Then, why do you watch us? And why do you mix with such dreadful people?

  CUCA (her eyes filling with tears). I didn’t mean to . . .

  LALO. That’s what I can’t forgive.

  CUCA. They’re my friends.

  LALO (with furious contempt). Your friends. You’re pathetic. (With a triumphant smile.) Don’t think you can fool me. You’re being ridiculous. You resist, but you really want to run away . . . little Miss Muffet. I already know you haven’t got the guts to call things by their real names. (Pause.) If you’re against us, show us your teeth. Bite! Rebel!

  CUCA. Stop it.

  LALO. Come on!

  CUCA. You’re getting on my nerves.

  LALO. You can do it.

  CUCA (choking). I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.

  LALO. Come on, get up.

  BEBA (to LALO). Don’t torment her.

  LALO (to CUCA). Look at me.

  CUCA. My head hurts.

  LALO. Look at me.

  CUCA. I can’t.

  BEBA (to LALO). Give her a few moments.

  CUCA (sobbing). It’s not my fault. It’s just how I am. I can’t change. I wish I could.

  LALO (irritated). What a dunce you are.

  BEBA (to CUCA). Come on then. (Takes her aside and walks her over to a chair.) Dry your tears. Aren’t you embarrassed? He is right you know. You’re being difficult. (Pause. She strokes her hair.) There, there. (In an affectionate tone of voice.) Don’t look so sad. Give us a smile. (In a maternal tone of voice.) You shouldn’t have done it; but if you’ve started, you might as well finish. (Joking.) Your nose has gone all red, just like a baby tomato. (Tapping her nose with the index finger of her right hand.) What a silly-billy you are! (Smiles.)

  CUCA (staying close to BEBA). I don’t want to see him.

  BEBA. Calm down.

  CUCA. I don’t want to hear him.

  BEBA. He won’t eat you.

  CUCA. My heart . . . Listen to it, it sounds like it’s going to explode.

  BEBA. Don’t be a cry-baby.

  CUCA. I swear, I swear.

  BEBA. Well, get used to it.

  CUCA. I want to run away.

  BEBA. It will pass.

  CUCA. I can’t stand it.

  BEBA. It gets easier.

  CUCA. I feel terrible.

  LALO (holding a cauldron in his hand, making an invocation). Oh, Aphrodite, illuminate this night of infamy.

  CUCA (to BEBA, distressed). He’s starting again.

  BEBA (to CUCA, soothingly). Sshh. Don’t pay any attention to him.

  CUCA. I want to spit on him.

  BEBA. Don’t go near him. He bites.

  LALO (as Roman emperor). Come to my aid; I’m dying of boredom.

  CUCA, incapable of putting herself on the same level as LALO, reproaches him in a mocking tone of voice.

  CUCA. What a performance! He’s just like your uncle Chicho, don’t you think, Sis? (In disgust.) You’re a monster.

  LALO (as important gentleman). When the gods are silent, the people shout. (He throws the cauldron downstage.)

  CUCA (as mother. Sarcastically). That’s right, smash the place up, you don’t have to pay for it.

  LALO (smiling, facing the door). What a delightful surprise!

  BEBA (to CUCA). Are you feeling better? (CUCA nods.)

  LALO (greeting imaginary people). Do come in . . . (As if he were shaking their hands.) Oh, how are you? Hello!

  BEBA (to CUCA). Sure? (CUCA nods.)

  LALO (to BEBA). They’ve arrived.

  BEBA (to LALO). Keep them at a distance so they will go away.

  LALO (to BEBA). They’ve come to get us.

  CUCA (to the imaginary people). Good evening, Margaret.

  LALO (to CUCA). They’ve come to sniff out the blood.

  BEBA (to the imaginary people). How are you both?

  CUCA (to LALO). You and your suspicious mind.

  BEBA (to CUCA, as mother). Don’t make things worse. (To the imaginary people.) Asthma is such a pyrotechnic illness. It must still be wreaking havoc among the masses.

  LALO (to CUCA). I won’t forgive you for this.

  CUCA (as if she were paying attention to what the imaginary people are saying. With a wicked smile to LALO. Between her teeth). An eye for an eye . . .

  BEBA (as mother. To LALO, between her teeth). Pretend you didn’t hear, son.

  LALO (to BEBA). How rude. (In another tone of voice. With a hypocritical smile at the imaginary people.) And how are you, Pantaleón? It’s been so long since I last saw you. Have you been lost?

  BEBA (pestering the imaginary people). How’s your urine? They told me the other day . . .

  CUCA (pestering the imaginary people). Is your bladder working OK?

  BEBA (amazed). What? They still haven’t operated on your sphincter?

  CUCA (scandalized). Really? And what about the old hernia?

  LALO (with a hypocritical smile). Margaret, you’re looking terrific. Is that cancerous growth of yours still growing? (To BEBA.) You deal with them.

  BEBA (to LALO). I’ve run out of things to say.

  LALO (aside. Pushing her). Say anything. It doesn’t matter.

  Goes upstage.

  BEBA (looks at LALO, distressed. Pause. Immediately afterwards she throws herself into the fun of make-believing). How lovely you are . . . It must be spring which gives you . . . I don’t know . . . a special aura, a power . . . Oh, I don’t know . . . Oh, isn’t it hot? I’m sweating absolute buckets. (She laughs.) Ohhh, Pantaleón! Panties Pantaleón! You are a one! An absolute cad. Oh yes, you are. You can’t play the fool with me. And that wart really has increased your pulling power.

  LALO (as PANTALEON). Oh stop it, I don’t believe a word of it. The years, my child, the passing years wither a man away and turn him into an old dish-cloth. (He laughs mischievously.) But if you’d seen me in my prime, in the good old days . . . Oh, if only I could have them again . . . But what’s the point? That’s asking for the impossible. (In a special tone of voice.) Today I have a little pain right here. (Points to his abdomen.) It’s like a pin-prick . . . (Sighs.) I’m old, a rusting wreck of a man. And it gets worse every day. Our children don’t respect us, and they don’t forgive us either.

  BEBA (as MARGARET, annoyed). Don’t say that. It’s not
fair. (Aside.) There’s a time and a place for everything. (Smiling.) What will these kind, lovely children think? (To CUCA.) Come here, pumpkin. Why are you hiding? Who are you afraid of? Who’s the bogeyman? (CUCA doesn’t move.) Come on, what’s the matter, am I an ugly old woman? Come here, don’t be silly, my sweet. Tell me something: how are your mummy and daddy? Where’s your mummy?

  LALO (leaping up from his chair. Violently, to the audience). You see? What did I tell you. That’s what they came for. I know them. I’m right. (To CUCA. Accusingly.) They’re your friends. Get them out of here. They’re trying to find out . . . (Shouting.) Tell them to go to hell. Do you hear me? It’s all over.

  CUCA doesn’t know what to do. She moves, gesticulates, tries to say something but is neither able nor dares to do so.

  BEBA (as MARGARET. To CUCA). I don’t want to leave just yet. We’ve come round for our regular visit. We’ve been meaning to come for weeks. And anyway, I’m feeling a bit woozy. Your mother should have some herbal tea.

  LALO (frantically). Tell them to go, Cuca. Tell them to fuck off. (As if he were holding a whip and were threatening them.) Out. Get out of here. Into the street.

  CUCA (to LALO). Don’t be so rude.

  BEBA (as MARGARET. Crying in outrage). I can’t believe it. They’re just throwing us out. It’s outrageous. What beastly children.

  CUCA (to LALO. In control of the situation). You have a terrible temper.

  BEBA (to the imaginary visitors). I beg you to forgive him.

  CUCA (to LALO). They haven’t done anything to you.

  BEBA (to the imaginary people). He has a terrible temper.

  CUCA (to LALO). You just don’t think.

  BEBA (to the imaginary people). The doctor says he needs plenty of rest.

  CUCA (to LALO). So tactless, so ill-mannered, so . . .

  BEBA (to the imaginary people). Such an uncalled-for attack.

  CUCA (to LALO, who is laughing slyly). God will never forgive you for this.

  BEBA (to the imaginary people). Good-bye Margaret. Good-night Pantaleón. Don’t forget, Mum and Dad went away to the country and we’re not sure when . . . Oh, they’ll be back pretty soon, I expect. Bye! Bye-bye! (Blows them a kiss with feigned tenderness. Pause. To LALO.) You made that really hard for me! (She sits down upstage and starts to polish some shoes.)

  CUCA (subtly threatening). When Mum finds out . . .

  LALO (angrily). Go on, then, tell her. (Calling.) Mum, Dad. (Laughs.) Mum, Dad. (Defiantly.) Don’t wait. Go on. Run along and tell them. I’m sure they’ll be grateful. Come on. Run, run. (Takes CUCA by the arm and leads her to the door. He returns downstage centre.) You’re a disaster. You can never make up your mind. You want to and you don’t want to. You are and you aren’t. Do you think that is enough? If you really want to live, you always have to take risks. It doesn’t matter if you win or lose. (Sarcastically.) But you want safety. The easy way out. (Pause.) That’s where the danger lies. Because that’s where you hang around, dithering, not knowing what to do, not knowing what you are and, worst of all, not knowing what you want.

  CUCA (sure of herself). Don’t puff yourself up too far.

  LALO. You’ll never save yourself, however hard you try.

  CUCA. Nor will you.

  LALO. It won’t be you who stops me.

  CUCA. Every day you will grow older . . . Here, here, here, shut up with the cobwebs and the dust. I know it, I can see it, I can breathe it. (She smiles wickedly.)

  LALO. So?

  CUCA. You’re going down, down.

  LALO. That’s what you’d like to see.

  CUCA. Don’t make me laugh.

  LALO. It’s the truth.

  CUCA. I’ll do what I like.

  LALO. At last you’re using your claws.

  CUCA. I’m just speaking my mind.

  LALO. You don’t realise that what I am proposing is simply the only solution we have. (Takes the chair and moves it about in the air.) I want this chair to be here. (He suddenly puts the chair down in a particular place.) And not there. (He suddenly moves the same chair to another particular place.) Because here . . . (Quickly returning it to the first place.) . . . it’s more useful to me. I can sit down more comfortably and more quickly. And here . . . (Places the chair in the second position.) . . . It’s useless, just a silly whim . . . (Puts the chair back to the first position.) Dad and Mum don’t allow such things. They think that what I think and what I want to do are completely illogical. They want everything to stay where it is. Nothing must move from its proper place. And that’s impossible. Because you and I and Beba . . . (With a scream.) It’s intolerable. And they think I’m just doing these things to contradict them, to fight them, to upset them . . .

  CUCA. In a house, the furniture . . .

  LALO (rapidly, energetically). That’s just an excuse. Who cares about this house, who cares about this furniture if we ourselves are nothing, if we simply pass through the house and between the furniture, just like an ashtray, a vase, or a floating knife? (To CUCA.) You could be a vase. Would you like to discover one day that’s all you are? Or that you’ve been treated like a vase for most of your life? I could be a knife, couldn’t I? And Beba, are you happy being an ashtray? No, no. That’s stupid. (In a mechanical rhythm.) Come over here. Go over there. Do this. Do that. Do the other. (In another tone of voice.) I want my life. Every day of it, every hour, every minute. I want to do what I want and feel what I want. But my hands are tied. My feet are tied. My eyes are blinkered. This house is my world. And this house is getting old and dirty and smelly. Mum and Dad are to blame. I’m sorry but that’s how it is. And the worst thing is that they don’t stop a moment to consider whether things shouldn’t be different. Nor do you. And Beba’s even worse. If Beba plays our game, it’s only because she has nothing else to do.

  CUCA. Why do you blame Mum and Dad for everything?

  LALO. Because they made me into a useless thing.

  CUCA. That’s not true.

  LALO. Why should I lie?

  CUCA. You’re trying to cover yourself.

  LALO. I’m trying to be as sincere as possible.

  CUCA. That doesn’t give you the right to demand so much. You’re terrible as well. Do you remember the games you made up? You destroyed all our dolls. You invented crazy games. You wanted us to live in your shadow – or worse, you wanted us to be just like you.

  LALO. That was the only way to free myself from the burden they placed on me.

  CUCA. You can’t deny they’ve always taken care of you, that they’ve always loved you.

  LALO. I don’t want them to love me like that. I’ve been everything to them, except a human being.

  From upstage, still polishing the shoes, BEBA imitates her father.

  BEBA (as father). Lalo, from now on you will scrub the floors. You will mend my clothes and you will do so with great care. Your mother is not well and somebody has to do these things. (She continues polishing the shoes.)

  CUCA. Mum and Dad have given you everything . . .

  LALO (to CUCA). At what cost . . . ?

  CUCA. But what did you expect? Remember, Lalo, what Dad earned. Next to nothing. What more could he have given you?

  LALO. Why have they always told me: ‘Don’t walk to school with so-and-so’; ‘don’t go out with what’s-her-name’; ‘so-and-so is a bad influence.’ Why did they make me believe I was better than anyone else? Mum and Dad think that if we have a room, a bed and food, that’s enough, that we should be grateful. They told us a thousand times that very few parents did as much, that only rich children enjoyed the kind of life we had.

  CUCA. Try and understand them. That’s the way they are . . . But sooner or later you were bound to try to get rid of them.

  LALO. I couldn’t. I believed in them too much. (Pause.) And what happened to my desires? My dreams?

  CUCA. Since you were a kid, you always wanted your own way.

  LALO. Since I was a kid, since I was that tall, they’ve been telling me: �
�Do this.’ And if I did it badly: ‘You’re useless.’ And then came the beatings and the punishment.

  CUCA. That’s what all parents do. It doesn’t mean you have to turn the whole house upside down.

  LALO. I want things to have a real meaning, so that you, Beba, and I can say: ‘We’ll do this,’ and we’ll do it. And if it doesn’t work, we can say: ‘Too bad. Let’s try again.’ And if it does work, we can say: ‘Great! Let’s move on to the next thing.’ Haven’t you ever thought what it means to be able to think, to decide and to do things on your own?

  CUCA. You know we can’t just . . .

  LALO (violently). We can’t. We can’t.

  CUCA. Mum and Dad are right.

  LALO. I’m right, too. Just as right as they are.

  CUCA. Are you rebelling?

  LALO. Yes.

  CUCA. Against them?

  LALO. Against everything.

  At this moment BEBA repeats the imitation of her father.

  BEBA (as father). Lalo, you will wash and iron. Your mother and I have agreed on this. There are the sheets, the curtains, the table-cloths and my office trousers . . . You will clean the toilets. You will eat in a corner in the kitchen. You will learn. I swear you will learn. Do you hear me? (She goes upstage.)

  CUCA. Why don’t you leave home then?

  LALO. Where the hell would I go?

  CUCA. Try.

  LALO. I already have. Don’t you remember? I always come home with my tail between my legs.

  CUCA. Try again.

  LALO. No . . . I know I can’t live on the streets. I get confused . . . lost. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I seem to fade away. They didn’t teach me. No, they just mixed me up.

  CUCA. How can you be a leader if you yourself admit . . . ?

  LALO. This house is what I know. I’m resigned to it.

  CUCA. Are you ready to start again then?

  LALO. As many times as it takes.

  CUCA. And see it right through?

  LALO. It’s my only escape.

  CUCA. But don’t you think the police will find out?

  LALO. I don’t know. Maybe . . .

  CUCA. How can you win?

  LALO. Wait and see.

  CUCA. Well, I won’t help you. Understand? I’ll defend them tooth and nail if I have to. I’m not interested in any of this. I accept what Mum and Dad say. They don’t interfere with me. They give me everything I need . . . You’re the pigheaded one, not me. Dad’s right when he says you’re like a cat: you close your eyes so you can’t see the food they’re giving you. (Steps forward.) Go away. I won’t play your game. (To BEBA.) Don’t you count on me either. (In another tone of voice.) Oh, God, get me out of this mess. (Pause.) They’re older than us. They know more about life. They’ve struggled, made sacrifices. They deserve our respect at the very least. If something goes wrong in this house, it’s because it was bound to . . . No, no, I won’t fight them.