Three Plays

by Mario Vargas Llosa

  (SANTIAGO has got to his feet and is doing what, according to KATHIE, the Cairo perfume-seller did. Arab music with hornpipes, flutes, bongo drums, castanets, seems to waft through the air.)

  SANTIAGO: Make your choice, my foreign beauty, make your choice! Here I have lotions, pure essence of perfume, life-giving elixirs, balsam and lacquers. To put on your hair, behind your ears, on your neck, your breasts, under your arms, on your navel, your groin, between your toes and on the soles of your feet! Choose, oh choose, my foreign beauty! For here I have necklaces, ear-rings, watches, powder-cases, bracelets, bangles, anklets, diadems! Made out of amber, tortoiseshell, lapis lazuli, butterfly wings!

  KATHIE: (Pleased yet intimidated) Thank you very much, monsieur. Your perfumes are ravishing, and your jewels are quite dazzling. But I don’t wish to buy anything. Thank you very much all the same, monsieur, you’ve been most helpful and kind.

  (SANTIAGO ingratiating, snakelike, circles hypnotically round KATHIE moving his hands and rolling his eyes.)

  SANTIAGO: But who’s talking of buying anything, my foreign beauty, who’s thinking about filthy money, oh my beautiful exotic foreigner from the exotic kingdom of Peru? Everything I have is yours. Everything in this shop is yours. Choose whatever you want, take it away with you. Take it as a tribute to your beauty!

  KATHIE: Your generosity overwhelms me and confuses me, monsieur. But I can’t accept presents from strangers. I’m a respectable woman, a Catholic, I come from Lima, and I have a family. I’m not one of those light-minded tourists you’re no doubt accustomed to, monsieur.

  SANTIAGO: I’m an amorous perfume-seller, madame. Let me take you for a stroll through Cairo by night, let me introduce you to those secret little pleasure dens, those sacred temples of sensual delight. Cairo is the most corrupt city in the world, madame!

  KATHIE: Control yourself, monsieur. Behave like a gentleman, like a respectable human being. Don’t come so close. Take your filthy hands off me!

  SANTIAGO: We’ll go to see the pyramids, bathed by the moonlight and barefoot we’ll walk in the cool of the desert. We’ll visit a night-club where houris do the belly dance, their boneless bodies writhing in ecstasy. Dawn will discover us peacefully sleeping, lulled by the charm of those aphrodisiac melodies which make serpents hiss and give camels orgasms.

  KATHIE: Help! Help! Don’t touch me! You filthy Indian! You miserable mulatto! You disgusting halfbreed! Let go of me or I’ll kill you! Ah, you didn’t know, did you, that Kathie Kennety is ready and able to challenge villains the whole world over? Hands up or I’ll shoot!

  (She threatens him with a small woman’s pistol and SANTIAGO returns to his place of work. He continues dictating. An alarm clock start to ring.)

  SANTIAGO: When he sees the little revolver the perfume-seller releases me. Rapidly I leave the perfume shop and lose myself in the dusty narrow alleyways of the old city …

  KATHIE: While I was going back to the hotel, I shuddered at the thought of that fat, coarse, impertinent …

  SANTIAGO: And as I wind back and forth, asking my way, through that labyrinth of streets which is old Cairo, I eventually find the road back to the hotel, and my whole body squirms in sheer revulsion as I recall the alchemist’s embrace, and my nostrils still detect the pungent aroma of his perfumes, as if they were poison …

  (The alarm finishes.)

  KATHIE: Ah, how quickly the two hours went today …

  SANTIAGO: They flew past. But we did some good work, didn’t we, Kathie?

  (They smile at each other.)

  ACT TWO

  The set is the same. As the house lights go down, we hear the Parisian music which sets the atmosphere for Kathie Kennety’s little attic: it could be ‘Les feuilles mortes’, ‘J’attendrai toujours’ or something equally well known and dated. The four characters are on stage, but the lighting is focused on SANTIAGO – who is sitting in his usual place of work, dictating into the tape-recorder – and KATHIE, who strolls around the room with a bundle of papers and maps in her hands, recalling memories and relating incidents from the past. The Parisian melody is replaced by some African music: tribal drums throb, wild beasts grunt, and birds sing, against the thunderous roar of a waterfall. In an imaginary parody of the scene, ANA and JUAN may mime what is being narrated.

  KATHIE: The first night at the Murchison Falls, I was woken up by a frightful noise.

  SANTIAGO: It is a windswept moonlit night on the shores of Lake Victoria, on the edge of the Murchison Falls. All of a sudden mysterious noises tear into the velvety darkness of the African night, and I wake up.

  KATHIE: It wasn’t the waterfalls but some other noise. The hotel was full, and so they’d put me in a tent in the garden. The canvas was flapping about in the wind and looked as though it would take off at any moment.

  SANTIAGO: The flimsy bedouin tents of the encampment where they’d given me shelter quiver as if made of rice paper.

  KATHIE: I threw on my clothes, and I went out to see what all the fuss was about.

  SANTIAGO: Frightened and bewildered, I sit bolt upright in my hammock; I grope for the mosquito net which I draw aside as I reach for my revolver with the mother-of-pearl handle which I keep under my pillow.

  KATHIE: What was happening? What was going on?

  SANTIAGO: What is happening? What is going on? Are the waterfalls overflowing? Is the lake flooding its banks? Is it an earthquake? Is our camp being attacked by a herd of elephants? Or a tribe of cannibals?

  KATHIE: Nothing like that. Two hippos were fighting over a ‘hippa’.

  SANTIAGO: (Switching off his tape-recorder for an instant) Hippopotamuses? Was that what woke you up? Two hippopotamuses fighting over a hippopotama?

  KATHIE: Shouldn’t you say female hippopotamus?

  SANTIAGO: You should say whatever sounds best. Hippopotama has more of a ring to it, it’s more incisive, more original. (Dictating again) Is the lake overflowing? Is it an earthquake? Is our camp being attacked by a herd of elephants? Or a tribe of cannibals? No. Once again it’s that old eternal love triangle, that familiar tale of lust, rape and revenge. In the murky mud on the banks of the Murchison Falls, roaring and thundering, two hippopotamuses fight to the death over a hippopotama …

  KATHIE: It was pitch dark. You couldn’t see a thing. But I realized by the noises they were making that it was a ferocious struggle.

  SANTIAGO: (More and more enthusiastically) Prehistoric, massive and lumbering with their enormous heads, their huge bulbous bodies and their ridiculously small feet, I can just make them out through the thick dark shadows, fiercely biting each other on the flank.

  KATHIE: The female waited skittishly, all of a twitter, as she coyly watched to see which of the males was going to win her.

  SANTIAGO: Meanwhile, the coveted prize – she, who had provoked such pachidermal hatred and lust – the hippopotama – moves about, swinging her hips, aroused by the spectacle, as she waits eagerly to see who will win the combat. Will the victor have the right to … possess her? Attack her? Penetrate her?

  KATHIE: Attack her is best. A German, or a Dutchman or someone, who was staying at Murchison Falls, an academic or a scientist, something like that, said the hippopotamus was a very strange animal.

  SANTIAGO: (In a strong German accent) This primitive roughskinned wrinkly creature which you see before you, Frau Katharina, the hippopotamus, has such a delicate throat that it can only swallow little birds, flies, bumblebees and flutterbies who, mistaking it for a tree trunk, settle on it. But it’s an animal with an unquenchable sexual appetite, a lustful beast with a seismic potency. It’s not unusual after her first encounter for a hippopotama to be completely put off the idea of sex, rather like Adèle Foucher for instance, since even the most effete of hippopotami easily outdo the record established for the human species by Victor Hugo whose nine performances on his wedding night … (Resuming his normal voice, carrying on dictating) The Prussian zoologist was quite right: for the whole of the rest of the night we heard the hoof
ed victor and the contented hippopotama copulating with such a deafening report that it drowned the noise of the cataracts.

  KATHIE: (Laughing) That bit about ‘copulating with such a deafening report’, I wonder what my children will say to that?

  (ANA and JUAN, who have now become KATHIE’s children, rush towards her.)

  JUAN: What exactly are you writing, Mama? A travel book about Black Africa and the Far East, or a pornographic novel?

  ANA: Do you want everyone to laugh at us?

  (SANTIAGO stops dictating.)

  SANTIAGO: Have your children got many hang-ups?

  KATHIE: Yes, I suppose they have. At any rate they appear to in front of me. I wonder what they’re like when they’re alone. Or with their friends, or with their lovers? I wonder if my children have lovers.

  JUAN: We’ve got a surprise for you, Mama, which you’re going to love.

  SANTIAGO: You don’t talk much about your family, you know.

  ANA: Can’t you guess what it is, Mama? The tickets! For your tour of Black Africa and the Far East!

  KATHIE: This is a travel book, not an autobiography, that’s why I don’t mention them.

  JUAN: Forty-two countries, and over eighty cities.

  ANA: Every race, religion, language and landscape under the sun. You’ll hardly have time to turn round, Mama.

  SANTIAGO: Did it take a lot to persuade them to let you go on such a long trip?

  KATHIE: It didn’t take anything at all, quite the reverse in fact. (Turns towards her children.) Of course I’ll have time to turn round. Why were you in such a hurry to buy the tickets? I haven’t even decided if I’m going yet.

  JUAN: Because you’re dying to go – you just needed a little push. So we gave you one.

  ANA: You’re going to learn so much, Mama. All those different countries, all those exciting foreign places. All that experience and think of all the adventures you’ll have. You’ll be able to use them in your book.

  JUAN: Of course, you’ll be travelling first class and staying in five-star hotels, and you’ll have a private car and personal guide on every excursion.

  ANA: You deserve it, Mama!

  KATHIE: (Mocking) Aren’t you going to miss me?

  JUAN: Of course we are. We’re doing all this for you, so you can enjoy yourself, so you can write that book you’ve had on your mind for so long.

  ANA: Aren’t you always telling us how fed up you are with life in Lima, with its constant round of tea parties, luncheon parties, and weddings all over the place? That you never have any time for the really serious things in life what with all the social razzmatazz? Well, there you are then, for eight months of the year you can concentrate entirely on getting a bit of culture.

  JUAN: You’ll be travelling on a diplomatic passport, so you won’t have any difficulties with the customs.

  KATHIE: What wonderful children I’ve got; you’re both so good and kind. (Changing her tone of voice) You’re just a couple of cynics, aren’t you? You’re glad to be getting rid of me.

  JUAN: But how can you talk such utter nonsense, Mama? It’s pointless even trying to make you happy. You’re impossible. And we thought you’d be so thrilled with these tickets, we wanted to give you the time of your life.

  ANA: You twist everything round so. Why should we want to get rid of you?

  KATHIE: (Rubbing her thumb and forefinger together) Money, my little love, money. Who’s going to be in charge of my affairs while I’m away? I’d have to give you carte blanche so you could do anything you wanted. Now wouldn’t I?

  JUAN: Of course you wouldn’t. Honestly, you’ve got such a suspicious mind! I suppose this had to come up sooner or later.

  KATHIE: Because you’re brassed off with me poking my nose into everything, questioning everything. Do you think I don’t know how it irritates you to have to get my permission for the least little thing?

  ANA: It was unfortunate Johnny came up with that suggestion about the power of attorney …

  KATHIE: Which would entitle you to share out everything I possess before I’m even dead.

  JUAN: No, no, no. It was to save you any unnecessary worries, Mama, to save you spending your time in lawyers’ offices, with boards of directors, in banks, and so on.

  ANA: You’re so paranoid, it’s beyond belief, Mama!

  KATHIE: I may be paranoid, but I’m not signing that power of attorney – I’m not dead just yet and I don’t want to feel as if I am. You haven’t managed to get your own way, so now you’re sending me off round the world instead …

  ANA: That’s not fair, Mama!

  JUAN: You were the one who wanted to go on this trip, we’d never even have thought of it.

  ANA: (To JUAN) She’s so ungrateful, it’s incredible. Take back the tickets, Juancito. I wouldn’t go to any more trouble on her account, if I were you.

  KATHIE: The only trouble you went to was buying them, dear, and in case you’ve forgotten, I was the one who paid for them in the first place.

  JUAN: All right, all right. Don’t let’s quarrel about it. We’ll take back the tickets and there’s an end to it.

  KATHIE: No, don’t. I’ve decided to go, and I’m going to write my book after all. But don’t get too excited, I’m not going to get myself eaten by a tiger or squashed by an elephant, I’ll be coming back all in one piece, to find out exactly what you’ve been up to with my money – my money, don’t forget – while I’ve been away.

  (JUAN approaches KATHIE. He seems to want to strike up a silent conversation with her, but she declines, retreating into her private reverie. ANA approaches SANTIAGO.)

  ANA: You know, you’re rather like a hippopotamus yourself, Mark Griffin. Don’t try and pretend you’re not listening. Well, wouldn’t you agree you’re like a hippopotamus?

  SANTIAGO: How am I like a hippopotamus?

  ANA: You look so strong and reliable, anyone would think you could take on a man-eating tiger. But it’s all façade! When it comes down to it, all you can do is catch flies, beetles, butterflies and little birds.

  SANTIAGO: (Fantasizing) I know how I’m like a hippopotamus …

  KATHIE: (Playing the role of Adèle) My dear sweet professor, my love, pay no attention to that spiteful bitch. She’s always trying to manipulate you, ignore her, don’t let her sour our relationship.

  SANTIAGO: (Eagerly) Of course I won’t, my little Persian kitten! Now come here, let me smell your fragrance, let me tickle you and lick you. You’re not going to get away from me this time.

  KATHIE: (Charmed by him, but also fearful) You frighten me, Mark. You will start playing these games, but we both know where they’re going to end up, don’t we?

  SANTIAGO: (Lifting her up and parading her in his arms) Must end up. But what does it matter? Aren’t you pleased you can arouse such ardent passion in your husband, Adèle?

  KATHIE: In my lover, you mean. I’m not your wife, it’s that spiteful bitch.

  SANTIAGO: No, she isn’t. Not any more. Not since I left her for you, silly. Now you’re my wife – as well as my pupil, my lover and my kitten.

  KATHIE: Don’t get so excited, my love. This is hardly the time. Didn’t you have a lecture to give on the Spanish mystics?

  SANTIAGO: The Spanish mystics can go to hell. Today I’ve got a lecture specially for you. And I’m going to give it to you now, over there, in the bedroom. Come, come.

  KATHIE: (Mesmerized) What again, my angel? Have you gone quite mad? We made love last night and this morning.

  SANTIAGO: (Driven crazy) And we’ll do it again – before lunch, after lunch, at teatime and suppertime. We’ll do it nine times a day. Did you hear that? Nine times!

  KATHIE: Who’d have thought Professor Griffin capable of such feats?

  SANTIAGO: It’s all your fault, you awaken in me feelings of such passionate intensity, I’m like a vulcano about to erupt. When I see your little body, when I touch it and stroke it, when I hear your voice, when I smell your fragrance, my blood starts to course through my veins
like a raging torrent.

  KATHIE: (Pouting) But I’m not the only one who unleashes such storms, Victor. Do you think I don’t know what you get up to with Juliette Drouet? And all those other ephemeral little flies that swarm around you? Do you think I don’t know how many of them you’ve made love to?

  SANTIAGO: (Proud, seductive) But these are minor escapades, Adèle. They don’t impinge on either my feelings or my poetry. They’re quite unimportant. No, the only use these little creatures have is to prove to me how incomparable you are, my Adèle chérie.

  KATHIE: (Sobbing) When I think about you making love to them, I get so jealous. You’ve no idea how much I suffer.

  SANTIAGO: Jealousy adds a certain piquancy to love. It makes it more exciting, it colours it, it gives it flavour.

  KATHIE: But you go after anything in a skirt! Look at my nails. They used to be long and beautiful and now, just look at them! It’s all your fault, it’s all because of your treachery. Every time you go out, I get quite sick with anguish: which of those little insects will he be with this time? What’ll he be saying to them? What’ll he be doing to them? Where? And how many times? Nine?

  SANTIAGO: Whether it’s God, Mother Nature or the Devil, I don’t know. But talents have been bestowed upon me, which set me apart from ordinary men. The gift of poetry which in my case comes inextricably linked with an infinite propensity for passionate love.

  KATHIE: But don’t we make love every day, Victor?

  SANTIAGO: It’s not enough, Adèle. I must satisfy these longings, quench these flames.

  KATHIE: You’re one of nature’s marvels!

  SANTIAGO: I am.

  KATHIE: You’re insatiable, indefatigable, a colossus amongst men.

  SANTIAGO: I am.

  KATHIE: You’re Victor Hugo, Mark Griffin.

  SANTIAGO: Just as other men need air, so I need women. I need a constant supply or else I suffocate … Like the drinker of absinthe, like the opium eater, I’m quite addicted to them.

  KATHIE: Your knowledge exceeds that of the Kama Sutra, the Ananga Ranga, Giacomo Casanova, and the Marquis de Sade.