KATHIE: Turn round, come back, there’s still time. Listen to me, answer me! Oh, Victor, come back!
SANTIAGO: (
To
JUAN) That won’t be possible, Johnny. I’m
going on a journey. A very long one. and I don’t think I’ll be coming back to Peru again.
KATHIE: I want to be your servant, your slave, your pet bitch.
JUAN: (
To
SANTIAGO) That sounds very mysterious.
KATHIE: I want to be your whore, Victor.
SANTIAGO: You’re right. It is, in a way. Look, I’ll tell you. I’m going to Spain. To Burgos. I’m going to join the Trappists.
KATHIE: I’ll go down to the docks and I’ll take off my clothes before the grimiest of sailors. I’ll lick their tattoos, on my knees, if you like. Any little whim, Victor, any fantasy at all. However mad, just give the word. Whatever you command.
JUAN: You’re going to join the what?
KATHIE: You can spit on me, humiliate me, thrash me, lend me to your friends. Just come back, come back.
SANTIAGO: Of course, you don’t know what they are. The Trappists. They’re a religious order. Very old, very strict. A closed order. Yes, in a nutshell, I’m going to become a monk.
KATHIE: Come back even if it’s only to kill me, Victor.
JUAN: (
Bursting out laughing
) Sure you wouldn’t rather become a bullfighter? I knew you’d try pulling my leg sooner or later. There’s no keeping up with you, Victor.
KATHIE: (
Desolate, resigned
) But I know you can’t hear me, that you never will hear me. I know your Adèle has lost for ever her reason for living, for dying and coming back to life again.
SANTIAGO: I’m not pulling your leg. I’m going to join the Trappists. I’ve had a calling. But that’s not all. I’m asking you to help me. I’m destitute. The fare to Spain is expensive. I’m asking my friends to help me collect what I need for a third-class fare on the
Sea Queen.
Could you give me a little hand, Johnny?
KATHIE: (
To
JUAN) Why are you telling me all this? Why should any of it matter to me?
JUAN: I’m telling you because you’re my wife. Who else am I going to tell if I don’t tell you? Do you think it could be
true, all that about the Trappists, or the Trappers, or the Traipsers, or whatever they call themselves?
SANTIAGO: (
To
KATHIE) What use would your money be to me? How many times have I explained it to you? I don’t want to be rich, I want to be happy. Is your daddy happy? Is Johnny happy? Well, maybe Johnny is, but that’s not because he’s rich but because he’s stupid. With me you would have been happy, you’d have had the most memorable wedding night of all time, Adèle.
JUAN:
(To
KATHIE) To start with I didn’t believe him, of course. I thought he’d come to touch me for some money, or to tell me some story or other. But now, I don’t know. You should have heard him … He spoke like a priest, all softly and gently. Said he’d had a calling. What do you want me to do with these letters, Pussikins?
SANTIAGO: (
To
KATHIE) So we won’t be living in Chincheros any more, the little village with the purest air in the mountains. And we won’t be sharing that free, simple life, that healthy, frugal, intimate existence. I’m not reproaching you for it, Pussikins. On the contrary, I’m grateful to you. You’ve been the instrument through which something greater than both you and me has manifested itself and made me see clearly what is expected of me. Thank you for leaving me, Pussikins! Thank you for marrying Juan! In the monastery I’ll always pray for you both to be happy.
(
He returns to his place of work.
)
JUAN: (
To
KATHIE) Of course I haven’t read them! (
Regrets having lied.
) All right, yes, I read them. What romantic letters, Kathie! You were very much in love with Victor, weren’t you? And I never even suspected it. I never suspected you were so romantic either. The things you wrote, Pussikins!
(
He smiles and seems to forget about
KATHIE.
He crouches down, poised, giving the impression that at any moment he might start to surf
.)
KATHIE: (
Lost in thought
) Johnny darling, Johnny darling … What a clown you turned out to be!
SANTIAGO: (
Without looking at
KATHIE,
lost in his own thoughts
) Well, with a name like Johnny darling, he doesn’t exactly sound like a very serious man.
KATHIE: (
Glancing at
SANTIAGO,
who remains absorbed in his fantasy world
) It would be such a relief if I could talk to you about my disastrous marriage, Mark Griffin.
SANTIAGO: Tell me about it, Kathie. That’s what I’m here for – in this little Parisian attic. It’s part of my job. Well, what were the problems? Did Johnny darling treat you badly?
KATHIE: I didn’t quite realize it then. I do now, though. I felt … let down. One, two, maybe three years had gone by since we’d got married and life had become very tedious. Could this really be what marriage was like – this dull routine? Was this what I’d got married for?
SANTIAGO: What did your husband do?
KATHIE: He used to go to the Waikiki.
SANTIAGO: That surfers’ club, on Miraflores beach?
KATHIE: Every day, winter and summer. It was the main occupation of his life.
JUAN: (
Youthful, athletic, carefree, looking towards the horizon
) I like it, and why shouldn’t I? I’m young, I want to enjoy life.
KATHIE: (
Absorbed in her thoughts
) But, Johnny darling, Hawaiian surfing isn’t the only way of enjoying life. Don’t you get tired of being in the sea all day? You’ll soon start growing scales.
JUAN: (
Looking straight ahead
) I like it more every day. And I’ll keep on doing more of it. Till either I’m dead — or I’m so old I can’t ride waves any more.
(SANTIAGO
finally looks at
JUAN;
it is as if he were creating him with his look
.)
SANTIAGO: Did he really devote his life to riding waves? Didn’t he feel ashamed?
(
As he surfs,
JUAN
keeps his balance by paddling with his hands, and by leaning from side to side to steady himself as the waves tug him along tossing him up and down.
)
JUAN: Ashamed? Quite the reverse. It makes me feel proud, I
like it, it makes me happy. Why should I be ashamed? What’s wrong with surfing? I’ve surfed all over the world – in Miraflores, Hawaii, Australia, Indonesia, South Africa. What’s wrong with that? It’s the most fantastic thing there is! I enter the water slowly, smoothly, gliding along, teasing the waves, outwitting the waves, then suddenly I dive, I slice through them, I cut across them, harnessing them, taming them, on, on I go, further and further, pulled by the undertow right up to the rollers after they’ve broken. I get on to my board, and like a jockey on the starting line, I size them up, getting their measure, calculating, guessing. Which of these little crinkles will grow and grow and become the best wave to ride? That one! That one there! I can hardly wait. It’s thrilling. My muscles tingle! My heart pounds! Pum, pum, pum. There’s not a second to lose, Johnny! I get into position, I wait poised, now, I slap the water, and we’re away, it’s got me, it tows me along, I caught it just at the very moment before it broke, I jump, I stand on the board, I stretch up, crouch, stretch up again, it’s all in the hips now, it’s all balance, experience, stamina, a battle of wits. No, little wave, you won’t knock me over! I’ve ridden waves which could topple a skyscraper, I’ve tunnelled under waves as sheer as cataracts, like gaping caverns, like soaring mountains, I’ve ridden waves which, had I lost my balance, would have smashed me to pieces, torn me limb from limb, pulverized me. I’ve ridden waves through jagged coral reefs, in seas infested with marauding sharks. I’ve nearly been drowned a hundred times, nearly been deafened, paralysed, maimed. I’ve won championships on four continents and if I haven’t won any in Europe it’s because the waves in Europe are lousy for surfing. Why should I be ashamed of myself?
KATHIE: (
Still immersed in her dreams
) What do you spend all these hours thinking about, sitting there on your surfboard, in the middle of the sea?
JUAN: (
Scanning the horizon, the seascape
) How large will the
next wave be? Will I get on to it? Will I miss it? Will it knock me over? Will it carry me safely to the shore?
SANTIAGO: Do you ever think of anything other than waves?
JUAN: Sometimes, when it’s a flat calm, I think about the last little woman I fancied. The one I met yesterday, or the day before, or even this morning. Will she be easy? Will she be difficult? Will we make love? Will it be the first or the second time of asking? Will I have to work on her, delicately, skilfully? Will it take a long time? When and where will it happen? What will it be like? (
Becoming ashamed, like a child interrupted doing something naughty
) Sometimes, I get so excited, I have to think of rhombuses, cubes, triangles and parallelograms to calm myself down.
KATHIE: Of course, you even used to make love to the surfboard. I’m not surprised. And when you’re on the top of the wave, flapping your arms about like a ragdoll, what do you think about?
JUAN: Will they be watching me from the terrace of the Waikiki? Will the bathers see me from the swimming pool or the beach? And what about the motorists on the Embankment? Will they be looking? Will they be praising me? Will they be envious?
SANTIAGO: And what do you feel?
JUAN: I feel that I’m growing, that I’m handsome and virile, that I’m a real man. I feel like a god. What’s wrong with that?
KATHIE: Does it make any difference to you if I’m the one who’s watching you, if I’m the one who’s admiring you?
JUAN: It did, before we got married, yes. It doesn’t now, though. It’s funny, but now you’re my wife and it’s your duty to admire me, I only seem to do it for those other women – beautiful women I’ve just got to know, or known for a bit, or haven’t yet met.
SANTIAGO: (
Lost in thought
) Did it never enter your head it might be a crime to waste your time like this, when there are so many creative, productive things to be done in life?
JUAN: (
Fighting the waves
) Of course it never entered my head. Nothing quite so daft ever would. Do I do anyone any
harm with my surfing? And if I stop, is that going to solve anyone’s problem? Is going to the bank any more creative and productive than a good day’s surfing, or making love to a woman?
KATHIE: (
Distressed by her memories
) Was this how my married life was going to be? Watching Johnny darling riding waves and being unfaithful to me?
SANTIAGO: (
Thoughtfully
) The real middle classes were even more bourgeois than the pamphlets made them out to be; we used to hate them on principle or on ideological grounds. I didn’t deceive you there, Anita.
(ANA
approaches
SANTIAGO,
who seems not to see her
. KATHIE
continues with her reminiscences.
)
KATHIE: Going to bed late, getting up late. Are you going to the bank today, Johnny?
JUAN: For a short while, yes, just to keep up appearances. But what do you say to meeting at the Waikiki at around one, OK?
KATHIE: Those damned waves, those damned surfboards, those damned championships, and those damned trips to Hawaii. It was all so excruciatingly boring, staying in hotels with synthetic lawns and plastic palm trees. And having to watch them all, indulge them, fête them, flatter them, compliment them, and then there was the tittle-tattle, whose wife’s sleeping with whose husband, which couples have come together, fallen out, made it up again and finally fallen out for good. Getting ready for drinks, dinner, Hawaiian parties, hen parties, always waiting for the big surprise. Going to the hairdresser, wearing new outfits, having one’s nails manicured. Same thing tomorrow and the day after. Is this what it’s going to be like for the rest of your life, Kathie?
SANTIAGO: (
In a brusque, aggressive and sarcastic tone of voice
) Stuff and nonsense. I know very well what the real problem is, and so do you, Kathie Kennety. But you’re ashamed to admit it.
KATHIE: (
Without seeing him or hearing him
) Things will be different when you have children, Kathie. Looking after
them, bringing them up, watching them grow, that will give your marriage meaning. Stuff and nonsense! They didn’t change a thing, they didn’t fill the vacuum. Now, instead of going to the Waikiki alone, you go with Alexandra, and sometimes with Alexandra and little Johnny too. Now instead of getting bored alone, you get bored
en famille.
Is this what marriage is all about? Is this what motherhood is all about? Is this what you dreamt of, yearned for, throughout your schooldays? Just to go through life watching some poor imbecile prancing about between the waves on a piece of balsa wood?
SANTIAGO: Stuff and nonsense! Pure fiction! Shall I tell you the truth of the matter? Kathie Kennety was getting bored because her sublime surf-rider was ignoring her, leaving her alone every night, unattended and uninterfered with. That surfer wasn’t exactly Victor Hugo, was he, Adèle? What with all those waves, he’d completely lost his sexual appetite.