AGUSTIN: Of course not, old son, don’t worry. I won’t breathe a word, if you don’t want me to. What is it?
BELISARIO: I don’t want to be a lawyer, Uncle. I loathe all those statutes, and regulations, this law and that law – I loathe all those things we’re made to learn at the faculty. I memorize them for the exams, but then I forget them again immediately. They just go in one ear and out the other. I promise you. And I couldn’t be a diplomat either, Uncle. I’m sorry, I know it’ll come as a disappointment to Mother – and to you, not to mention Grandma and Grandpa. But I can’t help it, Uncle, I’m just not cut out for that kind of thing. There’s something else. I haven’t told anyone about it yet.
AGUSTIN: And what do you think you are cut out for, Belisario?
BELISARIO: I want to be a poet, Uncle.
AGUSTIN: (
Laughs.
) I’m not laughing at you, old son, don’t be cross. I’m laughing at myself. I thought you were going to tell me you were a nancy boy. Or that you wanted to go into the priesthood. But a poet, that’s altogether less serious. (
Goes back towards the dining room and addresses
AMELIA.) We must face facts, Amelia, Belisario isn’t going to pull us out of the mire. Why don’t you do as I suggested and send the boy out to work for once in his life?
(BELISARIO
has gone back to the desk and listens to them from there.
)
AMELIA: If things were different, I wouldn’t mind him doing whatever he wanted to do. But he’s going to die of starvation, Agustín, just like the rest of us. Only he’ll be worse off still. A poet, indeed! What sort of a profession is that, I ask you. And I had such high hopes for him. His father would shoot himself all over again, if he knew his only son was turning out to be a poet.
(BELISARIO,
exultant, laughs and mimes shooting himself.
)
MAMAE: Poet? Are you talking about Federico Barreto? Don’t let Uncle Menelao hear you. He won’t even let his name be mentioned in the house, not since he wrote me that poem.
(MAMAE
smiles at them all, as if they were strangers, bowing politely.
BELISARIO,
leaving his desk, has placed his hands on either side of his forehead so they look like two horns. He starts to charge about, cannoning into the furniture and other objects in the room, including his grandparents, his mother and his two uncles
.)
GRANDMOTHER: Why are you so surprised he wants to be a poet? He takes after his great-grandfather. Pedro’s father used to write poetry. And Belisario has always been fairly fanciful, ever since he was so high. Don’t you remember in Bolivia with the little nanny goat?
BELISARIO: It’s the devil, Grandma. I swear it is. It’s on the picture cards, in the Catechism – Brother Leoncio said that he appears in the form of a black billy goat. (
Swearing and kissing his fingers in the form of a cross
) You’ve got to believe me, Grandma!
AMELIA: But it’s not a billy goat, it’s only a little nanny goat, dear.
GRANDMOTHER: Besides, it’s a present from your grandpa, for Independence Day. Do you really think your grandfather would send us a present of the devil?
BELISARIO: (
Snivelling
) It’s Beelzebub, Grandma! It is, it is! You’ve got to believe me! I swear it is! I did the holy-water
test on him. I poured it all over him and he took fright, I promise you.
AGUSTIN: I expect the water wasn’t properly blessed, old son. (BELISARIO
goes over to Mamaé’s armchair, weeping.
)
MAMAE: Don’t make fun of him, poor little man. I’m listening to you, my precious, come over here.
BELISARIO: (
Affectionately cuddling an imaginary
MAMAE) If only you knew, Mamaé, I still have nightmares about the little nanny goat from Bolivia. She seemed so big. How scared you were of her, Belisario. A billy goat, the devil. Is that what you call a love story?
AMELIA: Why are you so quiet, Papa? Are you feeling ill? Papa, Papa!
GRANDFATHER: (
His head in his hands
) Just a little dizziness, my dear. In my thingumajig. I keep getting it in my thingumajig.
(GRANDMOTHER, CESAR, AGUSTIN,
and
AMELIA
in a great state of alarm all throng round
GRANDFATHER
who has half fainted.
)
CESAR: We must call a doctor! Quick!
AGUSTIN: Wait. Let’s take him to his bedroom first. (
Amid cries of anxiety, all four of them carry
GRANDFATHER
to the inner part of the house
. MAMAE
looks on without moving
.)
MAMAE: (
Looking up to heaven
) Was it because of the Indian woman? Was it because of that youthful little misdemeanour?
(
She gets up with great difficulty. She takes hold of the little wooden chair she uses as a walking aid and, grasping the back, starts out on the slow awkward journey back to her armchair.
BELISARIO,
very serious and resolute now, is waiting for her at the foot of the armchair in the position he habitually adopts for listening to the stories.
)
BELISARIO: Having got so far, I simply have to know now, Mamaé. What was that little misdemeanour?
MAMAE: (
Moving slowly back towards her armchair with some difficulty
) Something dreadful that happened to the young lady, my little one. It was the only time in her entire life. All because of that letter. Because of that wicked woman.
(
Stops to gather strength
.) Poor young lady! They caused her to sin in her thoughts!
BELISARIO: What letter, Mamaé? Tell me the whole story from the beginning.
MAMAE: A letter the gentleman wrote to his wife. His wife was an intimate friend of the young lady from Tacna. They lived together because they were so very fond of each other. They were almost like sisters and that’s why, when her friend got married, she took the young lady in to live with her.
BELISARIO: In Arequipa?
(MAMAE
has finally reached her armchair and lets herself fall into it
. BELISARIO
rests his head on her knees.
)
MAMAE: Times were good. It looked as though there was going to be a bumper cotton harvest that year and that the gentleman was going to earn a lot of money and buy a plantation of his own. Because, at that time, the gentleman managed other people’s land.
BELISARIO: The plantation in Camaná, the one that belonged to the Saíds. I know all that already. But what about the letter, Mamaé, what about the Indian woman?
(GRANDFATHER
appears at the back of the stage. He sits down. Enter
SEÑORA CARLOTA,
with a broom and a feather duster. She is dressed as in the first act, only here she appears to be carrying out the duties of a servant girl. As she sweeps and dusts, she moves back and forth in front of
GRANDFATHER,
suggestively.
GRANDFATHER,
despite himself
,
starts to follow her with his gaze
.)
MAMAE: Camaná was in the back of beyond. A little village without roads or even a church. The gentleman wouldn’t allow his wife to bury herself in a wasteland like that. So he left her in Arequipa, with the young lady, so she could have some sort of social life. He had to spend months away from his family. But he was a very good man; he had always treated the labourers and servants at the plantation with the utmost consideration. Until one day …
GRANDFATHER: (
Reciting
) ‘My beloved wife, my treasure: I write to you, my soul worn to tatters with remorse. On
our wedding night we made an oath of undying love and fidelity. We swore we’d be totally frank with each other. These last five years, I’ve kept scrupulously to that oath, as I know you have too, you saint among saints.’
(SEÑORA CARLOTA,
emboldened by the looks
GRANDFATHER
is giving her, takes off her blouse, as if it were very hot. The brassière she is wearing underneath barely covers her breasts.
)
BELISARIO: (
With restrained anguish
) Was it a letter the gentleman wrote to the young lady?
MAMAE: No, to his wife. The letter arrived in Arequipa, and when the gentleman’s wife read it, she turned as white as snow. The young lady had to give her valerian drops and sponge her brow. Then the gentleman’s wife shut herself up in her room and the young lady heard her weeping with sighs that rent the soul. Her curiosity was too great for her. So that afternoon, she searched the room. And do you know where the letter was? It was hidden inside a hat. Because the gentleman’s wife loved hats. And, unluckily for her, the young lady read it.
(GRANDFATHER
stretches out his hand and takes hold of
SEÑORA CARLOTA,
as she brushes past him. She pretends to be surprised and get annoyed, but after a brief, silent struggle, she gives in to him.
GRANDFATHER
sits her on his knees
,
caresses her, as he continues to recite the letter.
)
GRANDFATHER: ‘I’d sooner cause you pain than lie to you, my love. I could never live at peace in the knowledge that I’d deceived you. Yesterday, for the first time in five years, I was unfaithful to you. Forgive me, I beg you, on my bended knee. It was too strong for me. I was overwhelmed by an emotion which swept away all my principles, all my vows, like a hurricane rooting up everything in its path. I have decided to tell you this, although you may curse me. Your absence is to blame. Dreaming of you at night, here in Camaná, has been nothing but a torture to me, and still is. My blood starts to race at the very thought of you. I’m beset by notions of abandoning everything, jumping on my horse and galloping to Arequipa, to your
side, where I can hold your beautiful body in my arms again, and carry you to the bedroom …’
(
His voice slowly fades away.
)
MAMAE: The young lady suddenly felt as if everything was starting to go round. The bathroom, where she was reading the letter, seemed to be turning into an enormous top that spun round and round – the house, Arequipa, the whole world became a giant wheel off which the young lady was falling, falling … as if from a precipice. She thought her heart and her head were going to burst. And her face was burning with shame.
BELISARIO: (
Very seriously
) Did she feel ashamed because she’d read about the gentleman beating a servant girl?
(GRANDFATHER
and
SEÑORA CARLOTA
have now slid on to the floor.
)
MAMAE: (
Shaking
) Yes, she did, very. She couldn’t imagine how the gentleman could so much as lay a finger on a woman. Not even a perverse Indian.
BELISARIO: (
Very moved
) Had she never read any novels in which men beat women?
MAMAE: She was a well brought-up young lady and there were certain things she did not read, my little one. But this was worse than reading about them in a book, because she knew the author of the letter. She read it over and over again, but still she couldn’t believe that the gentleman would have done such a thing.
GRANDFATHER: ‘Her name is not important. She was beneath contempt, one of those Indians who clean out hostels, a mere animal, an object almost. I wasn’t blinded by her charms, Carmen. It was you, the memory of you, your charms, your body – that was the reason for my nostalgia. Thinking about you, longing for you, that was what made me give in to such madness and make love to the Indian woman. On the floor, like a beast. Yes, you must know everything.’
BELISARIO: (
Also trembling, now pronouncing the words as if they were burning him
) So the gentleman’s wife went as white as snow, all because of a few lashes he happened to give
the servant. Is that why the young lady felt the world was coming to an end? You’re not hiding anything from me, are you? The gentleman didn’t by any chance go too far, did he, and do the Indian woman in, Mamaé?
MAMAE: Suddenly, the young lady started to feel something else. Something worse than dizziness. Her whole body started to shake and she had to sit down on the bath. The letter was so very explicit that she felt as if she were receiving the thrashing that the gentleman gave the wicked woman.
GRANDFATHER: ‘And there in my arms, the little whelp lay whimpering with pleasure. But it wasn’t her I was making love to. It was you, my angel. Because I had my eyes closed, it was you I was seeing – and it wasn’t her smell, it was yours, that sweet rose-scented fragrance of your skin which intoxicated me so …’
BELISARIO: But in what way did that letter make the young lady sin in her thoughts, Mamaé?
MAMAE: (
Distraught
) She imagined that instead of thrashing Señora Carlota, the gentleman was thrashing her.
GRANDFATHER: ‘When it was all over and I opened my eyes, it wasn’t you I was looking at with your drowsy blue eyes, but that unfamiliar face with its coarse strange features … That was my punishment. Forgive me, forgive me, I know I’ve been weak, but it was all because of you, thinking about you, wanting you, that I finally failed you.
BELISARIO: So the young lady imagined that the gentleman was thrashing her. Where’s the sin in that? That wasn’t a sin, Mamaé. That was plain stupidity. And anyway, which Senora Carlota are you talking about? I thought she was the wicked woman from Tacna?