The Color of Summer: or The New Garden of Earthly Delights (4 page)

H
ALISIA
J
ALONZO
:

Go on—paddle off, you decrepit old hag,

leave me here to hold the bag,

an old, blind, crippled, washed-up prima ballerina

that can’t work up the nerve to say what’s really in her. . . .

Just then, one of the muscular midgets gives Virgilio Piñera a nudge (a shove)
so he’ll get on with his part of the act of repudiation. The poet, trembling miserably, climbs up on the wall on the Malecón and, looking seaward, quietly muses
:

V
IRGILIO
P
IÑERA
:

The dratted circumstance of water, water everywhere

exhorts you, dear friend, to flee, to fly—get out of here.

Oh, I wish that I could join you! But this double-crossing queer

(Miss Coco Salas) has been assigned to keep an eye on me, for fear

that I might try it.

So woe is me! I cannot fly! I cannot flee!

And to top it off, they say tonight

Fifo’s thugs are going to take my life.

The order’s out, the die is cast, the time is ripe.

And so—

spied upon, spat upon, and hooted,

malnourished, impoverished, barefooted,

watching you sail into the west

while I wait to greet my death,

I raise my glass in tribute to you—

We who are about to die salute you.

(Avellaneda looks back in concern, hesitates.)

No, Gertrudis, don’t look back. Forget I said that, dear—

Don’t let the dratted circumstance of water, water everywhere

get to you. Be you, be free, be all that you can be—

Flee this horrid Island! Flee!—Godspeed!

F
IFO
:
(enraged)

What’s that old faggot that I’m going to screw tonight muttering?

V
IRGILIO
P
IÑERA
:
(desperately raising his voice to a shout, and changing his tune)

Don’t go, Avellaneda—take my advice.

You’re better off here by far.

If you go North you’ll pay the price:

here, at least you’re a star.

I beg you—reconsider, dear;

the Island’s awfully nice.

Turn back now—there’ll be no harm to you;

These dwarves will open their arms to you.

(To himself)

God, how could I write such awful lines!

I can’t believe they’re really mine!

But if I don’t try as hard as I can

to lure Avellaneda back again

I’ll never see tomorrow.

But hold on!

—Didn’t Fifo put out a contract on yours truly?

That’s what I was told, so surely

I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t!

And then when I’m dead and they’ve buried me,

that horrid Olga Andreu will pray for me

and Arrufat will grab my dictionary and who knows
what
they’ll say about me—

and who knows
what
they’ll say about me—

but screw ’em all—

I’ll be vindicated by History, they’ll see!

Virgilio halfheartedly throws a little-bitty kestrel egg, but as luck would have it, it hits Avellaneda right in the eye. Avellaneda, enraged, turns like the basilisk whose glance is fatal and picks up the anchor out of the bottom of her boat and throws it at the crowd on the Malecón, killing a midget—some say a hundred-headed one.

F
IFO
:
(more enraged yet)

No more delay! Do what I say—

torpedo Avellaneda!

Brought back from the grave for this special day,

this is how she repays us!

No more mercy, no more pleas—

blast her out of the waves!

The broadest spot is the best spot to aim—

do it! Bombs away!

Be sure to shoot for the backside, boys! Death to every traitor!

A
VELLANEDA
:

No, not the backside, seat of inspiration!

Take aim at the fore!

All who read me know my slogan:

I wish all to enter through the front door.

All the participants in the act of repudiation throw rotten eggs at Avellaneda.

C
HORUS
:

No more mercy, no more pleas—

blast her out of the waves!

The backside’s the best spot to aim,

so do it! Bombs away!

A
VELLANEDA
:

If that’s the way it’s going to be,

if that’s the way they’re going to treat me,

then I’m glad I decided not to stay.

Clearly, here there’s no home for me,

so I’ll make my getaway . . .

But if I ever get my hands on that Horcayés

that brought me back from the dead,

when I get through with him he’ll need

the finest seamstress in Key West,

to sew back on his head.

Meanwhile, on my rowing let me concentrate—

I think I’m going to have to paddle with both arms and both
feet!

V
IRGILIO
P
IÑERA
:
(moving away)

Well done! Bravo! Bravo!

You’ve got
bi-i-ig
feet

and one heel’s crooked on your shoe . . .

Go—there’s nothing for you here.

Suddenly, seeing that Coco Salas is right behind him with a tape recorder, he turns toward the sea and shouts at the top of his lungs
:

V
IRGILIO
P
IÑERA
:

Where are you going, you ingrate!

Come back—we’ll forgive you! It’s not too late!

A
VELLANEDA
:
(growing farther and farther away from the Malecón and the harbor)

Ingrate! Ungrateful for
what?

That parting shot

to my vulnerable backside?

No thanks, you snot—

I’ll take my chances

in New York or Florida or Kansas.

C
HORUS
:
(standing on the wall of the Malecón)

No more mercy, no more pleas—

blast her out of the waves!

The backside’s the best spot to aim,

so do it! Bombs away!

A new barrage of rotten eggs is launched.

A
VELLANEDA
:
(now pulling into the open sea in a hail of rotten eggs)

What ineffable light, what strange happiness!

Night’s mourning is banished from the skies.

The hour’s come round, the artillery thunders;

fire, fire, fire, you murderers,

fire at this trembling bosom!

Meanwhile, back on shore, Delfín Proust arrives. After first making a quick check of himself in a portable mirror that opens like a huge fan, he makes a grand pirouette and leaps up onto the Malecón. He whirls about several times, hops like a frog, opens and closes his arms. Prancing about, he begins his poetic discourse
:

D
ELFÍN
P
ROUST
:

Where it should be you that grows

a mahogany tree spreads its wide boughs . . .

I grow old . . .

No longer am I the master of my fear and of the city;

I do as I am told.

Conquered are we all; a baleful light claims victory.

And we all grow old.

Of course, to console me there’s always this:

all that you are giving up, I can enjoy on the Hill of the Cross

where it should be you that grows.

Come back, and I’ll take you personally to Tina Parecía Mirruz.

Delfín Proust tosses a mahogany-tree seed to Avellaneda, and it falls between her breasts. Avellaneda picks out the seed, gazes upon it sadly, and throws it into the sea. Immediately she becomes animated again.

A
VELLANEDA
:

From Betis harbor

along the shore

my little ship