Yo también hablo de la rosa - Out of the Wings

Context:

This is the first appearance of the teenagers TOÑA and POLO and leads up to the act of pushing the barrel onto the train tracks.

Sample text

A street, public telephone. Polo is standing on a box, trying to delicately extract the coin inside the pay-phone with a bit of wire. Toña makes sure no-one is coming.

TOÑA: (Impatiently.) Hurry up someone’s coming. Hold on, hold on! An old guy’s heading over to make a call! He’s looking up a number in a little book.

Polo jumps out of the phone box, stands next to the girl. A man enters and goes to use the telephone. He enters the booth. The kids look at each other.

TOÑA: That phone doesn’t work. It’s out of order.

The man was going to feed in the coin. He stops. Looks at the kids.

MAN: Out of order?

POLO Y TOÑA: Yes.

He hangs up. Leaves. Polo returns to his task, Toña to keeping watch. He manages at last to get the coin out of the phone. They look at it, pleased.

TOÑA: What shall we buy?

POLO: Fried plantain?

TOÑA: Sweets! Sweets are better.

POLO: OK.

TOÑA: There’s another phone on the road.

POLO: Too many people around. They’ll see me.

TOÑA: There’s no one around at night.

POLO: We’ll see. Let’s go spend it.

They walk towards a sweet-seller who approaches with his tray.

POLO: How much are the sweets?

SWEET-SELLER: Five, ten and twenty.

POLO: Let’s have two of the fives.

TOÑA: Toss a coin for them.

POLO: You want to flip?

SWEET-SELLER: How much?

TOÑA: Twenty!

POLO: (Hesitant.) Better to do it for ten, no?

SWEET-SELLER: Don’t back out on me! For twenty. Right, here we go!

TOÑA: Heads!

SWEET-SELLER: Tails.

They look at it. The sweet-seller pockets the money and goes. Silence. Toña and Polo walk.

TOÑA: It’s just that I thought that...well, you could have won it. If you’d been the one flipping

Silence. They walk, kicking stuff around.

TOÑA: Play again.

POLO: With what?

TOÑA: I’ve got my bus fare on me.

POLO: Then how’ll you pay for the bus?

TOÑA: Well ... you’ll win, won’t you?

POLO: Yeah, easy.

TOÑA: But you flip it. Take it.

POLO: Hey! Hey! Let’s have another game.

The sweet-seller comes back.

TOÑA: Play again?

POLO: I’ll toss.

SWEET-SELLER: For how much?

TOÑA: For twenty.

POLO: For twenty. Flip it.

SWEET-SELLER: Tails. (They look at it.) Heads. (He takes back the coin.)

TOÑA: Let me flip it. Here. Tails! (They look.) I won!

SWEET-SELLER: You can’t call if you flip. Flip it again.

TOÑA: Oh, right, is that so? Because I won, it doesn’t count.

POLO: She’s just a girl. She doesn’t understand.

TOÑA: So what? I won!

SWEET-SELLER: Go on then. What you do want?

TOÑA: Two lots of ten. (They take the sweets.)

SWEET-SELLER: Let’s flip again.

They look at each other.

POLO: Flip for twenty. (He throws it.)

SWEET-SELLER: Heads. (They look.) Heads. And again?

They shake their heads. He takes the coin and leaves.

TOÑA: Why did you flip again? We’d already won but now you’ve got yourself hooked. I’ve already used my bus money. And it’s really late. How am I going to get to school now?

They eat.

TOÑA: To tell the truth... I haven’t done my homework anyway. (She cleans her hands on her dress.) Aren’t you going to school?

POLO: I don’t have shoes. Can’t buy any until the week after next.

TOÑA: So go as you are.

POLO: The teacher checks our shoes are polished as we go in. What am I going to do, polish my feet?

TOÑA: I’ve got twenty left. Shall we buy jícama?

POLO: OK.

Now there is an old woman selling jícama.

POLO: Two for five.

VIEJA: They’re ten each.

TOÑA: That’s so expensive. And they’re tiny. Two for fifteen, right?

VIEJA: Go on then.

TOÑA: With chilli.

She prepares them, hands them over, they pay and eat.

POLO: We’ve got five left.

TOÑA: Save it for later.

They get to the telephone box.

POLO: (Sudden bright idea) Someone must have made a call.

He goes inside the phone box, lifts the receiver, hangs up again; a twenty falls down. He takes it out astonished.

POLO: It came out all on its own! A twenty just dropped down! Look, a twenty! I lifted it up and it came out!

Toña runs in and lifts the up handset, thumps the telephone, shakes it, dials, wiggles the phone hook, very hurriedly and with a lot of violence. She hangs up.

TOÑA: That’s it.

POLO: Here comes Maximino. Hi, how’s it going?

MAXIMINO: What’s up?

TOÑA: We found twenty in the phone box. He just picked up the phone and out it came.

POLO: And I got another one out with wire.

MAXIMINO: Keep up the good work until they catch you.

TOÑA: What would they do?

MAXIMINO: Put you away for five years, or more.

TOÑA: Just for that. Twenty cents?

MAXIMINO: Of course.

TOÑA: Just for keeping watch?

MAXIMINO: Accomplice. Four years.

Brief uncomfortable silence.

POLO: And your motorbike?

TOÑA: (She drapes herself against his arm.) Take us for a spin.

MAXIMINO: It’s screwed.

POLO: What happened to it?

MAXIMINO: I ran it too long without oil, it packed up and the pedal got stuck.

Toña laughs.

MAXIMINO: Look at it. What’s so funny?

TOÑA: What’s wrong with the pedal, it’s the wheel that’s the problem.

POLO: No, you fool, it’s the pedal that starts it up.

TOÑA: Yeah right, because you know it all.

POLO: You going to fix it yourself?

MAXIMINO: No, at the garage. It’s got to be fixed properly.

TOÑA: The bike’s screwed, that’s the problem.

POLO: You’re talking crap. You don’t know anything about anything.

TOÑA: And of course you do! Next you’ll be saying it’s a great bike when it’s fit for the scrap yard.

MAXIMINO: (With pride.) No less than two hundred and fifty cubic centimetres per cylinder and sixteen horsepower, I’ll have you know.

TOÑA: What about it?

MAXIMINO: It means it’s very good, that’s what.

TOÑA: (Convinced.) Oh? It looked pretty old to me.

MAXIMINO: What are you two up to now anyway? Didn’t you go to school?

POLO: I’m shoeless and she’s spent her bus fare.

TOÑA: He spent it, gambled it away flipping a coin.

POLO: What a fat liar. She was the one who wanted to flip.

MAXIMINO: I’ll give you your bus fare.

TOÑA: All the same…I haven’t done my homework. It’d be better if you wrote me a sick note. Will you do that for me?

MAXIMINO: Alright. What shall I say?

TOÑA: I’ll dictate it to you later.

MAXIMINO: And where are you going to hide out all morning?

POLO: Don’t know. Come on you, let’s go down to the highway.

TOÑA: All that’s there is a rubbish dump.

POLO: We might find some stuff. And we can watch the train go by.

TOÑA: What have you got there? Let me see.

Maximino’s wallet, which he has in his back pocket.

POLO: Hey, don’t grope him.

TOÑA: Let’s see.

She takes out the wallet and sits down to see what’s inside. Max and Polo watch her, with masculine patience.

TOÑA: Wow, you look really hot in this picture! Let’s have it.

MAXIMINO: Yeah, it broke the camera. What do you want it for?

TOÑA: Because. Give it to me.

MAXIMINO: No, I’ll need it sometime and I won’t have it.

TOÑA: If you give it to me…I’ll put it on my mirror, in my bedroom.

POLO: She’s going to show it off and say that you’re her boyfriend.

TOÑA: No I won’t, why do you care anyway? Give it to me.

MAXIMINO: Okay. Have it.

TOÑA: But write something on it, go on.

Maximino thinks. He sits down and writes painstakingly. Stands. Thinks again. Writes. He signs it with a great flourish which hardly fits on the small piece of card. A little bashfully, he gives it to the girl.

TOÑA: (Reads.) ‘For my dear friend, Toña. With sincere appreciation from your friend Maximino González.’ I’m going to put it on my mirror, in my bedroom.

POLO: Friend has an ‘i’ before the ‘e’.

TOÑA: Oh yeah, you know it all, that’s why you’re still in year five. Let’s see what else you’ve got. Are these your Mum and Dad?

MAXIMINO: Yes

TOÑA: So they’re your folks. Who’s this?

MAXIMINO: My girlfriend.

TOÑA: This ugly bird? And she’s cross-eyed.

MAXIMINO: You’re the one who’s cross-eyed.

He snatches the wallet and puts it away.

TOÑA: She is cross-eyed. One eye points to the South, the other to the North.

Maximino takes out his wallet, looks at the photo. Then he shows it to her.

MAXIMINO: Look. How can you say she’s cross-eyed. You wish!

TOÑA: She’s cross-eyed.

MAXIMINO: See you around.

TOÑA: I’m kidding, she’s not cross-eyed, don’t go.

MAXIMINO: I have to go to work now. It’s late.

POLO: Go on then.

MAXIMINO: See you around. (Makes to leave.) Are you sure you don’t want your bus fare?

TOÑA: I didn’t do my homework. (Maximino goes to leave. She says:) Hey, when I get my picture taken, I’ll give you one, but put it in your wallet, OK?

MAXIMINO: OK. (Exits)

TOÑA: Say hello to old cross-eyes for me. (She laughs.)

POLO: Is she really crossed-eyed?

TOÑA: Yes…well, no. (Looks at the photo). I’m going to put it on my mirror.

POLO: Maximino’s such a cool guy. (They leave.)

The lights go down on them, then come up on the dump. It is a carpet of rubbish. But all around are plants and branches. Down below are the train tracks. Daylight, bright sun. The scavengers collect papers, the odd unbroken bottle, saving some things and discarding others. One woman lets out a small cry and looks at her foot; she sees a shard of glass which has cut her. She mutters something. Exits limping.

A man watches her go, then continues with his work. He kneels amidst the rubbish; discovers a shoe, examines it, leaves it behind. Toña and Polo come along the highway, which is upstage, balancing along the railroad tracks. The scavenger man goes to leave, collecting the things which are of some use to him as he goes. He sees the kids and addresses them.

SCAVENGER: (Voice hoarse with drink.) Young man, you couldn’t spare a five, could you?

POLO: No, I couldn’t.

SCAVENGER: To cure me. I’m in a bad way.

Polo shakes his head. The scavenger goes to leave.

TOÑA: Sir! Come on Polo, give it to him. Sir, come back.

Polo makes a face. He gives him the money.

SCAVENGER: (So confused that he almost doesn’t understand.) God bless you. (Exits)

TOÑA: Did you give him everything?

POLO: Well, yes.

TOÑA: He asked for five! God, what an idiot!

POLO: But you’re the one who told me to give it to him!

TOÑA: But not all of it. He just asked for five.

POLO: You’re nuts and you’re stupid.

TOÑA: Nothing to do about it now. It smells so rank here.

POLO: Of rubbish.

TOÑA: Of … weeds. Yes, of really strong weeds. Those weeds. And they smell of … There are so many flies. There’s got to be a dead animal around.

She starts singing at the top of her voice and dancing to some kind of orchestral accompaniment.

POLO: You’re mad, you are.

TOÑA: Don’t you know how to dance? My sister taught me this, look. (She performs a step, singing.) Don’t you know it?

POLO: Yes. (Dances for a moment with her, then pulls away. Leaves her dancing.) This is for an engine!

He takes out an unidentifiable piece of steel from the rubbish, he turns it about uncertainly in his hands.

TOÑA: What’s it for?

POLO: For an engine. I’m going to take it for Maximino. (He puts it to one side.)

TOÑA: I’m going to pick a bunch of flowers.

She starts to pick tiny flowers. Screams.

POLO: What’s wrong?

TOÑA: It pricked me. It’s got thorns. Ouch, holy mother, ow, ow, ow. (Sucks her finger, truculent.) Look: it’s drawn blood.

She sings and dances a new step. Picks flowers.

POLO: Yesterday I went to see The Masked Avenger Against the Monsters.

TOÑA: On Sunday I went to see The House of Black Shadow. It scared me so much that I cried out in the night, because I was dreaming stuff.

POLO: What stuff?

TOÑA: God knows. Really ugly things. Those are wasps. There are loads. And they sting.

POLO: They only sting if you’re afraid of them.

He balances along the rail track.

POLO: There are some people who can walk on wire, high up; they carry a stick to balance themselves and walk. Is that possible?

TOÑA: Yes. You see them in the cinema.

POLO: But then it’s all special effects.

TOÑA: I saw a woman who stands on a horse and then with just one foot, like this, and the horse runs around. I saw it. In the circus.

POLO: When did you go?

TOÑA: One time. My Dad took me.

POLO: But didn’t your Dad die?

TOÑA: Well, yes, but before that he took me to the circus. He was a really good guy, my Dad. There was a bear on a bike as well.

POLO: What’s so great about riding a bike?

TOÑA: Well it’s pretty hard work for the bear. Look at the flowers I’ve picked.

POLO: Hardly any.

TOÑA: I’ll pick more later, I don’t want to get stung by the wasps. Look! This can is good for a plant pot. For a pretty big plant.

It’s a round metal barrel lying on its side, it’s a pretty substantial size. She goes to lift it but she can’t.

TOÑA: Wow, that’s heavy.

POLO: Just a bit. (He cheers her on sarcastically.) You can’t lift it.

Tries, but he can’t either. Tries again, can’t. He practically gets on top of it, without being able to lift it. She laughs so much that the flowers fall out of her hands. She gathers them up still laughing.

POLO: Now what? What’s going on with this thing?

This has frightened him a little. Toña is serious now. She notes something unreal in the weight of the thing.

TOÑA: Can’t you lift it?

POLO: (Worried.) No.

Toña gasps. She backs away from it clutching her flowers against her chest.

TOÑA: It’s very strange that it weighs so much.

POLO: Chicken! (Backs away from the tub. Silence.) Let’s see what it’s got inside.

TOÑA: You better leave it.

POLO: (He walks around it cautiously.) Why would it weigh so much? It’s full of cement!

TOÑA: Really? Why?

POLO: It must be one of those things bricklayers use for … stuff. Look, it’s full of cement.

TOÑA: So, that’s what it was. (Looks.) Yes. It is full of cement. It’s no good as a plant pot.

She starts singing and doing a dance routine. Then she puts a few little flowers in her hair.

TOÑA: Hey, how do I look?

POLO: (Rolls the barrel with his foot.) You can roll it. Come on, help me.

TOÑA: Hang on. (She puts more flowers in her hair). OK, let’s do it.

She helps him and they roll the tub.

TOÑA: Where are we taking it?

POLO: To the other side of the tracks. (They roll backstage.) It’s more difficult if we go that way.

They roll the tub in the most difficult direction: backstage, to the left. The sound of a train whistle is heard.

TOÑA: Hurry, there’s the train coming.

They hurry. They’re on the highest part of ground. We hear the sound of the train whistle. They look on.

POLO & TOÑA: It’s going to end up on the tracks!

The idea provokes a nervous and gleeful laughter in them both. They push. The tub is heavy and there are obstacles on the ground, it wants to roll backwards. They keep pushing. The whistle sounds, nearer now. They push the tub and exit. A series of whistles. The train arrives. The light dims. The screech of a derailment is heard. Darkness. Flashes which illuminate the teenagers’ faces in the same position, watching fascinated.

Darkness

Copyright

Creative Commons Licence I Too Speak of the Rose by Gwen MacKeith is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Context:

This is the intermediary's third appearance in the play.

Sample text

The Intermediary enters, with even whiter clothes. Her story will be illustrated by two dancers

THE INTERMEDIARY:

I’m going to tell the story of the two who dreamed. They were two good men, full of faith, one of them lived in the village of Chalma, famous in all parts for its shrine, the other lived in the village of Chalco, famous in all parts for its shrine. Another version tells us that these two were brothers. Another adds that they were twins, and extraordinarily similar. In another it’s said that, quite simply, they were friends. And it came to pass that they dreamed. The same night, at the same time, each of them in their village: dreamed. And this was the dream they dreamt: an incredible figure, glowing, full of miraculous signs, warned each one of them: ‘You must go immediately to the village where your friend lives, your brother. You must be with him before three days are out and the two of you together must perform an offering of dance and prayers, there in the great shrine beside which he lives’. Kneeling before her, they agreed in the dream. And the figure repeated with great emphasis: ‘Before three days are out, no later. And the two of you together, not each one on his own, and there in the great shrine beside which he lives’. They woke startled and told the dream to their wives. And as they spoke, they seemed to hear, still, the sound of small clay bells and an unrelenting river cane flute. Both left their villages, one from Chalma on the way to Chalco, the other from Chalco on the way to Chalma, to tell the other the news and perform this offering which was miraculously requested of them. After about a day of walking, they bumped into each other at exactly the halfway point. And they told each other their two dreams, which were the same, like the image of two contradictory mirrors. Then they couldn’t decide which village to go together to: to Chalma or to Chalco? They tossed a coin and lost it as it fell in a crack in the ground. ‘It’s a sign’, they said, and right there they set up camp in order to await another sign, or another dream.

They ate, they slept, they woke and the three days passed. The sign didn’t arrive. The terror of the contradictory miracle was growing in them and the sign didn’t come. For a start, there wasn’t time to go to both the shrines. And there wasn’t time yet now to go to either of them. The sign didn’t arrive and in the end they decided to perform the offering right there. The place was rocky and overgrown: they cleared it with their machetes, removing the rocks together, until they cleaned a patch of ground the dimensions of an extremely small church. Night had fallen and a cool and dusty breeze dried the sweat on their bodies. They took a few swigs of mescal, then they danced and prayed, they danced the complicated rhythmic steps their parents had bequeathed them, saying the prayers learnt in childhood, two tired and dirty men, adorned with feathers and mirrors, they danced and prayed in the nocturnal ambiguity of that mountain with no reply, under the shower of pollen which gushed from the half open flowers of the goldenrod. Then three days were up and they could no longer perform the whims of that arbitrary being who was speaking to them in their dreams. They bid each other goodbye, returned to their homes before the skies broke into dawn, both feeling that the intentions of Providence had only half been performed. (She starts to retreat. When she’s almost gone, she turns round.) And do you know what happened to the ground that the two men razed and cleaned to dance on?

(She falls silent. Looks at everyone. Half-smiling with malice.)

Well, that’s another story.

(She leaves quickly.)

Copyright

The above sample taken from the translation I Too Speak of the Rose by Gwendolen MacKeith is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

Context:

This is the intermediary's third appearance in the play.

Sample text

The Intermediary enters, with even whiter clothes. Her story will be illustrated by two dancers

THE INTERMEDIARY:

I’m going to tell the story of the two who dreamed. They were two good men, full of faith, one of them lived in the village of Chalma, famous in all parts for its shrine, the other lived in the village of Chalco, famous in all parts for its shrine. Another version tells us that these two were brothers. Another adds that they were twins, and extraordinarily similar. In another it’s said that, quite simply, they were friends. And it came to pass that they dreamed. The same night, at the same time, each of them in their village: dreamed. And this was the dream they dreamt: an incredible figure, glowing, full of miraculous signs, warned each one of them: ‘You must go immediately to the village where your friend lives, your brother. You must be with him before three days are out and the two of you together must perform an offering of dance and prayers, there in the great shrine beside which he lives’. Kneeling before her, they agreed in the dream. And the figure repeated with great emphasis: ‘Before three days are out, no later. And the two of you together, not each one on his own, and there in the great shrine beside which he lives’. They woke startled and told the dream to their wives. And as they spoke, they seemed to hear, still, the sound of small clay bells and an unrelenting river cane flute. Both left their villages, one from Chalma on the way to Chalco, the other from Chalco on the way to Chalma, to tell the other the news and perform this offering which was miraculously requested of them. After about a day of walking, they bumped into each other at exactly the halfway point. And they told each other their two dreams, which were the same, like the image of two contradictory mirrors. Then they couldn’t decide which village to go together to: to Chalma or to Chalco? They tossed a coin and lost it as it fell in a crack in the ground. ‘It’s a sign’, they said, and right there they set up camp in order to await another sign, or another dream.

They ate, they slept, they woke and the three days passed. The sign didn’t arrive. The terror of the contradictory miracle was growing in them and the sign didn’t come. For a start, there wasn’t time to go to both the shrines. And there wasn’t time yet now to go to either of them. The sign didn’t arrive and in the end they decided to perform the offering right there. The place was rocky and overgrown: they cleared it with their machetes, removing the rocks together, until they cleaned a patch of ground the dimensions of an extremely small church. Night had fallen and a cool and dusty breeze dried the sweat on their bodies. They took a few swigs of mescal, then they danced and prayed, they danced the complicated rhythmic steps their parents had bequeathed them, saying the prayers learnt in childhood, two tired and dirty men, adorned with feathers and mirrors, they danced and prayed in the nocturnal ambiguity of that mountain with no reply, under the shower of pollen which gushed from the half open flowers of the goldenrod. Then three days were up and they could no longer perform the whims of that arbitrary being who was speaking to them in their dreams. They bid each other goodbye, returned to their homes before the skies broke into dawn, both feeling that the intentions of Providence had only half been performed. (She starts to retreat. When she’s almost gone, she turns round.) And do you know what happened to the ground that the two men razed and cleaned to dance on?

She falls silent. Looks at everyone. Half-smiling with malice.

Well, that’s another story.

She leaves quickly.

Copyright

The above sample taken from the translation I Too Speak of the Rose by Gwendolen MacKeith is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

Out of the Wings

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Yo también hablo de la rosa (c.1965), Emilio Carballido

I Too Speak of the Rose, translated by Gwendolen MacKeith

ACT ONE

Scene I

Second half of the play

Authors, Plays & Translators