Three Plays: The Young Lady from Tacna, Kathie and the Hippopotamus, La Chunga Read Free Page B

daughter, treating her exactly the same as Grandmother Carmen, and when she was going to get married to the Chilean officer, you sent away to Europe for the wedding dress and trousseau. Was it Paris? Madrid? London? Where did they order your wedding dress from, Mamaé? Where was the most fashionable place? ( Writes frantically. ) I like it, Belisario, I love you, Belisario. I’m going to give you a kiss on the forehead, Belisario. ( His mind wanders. ) How rich the family was then! It’s been on the decline ever since, sliding further and further down the ladder until it finally got to you! One setback after another! ( Looks up at heaven. ) Whoever told you to marry an infantry captain, Mama? But I’m not in the least bit sorry about your misfortune, Papa. You’ve got to be pretty stupid to play Russian roulette just after you’re married! And you’ve got to be even stupider to go and kill yourself in the process! You’ve got to be pretty daft not to remarry when you’re widowed so young, Mama! Why did you pin so much hope on me? How did you all get it into your heads that by winning lawsuits I’d somehow bring fame and fortune back to the family?
    ( His voice fades in to the sound of a radio play which GRANDMOTHER is trying to listen to; she is sitting in the
living room with her ear glued to the wireless. The announcer is telling us that the daily episode of a radio serial by Pedro Camacho has just finished. The noise of a tram is heard outside. MAMAE opens her eyes, excited. BELISARIO watches her from his desk. )
    MAMAE: Carmen! Carmen! Here it comes! Quick! Come over to the window! Look, the Arica train!
    GRANDMOTHER: ( Stops listening to the wireless and looks at MAMAE, saddened yet amused ) I envy you, Mamaé, I really do. You’ve found the perfect means of escaping from all this misery that surrounds us. I’d like to go back to my childhood too, even if it were only in a dream.
    MAMAE: Aaah! My eyes! I could tear them out! I can’t even guess what anything is any more. Can you see that? Is it the Arica train? Or is it the one from Locumba?
    GRANDMOTHER: Neither. It’s the Chorrillos tram. And we’re not in Tacna, we’re in Lima. You’re not a fifteen-year-old girl any more, Elvira, you’re a doddery old woman of ninety, or thereabouts. And you’re going gaga.
    MAMAE: Do you remember the fancy-dress ball?
    GRANDMOTHER: Which one? I went to lots of fancy-dress balls when I was a girl.
    MAMAE: At the Choral Society. You remember, the one the negro sneaked in on.
    ( The sound of a party can be heard; people enjoying themselves – rhythmic dance music. Gradually the tune of an old-fashioned waltz starts to predominate. )
    GRANDMOTHER: Ah, that one. Of course, I remember. It was at that dance I met Pedro. He’d come from Arequipa to spend carnival in Tacna, with some friends. Who’d have thought I’d marry him! Yes, of course. Was that the time Federico Barreto wrote that poem on your fan? No, it wasn’t, was it? It was one of those 28th of July affairs at the Patriotic Ladies’ Society. The negro, you’re quite right … It was you he was dancing with when they discovered him, wasn’t it?
    (BELISARIO gets to his feet. He goes over to MAMAE and
bowing in a fin-de-siècle style, he asks her to dance. She accepts, now a gracious, coquettish young woman. They dance. )
    MAMAE: Are you Chilean, little domino? Peruvian? From Tacna, little domino? A soldier, perhaps? I know, I’ve got it. You’re a doctor. A lawyer then? Go on, say something to me, give me a clue and I’ll guess what you are, you’ll see, little domino.
    (BELISARIO says nothing. He merely shakes his head from time to time, giggling nervously as he does so. )
    GRANDMOTHER: ( To MAMAE, as if she were still in the armchair) But wasn’t it obvious from the smell? Of course, he probably covered himself with scent, the rascal.
    ( The couple dance together with great facility and obvious pleasure. As they dance round the room, the imaginary