LAST STOP RANCHERA
Script-in-Progress
by Latina Theater Lab
For a Staged Concert Reading at:
The Yerba Buena Center for the Arts
February 12, 1999
Dramaturg, Cherríe Moraga.
Working version: February 9, 1999
ACT 1
PROLOGUE: (Excerpt from)
“Prodigal Hija and The Last Stop Cantina”
by Mónica Sánchez
Sound cue of heart beating and panting. Lights fade up.
PRODIGAL HIJA:
I am running
And I can't stop
Estoy corriendo
To the Last Stop
Last Stop Ranchera
Where all roads lead
For those in search of a truth
like me
MUSICA: Mariachi music to "La Negra". Ends with sound montage of Ranchera
endings.
This is my quest. This ubiquitous "tan-tan" leaves me no rest. Like a reccurring
waking dream, like a ringing echo in my ear, like an audio pebble in my shoe, this
musical punctuation hammers at my core, consumes me desde el corazón al patín. I have
to get to root of the matter, I have to know: Why? Why, "TAN-TAN"? What is the
Genesis of the Finale, "TAN-TAN".
Y como el viento que corre, I run:
past Banda
MUSICA
past Cumbia
MUSICA
past Bolero
MUSICA
past Corrido
MUSICA
past Salsa y Son
MUSICA
until at last, the distant sounds of mariachi
and the smell of tequila lead me to my ranchera revelation.
In true Ranchera form, I follow my heart, which in this case means to follow my feet,
hasta llegar al fondo, straight to the caballo's mouth, to the end of the line, to the last stop
ranchera.
“Opera en la Misión”
by Marlène Ramírez-Cancio
MUSICA: Yma Sumac
MARLENE: Then the music came in.
We all could hear it, but nobody said a thing.
SELENA:
Nobody said a thing because we could not understand such a thing was
possible.
JAIME:
Opera in the mission, low, almost inaudible,
ALL: but there,
SELENA:
there at six in the morning,
there to walk us home after a long night.
MARLENE: The woman singing had a voice like a
needle-piercing-flesh,
JAIME:
it was dangerous, that voice,
SELENA:
black nailpolish
MARLENE: wide open eyes
JAIME:
purple dress,
ALL: dangerous,
MARLENE: made you feel like playing with knives,
SELENA:
made you feel like playing with fire,
JAIME:
made you feel like cutting skin in cold blood,
SELENA:
it was six a.m. on Mission Street
and we couldn't keep walking,
JAIME:
we gradually stopped and sat on the sidewalk,
MARLENE: this must be what sirens did to the sailors,
this must be what makes you get stuck on an island,
SELENA:
this voice on the street, this voice coming from nowhere,
MARLENE: there we were,
three kids too cool for anything but
ALL: hip hop,
JAIME:
sitting on the sidewalk
not saying a word,
MARLENE: watching the day get lighter,
JAIME:
a car or two pass by,
SELENA:
just breathing...
(MUSIC IS HEARD)
MARLENE: then the needle voice turned into a bone voice,
JAIME:
a deep thing,
SELENA:
anchored,
MARLENE: a straight pull down to
ALL: the center of the earth,
MARLENE: and our silence grew thicker,
M + J: thicker,
ALL: thicker,
MARLENE: and then it started to rain.
MUSICA (Transition) : “Barracuda” (Hart)
“Treasure Chest”
by Jaime Lujan
[LA CHULA enters through the doorway. She is 14 Years old, wears yellow tube top and
cut off jean shorts, and is barefoot. She carries a red plastic Panasonic cassette player
with big headphones on her head. She uses the cassette player as her air guitar. She is
singing BARRACUDA by HART (including guitar riffs)]
LA CHULA: (singing, guitar riffs, etc) So this ain’t the end, I saw you again. Today, I
had to turn my heart away. Smile like the sun, kisses for everyone. And tales that never
fade. You’re lying so low in the weeds, I bet you’re gonna ambush me. You got me
down, down, down on my knees. Now wouldn’t ya. Barracuda. Ohh Yea! (Beat) Oh,
man!! Fucking batteries!
[A Ranchera is heard on a radio offstage.]
LA CHULA: (mimicking Ranchera) “Daba, duba, naaaaa” Ahh, Grandma... turn off the
radio! I hate that Mexican stuff!
Grandma: (offstage) Ya, finish cleaning that closet. (Radio is turned off.)
[LA CHULA goes to the closet, pulls out an old antique chest. As she opens it a ranchera
is heard]
LA CHULA: Grandmaaaaa please turn it off.
[Ranchera continues. She gets up to go to the other room. As she walks upstage, the chest
closes. The music stops.]
LA CHULA: Thank you.
[She turns back down to the chest and opens it again. Again a ranchera is heard. She
shuts the chest, gets ready to go into the other room but notices that the musc stopped as
she closed the chest. She repeats this action several times in disbelief. Finally she leaves
the chest open. A song is heard. She removes some old clothing from the chest. She puts
on a leather vest and sombrero, and walks to the mirror. ]
LA CHULA: I am El Hombre (she strikes a pose). I am El Hombre Macho. (tries a grito
several times). Hola Señorita. You are looking very bonita tonight. (She switches hats
and wraps a rebozo around her head). Gracias señor.
Would you like to dance?
No señor. I do not dance.
Well how about a short stroll in the moonlight?
Sí señor. (Walking around) You know, señor, they say that if a man serenades a woman
by moonlight her heart will be his forever.
(Fumbling for words) Oh. Well, ah, really... well... You eyes are like the twinkling stars
above.
Sí...
Ah, well... The moonlight caresses your skin with a glow...
Sí...
(he sings) “Hay unos ojos que si me miran
Hacen que mi alma tiemble de amor.”
GRANDMA: (offstage) Acabaste ya?
LA CHULA: Sí, acabé ya...yeah, I’m done. Is this Grandpa’s stuff?
GRANDMA: No, it was your great-grandfather’s.
LA CHULA (to herself): It’s bien cool. (Opens & closes the chest. TAN-TAN.)
“Romancing La Revolución”
by Jaime Lujan
I. EL BAÑO
[Only the silhouette of a woman (LA SEÑORA) sitting in a black wood rocking chair is
seen. As she rocks back and forth, the chair creaks. She is reading from her Bible. As
she turns the page, a photo falls to the ground. She picks it up. On another part of the
stage, EL HOMBRE and LA INDIA are making love.]
MUSICA
LA SEÑORA: (song)
Cuando lo estaba queriendo When I was loving him
Cuando lo estaba sintiendo When I was feeling he was all mine
Todito mío lo vi partir
I saw him leave
Me juro que regresaba
He swore he would return to me
Pero todo era mentira
But it was all a lie
Porque ya el alma no era de mí.
Because his soul was not mine
LA INDIA: I’ve missed you.
[EL HOMBRE kisses her. She caresses his body as if she were drawing a
intricate map. She looks into his eyes.]
EL HOMBRE: Qué miras? What are you looking at with those eyes? I can see my
reflection in those dark coals. (He kisses her) I need to wash.
[LA INDIA gets up and brings a wash basin full of water. EL HOMBRE watches her.
She starts to bathe him]
EL HOMBRE: Qué haces mujer?
LA INDIA: Cálmate! I'm bathing you. Esta barba has got to go.
EL HOMBRE: You gonna shave me?
LA INDIA: Sí Señor, with an ax.
EL HOMBRE: You're giving me the ax already?
LA INDIA: Not 'til the wood’s chopped. (Begins singing) “Indita, Indita, Indita, Indita de
Cochití....”
[ She starts to wash a starburst of a bullet scar on his side. He restrains her hand.]
EL HOMBRE: Allí no!
LA INDIA: What is it?
EL HOMBRE: Nada.
[She removes his hand and gently washes the scar.]
LA INDIA: The war.
EL HOMBRE: You never see the real scars. I took the bullet that was meant para El
General. We were taking the hill outside the city.
LA INDIA: Monterrey.
EL HOMBRE: Sí.
LA INDIA: You should have let that bullet find him.
EL HOMBRE: Por qué? Villa lives and continues the revolution while I take a bath.
LA INDIA: La revolución.
EL HOMBRE: It’s for you, you know, this war. Es para tu gente.
LA INDIA: Am I more Indian than you?
EL HOMBRE: Yes. But not more mexicano.
LA INDIA: How long is your leave?
EL HOMBRE: Not long.
LA INDIA: I want to go with you.
EL HOMBRE: No.
LA INDIA: Then stay.
EL HOMBRE: I can't.
[She continues washing him silently]
LA INDIA: You're going to see her.
EL HOMBRE: She’s my wife.
LA INDIA: Leave her.
EL HOMBRE: I can't.
LA INDIA: Leave her.
[EL Hombre dresses]
MUSICA
LA INDIA: (Sings)
En la noche silenciosa
Nos miramos
Frente a frente, sin hablar
Cuando me dijo de pronto
To forget his affection
Que no me quería engañar
In the silence of the night
We looked at each other
Face to face, without speaking
When suddenly he told me
Que olvidara su cariño
Because he didn't want to deceive me.
II. HOME
[LA SEÑORA is sweeping. EL HOMBRE enters. She stops looks at him. Then she
runs to him and leaps into his arms kissing him passionately. She stops abruptly and
sniffs him. Behind his ears, chest, arms down to his legs. She walks away.]
EL HOMBRE: I'm hungry. What's to eat?
LA SEÑORA: Nada
EL HOMBRE: Well, make something.
LA SEÑORA: What, doesn't she know how to cook?
EL HOMBRE: No empieces con eso. Dame de comer.
LA SEÑORA: There is nothing! Look for yourself.
EL HOMBRE: Where? Here? [He takes her playfully in his arms. Grabbing and
nibbling her.] En el horno? En la olla? Dios santo, qué banquete de mujer!
LA SEÑORA: Ya, stop!
EL HOMBRE: Mmmm...estoy muerto de hambre para esta carne.
LA SEÑORA: Déjame!
[Beat]
EL HOMBRE: You're right. No soy buen marido. Pero no sabes cómo te necesito.
You know me. Te quiero, te amo. You are my anchor.
LA SEÑORA: Mentiras. How many times have you walked out that door?
EL HOMBRE: There’s a war going on.
LA SEÑORA: No por eso.
EL HOMBRE: And how many times have I come back to you? [He buries his face into
her skirts] I've missed you.
LA SEÑORA: I know. [She gently kisses him.]
EL HOMBRE: I'm tired.
LA SEÑORA: I know.
EL HOMBRE: Tu calor.
LA SEÑORA: Ven.
[They cross to the bed. EL HOMBRE starts to fall asleep.]
EL HOMBRE: El monte negro in the distance. The red thunder of war. Bodies
falling without faces.....your eyes, beautiful like...the color of the sea.
LA SEÑORA: (Overlapping)...the color of the sea.
[He falls asleep in her arms, his body resting on her lap.]
LA SEÑORA: What sweetness do you find there con tu morena? There is deception in
your kiss. You soil her sheets, then you run home to me. How easy it would be to snap
your neck with my bare hands, Querido.
III. LAVANDO
[LA SEÑORA in the yard, washing clothes at the scrub board by hand. She hums
a song. Enter LA INDIA, approaches slowly, watches, and listens until her presence is
sensed. LA SEÑORA stops singing, both women stare at each other. LA SEÑORA
continues washing and hanging clothes as the scene progresses.]
LA SEÑORA: He's not here.
LA INDIA: I know.
LA SEÑORA: What, you've never seen anyone scrub clothes before? This is what a
wife does.
LA INDIA: I didn't think you'd be so beautiful.
[Beat]
LA SEÑORA: What do you want here?
[Pause]
LA INDIA: I'm sorry.
LA SEÑORA: Sorry?
LA INDIA: I never wanted to hurt anyone.
LA SEÑORA: Where did he find you?!
LA INDIA: Walking home. The sun had just set. The full moon on the horizon was too
bright to look at. He wanted me. And I him.
LA SEÑORA: And how long do think he's going to want you? “Until the day my bones
turn into the roses at your gate?” “Until we can dance—
LA INDIA: “on the moon?” [Beat] Children? How many?
LA SEÑORA: Why don’t you ask him? We have seven.
LA INDIA: I don't care. I love him.
LA SEÑORA: Is that a challenge or a confession? Pobrecita, there's nothing you can tell
me about that man that I haven't already lived through a dozen times. The good and the
bad. Ese hombre es un cabrón. But he's my cabrón. Now, if you'll excuse me my
laundry is clean.
[SHE starts to walk away.]
LA SEÑORA: You can find him en la cantina. I’m sure you know where it is.
LA INDIA: No, I don’t know this town.
LA SEÑORA: You’ll find it.
[LA SEÑORA exits back to her house, sits in a black rocking chair and begins to
read her bible. LA INDIA walks back through town she sees EL HOMBRE leaving the
saloon. He stops, stares at her for a moment, but continues on his way home.]
LA INDIA: (song)
Fue bajo del crucifijo
It was under the crucifix
De la torre de una iglesia
Of the church tower
Cuando la luna nos albumbró When the moonlight shone upon us
Yo lo estreché entre mis brazos I reached out my arms
Con ganas de detenerlo
To stop him
Pero el orgullo me lo impidié But pride got in my way
Ya sola frente a la iglesia
Alone infront of the church
Y llorando
Crying
Ante el Cristo... fui a implorar
Before Christ...I began to plead
Al contemplar mi tristeza
Contemplating my sorrow
El crucifijo de piedra
The crucifix of stone
También se puso a llorar
Also cried
[During LA INDIA’s song EL HOMBRE Kisses LA SEÑORA good by. Puts on his
revolucionario wear and gun holster. He is going back to war.]
IV. LA GUERRA
[ LA INDIA remains on stage reading her Tarot Cards, while LA SEÑORA sits in
her rocking chair reading her Bible. As they turn each page and Tarot card, a sound is
heard. First horses neighing, then a gallop, then battle sounds. ]
EL HOMBRE (offstage): Me ves? Do you remember my face? I remember yours. Esos
ojos. They way they caressed me with love. The way they killed me when I left.
Recuérdame.
[When LA SEÑORA finds a photo of EL HOMBRE and LA INDIA holds up the Death
card, a gunshot is heard.]
BLACK OUT.
“Dr. Loco Lectures”
by Mónica Sánchez
CANCION": “Estoy en el rincón de una cantina." (Jose Alfredo Jiménez)
DR. LOCO: Textually-speaking, la ranchera is perhaps our last remaining popular
vestige of the "romance", a pre-conquest literary form that can be characterized as a
narrative ballad, the romance itself a derivation of the classic "decima" thought to have
originated in Spain as early as the 15th century. In the classic Ranchera, the obligatory
“tan-tan” is the musical code for the completion of the melodic theme.
Por ejemplo, Escucha carnalita...
CANCION: “Tu recuerdo y Yo”
El Maestro, José Alfredo Jiménez provides us here with a classic example
complete with rhyming couplets in iambic pentameter.
In the line "estoy en el rincon de una cantina" we have 5 feet of verse, otherwise
known as "pentameter" in "iambic" rhythm, that is to say each"foot" or set of syllables
consists of a slack or soft syllable followed by a stress. ¿Ves? "Oyen-doy una -cancion que yo-pedi" we could just as easily sing "to be- or not -to be -that is- the question"and it
would fit.
Black out.
“Where Todo Es Mejor”
by Wilma Bonet
NENA: 1958, New York City where todo es mejor. I was eight years old. We lived on
the 5th floor of a brownstone building on 93rd street between Amsterdam and Columbus.
I had just gotten home from Holy Name School. It was a hot muggy day in June. I
couldn't wait. I had mami all to myself. It was hard sharing mami with my brothers and
sister in the small studio apartment. Unless that bochinchera Lucy showed up. Lucy lived
over on 90th street. Not only was she my cousin but we were best friends. We told each
other secrets. Our play ground: Central Park, or the sticky tar roof. Lucy and I shared a
lot of bochinche.
LUCY: Especially when our mothers aren’t talking to each other.
NENA: Again! Even though they are blood sisters.
LUCY: Well at least they share the same mother.
NENA: What do you mean?
(They start to play patty cakes to "Mary Black")
LUCY: Your mother is light, light, light...
NENA: And your mother is dark, dark, dark...
Both: Our grandfather was black, black, black...
LUCY: So explain that, that, that...
NENA: You can have sisters in two different colors. It depends how much milk is in the
coffee.
LUCY: (Starting up the game again)
One day the people started talking about your mother,
Saying she's too light to have a "negro" for a father,
she's too light to have a "negro" for a father.
she's too light to have a "negro" for a father.
she's too light to have a "negro" for a father.
NENA: Lucy and I are still trying to put the pieces to that story together. Okay, so we
tell each other everything. That muggy day in June I was bored.
Canción: Pedro Infante
The radio was playing a Pedro Infante song. Mami would always drag us to see
all his movies. "Nosotros los Pobres, Ustedes los Ricos" and other "Nosotros" movies.
My mom was singing along with him. She likes to sing. She should have been a singer.
She sounds good with Elvis, too. And I like it when she sings "Danny Boy" with
Rosemary Clooney. (Pause) That day my mom looked beautiful. She had a new Italian
haircut, like that movie star Gina Lolobridgeda. Something was up. She always got a new
do when something special was gonna happen... like my father showing up... Papi wasn't
there all the time. But whenever he would come by, he'd have gifts for everyone.
Coloring books for the girls. Toy cars for the boys. And a clock, a ceramic tiger, or a
fancy radio for my mom.
Mami was making sofrito and I was doing what I like best... Jump rope.
(In the kitchen area. Mami is cooking dinner.)
NENA: (Singing and jumping rope)
Arroz con leche me quiero casar
Con una viudita de la capital
Que sepa coser, que sepa bordar
Que ponga la aguja en el mismo lugar
Tirin, tiran, yo quiero a Juan
Si yo no me caso me como a Juan
Arroz con gandules, I want to get marry
Con una cebollita in Nu yor
Que sepa cook, and make you cry...
Mami, how do you say cry in Spanish?
MAMI: Llorar.
NENA: Que sepa cook, que sepa llorar
Que sepa go shopping at the A&P...
A&P, you and me, Papi and Mami
Yo quiero comer, Hungry, hungry
When is dinner gonna be ready?
MAMI (as NENA is singing): Qué cantas, niña?! Boberias. Puras boberías.
MAMI: Niña ya! Deja ese brinco!
NENA: I'm hungry. Can you make it fast for me?
(A thump is heard from the neighbor downstairs)
MAMI: See? I told you to stop jumping. You know how el viejito González gets. He'll
call the super again. You don't want us to get evicted like Aida and her son.
NENA: (jumping again) Aida and Miguelito, they got thrown out. (More thumps from
below) Oooops. (Yelling out the window) Sorry, Señor Gonzalez! I said sorry...
MAMI: Sal de esa ventana!
NENA: (Singing and dancing on her toes) Sal, sal, sal, la la la la...
MAMI: Ayyyy, la sal. I forgot the salt.
NENA: Let me, let me, let me do it.
MAMI: No. You're gonna burn yourself.
NENA: I know how to make white rice. I know how to do it. You take the big spoon and
make a little mountain of salt in the middle of the spoon and then you stir it. (She lifts the
plate off the pot; it is hot and she drops it) Ayeeee!
MAMI: I told you, didn't I.
NENA: Yeah but I don't listen. I can do it. See, see. (She drops the spoon on the floor.)
(Knocking at the door.)
NENA: (gasp) The super!
(They listen quietly)
PAPI: Sisa!
NENA: It's Papi!
MAMI: Sshhhh. Don't open the door.
NENA: But he's here and...
MAMI: No te atrevas. (Silence)
PAPI: (Knocking) Sisa, ábreme la puerta.
(MAMI raises the volume on the radio. NENA goes to the door and MAMI swoops
down on NENA and grabs her by the ear.)
NENA: Ay ay ayeeeeeee.
MAMI: Vamos I'm gonna teach you how to make arroz con gandules. First you make the
sofrito.
(Another knock.)
PAPI: What are you doing?
(NENA starts for the door)
MAMI: Don't open that door.
NENA: Why not?
MAMI: (To PAPI) No te hagas el tonto!
PAPI: Sisa qué es esto? Estás loca.
NENA: (Pleading) Mami.
PAPI: You got what you wanted!
MAMI: After eight years of mentiras!
NENA: What lies, Mami?
MAMI: (To NENA) Cállate.
PAPI: Ay, you don’t make no sense.
MAMI: I never made so much sense in my life.
NENA: Mami, what’s going on?
MAMI: Shhhhhh. (She listens to the door. Silence.) Se fue. Vamos.
NENA: He left? Why didn’t you let Papi in?
(MAMI starts banging the pots really loud.)
MAMI: Because... It’s none of your business.
NENA: You fought with him again, huh? Now I won’t get a present for a long time.
(MAMI turns off the flame on the stove.) We’re not going to eat?
(MAMI takes NENA’s hand and sits her down.)
NENA: (To Audience) Oh oh. She looks angry.
MAMI: Jura que no vas a repetir lo que te voy a decir.
NENA: (to Audience) A secret. I will have to be extra honest and really, really try hard
not to tell my cousin Lucy. (to MAMI) I promise I won't tell anyone.
MAMI: When you were born, I was not married to your father.
NENA: What? If I remember my catechism this is a mortal sin. Wait till Lucy hears this.
MAMI: Don't tell this to Lucy. (NENA looks out to the audience and back to MAMI)
When I was 15, your father and I were to be married. It was to be a small wedding.
Nothing fancy. My mother had passed away just before Christmas. I loved my mother
very much so when she died I felt alone and with no one in the world. Your father and I
had been seeing each other and he told me...
PAPI: You will never be alone. You have me. Let's get married. That way we will be
together, always.
MAMI: My older sister, Paula, helped me make my wedding dress. It was beautiful.
Your father and I had agreed to meet in the church at two o'clock. I waited at the altar.
My sisters and brothers, tías and uncles, and my friends were all there. Two o'clock came.
He wasn't there. He was late.
NENA: Did he call you?
MAMI: It was a small pueblito. We didn't have telephones like today. Three o'clock
came and no one with a message. Four o'clock. Then 5 o'clock. I waited but your father
never came.
NENA: He never came?
MAMI: I was left at the altar with no news, no explanation, nothing. I don't remember
what happened after that day. My sister told me that I ran out of the church so fast no one
could catch me. That I disappeared into the rainforest. When they found me a week later I
had crawled into a tree. My white dress, shredded, had turned green. Coquis caught in
my veil were dying. My face dirty with tears.
NENA: You were crying all that time?
MAMI: After four years, I received a letter from your father. He was living and working
in New York City. He sent for me with apologies and a poem.
PAPI: Perdóname... Te quiero con todo mi corazon. I've sent you a pasaje. If you find it
in your heart to forgive me, come to New York and I promise to marry you when you get
here. Para siempre, Quique.
NENA: (to Audience) Quique, that's my father's name.
MAMI: I flew to New York following that promise of marriage, but when I arrived, we
never did. Then you came. Then your brothers and sisters. By that time, I was too
ashamed to tell anyone at home.
NENA: (to Audience) Oh my God! Mami and Papi living in sin! What would Lucy
think? Mami made a big stink when Lucy's sister was born out of wedlock and that
Mami's sister's kids did not have the same daddy.
MAMI: At least all of you have the same father.
(There is silence. After a moment, there is a soft knock on the door.)
PAPI: Oye Sisa qué pasa? Come on, open the door. I brought you something.
MAMI: No!
PAPI: Sisa!
MAMI: No, I don't want you living here anymore.
PAPI: It’s a wedding present.
MAMI: Cállate. I don't want the whole building to know.
PAPI: We should be celebrating. We’re newly-weds.
MAMI: O sí, after five children and how many years?
PAPI: Pero Sisa...
MAMI: Qué bochorno tuve que sufrir. My children bastards all these years.
PAPI: Por favor... abre la puerta.
MAMI: No. All I wanted was for you to give the children your name legally. That's all. I
got what I wanted. I don't need you.
NENA: I can’t believe what I’m hearing. They just got married?
(MAMI walks to the stove and begins to teach NENA how to cook.)
MAMI: After the sofrito is cooked, you lower the flame. Then you pour in the
gandules...
PAPI: (knocking) Sisa, what do you want?
MAMI: ...then you add the white rice and stir... (To PAPI and to self) I don't need you.
(She starts to cry)
NENA: Mami...Papi is still at the door.
MAMI: Then you pour in enough water en el caldero to cover the rice and you stir until
everything is mixed up.
NENA: Mami, don't cry...
MAMI: Then you cover the caldero with a plate so the steam does not escape. And you
wait until it's done.
PAPI: Please... this is the last time I'm saying this. O-pen-the-door.
(A long pause. MAMI takes the same cup she used to pour water into the rice and
fills it with coffee. You hear Papi sigh.)
CANCION
NENA: Papi's footsteps, walking away slowly. Mami, he stopped. He's hoping. Open the
door, please. (MAMI is not hearing NENA.) He’s got a present for you. (PAPI starts to
leave). Listen, the footsteps are giving up. Can't you hear him walking away?
NENA: (to Audience) While the radio played a song of love and betrayal, Mami stared
out the fifth-floor kitchen window, sipping her café con leche, crying quietly in triumph.
MUSICA: Nueva Canción
“Tejano Barbeque”
by Selena Sue Navarro
[Scene opens on Marie and Jorge dancing to music. Tony is at the barbecue.]
MARIE: Ok, who’s leading?
JORGE: I am. (Jorge steps on her toe)
MARIE: Owwww! You stepped on my big toe!
JORGE: (gets down on his knees, smells her toe) Mmmmm... Smells like cherry
blossoms.
MARIE: Jorgeeee... We’re gonna get in trouble! And I’m not ready to go back in.
JORGE: Let’s play Uno.
MARIE: Are you crazy? It’s the 4th of July, I want to stay outside.
(To Tony) Hey Tony, that chicken smells good, is it ready?
TONY: Not yet mija. Soon.
JORGE: (Sits on the grass) The grass feels nice. Sit here next to me.
[The song “Traicionera” is heard.]
JORGE: Marie, look at the beautiful sunset. Only God can do that.
MARIE: I wish God would answer my prayers. (She closes her eyes and does a silent
prayer.) I can’t. I can’t forgive her.
JORGE: Evil. Your mom is evil. Chingao. [Jorge does his gesture to ward off evil.]
MARIE: That’s all it took. One “chingao” and some talk about mota. Within two hours
she got my brother, sister, and aunt together, dragged me to the car, brought me here, and
signed the damn piece of paper. I refused to take tranquilizers, and the next thing I know
I’m committed.
JORGE: She’s evil.
MARIE: Yeah and I’m bipolar. Whatever the fuck that means.
JORGE: C’mon, dance with me.
MARIE: Shit, it was 100 degrees and I was on the rag—that should count for
something—
JORGE: All I want from my mom is my ninja shoes.
MARIE: —But no, I’m in here for being a puta and a pothead.
JORGE: You’re a puta, too?
MARIE: Yeah. Cuz of that boyfriend who taught me “chingao” and “joder” and all those
pinche palabras. I didn’t know they meant “fucking”! And so what? I love men and mota
and I cuss like truckdriver!
JORGE: You’re a cute truckdriver.
MARIE: Are you flirting with me?
JORGE: Nope. I just wanna dance.
MARIE: Okay, but I’m leading.
(They begin to dance. He tries to sniff her armpit. She doesn’t notice.)
MARIE: Jorge, you’re from Corpus Christi—
JORGE: Body of Christ.
MARIE: Shit, everyone from Corpus should be able to dance Tejano. It’s Selena-Land,
for christ’s sake.
JORGE: J.C. Jorge Casas. Jesus Christ. That’s me.
MARIE: Jorge!
JORGE: I am dancing!
MARIE: Okay, who’s leading?
JORGE: You are! (He touches her armpit hair.)
MARIE: Stop! (They stop dancing.)
JORGE: I like it, it looks sexy.
MARIE: I haven’t shaved in a month. I can’t even shave in peace here. There’s always
someone watching you.
JORGE: Don’t say that. They’re listening.
MARIE: There’s no one around, just Tony. He’s cool. (Pause) This is exactly what I
wanted to be doing on the Fourth of July. Barbecueing, dancing, listening to music ...only
not in an insane asylum—
JORGE: State hospital.
MARIE: —Last week they gave me two shots by force. I don’t even know what I did
wrong.
JORGE: Just don’t talk so much. Anything you say will be used against you.
MARIE: Thank God for cigarettes. I’m glad Tony let us come outside. I feel free, free
from all the crazy energy in there. If it was dark, I’d look for a shooting star to wish
myself out of this place.
JORGE: Come on let’s dance.
(They start dancing again)
MARIE: You’ve got pretty brown eyes. Do you know there’s a line of blue green in your
left eye?
JORGE: It stands for rain.
Allende's Woman
by Andrea Cristina Thome
Present-day Havana, Cuba. Payita, a woman of seventy, sits facing the audience.
PAYITA:
Margarita, está linda la mar,
y el viento
lleva esencia sutil de azahar;
yo siento
en el alma una alondra cantar,
tu acento.
Margarita, te voy a contar
un cuento.
A flash of grey light and the sound of bombs , helicopters and planes. It is Chile, September 11,
1973 – the day of Pinochet's military coup against Salvador Allende. Outside the Presidential
Palace, PAYA stumbles, holding up a white handkerchief. Compañeros stand with her in a line,
their hands in the air.
Ayoung man, ENRIQUITO, a machine gun in his back and a soldier behind him.
PAYA: ¡Enriquito!
ENRIQUITO: Mamá, stay back!
He disappears.
PAYA: Stop! You can't take him, Officer! Enriquito!
WOMAN 1:
Once upon a moonless night
No, not a night, but a dark day
dressed up in heavy nighttime gray
Smoke-filled skies let through no sunlight
just swarms of green-clad men in flight
throwing lightning and striking fires
down from deadly southern skies.
The woman named Paya remembers
that burning day in September.
On that day her three loves die.
(Paya sits with Salvador Allende on a red velvet couch, his head resting on her lap. High class
women spy on them with opera glasses.)
WOMAN 4: That's her?
WOMAN 1: Con el presidente!
WOMAN3: What about his wife?
WOMAN 2: Que fresca!
WOMAN 3: She even wears pantsuits!
WOMAN 4: She has no shame!
WOMAN 2: She has a husband -WOMAN3: She has a son!
WOMAN1: Que locura!
WOMAN 2: Que capricho!
WOMAN 1: El Señor se va enojar!
ALL: Esto tiene que acabar!
SALVADOR: Este era un rey que tenía
un palacio de diamantes,
una tienda hecha el día
y un rebaño de elefantes,
un quiosco de malaquita,
un gran manto de tisú,
y una gentil princesita,
tan bonita, Margarita,
tan bonita como tú.
(A gunshot. Darkness.)
COMPANERO: The president is dead!
(The sound of a building collapsing.)
WOMAN1 – Lo mataron, lo mataron!
WOMAN2 –No, se mató.
WOMAN1 –Lo fusilaron, lo fusilaron.
WOMAN2–No, se sacrificó.
WOMAN1 –Perdió.
WOMAN2–Ganó.
WOMAN1 –Fue un asesinato.
WOMAN2–Fue un martirio.
Lights up on present-day Havana. Paya is being interviewed by a journalist.
PAYA: Let me tell you something. I don't smoke. See this thin plume of smoke that creeps out
of the side of my mouth? For twenty-five years it's been there. It comes from my internal
incinerator. From its constant, rumbling fire. Like those that burn in the belly of an old
steamship, devouring coal and never satisfied. When they took Enriquito away my voice
shriveled. My mouth shrank, my throat tightened and got so sharp that when I tried to talk it
shredded my voice like old paper. So sharp that when it moved to speak it made sparks and
started a low fire. Destroying any information, any feelings, before they could make it out on a
breath. And after Salvador — no. Nothing could come out. Just to exhale was to slash and burn
everything I knew, everything I remembered, even things I wanted to keep. For twenty-five
years this oven has turned every new memory into ashes. It fuels me.
Low rumbling thunder and the flash of a bomb. Outside the Presidential Palace, the
COMPANEROS stand with PAYA, surrounded by soldiers. She holds the white handkerchief
SOLDIER1: Nombre. Nombre!
COMPANERO 1–El Pueblo Unido
SOLDIER1–Nombre.
COMPANERO 2 –Compañera
SOLDIER1–Nombre!
COMPANERO 1 – Hermano
SOLDIER1–Nombre, hijo de puta!
COMPANERO 2 –Madre
SOLDIER1–Nombre!
PAYA–Lautaro
SOLDIER1–Comunista de mierda! Nombre!
PAYA: Paloma, soy la paloma
SOLDIER1: – Puta Mirista! Al suelo
PAYA hits the ground.
PAYA: (singing)
El palomo se murió y la paloma no sabía
Levántate palomito le decía le decía
A MEDIC dressed as a soldier approaches PAYA. PAYA covers her face. He puts his boot on
her side.
MEDIC: Que pasa aqui? Who are you?
PAYA: I'm hit.
MEDIC: Where?
PAYA: Aqui.
MEDIC: I don't see a wound.
(He pulls her hands away from her face. He looks at her for a long moment. He recognizes her as Allende's
secretary. Pause.)
MEDIC: Doña Secretar–
PAYA: If they see who I am–
MEDIC: –they'll kill you. (Pause.) Soldier! Signal the medical truck. This woman is badly
wounded.
SOLDIER: But there's no –
MEDIC: Now!
SOLDIER1: Sí Doctor.
PAYA: Cover my face. Please.
MEDIC: A bad head wound.(He unrolls the bandage and begins to wrap her head, concealing
part of her face.) You'll be taken to the hospital. (Soft, to PAYA) Find a friend nearby. Do you
understand? (She nods.) Con cuidado, Doña Secretaria...
COMPANERO 2: Doña Secretaria!
(The sound of coughing. The lights flicker. Sounds of bombing. We are inside the Presidential
Palace. We hear voices.)
COMPANERO1: Nos rendimos! Vamos a salir!
COMPANERO2: Single file! Leave all weapons here.
COMPANERO1: We're surrendering! President's orders!
COMPANERO 2: Doña Secretaria -- come back!
(The lights rise on Allende inside the Moneda, in his office.)
ALLENDE: Esto es una masacre. (Paya appears.) Paya, what are you doing? Why didn't you
go with the others?
PAYA: You know why.
ALLENDE: Porfiada. You have to go. (takes out white handkerchief, puts it in her hand) Use
this.
PAYA: I'm not going without you.
ALLENDE: I'll come out last. (She doesn't move.) Escuche. No quero martires. No quie-romar-ti-res! Who's going to look for Enriquito? No more sacrifices.
(Pause.)
PAYA: Y tú?
ALLENDE: Don't worry, Doña Paya. I'll be right behind you.
PAYA: I don't believe you.
(ALLENDE embraces her.)
ALLENDE: Right behind you. (He kisses her. He puts his hands on her back and shoulder,
turns her around, and walks her toward the door. She looks back at him.) Go on, mi Payita.
He watches her leave. Allende goes to his desk. We see Paya's silhouette still, in the darkness,
on the edge of the stage. She holds the handkerchief. The sounds of bombs, shouts of soldiers
grow stronger. She puts her arms around herself and feels her back.
ALLENDE takes a submachine gun from his desk. He sits on the red velvet couch. Sounds of
people in a stadium, before a soccer game. ALLENDE looks out, as if over a crowd of people.
Voices sing "Venceremos."
VOICES: Venceremos, venceremos
Mil cadenas habrá que romper
Venceremos, venceremos
La miseria sabemos romper
As they sing, Allende places the gun between his knees. He aims it at his head.
Sembraremos las tierras de gloria
Socialista será el porvenir
Todos juntos seremos la histora
A cumplir, a cumplir, a cumplir.
In the shadows, PAYA suddenly turns back toward ALLENDE.
ALLENDE: Allende no se rinde.
PAYA: Salvador!
He pulls the trigger. The sound of a building collapsing.
Lights up on Paya, present day Havana. She holds the handkerchief.
PAYA: I can still feel his hands on my back. They haven't moved since that last embrace. My
head on his shoulder, his arms around me. Were my eyes open or closed? All I know is, I felt
almost perfect. I was more than myself, more than one person. I was at least three, four, a
million– the last time he touched me, his hands bit me softly and hung on like serpents. And
they haven't left. You can't see them under my sweater, but there they are, those hands on me.
That's when it started.
A soft Cueca begins on the guitar. ALLENDE appears above PAYA, like on a balcony. He holds
a white handkerchief in the air, which he twists and waves, dancing Cueca.
ALLENDE: I'll never surrender.
(PAYA smiles, closes her eyes.)
PAYA: Don Chicho, is that you? Where are you?
ALLENDE: Right behind you, Doña Payita.
PAYA: Are your eyes open? Do you see me?
ALLENDE: I'm not leaving. No voy a renunciar.
PAYA: Sometimes I can't hear you.
ALLENDE: It doesn't matter. Remember this?
Margarita, está linda la mar,
y el viento
BOTH: – lleva esencia sutil de azahar:
tu aliento.
PAYA: Where are you now? (beat) I never saw you dead. I never saw Enriquito dead. I never
buried him. I never buried you.
ALLENDE:
Ya que lejos de mi vas a estar,
guarda, niña, un gentil pensamiento
al que un día te quiso contar
un cuento.
PAYA: Do you know I ran back up those stairs? I ran back to you, but Jirón stopped me and
said -- "He wouldn't have wanted you to see him like that." Behind him I could see the blood on
the walls, even the ceiling. It was as if someone had torn up our red velvet couch and thrown the
pieces in the air.
ALLENDE:
Llanto de viejas bocas, sangre de viejas súplicas
Ámame, compañera. No me abandones. Sígueme.
PAYA: A ripping that started when they took Enriquito began again where it had left off — a
deep, hard ripping, with the force it takes to tear apart one-thousand layers of red velvet, deeper
than my heart, under my gut, hasta mi alma llegó. And when the tearing ended, I was just liquid,
just red water bubbling under the surface of my skin.
ALLENDE: Siga usted sabiendo que, mucho más an invisible sea shell, rising up through
molten skin.
MUSIC: Volver a los Diecisiete
INTERMISSION
ACT 2
Musical Interlude: The Prodigal Higa keeps running, as she continues
her search...
“The History of Berets”
by Wilma Bonet
(La Negra is playing. Lights up on a sole figure of a woman dressed in a colorful
traditional Mexican costume. She is dancing, twirling her skirt through space.)
NANCY: I met Lisa at a Cinco de Mayo celebration. She was dancing with her three
sisters. They whirled to the music of the Mariachi. The Brown Berets had organized this
event to boycott lettuce. That Cesar Chavez needed our help. (to Lisa) Who is Cesar
Chavez?
(Music and dancing stops abruptly.)
LISA: Cesar Chavez is the leader of the Farmowrkers Union and he is organizing the
farmworkers, who pick your food and are living in the worst conditions, not getting a
decent living wage. They are the new slaves of this yankee imperialist government!
NANCY: And where are you from?
LISA: Richmond, California, you pinche guera.
NANCY: Guera?
LISA: Well, you are white.
NANCY: And you are una negra.
LISA: Negra?! You speak Spanish?
NANCY: I’m Puerto Rican. We come in many colors and “negra” is a term of
endearment.
LISA: Do you know about the Farmworkers’ struggle?
NANCY: Do you know about the Puerto Rican Independence Movement? (to audience)
With those two questions we began a friendship that would take us to many Cinco de
Mayo events and many demonstrations. Lisa wearing her brown beret stylishly cocked
and me wearing a purple beret in support of the Young Lords in NYC fighting for PR
Independence. It was the time of berets.
LISA: There’s going to be a takeover of People’s Park. The UC Berkeley Board of
Regent, those imperialist pig (spits), want to turn it into a parking lot!
NANCY: Let’s go!
BOTH: (marching and chanting) Que viva la Raza! Que viva la Raza! Yankee No! Gente
si! Yankee no! Raza Si!!!
NANCY: Slogans, slogans. It was the time of slogans, banners, marches, megaphones,
petitions, meetings, political education, the red book, Marx, Lenin, boycotting
supermarkets.
LISA: (soapboxing) All these foods are sprayed with pesticides. Be careful of what you
eat. Eat natural, not the imperialist golden arches. (To NANCY) I’m hungry.
NANCY: I have some fresh fruit. Here.
LISA: Grapes? Nancy, you are an embarrassment to the struggle. We must boycott
grapes.
NANCY: Ay carajo! Since when?
LISA: Since this morning! Didn’t you listen to KPFA? Cesar Chavez is boycotting Gallo
and all those bastards who are exploiting the farmworkers. Eat an apple but peel the skin
off. It could be contaminated.
NANCY: I always seemed to be one step behind on the Chicano movement. Free Lolita
Lebrón!
LISA: Who is Lolita Lebrón?
NANCY: She is the longest Puerto Rican Nationalist political prisioner in the United
States. She led a group of revolucionarios in the early 50’s and shot up the US Congress
to let the world know that PR wanted its independence.
LISA: A sister?
NANCY: During a Mexican referendum. (Pause)
BOTH: Que viva Puerto Rico libre! Cultural workers unite!
NANCY: Lisa would dance her Adelita with a gun. Pointing it towards the audience,
looking fierce and full of revolutionary fervor. One day she showed up wearing a new
color beret... black with a red star.
LISA: In support of our Cubano brothers and sister. Que viva Fidel! Que viva Che
Guevara!
NANCY: She had also learned to play a guitar. I sang, and she tried to harmonize...
(singing with LISA) Guantanamera, guajira guantanamera. Guantanamera, guajira
guantanamera.
NANCY: (singing) “Los yanquis quieren fuego, fuego....” We sounded good together.
We got invited to every political event... as cultural relief intermission... between the
speeches. Then we started to write our own songs about the cause. Once, we were asked
to sing our new songs on KPFA... (starting to sing) “Lolita Lebrón, mujer de corazón...”
LISA: On Christmas day? Who’s going to hear these songs?
NANCY: Probably no one. People will be busy opening their presents.
LISA: Maybe we’ll reach at least one person. Maybe.
NANCY: Another Cinco de Mayo took us to San Quentin... to perform in the front of
thousands of prisoners. Some of the Black Panthers were imprisoned there...even...
BOTH: (sound of someone walking by in chains and shackles) Charles Manson.
LISA: The organizers said No political songs. What are we going to do?
NANCY: Well... Let’s change the words.
LISA: We can sing “Gracias a la Vida,” it’s so beautiful, the guards won’t know what it’s
about.
NANCY: We can’t sing the Lolita Lebrón song.
LISA: But we can sing Guantanamera... The Hollywood version.
NANCY: (To audience) We’re on the stage singing “Guantanamera”...
BOTH: The Hollywood version...
NANCY: ...when we hear: “Sing Lolita Lebrón! Sing the Che Guevara song! The one we
heard you sing on KPFA on Christmas day!” (Pause) We took their requests. The
organizers... what can I say. The mariachi ended the festivities with El jarabe tapatio.
Lisa got up. Wearing her black beret with the red star, she started to dance the intricate
zapateo, leaping and swirling across the stage. The mariachi, all twelve of them, backed
up to make room for her. She wasn’t wearing the colorful Mexican costume. Just a
sweater and a black skirt. Suddenly she pulled off her beret and her long black hair
spilled out as she turned and whirled looking like a tornado. Her skirt lifted by the force
of the wind. The crowd went crazy! When the music ended she grabbed the microphone...
LISA: Que viva la Raza!
NANCY: Que viva!
LISA: El pueblo unido jamás será vencido!
NANCY: “El pueblo unido jamás sera vencido!,” chanted the prisoners along with Lisa.
It was amazing. We never got invited to sing at San Quentin again.
Music indicating that TIME PASSES
LISA: They killed him. El Che is dead.
NANCY: The God of the revolution is dead. The heroes were being killed. The
revolutionary priest Camilo, clavado with bullets to a tree like Christ. Tania la cubana,
muerta. The Black Panthers, Bobby and Huey, incarcerated. The Brown Beret and the
Young Lords incarcerated. Hope and justice was dying.
LISA: Let’s go to Mexico. We’ll travel by car. I have family in Guerrero.
NANCY: Isn’t that where Lucio Cabañas is fighting in the mountains?
(LISA gives a look and a slow smile)
NANCY: (To Audience) We’re driving to México, the country is beautiful and lush. The
pyramids of Tenochtitlán, amazing. Pero los indios are treated...
LISA: ...like shit! That’s why Lucio is fighting.
NANCY: (To Audience) Suddenly...
LISA: Qué pasa aquí?
NANCY: A guard waving his arms, trying to stop our car.
LISA: Los federales! I’m gonna keep going.
NANCY: He wants us to stop. Lisa stop! He’s yelling alto.
LISA: I don’t care!
NANCY: (scream) They have guns! They want us to get out of the car!
LISA: They probably think we have supplies for the guerrilleros.
NANCY: (Yelling) Touristas, somos touristas!
LISA: Pinche puercos!
NANCY: Ahhh... Lisa... I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk to them like that. This must
be some kind of checkpoint.
LISA: Qué buscan? A Lucio Cabañas? Que viva Luc— (NANCY covers her mouth)
NANCY: What are you doing? We’re in the middle of nowhere. You screaming Lucio
Cabaña’s name is not gonna help him or the struggle, especially if we’re dead.
LISA: Son asesinos!
NANCY: Lisa please. Let them search the car, and maybe they’ll leave us alone! (To
Audience). That was the closest we ever got to a revolution. It was too real.
(Music to indicate passage of time.)
LISA: I’m leaving. I’m going to Ecuador.
NANCY: Huh? What about the music, the singing duo?
LISA: The road is changing. I feel I’ve got to do something else.
NANCY: Oh. Ecuador. Wasn’t that the next country Che was going to liberate? (Pause)
Wow... You’re really gonna do this.
LISA: I’ll write you, compañera.
NANCY: I’ll write too. (LISA walks away). Adiós. She left. The dynamic duo was no
more. Why did she break our singing group? Now when everyone was just getting to
know us. I felt like a car that’s been on a long road trip. The needle pointing to empty. I
needed a drink. I went to the nearest politically correct bar in Berkeley. The Starry
Plough. I needed support from my Irish brothers and sisters. And besides, they know how
to drink. The place was full of people. Some tables you could see heavy discussions
taking place. Fists pounding the table to make a point. In an ordinary bar, that would be a
brawl. But not here. Free tequila shots were being passed around. I got brave and did a
shot or two ...or three. “Que viva la lucha cultural! Que viva el pueblo unido! Que viva la
compañera Lisa! Salud!” (Pause) The hardest part was being in touch, with thousands of
miles in between. I imagined Lisa freeing the masses. She wrote me a letter once. She
met a guy and married him. They lived in the Andes. Then, last year, at a Cinco de Mayo
celebration, after I’d just ended a performance, I saw her backstage. She had put on a few
pounds and she was wearing a pink beret.
LISA: Nancy.
NANCY: Lisa?
LISA: Mujer, how long has it been?
NANCY: At least fifteen years.
LISA: Maybe more.
NANCY: Happy Cinco de Mayo and Happy Mother’s Day. How many boys do you
have?
LISA: Four. No girls. They’re all getting big. I see you’re still performing.
NANCY: Do you still dance?
LISA: Not anymore, not like I used to. You know I got an MA in cultural anthropology.
NANCY: Congratulations.
LISA: It took forever. I’m teaching elementary now. Must educate the children. My class
is performing today. You should see them. They are so cute. (Pause) We were going to
change the world with our songs, remember.
NANCY: Yep. We were crazy. Militants wearing berets, looking serious. I see you still
wear them.
LISA: Not because I want to.
NANCY: What do you mean?
LISA: I’m losing my hair.
NANCY: I know. So am I. We’re turning into viejas.
(LISA takes off her hat. She is bald except for a few wisps of hair. Nancy stares in
disbelief.)
LISA: It’s the quimo. You know I hate seeing doctors, but when I finally decided to get a
mamogram, there it was. A tiny spot on the X-ray.
NANCY: Ay, Lisa... Not you. (Pause) I should have kept in touch. You were like my
sister.
LISA: And then I left. (Pause) Sabes, I’m fighting this all the way so don’t start talking
like I’m leaving. Just do me a favor.
NANCY: What.
LISA: I want you to get checked out. (Smiling) And wear the pink ribbon. (Hands a pink
ribbon to her).
NANCY: (laughing) Sigues con la lucha.
LISA: Sí... Life is a pinche struggle and then you die. (Beat) What do you think? Should I
go bald all the way, como la Sinead O’Connor?
NANCY: Might look sexy... (They laugh, and hug.) (Pause.)
I’m turning into a damn onion.
(El Jarabe Tapatío is being played).
LISA: Oye, Boricua, you still remember the steps I taught you?
NANCY: It’s been a pinche long time, negra.
LISA: Vamos, güera. (And they both do a grito)
(The two friends dance La Negra as the lights fade to black.)
“Romancing the Revolución”
Jaime Lujan
V. LA VEJEZ
[Only the shadow of LA SEÑORA, older now, smoking a cigarette and reading her bible
on her rocking chair is seen.]
LA SEÑORA: (quoting Bible) “No os defraudéis el uno al otro, que no os tiente Satanás
a causa de vuestra incontinencia. Mas por evitar fornicaciones, cada varón tenga su
mujer, y cada mujer tenga su marido.”
[As she turns the page an old photo falls to the ground. She picks it up]
LA SEÑORA: Mi hombre.
[She replaces the photo, places the bible on her altar. She rises walks to the closet and
removes a heavy, wool, black coat with a fur collar from the closet and tries it on. The
coat swallows her. She inhales the scent of EL HOMBRE and runs her fingers through
the collar.]
LA SEÑORA: Ahhhh! Qué hombre!
[She becomes lost in a memory when the voice of an old woman singing a little
chant can be heard.]
LA INDIA:
Indita, Indita, Indita, Indita de Cochiti
No le hace que sea Indita
A cabo yo soy pa ti.
[Lights rise on LA INDIA in a bright flowered dress, long gray hair disheveled and loose
sits on her roof top observing her neighbors.]
LA INDIA: Mira qué chula se ve la señora Ortiz in her new black zapatos so shiny, like
a mirror, so all the men can see the reflection of her coquita!
Indita, Indita, Indita, Indita de Cochiti
LA SEÑORA: ¡Cállese ya vieja guanga!
LA INDIA: Mira La señorita Gómez. Looks like your panza is swollen from love.
What do you got growing in there? Don Manuel’s cachorritos?
[La Señora feels something in the the lining of the coat. She finds a leather amulate
bag.]
LA SEÑORA: (To herself) Esa India cabrona.
LA INDIA: Indita, Indita, Indita, Indita de Cochiti
No le hace que sea Indita
A cabo yo soy pa ti.
Hey señora Ortiz I saw you, I saw you talking to mi esposo. Stay away from him
or I’ll send you to the moon.
LA SEÑORA: (Going to the window in a rage)
Cállate, pinche vieja. You never had a husband. All you know how to do is steal
what’s not yours.
LA INDIA: Who is that talking to me? Is that La Vieja Princesa? In her perdy little
house with her perdy little white fence. Yaaah. Her fence . All fenced in. Donde está tu
esposo? He’s been gone a long time. Who’s been keeping you warm at night? Nadie.
Bueno yo no soy tan pendeja. Los Machos tienen sus mujeres y yo soy la Macha y tengo
mis hombres!!!
Indita, Indita, Indita, Indita de Cochiti
LA SEÑORA: Toma. This is all that belongs to you. (She throws out the amulet at her.)
LA INDIA: Qué es esto? (She picks it up.) El hombre.
LA SEÑORA: Mi hombre. And keep your brujerías to yourself.
LA INDIA: Señora, he was just a man.
(Laughing)
Indita, Indita, Indita, Indita de Cochiti
No le hace que tengo diez hombres
Sólo uno era para mí!!!
[LA INDIA pulls down her bloomers laughs and moons the LA SEÑORA. A
coyote howl is heard. Indita turns, howls back as she is bathed in moon light.]
LA INDIA: To you, too, Luna celosa.
LA INDIA: (Laughing)
Indita, Indita, Indita, Indita de Cochiti
No le hace que sea Indita
A cabo yo soy pa ti.
“Palomitas”
by Yolanda Aranda
Sound Cue: Clips from dialogue of Mexican Revolution Movie, sounds
of horses, “revolutionary” dialogue in Spanish.
I remember the smell of fresh palomitas. The crack of the black and white film.
Sitting in the dark with the blaring Mariachi playing as the Charro rode off. It was
familiar, the clip-clop of the horse. The Charro singing as he rode.
In the dark, my father’s México returns to me. The smell of wet dirt and freshly-ground
maize, jarritos de chocolate. The clap-clap of my abuelita making tortillas. I remember
the light of a campfire, my cousins and uncles’ bodies huddled together in flaming
shadows. I was there, too. A girl of three or four. Watching.
Eating my palomitas in the dark, I watch a world, second nature to me. This is
how I witnessed my culture. In the dark. Or behind closed doors: the confined places of
my home, the family car, where my father sang his songs in private, only for “us girls” to
hear. And outside in the “real world” of gringo weddings, he sings “Ave María” or “I
Believe.” I believe in what? The “American way?”
(Pause)
And now I sing in a different darkness: under lights. This is who I am. I am a
Ranchera singer. Ranchera is the Mexican blues... Watching someone sing Ranchera
makes people feel uncomfortable. Which is why it's made so much fun of. It makes
people uncomfortable because it's like watching something private... Like watching
someone go to the bathroom. (Pause) ...Like watching someone give birth.
You cry when I sing Ranchera because you remember, too. My voice,
generations of family forgotten or unknown. I am the retrato in the old frame, the black
and white photo frayed at the edges, come alive.
“Pantera”
by Marlène Ramírez-Cancio
I play with men like the breeze on a windchime. I’m the one who runs just as they’re
getting used to my voice in their ear, just as they feel themselves settling into my name at
night. I'm the one with the sharp tongue that says, No, you will not do at all. La que
nunca se entrega. That's me. ...But when I find a man whose skin talks like this, I want
him to stay. I want to be his last stop. I want to end his travel through women, my body
the oasis, the fountain of life, holy water. I want to be the last stop.
"I thought you’d never use it," he says, as I walk through his door unannounced. He gave
me the key a few weeks ago—I always knew the moment I turned that key, that would be
the end of me. I would have given too much. But here I am. I take my clothes off in the
hallway. I take off my uniform, my white shirt, my too-tight shoes, I leave my trail
behind me...so I’ll find my way back out that door ...but when I walk into the bedroom
and see him lying there, like a promise, under his brown sheets with a book on the floor, I
feel my eyes burn with tears. So I smile instead. "Me moría de ganas," I tell him, closing
the door with my foot. I walk to him, getting closer, taking slow steps, one in front of the
other, like a slow-motion runway model... "La pantera," he says, and he takes the sheets
off his body and extends his arm out to me with a sweetness I cannot place—I want to
leap into that bed,... but I keep walking slowly.
This is the last time I'll see him, this is the last time. I have not said the words out
loud, but I know. I know I’ll leave before I betray myself. Hay fracasos que simplemente
uno no puede permitirse.
I reach the bed and I bend down, and he stretches up and our noses touch, then
our foreheads.... I see his eye and he fixes it on me and he's driving that stare through me
like a nail, ...this is my castigo... His hand reaches up and grabs my head, and he pulls me
to his lips, "mi pantera," he says inside our kiss, and the nails get tighter inside me,
heartbeating nails puncturing my pride, this is what I must endure now, after all I've done
and all the men I've undone, quiero correr, guarecerme en mi nombre, escapar la
intemperie recia de su cuerpo, de sus manos, I try to resist screaming out, but the iron
tips... are coming out the other side of me... I can feel them peek out of my back, ...this
man is breaking me in half, this man who was not supposed to matter, this man I picked
up one day at a bus-stop...but now my knees are on these brown covers and his body
beneath me, and I sit on this beautiful stranger like a throne made of marble and wool,
my living throne, I want to be crowned now, queen of conquerors, triumphant lady of our
passions, ...patrona de los cobardes... but...I don't speak, and in my head my adiós, and he
holds my hands tight, and my eyes shut, and then a slow kiss on my palm, y esa voz de
niño that says, “mi panterita”..., and I can’t, I can’t...
EPILOGUE: “Prodigal Hija & The Last Stop Cantina”
by Mónica Sánchez
MUSICA: Sounds of the "Last Stop Ranchera Cantina", glasses, laughter, talking, el
llanto and of course música.)
I have arrived! I have arrived a la Mecca Ranchera. It is the last stop and they are
all here:
José Alfredo Jiménez!
Alicia Juárez!
Jorge Negrete!
Pedro Infante!
Lola Beltrán!
Miguel Aceves Mejía!
Rocío Durcal!
Chavela Vargas!
Chava Flores!
Oscar Chávez!
Cucu Sánchez!
Flaco Jiménez!
Ana Gabriel!
Selena!
Lucha Villa!
Little Joe y La Familia!
Lalo Guerrero!
Dr. Loco and the Rockin Jalapeño Band!
Lydia Mendoza!
Yolanda del Río!
Vicente Fernández!
Y todos los mariachis de Albuquerque a Zacatecas!
They all seem to know what I want, but first I am welcomed as the prodigal hija
coming home to the alpha and the omega of cantinas. And after a round of
CANCION: Rift of "Las Mananitas":
Estas son las mañanitas, que cantaba el rey David,
A las muchachas bonitas, se las cantamos así
and my third tequila, they started coughing up the answers. Pedro Infante shrugs
and offers a —
PEDRO: Porque asi es, m'ija.
PRODIGAL HIJA: Lydia Mendoza chimes in with —
LYDIA: (Rewrite a Classic Ranchera line) "Uuuu, that's the way it's always been, that's
the way it is now, and that's the way it's always going to be! Tan-tan."
PRODIGAL HIJA: Cucu Sánchez humbly added —
CUCU: That's how we let you know that the song is over. Punto.
PRODIGAL HIJA: Chavela Vargas, orders a bottle of Tres Generaciones Reposado, and
invites me to her corner table so she can illuminate
CHAVELA: El misterio y la maravilla de la ranchera, en privado. (Beat) Querida.
PRODIGAL HIJA: I hear one disembodied voice announce —
(OFF-STAGE VOICE): Pinche pocha, she must be from California.
PRODIGAL HIJA: And then Lalo Guerrero took the floor:
LALO GUERRERO: Young lady I can best respond to your query by illustrating with a
true event. Orfeo Rivera was the greatest mariachi singer who ever lived. An orphan
since birth, he was found on the beach where his cry so-song-like led a fisherman to find
the infant in a tiny basket. They say his father fallen prey to the canto of the mermaids
that taunted those shores and that Orfeo himself was half-siren. Indeed he was singing
since birth, he could sing before he could talk, in fact he couldn't talk without singing.
Every sentence he uttered came out as a melodic phrase. His calling was clear from the
start, he would become the greatest mariachi singer in all of Mexico. For 29 years he
filled the streets and the plazas of Jalisco with an unworldly resonance (the beckoning
sea still inside his llanto), until one fateful morning, he kissed his wife goodbye and sang
his last copla to her:
CANCION
ORFEO RIVERA:
A trabajar voy mi vida
Cómo te voy a extrañar
Hasta la tarde mi negra
Cuando te traiga tu pan
LALO GUERRERO: He kissed her for the last time and walked out the door. Her cheek
was still warm from his lips when she heard the screeching of brakes and a horrific thud.
She ran to the street where Orfeo lay unconscious:
LA WAIFA: Ay cariño, no te mueras, por favor háblame, say something, please Orfeo,
speak!
LAlo GUERRERO: At the sound of her voice, he opened his eyelids to gaze upon her
face for the last time. And then he said: "Tan-tan" and died in her arms. And so señorita,
to answer your question, "tan-tan" quiere decir, "THE END".
PRODIGAL HIJA: And the place falls apart, raucous laughter, a round of drinks appears
for all, but as entertained as I am, I am not satisfied. And then in a really bad "Wizard of
Oz" moment, el maestro himself, Jose Alfredo Jiménez, suddenly appears.
JOSE ALFREDO JIMENEZ: No te arrugues niña, you have had the answer all along.
Right here. In your heart.
PRODIGAL HIJA: And that’s when I get it, the last stop gestalt. "Tan-tan" is not the
ending of a song, it is just one among many iambs, just like Dr. Loco said. “Iambic
Pentameter.” That ritmo that perfectly reproduces the measured beating of our hearts. A
rhythm that keeps on long after that last shot of tequila and the last strum of the
guitarrrón. And so, dear friends, the answer to the overwhelming question is simple. The
ranchera comes from the heart (broken, opened, stolen and begging for more). (Pause)
And it ends... with the HEART BEAT.
ALL: TAN-TAN.
END OF PLAY