The dividing line between the two different sets may be apparent or not as required by the production.
The costumes should perhaps be realistic, as one method of signalling the time changes from one scene to another could be in the way the characters dress. The Chilean Officer should wear a uniform from the beginning of the century, with gold buttons, belt and sword, and Senora Carlota a dress of the same period. The grandparents and Mamaé should dress modestly in clothes that place them firmly in the 1950s. As for Belisario, he is a character of today and his clothes, hair, etc., should reflect this,
This translation of The Young Lady from Tacna was first performed as a rehearsed reading on 8 April 1989 at the Gate Theatre, Notting Hill. The cast was as follows:
MAMAE Sheila Grant BELISARIO Geoffrey Collins GRANDFATHER PEDRO John Burgess GRANDMOTHER CARMEN Diana Bishop SEÑORA CARLOTA Anna Gilbert JOAQUIN Alan Barker AMELIA Anna Gilbert CESAR Colin Bruce AGUSTIN William Haden Director David Graham-Young
ACT ONE
The stage is in darkness. A voice can be heard. It is MAMAE. She sounds anxious, distressed and agitated. The lights come up, revealing that unforgettable face of hers: a mass of wrinkles.
MAMAE: The rivers, the rivers are overflowing … Water, little drops of water, foam, everything’s being drenched by the rain, it’s coming in waves, the whole world’s being swamped, it’s the flood, the waters are seeping through, they’re bursting out, escaping everywhere. Cataracts are forming, bubbling, it’s the deluge, little drops of water, the river … Ahhh!
(Lights come up on the whole stage. MAMAE is sitting huddled in her old armchair and there is a little puddle at her feet. BELISARIO is at his desk, writing furiously. His eyes are lit up, and as he writes, his lips move as if he were dictating something to himself.)
AMELIA: (Coming in) Oh, for heaven’s sake Mamaé, you haven’t peed again on the sitting-room floor already, have you? Why don’t you ever ask? Then at least we could take you to the bathroom. The amount of times you’ve been told. I suppose you think I enjoy it? Well, I’m fed up with you and your filthy habits! (Sniffs.) I hope you haven’t done something else as well.
(A gesture of irritation from AMELIA which MAMAE responds to with a smile and a little bow. She falls asleep almost immediately. AMELIA mops up the mess with a cloth. As AMELIA has been talking, BELISARIO’s attention has gradually been wandering, as if his mind has been taken off his writing by some sudden extraneous idea. He puts his pencil down. He looks discouraged. He talks to himself, in a mumble to begin with.)
BELISARIO: What are you doing here, Mamaé, in the middle of a love story? A little old woman who used to wet and dirty her knickers, who had to be put to bed, dressed, undressed and cleaned up, because her hands and feet no longer did what she wanted them to do — what can a person like that be doing in a love story? (Hurls his pencil on the floor in a sudden fit of anger.) Well, are you going to write a love story or what, Belisario? Am I going to write something or what? (Laughs at himself, becomes depressed.) It’s always worst at the beginning, it’s the most difficult part of all, when all those doubts and feelings of inadequacy are at their most crippling. (Looks at MAMAE.) Every time I start something new, I feel like you, Mamaé, I feel like an old man of eighty, or a hundred, and my thoughts dart about like grasshoppers, just like yours did, when you were that complicated, helpless little creature we all laughed at, felt sorry for and were even a little afraid of. (Gets up, goes over towards MAMAE and slowly walks round her, with the pencil he has picked up from the floor between his lips.) But your mind was still a hive of activity, wasn’t it? Had you lost your teeth by then? Of course you had. And you couldn’t wear those false ones Uncle Agustín and Uncle César gave you because they scratched your gums. What on earth are you doing here? Who invited you? Don’t you realize you’re stopping me from working? (Smiles and returns to his desk, spurred on by a new idea.) Mamaé … Mamaé … Didn’t somebody once call you Elvira? No, it wasn’t Grandma, or Grandpa, or Mama, or my uncles either. (Sits at his desk and starts to write on the sheets of paper in front of him, slowly at first, then becoming more fluent.) The name sounded so strange to people outside the family. ‘Why do you call her that? What does it mean, where did it originate?’ Yet they all ended up calling her Mamaé too.
(Exit AMELIA, who has finished cleaning the floor. As BELISARIO reaches the end of his speech, JOAQUIN, the Chilean officer, comes in. His uniform is of the style worn at the turn of the century; it is brightly coloured with silver or gold braid. BELISARIO will carry on writing throughout the whole of the following scene; he spends most of his time absorbed in his papers, but pauses occasionally, putting the end of his pencil to his mouth and chewing it, as some new idea comes to him or he recalls some incident from the past. By way of light relief, he turns round at odd moments to watch MAMAE and JOAQUIN, and takes a passing interest in what they say. Then he returns to his papers to write or read over what he has written. The expression on his face is constantly changing.)
JOAQUIN: (Whispering, as if leaning over a wrought-iron grille or balcony) Elvira … Elvira … Elvira …
(MAMAE opens her eyes. She listens; smiles mischievously and looks around; she is flustered and excited. Her movements and speech are now those of a young woman.)
MAMAE: Joaquín! But he’s out of his mind. At this hour! Uncle and Aunt are going to hear him.
JOAQUIN: I know you’re there, I know you can hear me. Come out, just for a second, Elvira. I’ve got something important to say to you. You know what it is, don’t you? You’re beautiful, I love you, and I want you. I can hardly wait till Sunday — I’m literally counting the hours.
(MAMAE sits up. Although clearly delighted, she remains demure and reticent. She goes over to the wrought-iron grille.)
MAMAE: Whatever do you mean by coming here at this hour, Joaquín? Didn’t anyone see you? You’re going to ruin my reputation. Here in Tacna the walls have ears.
JOAQUIN: (voraciously kissing MAMAE’s hands) I was already in bed, my love. When suddenly I had this feeling, right here in my breast; it was like an order from a general, which I had to obey: ‘If you hurry, you’ll find her still awake,’ it seemed to say. ‘Make haste, fly to her house.’ It’s true, Elvira. I had to see you. And touch you. (He eagerly tries to grasp her round the waist, but she shies away from him.)