Three Plays: The Young Lady from Tacna, Kathie and the Hippopotamus, La Chunga by Mario Vargas Llosa
Authors: Mario Vargas Llosa
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letter? And that thrashing? And the wicked Indian woman from Camaná? The gentleman always seemed to be linked to that letter and that Indian woman in the stories about the young lady from Tacna. What was behind so mysterious, scandalous, and sinful a story, Mamaé? Mysterious, scandalous, sinful! I like it! I like it!
( He starts to write furiously. )
AMELIA: ( Who has already served up the soup ) Supper is ready!
( The Mass has finished and a commercial break has begun with an advertisement for Chocolate Sublime. AMELIA turns the wireless off. The GRANDPARENTS go and sit down at the table . GRANDFATHER seems very downcast. MAMAE raises herself laboriously out of her armchair and takes a little step forward . AMELIA runs to help her .)
Do you want to break your leg? Where are you going without your chair, Mamaé?
( She takes MAMAE by the arm and guides her towards the table. )
MAMAE: To church. That’s where I’m going. To pray. I want to go to Mass, to confession. I’m sick of listening to Mass on the wireless. It’s not the same. The priest can say what he likes. It just isn’t. Your mind wanders, you can’t take it seriously.
(MAMAE and AMELIA sit down. They start to eat. )
GRANDMOTHER: Then my husband will have to carry you, Mamaé. It would take you hours to get to the Church of the Fatima with that little chair of yours. ( To GRANDFATHER) Remember, Pedro, how you used to carry us across the river when we came to visit you in Camaná? How we used to scream and yell!
(GRANDFATHER nods listlessly .)
AMELIA: What’s the matter, Papa? You haven’t opened your mouth all day.
GRANDMOTHER: I try to talk to you and all you do is nod like one of those giant-headed creatures at Carnival. You make me feel like an idiot. Are you ill?
GRANDFATHER: No, my little funny face, there’s nothing the
matter with me. I’m all right. I was just finishing up this … thingumajig, before it gets cold.
AMELIA: Soup, Papa.
GRANDMOTHER: What’s this mania you’ve got for calling everything a thingumajig? If you forget what it is, ask. Can’t you see it’s soup?
MAMAE: A pig’s breakfast, that’s what it is.
GRANDFATHER: ( In an effort to speak ) No, it’s good. It just needs a little salt perhaps.
BELISARIO: ( Looking up from his papers ) He thought everything was good; he called everything a thingumajig, and everything needed salt. A man who never complained about anything, except not being able to find work in his old age. Grandmother, in all the fifty years she’d been married to him, never heard him raise his voice once. That’s why the thrashing that Indian woman from Camaná got seemed so inconceivable, Mamaé. In his last few years, salt became an obsession with him. He put salt in his coffee, salt on his pudding. And he thought everything was –
GRANDFATHER: Splendid! Splendid!
(BELISARIO starts to write again .)
GRANDMOTHER: I know what’s wrong with you, Pedro. Before, when you went out for your little walks, you’d go just to make sure the outside world was still there. And when your children stopped you, they took away the one pleasure you had left in life.
AMELIA: You say it, Mama, as if we’d done it deliberately to torment him.
GRANDFATHER: Am I complaining?
GRANDMOTHER: It would be a great deal easier if you did.
GRANDFATHER: Right then, if it’ll make you any happier, I’ll spend the whole day grumbling. I can’t think what about though, my little funny face.
GRANDMOTHER: I’m not getting at you, dear. Do you think I enjoy keeping you cloistered up in here? Look, after lunch we’ll go for a walk round the block. I just hope to God my varicose veins don’t start playing me up again.
(AMELIA gets up and collects the plates .)
AMELIA: You haven’t had your soup, Mamaé.
MAMAE: Soup? A dog’s dinner more like – and a rabid one at that!
AMELIA: ( Going out ) If you knew what my brothers gave me for the housekeeping, you’d realize I perform miracles just to get you all two
( He starts to write furiously. )
AMELIA: ( Who has already served up the soup ) Supper is ready!
( The Mass has finished and a commercial break has begun with an advertisement for Chocolate Sublime. AMELIA turns the wireless off. The GRANDPARENTS go and sit down at the table . GRANDFATHER seems very downcast. MAMAE raises herself laboriously out of her armchair and takes a little step forward . AMELIA runs to help her .)
Do you want to break your leg? Where are you going without your chair, Mamaé?
( She takes MAMAE by the arm and guides her towards the table. )
MAMAE: To church. That’s where I’m going. To pray. I want to go to Mass, to confession. I’m sick of listening to Mass on the wireless. It’s not the same. The priest can say what he likes. It just isn’t. Your mind wanders, you can’t take it seriously.
(MAMAE and AMELIA sit down. They start to eat. )
GRANDMOTHER: Then my husband will have to carry you, Mamaé. It would take you hours to get to the Church of the Fatima with that little chair of yours. ( To GRANDFATHER) Remember, Pedro, how you used to carry us across the river when we came to visit you in Camaná? How we used to scream and yell!
(GRANDFATHER nods listlessly .)
AMELIA: What’s the matter, Papa? You haven’t opened your mouth all day.
GRANDMOTHER: I try to talk to you and all you do is nod like one of those giant-headed creatures at Carnival. You make me feel like an idiot. Are you ill?
GRANDFATHER: No, my little funny face, there’s nothing the
matter with me. I’m all right. I was just finishing up this … thingumajig, before it gets cold.
AMELIA: Soup, Papa.
GRANDMOTHER: What’s this mania you’ve got for calling everything a thingumajig? If you forget what it is, ask. Can’t you see it’s soup?
MAMAE: A pig’s breakfast, that’s what it is.
GRANDFATHER: ( In an effort to speak ) No, it’s good. It just needs a little salt perhaps.
BELISARIO: ( Looking up from his papers ) He thought everything was good; he called everything a thingumajig, and everything needed salt. A man who never complained about anything, except not being able to find work in his old age. Grandmother, in all the fifty years she’d been married to him, never heard him raise his voice once. That’s why the thrashing that Indian woman from Camaná got seemed so inconceivable, Mamaé. In his last few years, salt became an obsession with him. He put salt in his coffee, salt on his pudding. And he thought everything was –
GRANDFATHER: Splendid! Splendid!
(BELISARIO starts to write again .)
GRANDMOTHER: I know what’s wrong with you, Pedro. Before, when you went out for your little walks, you’d go just to make sure the outside world was still there. And when your children stopped you, they took away the one pleasure you had left in life.
AMELIA: You say it, Mama, as if we’d done it deliberately to torment him.
GRANDFATHER: Am I complaining?
GRANDMOTHER: It would be a great deal easier if you did.
GRANDFATHER: Right then, if it’ll make you any happier, I’ll spend the whole day grumbling. I can’t think what about though, my little funny face.
GRANDMOTHER: I’m not getting at you, dear. Do you think I enjoy keeping you cloistered up in here? Look, after lunch we’ll go for a walk round the block. I just hope to God my varicose veins don’t start playing me up again.
(AMELIA gets up and collects the plates .)
AMELIA: You haven’t had your soup, Mamaé.
MAMAE: Soup? A dog’s dinner more like – and a rabid one at that!
AMELIA: ( Going out ) If you knew what my brothers gave me for the housekeeping, you’d realize I perform miracles just to get you all two
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