GRANDFATHER: Look, I don’t know. It’s strange … but I don’t think about it, I don’t care.
GRANDMOTHER: Don’t you care whether God exists or not? Don’t you care if there’s an afterlife?
GRANDFATHER: (Trying to joke) I must be losing my curiosity in my old age.
GRANDMOTHER: What nonsense you talk, Pedro. A fine consolation it would be if God didn’t exist and there was no afterlife.
GRANDFATHER: All right then, God does exist and there is an afterlife. Don’t let’s argue about something so trivial.
MAMAE: But when it comes to confession he’s the best of the lot! (To GRANDMOTHER, who looks at her surprised.) Father Venancio! What a way he has with words! He captivates you, he hypnotizes you! Father Venancio, I’ve committed a mortal sin, all because of that Indian woman from Camaná and that damned letter.
(She puts her hand in front of her mouth, frightened at what she has said. She looks at the GRANDPARENTS and AMELIA. But they are concentrating on their food, as if they hadn’t heard her. However, BELISARIO has stopped writing. He looks up and we can see from his expression that he is profoundly intrigued.)
BELISARIO: It’s clear that the young lady never had the slightest doubt about the existence of God, or about the true faith: it was Catholic, Apostolic and Roman. There’s no doubt she fulfilled her religious obligations with the unerring simplicity of a star moving around the universe: she went to church, took Communion, said her prayers, and went to confession.
(MAMAE, who has been moving very laboriously over towards BELISARIO, now kneels in front of him as if she is at confession.)
MAMAE: Forgive me, Father Venancio, for I have sinned.
BELISARIO: (Giving her the Benediction) When was the last time you came to confession, my child?
MAMAE: A fortnight ago, father.
BELISARIO: Have you offended against God these last two weeks?
MAMAE: I confess that I gave in to feelings of anger, father.
BELISARIO: How many times?
MAMAE: Twice. The first was last Tuesday. Amelia was cleaning the bathroom. She was taking her time and I was wanting to obey a call of nature. I was too ashamed to ask her to leave. Carmen and Pedro were there and they would have realized that I wanted to go to the lavatory. So I said as casually as I could, ‘Get a move on with the bathroom, would you, Amelia.’ But she just carried on as if there was all the time in the world. Well, I was feeling quite uncomfortable by now, what with the cramp in my stomach, and I was coming out in a cold sweat. So I cursed her, mentally of course. But I felt like shouting, ‘You confounded idiot! You disagreeable slut! You …’
BELISARIO: And the second time, my child?
MAMAE: That treacherous little devil poured away my bottle of eau-de-Cologne. I’d been given it as a present. The family is not well off at the moment, father, so for them it was a lot of money. Amelia and the boys always give me presents for my birthday and at Christmas, and I depend on them. I was pleased with that Cologne. It had a lovely smell. But that little devil opened the bottle and emptied it down the sink. All because I wouldn’t tell him a story, Father Venancio.
BELISARIO: Was I the treacherous little devil, Mamaé?
MAMAE: Yes, father.
BELISARIO: Did you box my ears? Did you spank me?
MAMAE: I never lay a finger on him. Well, he’s not my grandchild, is he? I’m only an aunt, a sort of second fiddle in the orchestra. But when I saw that empty Cologne bottle, father, I was so angry, I locked myself in the bathroom and stood there in front of the mirror, saying rude words.
BELISARIO: What rude words, my child?
MAMAE: I hardly like to say, Father Venancio.
BELISARIO: That may be so. Now don’t be proud.
MAMAE: All right, I’ll try, Father. (Making a big effort) Bugger it all! You shit! You shit! You snotty little shit!
BELISARIO: What other sins, my child?
MAMAE: I confess that I lied three times, father.
BELISARIO: Serious lies?
MAMAE: Well sort of, father.
GRANDMOTHER: (From the table) What are you talking about, Elvira?
MAMAE: We’ve run out of sugar. (To BELISARIO) There was a whole packet, but I hid it. I wanted Carmen to give me some money. So I told another lie.
GRANDMOTHER: And why should you be going to buy sugar? Let Amelia go.
MAMAE: No, no. I’ll go. I want to take some exercise. (To BELISARIO) It wasn’t true, I have great difficulty walking. My knees ache, and I’m not very steady on my feet.
BELISARIO: And why all those lies, my child?
MAMAE: So I could buy myself a bar of chocolate. I’d been longing for some for days. That advertisement on the wireless for Chocolate Sublime made my mouth water.
BELISARIO: Wouldn’t it have been easier to ask Grandfather for five soles?
MAMAE: He’s very hard up at the moment, father. He’s living off his sons and they’re going through a difficult patch. He makes do with the same razor blade for weeks on end, poor man, sharpening it up for goodness knows how long every morning. It’s ages since anyone bought any clothes in the house. We wear what Amelia and the boys hand down to us. How was I going to ask him for money to buy chocolate? So I went to the shop, bought a bar of Sublime, and guzzled it in the street. When I got home, I put the packet of sugar I’d hidden back in the kitchen cupboard. That was the third little piece of deception, father.
BELISARIO: You are too proud, my child.
MAMAE: There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s not a sin to be proud.
(In the course of the conversation the physical relationship between them has gradually been changing. MAMAE is now in the position she habitually adopts when she tells stories to BELISARIO as a young child.)
BELISARIO: I think it is, Mamaé. Brother Leoncio said the other day in the catechism class that pride was the worst sin of all. That it was Lucifer’s favourite.
MAMAE: All right, perhaps it is. But as far as the young lady from Tacna was concerned, it was pride that made her life bearable, you see? It gave her the strength to put up with the disappointments, the loneliness, and all that privation. Without pride she would have suffered a great deal. Besides, it was all she had.
BELISARIO: I don’t know why you rate pride so highly. If she loved her fiancé, and he asked her to forgive him for being unfaithful to her with the wicked woman, wouldn’t she have been better off just to forgive him and marry him? What use was all this pride to her? After all, she ended up an old spinster, didn’t she?
MAMAE: You’re very young and you don’t understand. Pride is the most important thing a person can have in life. It protects you against everything. Once you lose it, whether you’re a man or a woman, the world tramples on you like an old rag.
BELISARIO: But this isn’t a story. It’s more like a sermon, Mamaé. Things have got to happen in stories. And you never give me nearly enough details. For instance, did the young lady have any nasty secret habits?
MAMAE: (Frightened, getting to her feet) No, of course she didn’t. (More frightened still) Nasty … what did you say? (Horrified) Nasty what? Nasty whats?
BELISARIO: (Ashamed) I said nasty secret thoughts, Mamaé. Didn’t the young lady ever have any nasty secret thoughts?