BELISARIO: I want to be a poet, Uncle.
AGUSTIN: (Laughs.) I’m not laughing at you, old son, don’t be cross. I’m laughing at myself. I thought you were going to tell me you were a nancy boy. Or that you wanted to go into the priesthood. But a poet, that’s altogether less serious. (Goes back towards the dining room and addresses AMELIA.) We must face facts, Amelia, Belisario isn’t going to pull us out of the mire. Why don’t you do as I suggested and send the boy out to work for once in his life?
(BELISARIO has gone back to the desk and listens to them from there.)
AMELIA: If things were different, I wouldn’t mind him doing whatever he wanted to do. But he’s going to die of starvation, Agustín, just like the rest of us. Only he’ll be worse off still. A poet, indeed! What sort of a profession is that, I ask you. And I had such high hopes for him. His father would shoot himself all over again, if he knew his only son was turning out to be a poet.
(BELISARIO, exultant, laughs and mimes shooting himself.)
MAMAE: Poet? Are you talking about Federico Barreto? Don’t let Uncle Menelao hear you. He won’t even let his name be mentioned in the house, not since he wrote me that poem.
(MAMAE smiles at them all, as if they were strangers, bowing politely. BELISARIO, leaving his desk, has placed his hands on either side of his forehead so they look like two horns. He starts to charge about, cannoning into the furniture and other objects in the room, including his grandparents, his mother and his two uncles.)
GRANDMOTHER: Why are you so surprised he wants to be a poet? He takes after his great-grandfather. Pedro’s father used to write poetry. And Belisario has always been fairly fanciful, ever since he was so high. Don’t you remember in Bolivia with the little nanny goat?
BELISARIO: It’s the devil, Grandma. I swear it is. It’s on the picture cards, in the Catechism — Brother Leoncio said that he appears in the form of a black billy goat. (Swearing and kissing his fingers in the form of a cross) You’ve got to believe me, Grandma!
AMELIA: But it’s not a billy goat, it’s only a little nanny goat, dear.
GRANDMOTHER: Besides, it’s a present from your grandpa, for Independence Day. Do you really think your grandfather would send us a present of the devil?
BELISARIO: (Snivelling) It’s Beelzebub, Grandma! It is, it is! You’ve got to believe me! I swear it is! I did the holy-water test on him. I poured it all over him and he took fright, I promise you.
AGUSTIN: I expect the water wasn’t properly blessed, old son. (BELISARIO goes over to Mamaé’s armchair, weeping.)
MAMAE: Don’t make fun of him, poor little man. I’m listening to you, my precious, come over here.
BELISARIO: (Affectionately cuddling an imaginary MAMAE) If only you knew, Mamaé, I still have nightmares about the little nanny goat from Bolivia. She seemed so big. How scared you were of her, Belisario. A billy goat, the devil. Is that what you call a love story?
AMELIA: Why are you so quiet, Papa? Are you feeling ill? Papa, Papa!
GRANDFATHER: (His head in his hands) Just a little dizziness, my dear. In my thingumajig. I keep getting it in my thingumajig.
(GRANDMOTHER, CESAR, AGUSTIN, and AMELIA in a great state of alarm all throng round GRANDFATHER who has half fainted.)
CESAR: We must call a doctor! Quick!
AGUSTIN: Wait. Let’s take him to his bedroom first. (Amid cries of anxiety, all four of them carry GRANDFATHER to the inner part of the house. MAMAE looks on without moving.)
MAMAE: (Looking up to heaven) Was it because of the Indian woman? Was it because of that youthful little misdemeanour?
(She gets up with great difficulty. She takes hold of the little wooden chair she uses as a walking aid and, grasping the back, starts out on the slow awkward journey back to her armchair. BELISARIO, very serious and resolute now, is waiting for her at the foot of the armchair in the position he habitually adopts for listening to the stories.)
BELISARIO: Having got so far, I simply have to know now, Mamaé. What was that little misdemeanour?
MAMAE: (Moving slowly back towards her armchair with some difficulty) Something dreadful that happened to the young lady, my little one. It was the only time in her entire life. All because of that letter. Because of that wicked woman. (Stops to gather strength.) Poor young lady! They caused her to sin in her thoughts!
BELISARIO: What letter, Mamaé? Tell me the whole story from the beginning.
MAMAE: A letter the gentleman wrote to his wife. His wife was an intimate friend of the young lady from Tacna. They lived together because they were so very fond of each other. They were almost like sisters and that’s why, when her friend got married, she took the young lady in to live with her.
BELISARIO: In Arequipa?
(MAMAE has finally reached her armchair and lets herself fall into it. BELISARIO rests his head on her knees.)
MAMAE: Times were good. It looked as though there was going to be a bumper cotton harvest that year and that the gentleman was going to earn a lot of money and buy a plantation of his own. Because, at that time, the gentleman managed other people’s land.
BELISARIO: The plantation in Camaná, the one that belonged to the Saíds. I know all that already. But what about the letter, Mamaé, what about the Indian woman?
(GRANDFATHER appears at the back of the stage. He sits down. Enter SEÑORA CARLOTA, with a broom and a feather duster. She is dressed as in the first act, only here she appears to be carrying out the duties of a servant girl. As she sweeps and dusts, she moves back and forth in front of GRANDFATHER, suggestively. GRANDFATHER, despite himself, starts to follow her with his gaze.)
MAMAE: Camaná was in the back of beyond. A little village without roads or even a church. The gentleman wouldn’t allow his wife to bury herself in a wasteland like that. So he left her in Arequipa, with the young lady, so she could have some sort of social life. He had to spend months away from his family. But he was a very good man; he had always treated the labourers and servants at the plantation with the utmost consideration. Until one day …
GRANDFATHER: (Reciting) ‘My beloved wife, my treasure: I write to you, my soul worn to tatters with remorse. On our wedding night we made an oath of undying love and fidelity. We swore we’d be totally frank with each other. These last five years, I’ve kept scrupulously to that oath, as I know you have too, you saint among saints.’
(SEÑORA CARLOTA, emboldened by the looks GRANDFATHER is giving her, takes off her blouse, as if it were very hot. The brassière she is wearing underneath barely covers her breasts.)
BELISARIO: (With restrained anguish) Was it a letter the gentleman wrote to the young lady?
MAMAE: No, to his wife. The letter arrived in Arequipa, and when the gentleman’s wife read it, she turned as white as snow. The young lady had to give her valerian drops and sponge her brow. Then the gentleman’s wife shut herself up in her room and the young lady heard her weeping with sighs that rent the soul. Her curiosity was too great for her. So that afternoon, she searched the room. And do you know where the letter was? It was hidden inside a hat. Because the gentleman’s wife loved hats. And, unluckily for her, the young lady read it.