(He’s come to the end, tottering to where KATHIE is standing.) I want to know right now, if my children really are my children or if in fact they belong to the eight samurai. (KATHIE looks at him impassively, without showing the least bit of concern about Johnny’s revolver.)
KATHIE: Alexandra is yours, there’s no question about that. As for little Johnny, I’m not so sure. He could be Ken the Australian’s. I’ve always had my doubts about him. Now that’s something we’ll share.
JUAN: (Tottering about, exhausted) You’re lying. Now you really are bluffing, you must be. It’s all been an elaborate hoax, a joke in bad taste. All that about little Johnny and the eight samurai. You made it all up, didn’t you? You invented it, just to get a rise out of me? (His voice breaks off. He falls to his knees, imploring.) Darling, Pussikins, for the love of God, I beg you, tell me it’s not true you were unfaithful to me, tell me little Johnny is my son. I ask you on my knees, I beseech you, I’ll kiss your feet. (Drags himself along, groaning.) Even if it is true, just say it was a lie. So at least I can go on living, Kathie.
KATHIE: (Looking him slowly up and down) Everything I told you is absolutely true, Johnny darling. That’s something you’re going to have to live with from now on. The worst of it is, I don’t feel in the least bit remorseful, even when I see you in a state like this. I’m too bitter for that. Maybe I am a monster — I must be, I suppose. Because I’m not at all sorry for you, I’ve no pity left.
JUAN: (Getting up with his revolver in his hand) You’ll pay for this, you bitch.
KATHIE: Aim straight. Here, at the heart. You’re shaking, come closer so you don’t miss. You see I won’t run away, I’m not frightened. My life came to an end some time ago now. You saw to that. Do you think I mind dying? Go on, finish the job off.
(But JUAN doesn’t manage to fire. His hand shakes, his body shakes. He collapses at KATHIE’s feet. He puts the revolver to his own temple and shuts his eyes. He is sweating, and trembling like a leaf. He still can’t bring himself to fire. KATHIE now seems sympathetic.)
If you can’t kill me, with all that hatred you must have for me inside you, you certainly won’t be able to kill yourself. It’s harder to commit suicide than to murder someone. It takes more courage than it does to ride twenty-five-foot waves. It requires nobility of character, a sense of style, a flair for the tragic, and a romantic soul. You haven’t got any of these things, Johnny darling.
JUAN: (Sobbing, the revolver at his temple) But you have. Help me, Pussikins, help me. After what you’ve done, after what you’ve told me, I can’t go on living, knowing what I do. Help me, help me.
(With his free hand, he makes KATHIE put her hand on top of his, over the trigger.)
Go on, squeeze. Get your own back for all those things you say I’ve done to you. Get your own back for the surfing, for Waikiki, for all the emptiness. Now’s your chance, go on, free yourself …
(With a sudden decisive gesture, KATHIE squeezes the finger JUAN is holding over the trigger. The shot rings out loud, and JUAN rolls on the floor. Everything freezes for a few moments.)
SANTIAGO: What do you do with yourself here in Paris, Kathie, when you’re not writing your book on the Far East and Black Africa?
KATHIE: (Tired and discouraged) I go to the Louvre, the Jeu de Paume, the Orangerie, the Grand Palais, the Museum of Modern Art, or the galleries on the rue de Seine. I walk for hours, I stand for hours, I get very tired and my feet swell up. I try to make up for lost time.
SANTIAGO: (To ANA) She tries to make up for lost time. While you carry on just the same as when I first met you.
ANA: I never had time to improve or be any different. We couldn’t afford a servant, what with the pittance you got from La Crónica. And when you landed yourself that teaching contract at the university, you said, ‘I’m sorry, Anita, we can’t possibly have servants, my principles won’t allow it.’ They didn’t seem to balk at your wife becoming one though, did they? You’re right, I carry on just the same. But what about you? Have you changed much? Yes, I do believe you have. Are you sure it’s for the better though?
(She helps JUAN get up and the two of them exit, arm in arm, as if they were ghosts.)
KATHIE: It’s just that … all that about it never being too late to learn — I don’t believe it. Sometimes it is too late for certain things. One has to learn to recognize them, and enjoy them while there’s still time.
SANTIAGO: Do you mean modern art? Modern music? Avant-garde literature?
KATHIE: I mean classical art, classical music, and reactionary literature as well. I get bored. I don’t understand. I’ve no critical judgement. I can’t tell if a painting is good or bad. And it’s the same with music, plays and poetry. It’s the truth, Mark. I know one should never admit it to anyone but it’s true none the less.
SANTIAGO: Modern art is very obscure. You can’t see the wood for the trees. We all get lost in that particular jungle, I assure you.
KATHIE: I’m going to let you into another secret. You know that frivolous, meaningless world I used to inhabit? Well, I always used to crave for something different — something I felt I was missing, a life full of things that would satisfy the mind. I wanted to immerse myself in the world of the intellect, the arts, and literature. But now when I make the effort to read or to go to exhibitions, concerts, and lectures, I get so bored, I wonder if the artistic world isn’t basically as false and meaningless as the one I left.