Scene Seven

They leave. FLACA and FAT JORGE are alone.

FAT JORGE:

Let’s go upstairs, my Mona Lisa—

FLACA:

I don’t want to.

FAT JORGE:

Why?

FLACA:

I want us to talk.

FAT JORGE:

We’ll talk too—

FLACA:

Are you going to tell me what you scream and puke about?

FAT JORGE:

I’m trying to tell you that I want to make love to you—

FLACA:

I don’t want to.

FAT JORGE:

Flaca—

FLACA:

I don’t want to! I have no nipples and my cunt hurts like hell.

FAT JORGE:

And we’re never gonna touch each other again because of it?

FLACA:

I want us to talk.

FAT JORGE:

Flaquita, I want to see you.

FLACA:

I’m not ready to be seen. I wanna talk.

FAT JORGE:

What do you wanna talk about?

FLACA:

Everything. The reason we’re here, the reason we left, the reason you scream, the reason I’m mutilated.

They stare at each other.

FLACA:

I want to know about the nightmare.

FAT JORGE shakes his head no.

FLACA:

Then talk to me about what it was like for you in jail.

FAT JORGE:

I can’t.

FLACA:

After two years of not telling you about the resistance, of being in the concentration camp for five months, thinking I would never see you or the kids again, I believe that the place to start is by talking. Otherwise it means they’ve destroyed us.

FAT JORGE:

They may have destroyed me, Flaca, but let me tell you one thing. I learned more about the world in those few weeks than in my entire life. And I may have lost everything, but I gained something that I never knew I had: my conscience. I died in jail, Flaquita. I fucking died. But my conscience was born. Shit. Now you’re gonna make me start crying.

FLACA:

Is that so bad?

FAT JORGE:

Yes, Flaca, yes. It would be bad.

FLACA:

Why?

FAT JORGE:

Do revolutionaries cry?

FLACA:

Yes. And they ask a lot of questions. Come on. Ask me a question. I need to know that you can stand this. You want to be a revolutionary? Well, the revolution starts right here. Right now.

Pause.

FAT JORGE:

Don’t tell me about the torture.

FLACA:

Start by asking me something you can stand. But start. Somewhere. Now.

Pause.

FAT JORGE:

Um. Chacabuco. Okay. You were in Chacabuco. With who? Who else was there?

FLACA:

With the crème de la crème. All the union leaders, the party leaders, the students, the actors, the miners, the priests. I was with them. God I miss them.

FAT JORGE:

Don’t cry.

FLACA:

I’m not crying. I’m talking. I don’t know how you dealt with it, Fat Jorge, because you weren’t involved. But I was. I sat on the plane, handcuffed to that seat, my heart pounding. I hadn’t seen you and the kids for so long. Months. Centuries. Lifetimes upon lifetimes. Then you came down the aisle and when I saw you I just …

FAT JORGE:

What?

FLACA:

You were like a mirror. You’ve changed so much. When I saw your eyes look at me, I saw the reflection of how much I’ve changed.

FAT JORGE:

My Mona Lisa.

Pause.

FLACA:

What do you scream and puke about?

FAT JORGE:

The time spent there.

FLACA:

What? Talk to me.

FAT JORGE:

I can’t.

FLACA:

Okay.

CALLADITA, CRISTINA, MANUELITA, and JOSELITO  enter. They are drenched.

CRISTINA:

Every time I leave this place I don’t see a soul.

JOSELITO:

They’re all in their cars!

MANUELITA:

Were you crying, Mom?

FLACA:

No. But, hey! Why don’t we all go to our room? I’ll make us some milk with tea and I’ll teach you some of the card games I learned in Chacabuco.

JOSELITO:

Yayyy!

They all start going up the stairs.

FLACA:

We’ll start with Mao-Mao. The key to the game is that every time you’re finished your move you say: Mao-Mao.

CRISTINA:

As opposed to Ho Chi Minh-Ho Chi Minh?

FLACA:

That’s another game.

The leader of the copper miners’ unions taught it to me. We called him Titicaco ’cause he was full-blooded Quechua Indian; it was like looking into the very heart of the highlands when you looked in his eyes. He taught me so many great games, I don’t want to forget them. We’ll start with Mao-Mao, move on to Run, Che, Run and continue with Go Tupac Amaru.