ACT TWO
Scene 1
WAITING FOR HIM ON TOP OF MY ROOF
Evening. We hear music. The lights slowly come up on Sofia sitting on a chair. She wears a simple colorful dress. María Celia stands behind her, combing her hair. Sofia is applying lipstick and looks into a small compact mirror. María Celia’s mind wanders to her letter writing while she combs her sister’s hair.
MARÍA CELIA: “My dear love, I write to you in my mind, on my skin, even when I go about doing housework. Tonight Sofie has invited to dinner the man who tuned the piano—not that we can afford another dish on our table, but we’ll have a visitor for a change.”
(Sofia gets up and climbs the spiral staircase to the roof. She stares into the distance waiting for Victor Manuel. María Celia walks around the room with a cloth, dusting the sofa and the piano.)
“There are fewer and fewer products in the markets these days. We’re running out of everything. We use milk of magnesia for deodorant. Soon we’ll be out of lipstick and have to use beet juice to color our lips. I probably sound vain, because lipstick isn’t necessary, but it’s good to add a touch of red to the face for those blue days.”
SOFIA (Shouting): María Celia . . . I think I see him coming . . . Warm up the food . . . He’s walking down the street . . .
MARÍA CELIA (In a loud voice): Shouldn’t I wait till he’s actually here? This is the third time I’ve warmed up the food.
SOFIA: I think it’s him walking this way . . .
MARÍA CELIA: Are you sure this time? It’s almost 9:30 now.
SOFIA: It’s got to be him.
MARÍA CELIA: Just come down, Sofie . . . come down . . .
SOFIA: Wait . . . first I want to see . . .
MARÍA CELIA: You’ve been up and down from that roof the whole night.
SOFIA: He’s crossing the street now . . .
MARÍA CELIA: Is it him?
SOFIA (Climbs down from the roof): You’re right, he’s not coming . . . It wasn’t him.
MARÍA CELIA: Oh, Sofie, maybe something happened. Don’t get that way. Maybe he went to one of the games. You know how men are, they are like children when it comes to sports. Maybe he’s afraid of being seen here. Come on, cheer up . . . You and I will have dinner. I’m going to play a record, we’ll have a good time. I want you to dance with me. Come on . . . (Goes behind the sofa to their record player and puts on a fast Cuban song) Dance with me . . . dance . . .
(The music livens up the mood. María Celia starts dancing with Sofia . . . Sofia gives in to the dance, and the sisters start showing off their best steps and turns. They laugh, enjoying their dancing.
There is a knock at the door. María Celia turns off the music. There is another knock. Sofia fixes her hair and clothes and goes to open the door, expecting the piano tuner. Lieutenant Portuondo enters dressed in a summer suit. He’s carrying a bottle.)
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Listening to music?
SOFIA: Yes . . . we . . . we were . . .
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Celebrating the end of the Pan-American Games?
SOFIA AND MARÍA CELIA: No . . .
MARÍA CELIA: We’re . . . just . . . just listening to some records . . .
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: You’re all dressed up this evening.
MARÍA CELIA (Nervously): We are . . . aren’t we? . . . Get tired of the same clothes.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: I brought some rum, thought maybe you’d like to have a drink with me.
SOFIA: No. You’ll have to excuse me, Lieutenant, I’m going to bed.
MARÍA CELIA: Stay up a while longer.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Have a drink with us. (To María Celia) Would you bring some glasses? It’s a night for celebration. We won over seventy medals in the games. We beat the Americans in almost everything. Can you believe it?
SOFIA: Our radio is broken, Lieutenant. We don’t get any news. We don’t know what’s happening out there in the world.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: You should give it to me. I’ll have it fixed.
(María Celia gives him the glasses. He opens the bottle.)
MARÍA CELIA: No. You don’t have to, Lieutenant.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: I’ll fix it for you. I know someone who fixes radios. (Pours the rum) Sweet poison, this rum. Everywhere there are tourists drinking tonight, burning their guts out. Can you hear the drums? They make the island come alive. They release things from inside people. (Raises his glass) Salud.
MARÍA CELIA: Salud. (Smells the rum, takes a sip)
SOFIA: Salud.
MARÍA CELIA: I haven’t had rum in so long, forgot what it tastes like.
SOFIA: Me, too.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Well, drink up. I brought a whole bottle.
SOFIA: It seems like the whole island is out tonight. How come you’re not out celebrating?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Because I wanted to see the two of you.
SOFIA: An odd place to visit. Not even the moon comes to this house.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Well, that’s the moon for you. I like visiting you.
MARÍA CELIA: If it weren’t this late I’d go out into the patio and pull a few mint leaves from our plants. A little mint would give the rum the finishing touch.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: What’s the matter, you’re afraid of the darkness? Tell me where the mint plant is. I’ll pull a few leaves.
MARÍA CELIA: No. It’s not good to disturb the plants at this hour. It’s an old African belief—respect for the night, the plants . . . Our mother used to say:
MARÍA CELIA AND SOFIA (Laughing): “Never ask a tree for fruit at night, because the whole wilderness sleeps after sundown.”
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: You fascinate me, compañera.
SOFIA: That was our mother, Lieutenant.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Well I think the two of you are fascinating.
SOFIA: No. Not like she was.
MARÍA CELIA: She was a lovely woman, Lieutenant.
SOFIA: Yes, she was.
MARÍA CELIA: Every time she entered the patio out there, all the plants rejoiced in her presence.
SOFIA: And here in this room, every afternoon she’d sit to play the piano and the whole neighborhood would quiet down to listen to her music.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: So talent runs in the family, you and your mother played the piano and María Celia writes . . . How about your father?
SOFIA: He was an accountant . . .
MARÍA CELIA: Someone had to do the numbers.
SOFIA: Oh, we can tell you stories about our family—
MARÍA CELIA: Every day we discover things about Mamá for the first time—
SOFIA: Why her room was on the east side of the house—
MARÍA CELIA: Because she loved the morning light.
SOFIA: Why she used to write prayers on the soles of our shoes.
MARÍA CELIA: Why she had her own views about the revolution.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: She was a revolutionary?
SOFIA: Maybe not the kind you would like.
MARÍA CELIA: We’ve always been revolutionary, Lieutenant. The whole family.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: So why did your father leave the country?
SOFIA: He felt he couldn’t speak his mind.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: I see. I suppose it can be difficult sometimes.
SOFIA: You suppose right enough.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: My old man . . . he left just like your father.
SOFIA: He did.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Got fed up one day and said: “This isn’t going anywhere.” Got tired of waiting. He wanted to take me with him.
SOFIA: You?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Yes. But I was already in the military.
MARÍA CELIA: I can’t imagine you living up North.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Well sometimes I wonder what my life would’ve been like if I’d left. The poor man, ended up in some snowy town. Never married again after my mother died. He used to say he was old and didn’t have any more heart left in him.—Was a good man, my father. Hard worker . . . Had an old Buick, used to travel the whole island selling milk containers to farmers. I used to help him on the road. Many a time, I saw his eyes water, when an old bolero used to play on the radio, and I’d ask him, “Why you crying, Pipo?” And he’d say, “I just saw Pucha, your mother, through the mirror.” And I’d turn around to look and there’d be no one on the backseat. And he’d keep on telling me, “Oh, I know she’s there, I can smell her sweet powder.” It used to give me the creeps.
MARÍA CELIA: Why?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Knowing my father, he’d let go of the steering wheel and jump on the backseat with her.
More rum?
MARÍA CELIA: Just a bit.
(He pours some rum in María Celia’s glass.)
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: You know, every time I come to this house I seem to forget the world. Something about you and your sister. You’re different.
(He pours some rum in Sofia’s glass.)
SOFIA: I’m sure we are, especially now in Mamá’s clothes.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: No, what I’m talking about is something in the blood.
MARÍA CELIA: In the blood?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Yes. What is it? What is that something that is passed on, that makes us who we are? I mean intelligence . . . grace . . . you’re pure . . . You are who you are, unlike me. I don’t know what I’m saying . . . ey, what would I know! I come from the middle of nowhere. A miserable town made of mud. Houses made of palm leaves. Dirt floor. No running water. I think people die there from looking at the cows. You know the only thing I liked about that place were the hurricanes. I loved the hurricanes. I was always waiting for the wind to blow hard enough and blow me away from there.
(He drinks. Sound of voices coming from the outside, firecrackers.)
MARÍA CELIA: What is that noise?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: It must be the people going home from the stadium.
SOFIA: They sound happy and cheerful.
MARÍA CELIA: They do.
Did anybody see you come in here at this hour? There’s always somebody keeping an eye on this house.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Don’t worry. People know who I am.
MARÍA CELIA: I’d be careful if I were you. It’s not five o’clock in the afternoon.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Well, I wanted to see you, and that’s all that matters. I’d like to get to know the two of you. I’d like for us to talk.
MARÍA CELIA: Talk about what, Lieutenant?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: I mean talk.
MARÍA CELIA: We are talking, aren’t we?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: No, I mean . . . When are you going to trust me?
MARÍA CELIA: Trust you how, Lieutenant?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: How can I make you stop seeing me as the enemy?
MARÍA CELIA: Being the enemy is not necessarily a bad thing. You probably know that more than I do. Lets you keep your resistance, your perspective in life.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: And what’s your perspective in life? How do you know it’s any different than mine?
MARÍA CELIA: Oh, come on, Lieutenant.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: That isn’t fair . . . you hardly know me.
SOFIA: I’m going upstairs to the roof . . . it seems like there are people dancing in the streets. I want to watch them from up there.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Have another drink with us?
SOFIA: No, you’ll have to excuse me.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO (Pouring more rum in María Celia’s glass): A little more rum. (Refilling his glass) Salud.
(He raises his glass. She doesn’t toast, but stares him in the face. He smiles and drinks. He’s amused by her control.)
You know, the more I get to know you, the more I understand your husband’s letters.
MARÍA CELIA: What do you mean?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: This man would do anything to have you by his side. It’s all here, in this letter.
MARÍA CELIA: Do you always carry my husband’s letters with you?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: No. I brought you this letter tonight, because I thought you’d like to know about your husband’s trip to Sweden.
MARÍA CELIA: What about his trip?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: I don’t know. These lines may lend themselves to more than one interpretation, and you know very well what I mean. He talks about the photos he took in Sweden. Something about them looking sad and gray. What do you think that means?
MARÍA CELIA: I don’t know. They say those Northern countries look sad and melancholy.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Are you sure that doesn’t mean something else? He writes about several objects he bought on his trip. They seemed to have gotten lost in the mail . . . a painting, an old book on butterflies. Could this mean that he’s not having any luck getting you out of this place? Was he trying to find you an asylum in Sweden?
MARÍA CELIA: What are you after, Lieutenant? What do you want to know?! Just tell me. I mean, I’m standing here listening to you and I’m thinking, is this a new game? . . . Is it really his letter? Or is this some kind of new trial I’m supposed to endure?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Look, you can see for yourself. It’s his handwriting.
(He shows her the letter, then folds it and places it back in his pocket. Silence. A part of her seems to have left the room. She walks away from him. There are tears in her eyes.)
MARÍA CELIA: You should go, Lieutenant.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: I’m sorry.
MARÍA CELIA: Just go, please.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: I want to try to help you, María Celia. Why won’t you let me help you?
MARÍA CELIA: What can you do? We both know what that letter is saying. You know everything about my life. That was my last hope.
(Her mind is somewhere else. But she takes refuge in the absurdity of the whole thing; with a faint smile:)
Well, what would Sofie and I do in Sweden. We would probably look like two out-of-season tropical palms.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: I don’t think you should leave the country once you’re released from this house.
MARÍA CELIA: I never thought exile was the answer. But what would I do here?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: You are needed here, and I don’t tell you this because you are standing in front of me and I have a couple of drinks in my head . . . Look, I’m all for change, just like you . . . That manifesto you wrote about Perestroika . . .
MARÍA CELIA: It got me nowhere, Lieutenant!
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: It just wasn’t the right time. But now . . . Look, the island is going to open up soon, just like the rest of the world . . . Things are going to change . . .
MARÍA CELIA: Please, I prefer . . .
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: No, listen to me . . .
MARÍA CELIA: I prefer not to talk about it . . . All I did was write the words “change” . . . “individual rights” . . . “a little more freedom” on a piece of paper and what happened?! All my writing became suspicious, a mob threw rocks at my door, two years in prison, and then I got locked up in my own house. So please just—
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: I believe in what you wrote, María Celia. I’m with you . . .
You know, tonight I came here wanting—I was hoping for some kind of understanding between the two of us. You and I . . . We treat each other . . .
MARÍA CELIA: I think I stopped trying to understand many things . . .
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: And so have I. I certainly don’t try to understand why I’m here in this house. Why I’m willing to read you these letters. I gave up trying to understand. You know very well I’m risking my skin. (For the first time he realizes this is a political confession and also a confession of the heart)
(Sofia comes down from the roof. She stays at a distance to listen to the conversation.)
I’d like to help you stop waiting.
(Pause. She looks at him.)
MARÍA CELIA: I love my husband, Lieutenant.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: I know. And I love that about you. That’s how I met you. I love everything about you . . . your writing . . . your mind . . . the way you think . . . how you see the world.
SOFIA: If you’re leaving, Lieutenant, you should go out the back door. The head of the neighborhood committee is sitting on her doorstep.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: That’s all right, compañera. Thank you. Would you give me the radio before I go? I’d like to fix it for you.
SOFIA: If you insist. (Hands him the radio)
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Have a good night.
MARÍA CELIA: Lieutenant . . .
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Yes . . .
MARÍA CELIA: Bring me a letter tomorrow and I want you to read me the whole thing. We’ll go ahead with our arrangement.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Tomorrow then.
MARÍA CELIA: Are you all right? You’ve been up and down the roof the whole night.
SOFIA: I walked all the way past Tito’s house on top of the roof. I want to go out. I can’t stand it here anymore. I just want out.
(The sound of drums fills the stage. The lights fade to black.)
Scene 2
HER HUSBAND’S LETTER FOR A STORY
The lights start to slowly come up. Sofia enters with betel palm trees in terra-cotta containers.
SOFIA: Where do you want me to put these?
MARÍA CELIA (Offstage): By the doorway.
SOFIA: What’s gotten into you today?
MARÍA CELIA (Offstage): We need some life in this house.
SOFIA: It would take more than these shrubs.
MARÍA CELIA (Offstage): Do they look good there?
SOFIA: No. They look better next to the piano.
(María Celia enters with another plant. Sofia walks to the wall and presses her ear to listen. María Celia exits and returns with another palm tree and places it by the doorway.)
We haven’t heard the man next door in more than two weeks. Not a sound from in there. You think something happened to him?
MARÍA CELIA: He’s probably busy working.
SOFIA: I miss listening to him. He’s never been gone for so long. Maybe he’s sick in the hospital.
MARÍA CELIA: Ay, Sofia . . . Why would he be in the hospital? He’s strong as a horse.
SOFIA: You’re right, he’s strong. He’s built like a bull.
MARÍA CELIA: Help me bring in the other pots.
SOFIA: I suppose the lieutenant will be coming this afternoon.
MARÍA CELIA: I suppose he will.
SOFIA: And you’ll want me to sit here.
MARÍA CELIA: I was hoping you would.
SOFIA: “I was hoping,” she says. I might as well be another plant in the room.
MARÍA CELIA: I’ll bring in the other plants.
SOFIA: That’s fine. I’ll do whatever you want me to do. Like always, until doomsday.
(There’s a knock at the door.)
Oh God! It’s probably him.
(She goes to open the door. Lieutenant Portuondo comes in.)
We weren’t expecting you until much later.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Left work early today.
SOFIA: María Celia is out in the patio. This is her new plan for today, to fill the house with plants.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: It looks good.
SOFIA: You think so? I can’t even tell the difference. Everything looks the same to me in this place. Can I get you anything, Lieutenant?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: No, thank you.
SOFIA: How are things out there in the world?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: It’s hot. The streets are burning from this heat.
SOFIA: Not any hotter than in this house. Have you been to the movies lately?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: No, I haven’t.
SOFIA: I used to love going to the movies, especially in the summer. It’s a good place to escape the heat.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Yes, it is.
SOFIA: Oh, I wish you could get us a permit, Lieutenant.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: What kind of permit do you want?
SOFIA: Something to go out of the house, even if it’s just once a week.
MARÍA CELIA (Entering with another plant): I think this bromeliad will look nice inside the house. (Notices Lieutenant Portuondo)
SOFIA: I was just about to call you . . .
MARÍA CELIA: Hello, Lieutenant!
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Hello.
SOFIA: Give me the plant, I’ll put it on the table. Sit here on the sofa, Lieutenant. I think I’d rather sit by the piano.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO (To Sofia): I imagine this is like the old days, when your friends used to gather here to read stories and poems.
SOFIA: No, it’s not the same.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: I’m sure there were more people and it was livelier.
SOFIA: Many more. This place was full of life before. Now everything has a sad stare . . . Every piece of furniture has a tag like an agony. Sometimes I think I’m going to go mad in this closed-up house. I spend so much time in this damned place.
MARÍA CELIA: Well, perhaps we should start now, Sofie. (Turns to Lieutenant Portuondo) Lieutenant.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO (Takes out a letter and begins to read): “My dear María Celia, Your letter came yesterday and brought with it a garden of palm trees, the wind from your patio. The little place where you sit on the roof. Sometimes I can see you without seeing you, as if I were there next to you. I can picture what you do in the morning, at what time you have coffee, comb your hair, at what time you wash your face and undress.” (He looks at her) “Every day I dream about you, my love. I can feel your arms and legs wrapped around my body like before . . . your skin soft, delicate, tender and hot . . . your face madly alive when I am inside you . . . your voice calling out, asking me to go further . . . to go as far as death . . . I’m holding your last letter in my hands now . . . Tonight I’ll sleep inside you, my love. Please write to me soon, Antonio. P.S. I’m including a few jasmine flowers from the tree outside my window. They remind me of you.”
MARÍA CELIA: May I see the flowers?
(Lieutenant Portuondo gives her the three little dry flowers. She smells them. He looks at her. Silence.)
SOFIA: I . . . I feel . . . I feel as if I should do something. Maybe have something to read. So quiet all of a sudden. Maybe I could play the piano.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Yes. Play something.
SOFIA: How about this? You know this song?
(She begins to play something like “Yo te Quiero Siempre” by Lecuona. Lieutenant Portuondo walks toward the piano. He leaves the letter with María Celia. She’s reading it now as she smells the flowers. Sofia immerses herself in her music. She looks at Lieutenant Portuondo as she plays. He stares at María Celia. Sofia turns her face to María Celia as she plays, then back to Lieutenant Portuondo. He lets himself be taken by the music, but his eyes always return to María Celia. Holding the flowers, María Celia walks to look at the light entering from a window. Lieutenant Portuondo watches her. Sofia closes her eyes, recoiling in the music. Lieutenant Portuondo walks toward María Celia. She is smelling the flowers, then hands them for him to smell. Sofia closes the piano and walks out of the room. María Celia and Lieutenant Portuondo turn toward Sofia. María Celia is about to go after her . . .)
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Don’t go . . .
(María Celia remains still, looking in the direction of her sister. Lieutenant Portuondo comes closer to her. He touches her shoulder. He kisses her neck. He turns her face. He kisses her lips, her face and all over her neck and shoulders. He makes his way down her body. He’s down on his knees now kissing her legs, pulling up her dress. Her back arches, then bends forward to him as if succumbing to the pull of pleasure. The two bodies have become one on the floor. The sound of nightfall drowns the whole moment into a gentle darkness. Then full darkness.
When the lights come up again, María Celia is lying on the floor with Lieutenant Portuondo, telling him the story.)
MARÍA CELIA: Then she moves around the room, like the light that enters slowly from the lighthouse. She changes the conversation. And slowly like the high tide that creeps in the afternoon, she brings the calm sea to the room. The whole room drowns in a blue glory. He no longer remembers the marine reports. He can only smell the wet air of the bay. His whole body becomes a vessel, a galleon. His open shirt, a flying sail in the wind navigating towards her open sea.
(Sofia enters but stays at a distance, watching.)
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: So the woman in your story is responsible for the stolen boats. She distracts the man while she’s upstairs in the tower. Does the woman love this man?
MARÍA CELIA: I think she does. But she probably doesn’t want to know this.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Is that why she’s lying to him?
MARÍA CELIA: Perhaps he’s been lying, too. Maybe he knew the boats were being stolen all along, but he pretended not to know.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Why would he do that?
MARÍA CELIA: So she could always come back to him.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: You’re beautiful beyond anything I’ve seen in my life . . .
MARÍA CELIA: I am? Tell me that again.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: You’re beautiful, beautiful, beautiful . . .
MARÍA CELIA: You have awakened a hunger in me that starts from my feet to my hair, as if my mouth is once again my own, my breathing . . . like I’m tasting everything for the first time.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: I want to know everything about you. I want to eat with you and shower with you . . .
MARÍA CELIA: Are you as hungry as I am?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Yes, for you.
MARÍA CELIA: No, wait. I think there’s some mangoes left in the kitchen.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Messy fruit, the mango.
MARÍA CELIA: Messy like you.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Let’s eat it naked in your room.
(María Celia takes him by the hand. They exit into her room. The sounds of the night fill the stage. The lights become darker. The scene moves deeper into the night as time passes.
Sofia is restless. It’s been a long night, full of a wakeful dream in which she sees herself escaping the house. She enters the living room like a shadow. She walks cautiously, holding a bundle of men’s clothes. She wears a fedora. She drops the bundle of clothes on top of the sofa as she glances toward her sister’s room. She listens for any sounds coming from there. She stands by the sofa and starts to disguise herself as a man, putting on a pair of pants and shirt, tucking her dress inside the pants. María Celia enters.)
MARÍA CELIA: Who’s there? Who’s there?
SOFIA (In a low voice): Shshhhhh . . . Don’t scream . . . don’t be frightened it’s me.
MARÍA CELIA: Oh my God . . . You gave me a fright. I was . . . I thought someone . . . I thought someone had gotten in . . .
SOFIA: Shssh . . . Go back to bed, it’s still dark.
MARÍA CELIA: What are you doing?
SOFIA: I couldn’t sleep.
MARÍA CELIA: Why are you dressing like a man?
SOFIA: I’m trying on Papi’s clothes.
MARÍA CELIA: What do you mean you’re trying on Papi’s clothes? Were you going out?
SOFIA: No.
MARÍA CELIA: You’re lying.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO (Offstage): María Celia . . .
MARÍA CELIA (In a loud voice): Coming . . . (To Sofia) Take off those clothes!
SOFIA: No.
MARÍA CELIA (Starts taking off Sofia’s shirt): Are you crazy?
SOFIA (Pulling away): I don’t care what you say. I’m going out.
MARÍA CELIA: If you get caught you’re going back to prison.
(Lieutenant Portuondo enters the room, but stays at a distance, watching.)
SOFIA: The hell with you. Let go.
(María Celia lets go of her arm. Sofia takes a jacket and the hat and runs off out of the house.)
MARÍA CELIA (In a low voice): Sofia . . . Sofia . . .
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: María Celia . . .
(María Celia stays motionless. Pause. She turns to him.)
MARÍA CELIA: Would you keep this between us?—Please, Alejandro, would you do that for me?
(He looks at her, then exits into her room. María Celia remains alone. The lights fade to black.)
Scene 3
COUNTING THE LOST STITCHES
The morning after Sofia’s escape. María Celia and Sofia have been arguing. Lieutenant Portuondo enters from the bedroom, holding his shirt.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Did anybody follow you?
SOFIA: I already told you. No . . . no.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Did you go into anyone’s house?
SOFIA: No.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Where did you go then? Where?
SOFIA: I ran through the streets like a wild horse.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: That’s not what I asked you.
SOFIA: Then what do you want to know?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Did you talk to anybody?
SOFIA: Yes, I talked to the sea, to the sky, to the cars and bicycles passing me by . . . Is that what you want to know? Now leave me in peace!
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO (Completely enraged): Leave you in peace! Do you know what the fuck you did!
SOFIA (Erupting): I know what I did and I don’t need to be reminded! So you can stop looking at me as if I committed murder, because I’m not taking it back. If you’re so interested . . . if you want to know what really happened to me out there, I had a good time! I sat by the seawall, felt the fresh air in my lungs. I watched people sitting in the park. A man came to me and said, “What a beautiful night.” Felt like a human being again!
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO (To María Celia): You know, I’ve about had it . . . You deal with your sister. I’m scared of what she might do next.
(He exits into the bedroom to get the rest of his clothes. Silence.)
SOFIA: María Celia. (Silence. Then almost in a hush) Look at me . . . I have to talk to you . . . Something big has happened in Russia . . . We have to talk . . .
MARÍA CELIA: Talk. After what you did, do you expect me to talk to you?
SOFIA: Listen to me . . .
MARÍA CELIA: It’s bad enough being stuck in this house with your foolish self!
SOFIA: And do you think I like being stuck in here with you?
MARÍA CELIA: At least I don’t do anything to jeopardize you.
SOFIA: Jeopardize me? You have him stay in here, and that’s not putting me at risk . . .
(Lieutenant Portuondo storms in.)
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Why don’t you keep your mouth shut, when you’ve got nothing to say.
SOFIA: Bullshit, and you both know it! It sickens me to look at the two of you.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: You walked out of this house, you piece—!
SOFIA: Oh, don’t try to give me a guilty conscience! It’s because of people like you . . . It’s because of her that I spent two years in prison . . . her rotten books . . . her friends and their literary meetings . . . That damn letter they wrote about Perestroika . . .
MARÍA CELIA: You were the first to sign the letter. (To Lieutenant Portuondo) She was the first to play music at the literary meetings, when Oscarito read his poems. That scoundrel she was in love with.
SOFIA: Hah! I should’ve left with him to Spain. (Turning to Lieutenant Portuondo) He was a real man . . . Don’t I wish that I had him back in my life! Him and all the other men that came my way.
MARÍA CELIA (To Sofia): He was an opportunist—who went off to Europe, spouting information in all the papers about the two of us in prison. He got himself a job!
SOFIA (To María Celia): He was trying to get us amnesty.
MARÍA CELIA: What amnesty? I don’t see any amnesty.
SOFIA: At least he tried helping us. Not like him, who hasn’t done anything to get us out.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO (Enraged): You know I should cut off your tongue!
SOFIA (Pushes him): Yes, kill me! Go ahead. I wish you would.
MARÍA CELIA (Pulls her away): Sofia, stop!
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: You don’t know what the fuck you’ve done!
(He storms out. Silence.)
MARÍA CELIA (Starts to knit): All your life begrudging me something.
SOFIA: Begrudging you what?! Why would I be jealous of you? Maybe your lieutenant is making it harder for us to get out.
(María Celia doesn’t respond.)
Knit and purl, knit and purl . . . I hate those stupid needles!
(Sofia takes her needles and throws them on the floor.)
MARÍA CELIA: Pick them up . . .
(Sofia stays motionless.)
You act like a child, rash and reckless . . .
(María Celia goes to pick up the needles.)
If there’s one thing we can learn from all this knitting, it’s that you have to go back where you left off . . . you have to pick up the lost stitches.
SOFIA: I’ve lost a whole life of stitches in this house. A whole life. That’s what gets to me. So many days, gone . . . I could knit a bedspread for this whole island with all the lost days. I can’t even remember where I left off living my own life. My own place in this mess! I’ll never forget that day when Papi left the country. When he kissed us on the forehead and told us not to fall in love, not to get married, because he was going to send for us . . . as if love was a car one could stop with the touch of the brakes. For me time stopped. I felt my feet stop growing, my bones, my breasts, as if I had frozen in time, because I was saving myself for North America. It just feels like all my life I’ve been waiting and I haven’t lived. You got to travel with your books. You got married, when you got tired of waiting. But me, stuck here. Stuck, piano lessons, a few students, taking care of Mamá. Stuck . . . stuck . . . stuck . . . and now stuck even more.
MARÍA CELIA: Sofie please . . .
(María Celia holds on to Sofia, trying to console her.)
SOFIA: No. Can’t you see what you are doing?! Can’t you see what you’re getting yourself into with that man? He’s not going to make it better for us. I’ve watched him . . . He got rid of all the inspectors who used to come to this house. He’s the only one who comes here. Can’t you see it spelled out on his forehead. Ownership! Everything about him screams out zookeeper.
MARÍA CELIA: That’s enough, Sofia! That’s enough!
(There is a pause. Sofia looks at her a moment. María Celia is shaken by what Sofia has said.)
SOFIA: Last night I heard a group of men talking about Russia. Something big has happened there, María Celia. They said the Soviet Union has broken apart, that it’s over . . . Can you believe it! Thousands of people in the squares . . . That’s what I heard . . . All over Moscow celebrating . . . statues tumbling down . . .
(María Celia walks away. She seems to be somewhere else, lost.)
Maybe something will happen here, too.
MARÍA CELIA: Maybe.
SOFIA: One man was even talking about the new maps . . . He was saying the world is going to seem bigger with all the changes. Can you imagine? Someone is out there sketching new maps of the world.
(The lights fade to black.)
Scene 4
AFTER THE SOVIET COUP
The lights slowly come up on Sofia and Lieutenant Portuondo standing by the doorway.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Where’s your sister? Did you tell her I came by earlier?
SOFIA: I did.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Did you tell her I wanted to talk to her?
SOFIA: I did. She said that she didn’t think she’d be able to get up from bed. You look a little sick, too, Lieutenant. You haven’t been sleeping well?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: No.
SOFIA: Me neither. The summer heat is agonizing, isn’t it?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Can I get your sister something?
SOFIA: She’ll be fine. You must have a lot of work, Lieutenant . . . I mean, with everything that happened in Russia, you must be busy . . .
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: What about Russia?
SOFIA: I mean . . . So much has happened out there in the world. I mean the big revolt in Moscow . . . When I heard about it, I thought—
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: I’d like to talk to your sister. Why don’t you call her?
SOFIA: I told you she’s—
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Call her! (In a loud voice) María Celia! (To Sofia) Go get her.
SOFIA: I told you she’s not feeling well.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Go get her I said! (Calling) María Celia!
(Sofia exits, then returns.)
Is she coming?
SOFIA: I suppose so. She’s up on the roof.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: What’s the matter with you?
MARÍA CELIA: Sofie must have told you, I haven’t been feeling well.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Sick? and you were up on the roof.
SOFIA: She needed some air.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Is it possible to have a word with you?
(Sofia exits. He looks at María Celia.)
For three days I’ve been coming here. I thought you didn’t want to see me.
MARÍA CELIA: Sofie told you—I haven’t been feeling—
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Do you need anything?
MARÍA CELIA: No, thank you.
(She moves away from him.)
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Are you feeling better?
MARÍA CELIA: No.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: If you like, I can go and come back later.
MARÍA CELIA: Did you fix my radio?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: I haven’t had time to go by the shop and pick it up.
MARÍA CELIA: Would you get it for me?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Sure. I can pick it up tomorrow.
MARÍA CELIA: It seems like the whole world is upside down.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Why do you say that?
MARÍA CELIA: I can see the people from the roof. I can see through their faces . . . their eyes elsewhere . . . their minds wondering, questioning what happened in Russia.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: This morning we had to arrest a boy.
MARÍA CELIA: What did he do?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: He was protesting . . . he climbed to the top of a street lamp. We couldn’t get him to come down. He said he was going to electrocute himself. The crowd went wild. I couldn’t do anything about it. (Shakes his head) It was awful. He was just a boy, eleven or twelve.
MARÍA CELIA: Do you realize that boy could’ve been me, my sister . . . even you?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Look, it was hard enough . . . Do you think it was easy for me to arrest him? I wanted the whole thing to go away . . . but what could I do?
MARÍA CELIA: You could’ve let him go. He was just a boy.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: I guess you don’t understand my position.
MARÍA CELIA: No, I think I do. It seems like outside of these walls I wouldn’t recognize you. I don’t really know who you are.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Don’t say that . . .
MARÍA CELIA: Even the other night when you spoke about changes, ideas, it was foolish talk.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Come here, María Celia . . .
MARÍA CELIA: I think we should stop all of this.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Then what happened to the other night when you were open to me, full of arms? . . . When you took me to the patio and showed me that plant growing out of the wall . . . (Pause) Tell me . . .
MARÍA CELIA: I remember what I said. It’s growing out of nothing with barely any soil, like us. (Looks into the distance)
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Then what did it mean?
(She looks at him. She doesn’t know what to say. She turns away, wanting this moment to disappear.)
MARÍA CELIA: When you came into this house, it seemed like everything became unknowable, unrecognizable, as if someone had robbed me of reason. There were no questions of where things might end up. I was only sure of one thing . . .
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Of what?
(María Celia is silent.)
Look at me. I would have liked so many things. We had escaped this place, María Celia. We were one night ahead of the world.
MARÍA CELIA: Do you really believe it’s that easy?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: What are you afraid of?
MARÍA CELIA: I’m afraid of what locked-up places breed.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: And what is that?
MARÍA CELIA: I think everything has been defined for us. I’m locked up in here and you’re out there, and we should keep it that way.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: You’re trying to run so fast from me you don’t even know where you’re going.
MARÍA CELIA: No. I’ve been closed up in this house for a long time. Too long. It does something to your mind. A sort of blindness, that makes you close your eyes and see somebody else who’s not there in front of you . . .
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: And who’s that? Your husband. You see your husband in me.
MARÍA CELIA: No. It’s wrong. It’s all wrong . . . It’s a crime . . . the same corruption that goes on out there, people bargaining for food, for a bar of soap . . . except you’ve been bargaining with my life . . .
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: We’re beyond all that, María Celia.
MARÍA CELIA: Something is going to happen in this country soon. I can feel it coming like a storm.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: What? The ringing of the bells, people dancing in the streets, celebrating nothing. Is that what you expect? Did you see the line of cars in front of the gasoline station?! Did you see how it extends for blocks? That’s what’s happening here. That’s what people are talking about. The dregs the Russians left behind. The whole mess . . . Look I don’t want to talk about this . . .
MARÍA CELIA: It’s what I’m holding on to.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO (Enraged): You know I’m tired of hearing about the fuckin’ Russians! Who cares what happened in Russia! Who the fuck cares, goddamn it!
MARÍA CELIA: I think you should leave, Lieutenant.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Oh, no . . . I’m staying right here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere. (Pacing back and forth) It’s strange this thing you have over me. The worst of it is you can’t make it stop, and I can’t do anything about it. I’ve always been a clean revolutionary—as clean as can be. Not one stain on my record. You came into my life and you got inside me like a war. I don’t even recognize myself. I can’t even think straight anymore. You know very well I’ve been throwing my life away because of you, and I have far more to lose than you do.
MARÍA CELIA: Do you really think this can go anywhere?
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Why not?
MARÍA CELIA: Yes the two of us like outlaws, criminals of some kind . . . There’s another side to me . . . something you don’t want to face . . . I carry a whole past behind me . . . a whole past . . .
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: You’re talking as if I didn’t—
MARÍA CELIA: No! You can never put yourself in my place! I made certain decisions long ago, which have locked me up in here.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Look, I’ve been talking to the high officials . . . I’ve been trying to get you out.
MARÍA CELIA: I don’t want any help. If I’m not out of this house anytime soon, I’m going on a hunger strike.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: A hunger strike? And what are you going to get out of it?
Have you considered well what’s happening out there? I suppose you don’t realize what’s going on. As we speak, brigades are being formed everywhere on the island, to crack down any rebellion or demonstrations . . .
MARÍA CELIA: That’s not going to stop me. I want to change like the rest of the world.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: You try to do your silly strike and the two of you will go back to point zero.
MARÍA CELIA: We are at point zero, Lieutenant.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: I warn you. You try and do anything, and you’ll have a mob storming into this house to force-feed you . . . And not with food but with every one of your books.
MARÍA CELIA: You don’t frighten me, Lieutenant. You use the power that’s been given to you foolishly. You persecute people like me . . . you pry . . . you investigate my life, because you don’t know what to do with yourself . . . You don’t know what to do with your own existence which amounts to nothing!
SOFIA: You should leave, Lieutenant. Please, just go . . . just go.
LIEUTENANT PORTUONDO: Ask your sister if she has anything else to say.
You want change? Then things will change!
(Lieutenant Portuondo looks at María Celia a moment, then makes his way out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Sofia turns to her sister. María Celia crosses to the piano. The lights fade to black.)