ACT ONE
The music of an Afro-Cuban lullaby plays. In darkness we hear the sound of an airplane flying overhead. A slide of a boy and a girl holding suitcases is projected on a wall. Spotlight on Luciana and Luca, each sitting on her/his suitcase. They are in different spaces and don’t relate to one another. Both hold travel journals and address the audience.
Traveling
LUCA: January 2nd: The Airport.
LUCIANA: January 2nd: The Plane.
LUCA: My mother gave me this travel journal.
LUCIANA (Looks at the journal in her hand): She said write everything down.
LUCA: Write everything down, she said.
LUCIANA: Because the island will never be the same.
LUCA (Opens the journal; laughs): My mother.
LUCIANA (Holds journal close to her chest): My mother.
LUCA (Looks at the journal in his hand): What do I do with a journal? Do I write that I don’t know how to begin? Should I write that I’m looking for my sister?
LUCIANA (Reading from her journal): I am a traveler about to disembark on the land I left with my brother when I was eleven.
LUCA: Should I write that I have to find my sister? Should I write that it’s been so long since I saw her last?
LUCIANA: In case you find this journal, please get rid of it—throw it into the sea . . .
(Sound of a large wave drowning the scene. Airport sounds. Two men dressed in militia uniforms enter the stage. Officer 1 approaches Luca, Officer 2 approaches Luciana. The Officers face the audience.)
The Arrival
OFFICER 1: Passport, señor?
OFFICER 2: Passport, señora?
OFFICER 1: Where are you coming from?
LUCIANA 1: The U.S.
LUCA: The U.S.
OFFICER 1 (Flips through passport pages): Visiting relatives?
LUCIANA: No, I am a journalist.
LUCA: Visiting relatives, Officer.
OFFICER 2: Documenting the visit of the pope?
LUCA: No.
LUCIANA: That’s correct.
OFFICER 1: Where are you staying?
LUCIANA: Hotel Capri.
LUCA: Staying with relatives, Officer.
OFFICER 2: Proceed.
OFFICER 1: Proceed.
In the City
LUCIANA: January 2nd: Havana.
LUCA: If I close my eyes I can see it like before . . .
LUCIANA: The seawall . . .
LUCA: Same old streets.
LUCIANA: Same old blue . . .
LUCA: Same cars.
LUCIANA: Nothing like this blue.
LUCA: Just like yesterday.
LUCIANA: This is the place we went to school!
LUCA: This is the park we used to go to every afternoon!
LUCIANA: I can remember Mamá’s voice the day we left . . .
(Lights up on Mamá Fefa, wearing a 1950s dress and a scarf, and holding a small red suitcase.)
MAMÁ FEFA: Never let go of your brother’s hand. Hold on to your ticket. Over there you’ll be in different surroundings . . . Never forget me and your father, and take care of your new shoes...
LUCIANA: But I didn’t come here to retrace the past, I came to see the new generation . . . the new island . . .
A Place Called Home
Lights come up on Tio Lalo standing next to Luca. He is disheveled, wears glasses and is hard of hearing. He holds an old cigar box full of photographs.
TIO LALO: Here are some old photographs of you and your sister.
(Lights come up on a Hotel Receptionist. She hands Luciana the key to her room.)
HOTEL RECEPTIONIST: Here is the key to your room, señora. Here are some papers for you to sign. And I will need your passport again.
LUCIANA: My passport?
HOTEL RECEPTIONIST: Part of the procedure, señora.
TIO LALO (To Luca): Here’s a towel and soap. It’s better to bathe in the morning because the electricity is cut off after six.
HOTEL RECEPTIONIST: Here’s your itinerary for tomorrow . . . Wake-up call is at eight . . . Your tour guide is Ramon.
LUCIANA: But I don’t want a tour guide.
HOTEL RECEPTIONIST: It’s all been arranged for your convenience, señora.
TIO LALO: Here’s a bucket.
LUCA: But, Tio Lalo.
TIO LALO: If you want to bathe in the evening, you’ll have to heat up water in this bucket. And if you want hot water, you have to take the bucket across the street and buy some charcoal.
LUCA: Tio Lalo.
TIO LALO: I’ll go get you a pillow.
LUCIANA (Facing the audience): I was told about the organized tours for visitors.
LUCA (Facing the audience): I was told about the power outages.
LUCIANA: I wasn’t going to take part in any of this.
LUCA: But a bucket of water!
LUCIANA: I never liked tours to begin with . . .
LUCA: A bucket of charcoal!
(Luciana and Luca open a couple of maps and spread them on the floor.)
Maps and the City
LUCIANA: If I make a right on N Street . . . If I walk down L Street.
LUCA: If I walk straight through La Rampa Boulevard . . .
LUCIANA: If I make a left on K Street I can cut through the park . . .
LUCA (Folds the map): I’m remembering the streets . . .
LUCIANA (Folds the map): The streets are remembering me . . .
LUCA: Blue skies, faded awnings, orange tiles . . .
LUCIANA: The world is not forgetful . . . A sidewalk never forgets to be a sidewalk . . . A tree never forgets to be a tree.
LUCA: If I stop at the Coppelia . . .
LUCIANA: If I stop at the university.
LUCA: No, I don’t need a map . . .
(Lights come up on the Hotel Receptionist.)
HOTEL RECEPTIONIST: I’m sorry, señor, but the guest you’re looking for is not in her room.
LUCA: Can I leave her a note?
HOTEL RECEPTIONIST: If you wish.
(Slide projection of a young boy holding a suitcase.)
LUCA (Facing the audience): My Dear Sister, I’ve only been here for a day and I was wondering if it’s possible to see you. After all these years we should talk again and settle the past. I’m staying at Tio Lalo’s house. I must confess to you that this morning there was once again a kind of hope in me for a new beginning. I could see the two of us traveling together and visiting our old house. In some ways I was arranging all the furniture in my mind and telling them, “Sshh! Soon she’ll be coming back.” Love, your brother, Luca.
LUCIANA (Astonished): My brother . . .
(Lights up on Mamá Fefa with the small red suitcase. Sound of an airplane. Luciana looks into the distance.)
MAMÁ FEFA (Waving and crying out to her children): Never let go of your brother’s hand. When you go up the stairs to the airplane, look for my polka-dotted scarf in the crowd and wave good-bye, so I know you’re safe. So I know you’re leaving, my love. Never let go of your brother’s hand!
LUCIANA: I decide to stay in Havana for a few days.
LUCA: I try again to see her.
LUCIANA: I’ve been able to get away from the guided tours.
LUCA: I spend a lot of time walking through the streets trying to find her.
LUCIANA: I don’t think I can face him now.
LUCA: I find myself stopping in front of houses and photographing old wooden doors. (Takes photos)
LUCIANA: In a secret way I’m collecting faces, streets and romantic corners . . .
LUCA: I am placing my sister’s face on other women . . .
LUCIANA: A few times I’ve noticed that a black car is following me.
(Luca turns to Luciana. They are together.)
LUCA: Luciana! Did you get my note?
LUCIANA: What are you doing here?
LUCA: I thought it was time. We should talk.
LUCIANA: I’m here for work.
LUCA: Luciana, look at me.
LUCIANA: I can’t, Luca. I can’t. I have to go.
LUCA: Luciana.
(Afro-Cuban music plays.)
LUCIANA: I take a bus. I want it to take me anywhere. Somewhere far away. The streets are still dark. With the power outages, most of the city resorts to the light of the moon, and Havana looks like a sleeping madam who lost her pearl necklace.
(Slide projection of a young girl holding a suitcase.)
LUCA (Facing the audience): The heat wakes me up. I leave the house early in the morning. I go to the hotel hoping to see Luciana again. I find out she has left the city. I walk and walk. I want to get lost, for the ground to swallow me. I sit by the seawall. I talk to sea. I talk to the waves.
(Sound of a large wave. Blue lights.)
Delita, Who Alleviates the Heart
Delita enters on skates. She circles Luca. She wears lots of makeup.
DELITA: If you need to be left alone, just tell me. But you look like you need some company . . .
LUCA: No. I’m just . . .
DELITA: I live around the corner. My cat, Orlando, just died. I was miserable and alone in my apartment, so I thought I should shake off my calamity. Do you want to come up for a drink? I have some rum and good music.
LUCA: No. I’m just . . .
DELITA: What is your name?
LUCA: Luca.
DELITA: Italiano?
LUCA: No.
DELITA: Portuguese?
LUCA: No.
DELITA: I’m Delita. Can you believe somebody gave me a canary? Quite frankly, I thought it was bad taste, because how can you replace a cat with a canary. So I opened the window and let the thing fly free. Now I’m resisting going back to my place ’cause I know I’ll feel lonely without Orlando. Why don’t you come with me? I’m just around the corner. (Takes hold of his arm)
LUCA: No. I’m . . .
DELITA: Come on . . .
LUCA: I have to go . . .
DELITA: I’m just around the corner.
(He lets her guide him. They exit.)
The Museum of Dreams
LUCIANA (Sitting on her suitcase): I get to a small town called Santiago de las Vegas, I find a small hotel . . . They don’t have rooms until noon, so I roam around the town . . .
(Samuel enters holding a machete and wearing a straw hat.)
SAMUEL: If you’re here to see my mother, you should come in the front gate. It’s not polite to wander through private property without announcing yourself . . .
LUCIANA: I’m sorry, I didn’t know . . .
SAMUEL: Have you come to see my mother?
LUCIANA: No, I was . . .
SAMUEL: She’s expecting you . . .
LUCIANA: Me? No, you must . . . I was just wandering through the place . . .
SAMUEL: Spying?
LUCIANA: I saw the museum sign.
SAMUEL: Two officers were here yesterday . . . My mother was right. Nothing on this island comes in even numbers, so that makes you the third officer . . .
LUCIANA: I think you’re mistaken . . . I’m not . . .
SAMUEL: Our dogs can smell a stranger from kilometers away . . .
LUCIANA: Look I’m not from here—
SAMUEL: So is the Interior Ministry sending—?
LUCIANA: I’m not from here. I’m from the United States.
SAMUEL: The United States . . .
LUCIANA: Yes . . . I’m a journalist. I’m here for the pope’s visit.
SAMUEL: You are?!
(In a loud voice, starts calling his brother) Basilio . . . Basilio . . . Come fast . . . Come fast . . . She’s here . . .
(To Luciana) So you’ve answered my mother’s letters . . .
LUCIANA: Look . . . I’m afraid.
SAMUEL: Basilio, come fast . . . She’s here . . .
LUCIANA: Who are you calling?
SAMUEL: My brother . . . He’ll be very happy to see you . . .
(Basilio enters.)
Come close, Basilio . . . This lady . . . she’s come to visit us . . . Call Mamá . . . The letters worked . . . She’s here with the pope . . .
LUCIANA: Wait a minute . . . I think you’re mistaken—
SAMUEL: No. This is the place—
BASILIO: Please come with us—
SAMUEL: We’re not mistaken, señora . . .
BASILIO: Please, come this way. Our mother will be honored—
LUCIANA: Now wait a minute! Why are you taking me to see your mother?
BASILIO: Because it will make her very happy to know—
LUCIANA: Wait! You’re confusing me.
SAMUEL: Yes, I’m sorry I confused you . . . I confused her with the militia, Basilio . . . Crazy me . . .
BASILIO (Gives Samuel a shove): You knucklehead . . . Bobo . . . I’m sorry he did that . . . It’s just that the militia has been here a few times because of all the letters we sent abroad. We’ve had so many problems with the museum, you see.
SAMUEL: One officer was hollering at Mamá . . . Basilio wanted to cut off his head.
BASILIO (Slaps Samuel gently): You don’t have to tell her that!
SAMUEL: But it’s true . . . We had to put up a good fight.
BASILIO: What he’s trying to say . . . We were told that the pope’s tour had been organized and nobody was going to come here.
SAMUEL: We knew they were lying to us because, look, you’ve come—
BASILIO: They just wanted to close the museum—
SAMUEL: And if Mamá hadn’t stood up to that man—
BASILIO: That’s enough, Samuel! We still don’t know your name . . .
LUCIANA: . . . I’m sorry, I think you’re—
BASILIO: But what is your name?
LUCIANA: Luciana María.
BASILIO: Luciana . . . Sounds Spanish.
LUCIANA: I was born here.
BASILIO: You were born here? So that makes you one of us . . .
SAMUEL: And your last name?
LUCIANA: Harland. (They react to the foreign last name) My husband’s name.
BASILIO: Luciana María Harland . . . Beautiful name . . .
SAMUEL: I’m Samuel and he’s Basilio.
BASILIO: We’ve burdened you with our story . . .
LUCIANA: No. Not at all . . . I’m . . . (Not finding the words) I’m in awe.
(Both brothers look at each other and laugh at the awkwardness of the moment.)
SAMUEL: She’s beautiful, isn’t she?
BASILIO: Yes. Sorry we confused you.
LUCIANA: Confused is not the word. All of a sudden I don’t know where I am.
BASILIO: You’ve come here and that’s what matters. Welcome to my mother’s house. Welcome to the Museum of Dreams . . .
Delita After Love
Luca and Delita. He’s barefoot, wearing only a T-shirt and pants. He walks forward with a drink in his hand. Delita remains standing in the back.
DELITA: Don’t leave yet.
LUCA: I have to go back to my uncle’s house.
DELITA: You look sad.
LUCA: I’m not.
DELITA (Approaches him): It’s always like this when you do it in the afternoon. I get blue just the same. Maybe because there’s too much light. Would you like me to make you some café? I always drink some after I make love, or I stand on my head. I do it to thin the blood . . . The blood gets crazy, it starts palpitating on its own, forming little hearts everywhere in the body. (Holds him)—You know, you never told me how old you are. Let me guess, twenty-eight. (He shakes his head) Thirty.
LUCA: No.
DELITA: Thirty-three.
LUCA: Sometimes I don’t know how old I am.
DELITA: What do you mean?
LUCA: I don’t know. I mean, my body has stopped recognizing my age.
DELITA: God, don’t tell me I’ve slept with a vampire!
LUCA (Laughs): No. A doctor told me that I suffer from an aging disorder. My sister, too.
DELITA: Is it contagious? Will it make me be young for the rest of my life?
LUCA (Laughs): Maybe.
DELITA: I like it when you smile. Why don’t you stay longer?
LUCA: I ought to go . . . My uncle . . .
DELITA: You look like you need to talk.
LUCA: What makes you think that?
DELITA: I know these things. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for my mouth.
LUCA: So you think talking helps.
DELITA (Nods): Come on, tell me. Why are you so gloomy?
LUCA: Just trying to adjust. Everybody tried to prepare me for this trip. They told me about the power being cut off, the shortage of food. How buildings are falling apart. How people live double lives.
DELITA: Is that what it is?
LUCA: Well, nobody can ever tell you how it affects you inside.
DELITA: Don’t leave yet. Stay a while longer.
(Sound of a large wave. The wave takes Luca and Delita away.)
A Journal Entry
LUCA: January 8th: Later that day . . . Regret, intrigue, fear . . . Luca in my mind. I am marking the same old maps of the past. —No, mustn’t think of these things. I’ve moved on . . . I have begun traveling. Here I am deep in the island and this museum intrigues me. Any serious traveler looks forward to these moments when itineraries cease to exist—when you get deliriously lost and the thrill and the fear of the unknown take over.
Meeting Hortensia
Samuel and Basilio have gotten their mother, Hortensia, and now the family stands close to Luciana. The brothers have brought two chairs.
SAMUEL: Her name is Luciana María . . . Señora Luciana María Harland.
LUCIANA: Lucy . . . you can call me Lucy.
HORTENSIA: Ah, Lucy, better, shorter. I’m Hortensia but they call me Horte. Good for you, too, eh! Hortensia is too long.
SAMUEL (Still excited): She came from the States, Mamá, just to see us.
LUCIANA: Your son thinks—
HORTENSIA: I knew somebody was coming, the saints told me—
LUCIANA: I should explain . . .
SAMUEL: Later, Señora Luciana . . . You can explain later . . .
LUCIANA: But you must understand . . . it was by coincidence . . . I was walking—
HORTENSIA: There’s no coincidence, Señora Luciana: Nothing is coincidental. Look up the word “coincidence” in the dictionary—“remarkable events,” I think it says.
BASILIO (Laughs): You were sent to us, Señora Luciana.
(Looks at his brother. They both laugh.)
LUCIANA (Amused by Samuel’s innocent laugh): I was!
(The brothers look at her.)
HORTENSIA: I had a dream about a woman. She looked like a foreigner with a suitcase in her hand . . . Did you tell her, Basilio? She was wearing a hat like you.
LUCIANA: Like me . . .
HORTENSIA: Yes.
LUCIANA: That’s true, I’m wearing a hat.
BASILIO (Looking at her with delight; laughs): Did you forget, Señora Luciana? Did you forget that you’re still wearing a hat?
LUCIANA: No. No, of course not. After a while you don’t sense it. (All of a sudden she realizes they might be asking her to take off her hat) Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t take off my hat. I’m inside your house . . . I should’ve taken it off.
HORTENSIA: It’s all right, señora. My mother would have minded, but not me. “No hats inside the house,” she used to say. Samuel, get her a glass of water! (To Luciana) We haven’t offered you anything. Please sit . . . (To Samuel) And make her a beautiful cup of fresh café.
LUCIANA: No, don’t trouble yourself.
SAMUEL: It’s no trouble, señora. (Exits)
HORTENSIA: I remember telling Basilio about the dream I had the night before. “Something tells me that was a message from the sky . . . A woman from a foreign country is coming and she will sit here in this room with us . . . ”
LUCIANA: Is that so?
BASILIO: It never fails to happen . . . Mamá’s dreams always come true.
HORTENSIA: When did you arrive in the country, Señora Luciana?
LUCIANA: Oh, about three or four days ago.
HORTENSIA: So this is the first place you visited?
LUCIANA: Practically . . .
(Samuel returns with the café. He stands close to his mother.)
HORTENSIA: Samuel was beginning to think that nobody was going to visit us from abroad.
SAMUEL: That’s not true, Mamá.
HORTENSIA: I said to him, “Of course somebody is going to come. There is going to be people here from all over the world: cardinals, bishops, reporters . . . Why wouldn’t they be interested in our museum . . . ” They both found all these addresses at the local church, the National Something of Churches . . .
SAMUEL: National Association, Mamá . . .
HORTENSIA: That place . . . We sent letters inviting them to come here.
BASILIO: But we didn’t know if they’d be interested in our museum—
HORTENSIA: The museum is not really about dreams . . . it’s about miracles . . .
LUCIANA: Miracles!
SAMUEL: We called it the “Museum of Dreams” because we thought it was more appropriate.
HORTENSIA: If we were living in another place it would’ve been called the Museum of Miracles.
SAMUEL: Mamá didn’t think the word miracle was right . . .
HORTENSIA: No. Not for this system we live in, sounded too religious.
SAMUEL: And one night it came to her, right Mamá?
HORTENSIA (Laughs): Yes, the whole name . . .
SAMUEL: A wise spirit whispered the name in her ear . . . That’s how it was, wasn’t it?
HORTENSIA: That’s right, “The Museum of Dreams,” she said . . . And I thought, That’s it. It sounds promising . . .
BASILIO: Revolutionary . . .
HORTENSIA: All those things we’re always talking about: ideals, dreams and klin, klan: The Museum of Dreams. (Laughs at her own inventions)—Here one has to be inventive, Señora Luciana: If you want to survive you have to be clever and figure things out. The Africans say that turtles belong to the fire sign, like scorpions. But turtles are wise, they live in rivers so they don’t burn and consume themselves.
BASILIO: Oh, Mamá there you go again with your African philosophy! What she’s trying to say . . .
HORTENSIA: We are miracle collectors, Señora Luciana: We collect what’s been omitted and neglected in this country. I’ve been collecting miracles, before these two were born. It’s something that has been passed on to me.
There was a woman named Mamá Rita. She was the one who started collecting the miracles. She used to teach the poor to read and write . . .
SAMUEL: She taught Mamá to read.
HORTENSIA: She used to tell her students that once they had learned to write their blessings, they were literate. That’s how the miracles started to be written and collected. The poor used to come from all over with their miracles written on little papers.
SAMUEL: And if they didn’t have paper they used to write their miracles on the sleeves of old shirts . . .
HORTENSIA: Oh, they’d write their blessings on everything, dry leaves, old handkerchiefs . . . The word got around and it became a tradition. But things got ugly with the revolution, all of a sudden it was forbidden to be religious.
BASILIO: But people continued sending their miracles, Luciana . . .
HORTENSIA: For many years we wanted to build a museum. But it never seemed possible. I used to tell the boys it’s not time yet . . . not the right time to open a museum . . .
SAMUEL: Until Mamá said, “Let’s open it!”
(They all laugh at their courage and perseverance.)
HORTENSIA: Oh, we got complaints from the locals . . .
SAMUEL: Complaints? (Laughs) They wanted it closed!
HORTENSIA: They said it was fanaticism! But since the pope was coming and the whole island was pretending to be religious, I pretended to be a loon and nailed the museum sign outside.
(They all laugh.)
Will you be staying with us, Señora Luciana?
LUCIANA: No. I . . .
HORTENSIA: Please do.
LUCIANA: There’s a hotel around the corner . . .
SAMUEL: We have a comfortable bed and clean sheets.
HORTENSIA: We should prepare the guest room, Samuel . . . Lucy might stay with us . . .
LUCIANA: I was thinking . . . I was going to stay in the hotel . . .
SAMUEL: What for? We have plenty of room.
BASILIO: Please, be our guest.
HORTENSIA: It will be an honor if you stay.
(Nighttime. The sound of the tropical night fills the stage. The boys are fixing Luciana’s room. They bring her suitcase in and hang a hammock. Hortensia brings a kerosene lamp.)
Thinking of Him
LUCIANA: January 8th: Evening . . . Eyes open . . . Thinking about Luca again. I hear voices of birds clamoring in the distance. It’s the frightening sound of falling trees. The tears of wood and leaves. My brother’s eyes.
(The sound of wind and distant African drums and chanting.)
Thinking of Her
LUCA: I went back to our old house, I found you in every room. Even if you have chosen to remove yourself, you were there in the patio, in the living room, standing by the window . . . I hope you come back and we could visit the island together.
A Jar of Fireflies
Samuel, Basilio and Luciana. Samuel holds a jar full of fireflies.
SAMUEL: I was going to leave you this present in the room.
LUCIANA: What is it?
SAMUEL: Fireflies . . . (Gives her the jar)
LUCIANA: Fireflies!
SAMUEL: I caught them for you.
LUCIANA: For me?
SAMUEL: Yes.
LUCIANA: Thank you.
(The brothers compete in trying to charm her.)
BASILIO: They are supposed to be sacred insects. In the old days people used to say that fireflies light the road to dreams.
SAMUEL: And I read somewhere that women used to wear them in their hair like stars. I bet you’d look like a beautiful night if you wear them.
BASILIO (Messes Samuel’s hair): My brother . . . He has been reading too many poetry books . . .
SAMUEL: Shut up! He doesn’t like me to read poetry.
LUCIANA (Amused by the two boys): Why not?
BASILIO: He’s obsessed with writing poems on tree trunks.
SAMUEL: I noticed the books you brought. I like people who read . . . I’d like to marry a woman who likes reading, and traveling. Someone who likes to climb mountains and trees.
BASILIO: I told him he doesn’t want a wife, he wants a Girl Scout.
(Samuel smacks him to be quiet. They both laugh from embarrassment.)
SAMUEL: Shut up!
BASILIO (Messes Samuel’s hair again): My brother has a fascination for climbing trees. Sometimes I don’t know if I have a brother or a chicken. (Tickles him) He likes to sleep on top of the roof.
SAMUEL (Hits him): Why are you—?
LUCIANA: In Italy I used to sleep on the roof. Every night I’d fall asleep looking at the stars.
SAMUEL (Messes Basilio’s hair): You see I’m not that strange. Luciana is just like me . . .
BASILIO: Come on, let’s go. We’re keeping her from going to bed. (To Luciana) Tomorrow I’d like to take you to the springs, if you’re up for it.
SAMUEL: And the cave, Basilio. (To Luciana) There’s a beautiful cave I’d like to show you.
BASILIO: You think you might like to go?
LUCIANA: Yes, of course.
BASILIO: Sleep well, Señora Luciana.
SAMUEL: Don’t forget to put the jar by your bed . . .
LUCIANA: Good night.
(The brothers exit. Luciana lifts up the jar and looks at the fireflies. Then she takes off her dress. She sits in her slip by the light of the kerosene lamp, writing.)
Pleasure in Her Name
SAMUEL: You think it was stupid of me to give her the fireflies?
BASILIO: No. It’s not as bad as giving her a frog . . .
SAMUEL: Well, I don’t want her to think I’m retarded. (Looks in her direction) I love her . . . I love her . . .
BASILIO (Takes off his shirt): Yes, you told me that already . . . I like her, too.
SAMUEL: It’s a shame she’s married.
BASILIO (Uses the shirt to dry his sweat): It’s hot. Give me a light.
(They sit on the ground smoking. Samuel takes off his shirt. They can see the light coming from her room.)
SAMUEL (Looking in Luciana’s direction): She must be getting ready to go to sleep now. You think she sleeps naked?
BASILIO: In this heat, probably . . .
SAMUEL: When we go to the city, I want you to take me to the whore you told me about.
BASILIO: Which one?
SAMUEL: The one who plays music in her room.
(Luciana is listening now. She is amused by their conversation and is laughing.)
Did she play music the whole night?
BASILIO: Yes, boleros . . .
SAMUEL: Was she good?
BASILIO: Like fucking a guitar . . .
SAMUEL: I’ve never done it to music, only to the mooing of cows and the quacking of chickens in the stable. Sometimes I can’t concentrate. It’s different with music, isn’t it?
BASILIO: Much more . . .
SAMUEL: I bet. You can do it to the rhythm: pin . . . pan . . . poon. Does she really have men come in and out of the room the whole night?
BASILIO: Many men . . .
SAMUEL: And the music, does it ever stop?
BASILIO: No. It goes on forever . . . She uses the music to drown out the men when they cry from pleasure . . .
SAMUEL: Yeah, Melba likes to scream loud when I do it with her. She scares the cows and chickens in the stable. The whole stable gets going . . . I have to cover her mouth. It’s different with whores isn’t it?
BASILIO: Yes, they do anything you want.
SAMUEL: And if I want them to pretend to be Luciana María . . .
BASILIO: Ah, Luciana María . . . I get a hard-on just hearing her name . . . (He touches himself. They both laugh) Should we go for the old hand and think about her?
SAMUEL: If you want.
(Each covers his crotch with his shirt and unzips his pants. They begin to touch themselves.)
BASILIO: You know, they say some men go to the brothels to talk like this . . .
SAMUEL: Like confession?
BASILIO: Yes, and the women listen to their dreams . . . They come to spill their hearts out . . .
SAMUEL: I bet the woman who plays music will charge more if I talk about Luciana María.
BASILIO: Ah, that name, Luciana María . . .
SAMUEL: It must cost more when you talk about your heart. Do I just go in and tell her to be like Luciana María?
BASILIO: Ah, Luciana María . . .
SAMUEL: Answer me . . .
BASILIO: Yes, then she’ll play a record to make you relax. Then she’ll take your pinga in her hand and dip it in a glass of rum ...
SAMUEL (In shock, stops touching himself): What do you mean she’s going to put my thing in a glass of rum?
BASILIO: Yeah, in rum.
SAMUEL: What for? Why rum?
BASILIO: Alcohol . . . You know microbes, germs . . . diseases . . . she’s got to disinfect it . . .
SAMUEL: But I’m . . . I’ve never . . . Will it sting?
BASILIO: Like fire it does. You’ll like it. It’ll get your pinga all fired up.
SAMUEL: Forget it. You spoiled it for me.
BASILIO (Softly): Ah, Luciana María . . . Luciana María . . . Luciana María . . . (Reaches an orgasm)
SAMUEL (After a pause): Did you finish?
BASILIO (There was more): Luciana María . . . María . . . Madre Mía . . . Madre María . . . (He slumps down)
SAMUEL: I didn’t. Would you help me think about her?
(Luciana turns off her light. They look in her direction.)
She’s gone to sleep now. Would you help me see her in my mind? Would you do that for me?
(Lights change. The sound of drums.)
Strolling Through Havana
Luca and Tio Lalo enter talking. They stand in front of a church.
TIO LALO: This section is called the Angel’s Hill. And this is the church where you and your sister were baptized.
LUCA: Is this the same place where the parents would come and sign off the children?
TIO LALO: What children?
LUCA: You know, all the kids that were sent to America. The Pedro Pan kids, like me and my sister.
TIO LALO: I don’t know. I didn’t take part in any of that. I was opposed to the whole thing from the beginning. But your mother was afraid for you and your sister, with your father being in prison and all. Everybody thought there was going to be a war, you see. And there were rumors that the government planned to send children to work on Soviet farms, so she wanted to protect you. And when she found out there was a way of sending the two of you to America through the Catholic Church, your mother was one of the first ones to put your names on the list. And no one could stop her, I tell you. No one.—It’s curious how the Church took you away and now it has brought you back.
LUCA: Do you want to go inside?
TIO LALO: I don’t pray anymore. But if you want to.
LUCA: I do.
Fresh Water from the River Ariguanabo
Sound of church bells announcing the morning. Luciana wears a dressing gown. She is listening to music from a Walkman. Hortensia enters with a basin of water and a white towel hanging from her shoulder.
HORTENSIA: I brought you some fresh mineral water from the springs . . .
LUCIANA: Oh, Señora Hortensia.
HORTENSIA: It’s my duty. Fresh mineral water is good for the skin. I see you always carry your music with you.
LUCIANA: Everywhere I go.
HORTENSIA: Oh, I stopped listening to music on the radio.
LUCIANA: You don’t like music?
HORTENSIA: Oh, yes . . . too much. That’s why I don’t listen to it. If I turn on the radio, I can’t do anything else but sing and dance. And there’s always something around here that needs my attention. The saints say that disorder brings confusion and misfortune. I wake up at five, I drink café looking at the last of the moon, then I start my day.
(Luciana takes off her dressing gown and cleans herself with the water.)
Are you single or married now?
LUCIANA: Divorced.
HORTENSIA: Ah, you’re a modern woman.
LUCIANA: Oh no, Señora Hortensia, I’m not that modern.
HORTENSIA: Well, you’re young and full of life . . . Here a woman like you not only has to be careful with men, but with spirits.
LUCIANA: Spirits.
HORTENSIA: Of course, there are spirits everywhere—in trees, rivers, wandering the streets.
There was one spirit who fell in love with me. He must’ve seen me naked coming out of the bathtub, because I felt his presence, like a cold wind. I had to cover myself with a towel. Oh, he followed me for weeks after that. I could feel him behind me like a shadow. He would leave messages everywhere. I’d find rose petals on my sink, or a cat would all of a sudden come into the kitchen with a ribbon in its mouth.
And I must say, I liked the attention too. It had been a while since anybody laid eyes on me. All of a sudden, I’d find myself powdering my face in the afternoons. I was putting perfume behind my ears and on my bosom, until I realized what I was doing. And I had to pray to get him away and cleanse my whole being with an egg.
—Oh, the body never forgets love, Luciana. It has its own time and memories. Sometimes I lie awake at night on that old mattress my husband bought when we got married. I lie there in a hole where the mattress sinks from all those years we made love, and I think to myself, Oh I knew love . . . I knew love . . . And the old days come back, like a forgotten season and restore all of what I was and am. (Sighs) Oh, love . . .
LUCIANA: Yes, I know . . .
HORTENSIA: I know you do . . . I can see it on your face. I can see a man sitting on top of your eyebrows. Am I right?
LUCIANA: You are.
HORTENSIA: And if you don’t do something about it, he’ll leave footprints all over your features and make wrinkles . . . The lines from sadness aren’t good. The wrinkles from laughter yes, because they till and plow the face . . . (Touches her face) But it’s interesting, you don’t have any lines. Let me see the palm of your hand. (Pause) Your hand looks like the hand of a young girl.
LUCIANA: How do you know there’s a man?
(Basilio and Samuel enter holding a tray with coffee cups.)
BASILIO (In a loud voice): Breakfast!
SAMUEL: Did you sleep well, Señora Luciana?
LUCIANA: Yes, as well as can be.
SAMUEL: Did the fireflies help with your dreams?
LUCIANA: I dreamt that I was walking by a river.
HORTENSIA: Ah, water . . . Good. The Ariguanabo river came to greet you.
SAMUEL: Have you met with the pope many times, Señora Luciana?
BASILIO: Samuel, not many people get to talk to the pope, if anything they only get to kiss his ring.
SAMUEL: But you’ll get to meet him now when you go back to the city.
LUCIANA (Going along, not wanting to ruin their enthusiasm): Well, that’s what all the reporters are hoping for . . .
SAMUEL: Oh, I can just see Luciana sitting in a room with all these men in skirts and all of them whispering about the museum: one cups his ear, the other one whispers, from bishop to bishop and cardinal to cardinal . . .
HORTENSIA (Lifts her arms): And after so many holy ears the museum will be blessed! Right, Luciana?
LUCIANA (With hesitation): Well, actually . . . I’ve never . . . it will be my first time . . . (Fiercely determined to tell the truth)—Yes, it will be my first time.
SAMUEL: Even better. The pope is probably tired of the same priests asking for money to paint their churches . . .
HORTENSIA: I think we stand a pretty good chance, don’t you?
LUCIANA: Yes . . . yes . . . of course . . . Except sometimes I’m not sure what exactly you want me to do . . .
SAMUEL: Mamá, you haven’t told her. You can’t expect her to do anything! . . .
HORTENSIA: Please come, let us show you . . .
(The brothers open a panel to reveal a wall full of drawers holding religious objects, such as saints, brass crowns, brass halos, reliquaries, rosaries, ribbons, wooden crutches, silver hearts, silver hands, retablos, etc. It is a magical place that looks like an altar. An angelic aria plays.)
This is the Museum of Dreams . . .
LUCIANA: My God! . . .
BASILIO: These are just a few of all the miracles that came last month. (Hands Luciana a file)
LUCIANA: May I see . . .
(The lights change, taking on an ethereal quality. The sound of a Tibetan bell. As Luciana opens the file and begins to read, each person who sent the miracle appears on the stage.)
FAUSTINO (Wears an old straw hat): My name is Faustino Angel León. Carpenter and painter, residing at Compostela Street, Number 6A . . . On the 9th of September my father left the country and told me to take his little statue of the Virgin to the wilderness and place it in a river. When I got to the river, and placed the statue in the water, the statue turned into a goldfish, then it turned into a beautiful woman with long hair who disappeared swimming in the green river. She just vanished like sugar in water.
BASILIO: We have subfiles pertaining to the specific miracles the saints have performed. Files on love, work . . . Then there are cases like this one which we haven’t labeled . . .
(Sound of the Tibetan bell.)
AMPARO (Wears rollers in her hair): My name is Amparo de las Rosas. I am a seamstress residing at Cespedes Street. On the 7th of May the only thing my husband and I had to eat was a miserable potato that I fried in a pan with some rancid lard. That night my husband, Isidro, and I kneeled down in front of the altar and prayed for food. The next morning a flock of birds flew into the house, and I told Isidro to close all the windows to catch some of those God-sent creatures. The house and the patio were full of parrots, turkeys, doves, even birds I’d never seen.
That was our miracle because Isidro and I had food for a month. Later that day we heard on the news that an old tree had fallen on a bird cage at the zoo and hundreds of birds had escaped. But those birds that flew into our house weren’t from the zoo. That was our miracle.
HORTENSIA: We want the church to acknowledge these miracles, Luciana, and we want you to help us. We want to make the museum a public building.
(The lights return to normal. Basilio closes the panel. Luciana walks to center stage.)
LUCIANA (To the audience, lost in thought): I walk away from it all. I don’t know what to do . . . I’m dumbstruck . . .
SAMUEL (Following her, from a distance): Señora Luciana.
LUCIANA: I walk and walk . . . So many thoughts passing through my head, fast, like houses one sees from a train window . . . I don’t know where I’m going . . .
SAMUEL: Señora Luciana, what did we do?
LUCIANA: I walk and walk . . . No, I can’t go on pretending . . .
BASILIO (Joining Samuel): What happened?
SAMUEL: Señora, what did we do!
BASILIO: Luciana . . .
(The brothers stand at a distance.)
LUCIANA: No, I have to walk . . . I have to . . . get away from it all...
HORTENSIA: Let her be . . . Let her be . . . Come inside . . .
BASILIO (Approaching Luciana): Are you all right?
LUCIANA: Yes.
BASILIO: Come with me.
SAMUEL: Can I get you some water?
LUCIANA: No, I’m fine. I’d like to talk to you, Hortensia.
HORTENSIA: What is it, Luciana?
LUCIANA : I’m sorry. I’ve made a mistake . . . I should’ve explained before . . .
BASILIO: Explain what?
LUCIANA: Oh, I don’t know if you would understand . . . it’s all wrong . . .
SAMUEL: Wrong?
LUCIANA: Yes, me . . . I feel terrible . . . I’m not the right person . . . it’s a mistake . . . I have to apologize to you.
SAMUEL: You haven’t done anything wrong, Señora Luciana . . . Did you hear what she said, Mamá?
HORTENSIA: We’re the ones who feel awful, Lucy . . . Our house, the lack of food . . .
BASILIO: Mamá was saying that if we knew last month that you were coming, we would’ve killed a pig and roasted it in your honor . . .
HORTENSIA: We just wish we had more to offer you . . . We feel bad that you’ve come from so far . . . Oh, if we were living in other times, I would’ve made new curtains and hung them inside the house. We would’ve painted a little. But nowadays there’s no fabric or paint to be found.
(Luciana takes a moment to look at this family. She’s touched by their purity and generosity.)
LUCIANA: Hortensia . . . I don’t know what I can do for the museum . . . But I’ll try to do the best I can.
(Music plays. Lights on Luca and Delita. Luca carries a suitcase.)
LUCA: They told me to bring food, aspirin, soap, and I came prepared. Tell me what do you want to eat? (He opens the suitcase. She’s surprised to see all the food) Beans, rice, soup, pistachios . . . What do you want? Vegetables, dry shrimps, pasta, nuts, cheese, Jell-O . . . What do you want? What do you want?
DELITA: I’ve never seen so much food.
LUCA: I told you I came prepared. Taste these biscuits. (Gives her a biscuit. She takes a bite and smiles) Good enh?!
DELITA: They taste like paradise.
LUCA: Rice, minestrone, black beans . . . What do you want me to make you?
DELITA: I haven’t had a biscuit in so long. I can’t think now. (All of a sudden he notices tears in her eyes)
LUCA: It’s not supposed to make you cry.
DELITA (Hides her tears): I’m crying from I don’t know what. I’ve never seen so many things to eat. I feel like I’m being covered with a blanket of food.
LUCA: Don’t cry. Let’s go to your house. We have everything we need, and what we don’t have we’ll do without.
Reading Her Journal
SAMUEL (Sits on the floor, browsing through Luciana’s diary): “December 2nd: I’m preparing for the trip . . . January 4th: Luca sent email . . . He says he misses me . . . January 3rd: All of a sudden I’ve gone back to my childhood with Luca . . .”
(Hortensia enters with a broom.)
“January sixth: Just want the trip to end . . . December 31st: I’m preparing my luggage . . .”
HORTENSIA: Leave that alone—
SAMUEL: Wait. “January 3rd . . .”
HORTENSIA: Leave it alone . . .
SAMUEL: “. . . I’m in a quandary . . . January 7th: Wandered through the streets.”
HORTENSIA: It’s private . . . Put it down . . .
SAMUEL: So are miracles and we read them . . .
HORTENSIA: It’s different.
SAMUEL: “January 10th: Spoke to a bishop about the—”
HORTENSIA: Leave it alone, I said. (Slaps the book out of his hands)
SAMUEL: But, Mamá, it says . . . it says that . . .
HORTENSIA: I don’t care what it says . . . I don’t care . . .
SAMUEL: She spoke to a bishop about the . . . museum . . . she writes that she . . .
HORTENSIA: What bishop?
SAMUEL: A bishop . . . That’s what it said in the book . . .
HORTENSIA: Oh yeah . . .
SAMUEL: Yes . . .
HORTENSIA: Where is this bishop from?
SAMUEL: I don’t know. You knocked the book out of my—
HORTENSIA: Well, pick it up and see . . .
SAMUEL: Now I forgot . . . (Skims through the pages) January 9th or 10th . . . Here it is: “Spoke to a bishop about the museum, Salvatore Caprile, from Casino . . .”
HORTENSIA: Sounds like an important man, with a name like that. Go on.
SAMUEL: “Plans to schedule a meeting with Hortensia and me . . .”
HORTENSIA: A meeting with me?
SAMUEL: That’s what it says.
HORTENSIA: Put it away . . . put it away.
SAMUEL: Don’t you want to know—?
HORTENSIA: Oh my! I have to do something!
SAMUEL: You’re going to an important meeting, Mamá.
HORTENSIA: And so it says . . . (Looks at her dress) I’m going to have to look presentable, Samuel . . .
SAMUEL: Don’t worry, Mamá. I’ll polish your shoes . . .
(Hortensia starts to leave in a rush.)
Where are you going?
HORTENSIA: I’m going to borrow a dress from Zoila . . . I have to go . . . I have to go . . .
BASILIO: Where are you going in such a hurry?
HORTENSIA: I’m going to the city. I’m going to the city . . .
BASILIO: What’s going on with Mamá?
SAMUEL: She’s meeting with a bishop . . .
BASILIO: A bishop?
SAMUEL: She’s going to an important meeting with a bishop . . .
BASILIO: What are you doing with that book? Were you reading it?
SAMUEL (Thrilled): She wrote about us . . .
BASILIO (Takes the journal and reads): “Here, I can only anticipate the gifts that come with each day, whether it’s a walk to the square with Basilio or a smile from Samuel.”
(Basilio looks at Samuel and smiles. The lights come up on Luciana.)
SAMUEL: What does she mean by that?
BASILIO: I don’t know . . .
(The brothers continue reading the journal as they exit. General Viamonte enters and approaches Luciana.)
LUCIANA: January 12th. An interrogation with General Viamonte
GENERAL VIAMONTE: Señora Luciana María, can I see your papers?
LUCIANA: Here’s my passport.
GENERAL VIAMONTE: How long have you been in the country?
LUCIANA: More than twelve days . . .
GENERAL VIAMONTE: What’s your involvement with the museum?
LUCIANA: I’m simply staying at Hortensia’s. Is there a problem, compañero?
GENERAL VIAMONTE: The new laws don’t allow tourists to stay in private homes.
LUCIANA: I’m not a tourist, compañero. I’m a journalist. I’m writing an article about the museum.
GENERAL VIAMONTE: Is that all you’re doing?
LUCIANA: For the moment, yes. Unless there’s another place that I should write about.
GENERAL VIAMONTE: Come with me, compañera . . .
LUCIANA: Where are you taking me?
GENERAL VIAMONTE: Come with me.
(The panel opens up. Lights come up on the altar. We hear an Afro-Cuban lullaby. Luca enters.)
LUCA (Facing the audience): I went to the house we used to visit every summer . . . the place looked withered and old, as if the sea had entered the house. But the sign of the villa still read: VILLA BAHIA DE LA LUNA . . . The old swing was still there swaying in the breeze . . . and the hum of mother’s song in the air, telling you to come back.
(The lights fade to black.)