As the lights begin to dim, we hear the cries of seagulls and the constant sound of a ship’s horn in a harbor. Then, in full darkness, we hear the sound of someone writing on a computer keyboard and the amplified recorded voice of a woman. The sounds become an echo.
Projected on the curtain is an image of the ocean.
BEMADETTE (Recorded voice): Ariel and Nina Strauss boarded the St. Louis ship, Saturday, May 13, 1939. They had left Hamburg with thoughts of starting a new life away from Germany and finding a new home in Havana.
(The lights reveal Bemadette.)
(Spoken voice) I wanted to be on the ship with them, but I clenched my toes inside my shoes to keep from running up the gangway, as I stood immobile on the dock, drenched in my coat with the desire to leave with Ariel, while the air around me became still.
(A phone rings. The lights reveal Saquiel, a young man dressed in a leather coat. Bemadette picks up the phone without speaking.)
SAQUIEL: Hello? Bemadette?
(No answer from Bemadette.)
Are you there?
BEMADETTE: Yes.
SAQUIEL: It’s me. Saquiel.
BEMADETTE: No, you’re not Saquiel. That’s not the name I gave you. You’re Ariel Strauss.
SAQUIEL: I’m leaving—
BEMADETTE: Do you have to remind me?
SAQUIEL: No. But from the beginning I told you my visit would be short.
BEMADETTE: Yes. It isn’t the first time you tell me this.
SAQUIEL: But you never believed me—
BEMADETTE: No. I thought I had dreamt it.
SAQUIEL: My visa expired—
BEMADETTE (Playfully): My dear young man, you could have lied to me—
SAQUIEL: Lied—?
BEMADETTE: Yes.
SAQUIEL: How?
BEMADETTE: By easing the moment.
SAQUIEL: Is that what you want me to do?
BEMADETTE: I thought you would know by now—
SAQUIEL: Know what—?
BEMADETTE: To lie to me.
SAQUIEL: If I knew how to lie to you I would.
BEMADETTE: It would help me forget that you’re leaving.
SAQUIEL: I think it’s too late now.
BEMADETTE: It’s never too late. Something is always beginning.
SAQUIEL: What could begin now?
BEMADETTE: What we have to say to each other one last time.
SAQUIEL: The sound of good-bye?
BEMADETTE: That’s also a beginning. You mustn’t forget to take a look at Central Park one last time.
SAQUIEL: With you?
BEMADETTE: No, by yourself. I’m not leaving. I don’t need to see it one last time.
SAQUIEL: I only know how to go there with you.
BEMADETTE (Her expression is childlike): In the end there’s nothing to it. We only have to close our eyes and enter Central Park.
SAQUIEL: Were my eyes to close now, I’d be waiting for you there.
BEMADETTE: In what part of the park?
SAQUIEL: Where I always like to sit.
BEMADETTE: By the statue of the Cuban poet, José Martí.
SAQUIEL: And we’d visit the park with the specter of the poet.
BEMADETTE: The three of us like ghosts.
SAQUIEL: Yes. And he’d show us the trees he used to know in the park.
BEMADETTE: The last trees to drop their leaves in the fall.
SAQUIEL: And the ones to bloom first . . .
BEMADETTE: Of course, he would’ve known all the trees.
SAQUIEL: And so did Walt Whitman . . .
BEMADETTE: And Edith Wharton . . .
SAQUIEL: Bemadette, I must go. I have to go.
BEMADETTE (Suddenly, desperately but quietly): Don’t go yet! Don’t go, Saquiel!
SAQUIEL: Do you realize that if I don’t leave I might not be allowed to come back?
(She doesn’t respond.)
Bemadette. Are you there? Would you read my letters when I write to you?
BEMADETTE: I’d much rather hear your voice—
SAQUIEL: That’s not what I asked you—
BEMADETTE: I know—
SAQUIEL: Good-bye then—
(Sound of a dial tone. Bemadette is unable to end the phone call. The lights go down on Saquiel.)
BEMADETTE: How did I spend these same hours the past years without his voice?
How did I get myself into this? How did it begin?
(Lights change. Bemadette takes us back to the initial conversation that occurred a month ago with Saquiel.
The telephone rings. The answering machine picks up the call. Lights up on Saquiel.)
SAQUIEL: Ms. Kahn . . . Ms. Kahn . . . it’s me, Saquiel, the student from Cuba. Don’t hang up. It doesn’t matter if you don’t talk to me. You don’t have to tell me a word. I want to tell you why I’ve come to see you. —Ms. Kahn, are you there?
(Not a word from her.)
I couldn’t keep from doing it. Are you listening to me?
(Not a word from her.)
After months of organizing letters for a group of St. Louis passengers . . . maybe you know of them. Do you, Ms. Kahn?
(Not a word from her.)
—Ms. Kahn, it’s all right . . . it’s all right if you don’t respond. After months of gathering letters . . . months of organizing records and lists of Jewish passengers who traveled on the St. Louis ship, I came upon your letters . . . Do you remember the love letters you sent to Ariel Strauss, the young man from Berlin, who was traveling on that ship?
(Sound of a beep, indicating that Bemadette has picked up the receiver and is now on the phone with him.)
BEMADETTE: What about Ariel Strauss?
SAQUIEL: Good, Ms. Kahn, I finally hear your voice.
BEMADETTE: Yes, I was listening to your message.
SAQUIEL: I’m glad you decided to speak to me.
BEMADETTE: Yes, go on.
SAQUIEL: Well, as I said, I have the letters you sent to him.
BEMADETTE: Then send them to me.
SAQUIEL: I don’t have them with me. They’re back in Cuba.
BEMADETTE: Then why are you calling me?
SAQUIEL: Do you know of a small group of former St. Louis passengers?
BEMADETTE: No. I don’t know anything about it.
SAQUIEL: They want to hold a reunion in Miami.
BEMADETTE: What kind of reunion?
SAQUIEL: Similar to the one held back in 1989 to commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of the sailing of the St. Louis ship.
BEMADETTE: But I wasn’t a former passenger on that ship.
SAQUIEL: Yes, I know. You’re not even Jewish.
BEMADETTE: What about Ariel Strauss? Why did you mention him?
SAQUIEL: I thought it was important to contact you. We’re interested in the stories of the missing passengers and I thought you could help us.
BEMADETTE: I lost track of Ariel Strauss.
SAQUIEL: I understand . . .
BEMADETTE: I’m sorry I can’t help you—
SAQUIEL: Please don’t hang up! Maybe you can tell us a little of his background.
BEMADETTE: And what good would this do?
SAQUIEL: What we want is a human story of a tragedy that was forgotten.
BEMADETTE: It’s a little too late. I’m sorry. I can’t help you.
SAQUIEL: Don’t hang up. We think that the United States and Cuba should apologize.
BEMADETTE: Apologize for what?
SAQUIEL: For turning away a German ship carrying 937 Jewish refugees.
BEMADETTE: Sorry, I can’t help you.
SAQUIEL: Don’t you think it’s about time for an apology?
BEMADETTE: Is that why you’re calling me?
SAQUIEL: Yes, but also for more personal and selfish reasons . . .
BEMADETTE: Such as?
SAQUIEL: My being a writer . . .
BEMADETTE: Oh no!
SAQUIEL: I . . . I also wanted to meet you.
BEMADETTE: Impossible.
SAQUIEL: Ms. Kahn, please don’t hang up.
BEMADETTE: Young man, for many years I’ve tried to forget what happened with the St. Louis.
I can’t help you.
(Bemadette hangs up the phone.)
SAQUIEL: Ms. Kahn . . . Ms. Kahn . . .
(Bemadette walks to another part of the room, lost in thought. The phone rings. Lucila, the house cleaner, enters.)
LUCILA: Should I answer the phone?
BEMADETTE: No.
LUCILA: Whoever is calling is very persistent.
BEMADETTE: It’s probably the young student.
(The phone stops ringing. Lights fade down on Saquiel.)
LUCILA: Why did you give him your number?
BEMADETTE: I didn’t.
LUCILA: How did he get it?
BEMADETTE: He must’ve found a way of getting it through someone . . .
LUCILA: I’ll be damned, or he found it in the white pages.
BEMADETTE: Yes, a sly fox he’s turned out to be.
LUCILA: So what are you going to do if you’re not going to answer his calls?
BEMADETTE: Let him call as much as he wants until he gets tired.
LUCILA: Well, that’s a way to leave him hanging.
BEMADETTE: He’s crossing the line.
LUCILA: Did you draw the line in the first place?
BEMADETTE: I certainly did.
LUCILA: Did you allow him to cross it?
BEMADETTE: No.
LUCILA: Did you let the line become faint?
BEMADETTE: What’s with the line!
LUCILA: Well, if you let the line become invisible and you didn’t draw a new line, he’s liable to do as he wills and jump into your life like a kangaroo.
BEMADETTE: Never mind “lines”! It’s this whole new generation of students. For them, our work is not enough. They love to deconstruct everything we’ve written. They try to find hidden meaning behind every sentence and word. And the writing is never enough. They want to ask questions, they want photographs, autographs, even the dust from under our shoes. I mean, do they actually think that by talking to us we’re going to disclose a secret?
LUCILA: Ay, Ms. Kahn, I don’t know . . .
(Lucila exits. Saquiel appears, bathed in a pool of light. We hear the chiming sound of a computer, announcing the arrival of a new email. He looks into the distance as he speaks the words he’s writing, but no keyboard is used.)
SAQUIEL: Dear Writer, are you there? Send. Dear Writer, why don’t you answer? Send. Dear Writer, I’m at the library where I write to you every day. Send.
(Bemadette, also bathed in light, responds to his email. She also speaks the words she writes as she looks into the distance.)
BEMADETTE: Dear Student, you don’t write to me. You write to all the characters that live in my books. Send.
SAQUIEL: Dear Writer, that’s because you are Guilaine, Vera, Nadine . . . Send.
BEMADETTE: You are mistaken, dear Student. Those are names I invented, names I filled with words and memories, names that I assigned faces and bodies to . . . Send.
SAQUIEL: Why won’t you let me meet you in person and interview you? Send.
BEMADETTE: My dear student, be understanding. Who you might want to meet no longer exists. You can meet me in my books. Send.
SAQUIEL: Allow me to see you just once. Just once. I have discovered where you live. Let me visit you. Send.
BEMADETTE: Dear Student, don’t waste your time. Why would I interrupt my solitude, if I haven’t let anybody into my life in many years? Delete.
SAQUIEL: Are you still there, Writer? Send. Hello! Send. Answer me. Hello. Answer me, please! Send.
BEMADETTE: My dear student, I don’t let myself be seen. I don’t go out. Why would I let myself be taken by the external agitations of your studies? My life as a writer has provided me with my own desolation and consolation. Send.
SAQUIEL: I will be discreet as the quiet that inhabits your walls. Send.
(Lucila enters. Lights down on Saquiel.)
LUCILA: Was that the student again?
BEMADETTE: Who else?
LUCILA: You were happy when he started sending you letters.
BEMADETTE: Yes. I found them amusing and quite touching.
LUCILA: You were fine when he started sending you emails.
BEMADETTE (Snaps): What are you trying to get at? He’s stalking me. Have you ever been stalked?
LUCILA: Many times.
BEMADETTE (Knowing she’s lying): Really?
LUCILA: You think you’re the only one who’s important?
BEMADETTE: I don’t think anything.
LUCILA: Then we both know what it’s like.
BEMADETTE: What is it like, Lucila?
LUCILA: Stalking? A stalker?
BEMADETTE: Uh-huh . . .
LUCILA: How do you say it . . . ? A stalker is someone . . .
BEMADETTE: Someone . . .
LUCILA: I don’t know . . . someone who . . .
BEMADETTE: Yes, someone . . .
LUCILA: . . . who lives in the dark. (Nicely put) And he’s obsessed with stealing other people’s light.
BEMADETTE: Is that a stalker to you?
LUCILA: I don’t think he means any harm.
(The computer chimes.)
You got more mail.
BEMADETTE: I heard.
LUCILA: Aren’t you going to respond?
BEMADETTE: Don’t you have work to do?
(Lucila exits. Lights reveal Saquiel.)
SAQUIEL: Dear Writer, I don’t have much time left in this country. Have you changed your mind? Send.
BEMADETTE: Dear Student, do not insist. For many years I have succumbed to the refuge of these walls, the security of a lock and the obedience of a doorman who guards my solitude. And I’d like my seclusion to be undisturbed. Send.
SAQUIEL: Then let me call you again. Send. Let me hear your voice. Send.
BEMADETTE: But it’s better if I write to you. My voice is old and cracked, unlike the voice of Vera and Nadine and the rest of the women who inhabit my books. Send.
SAQUIEL: It’s the voice of those names and that’s enough for me . . . Send. Please, accept my phone call. Send. I’m interested in knowing more about Ariel Strauss, the young man from Berlin. Send.
(A moment. Reflection.)
BEMADETTE: Be patient with all the questions you might have about people I mentioned in my books. Let the questions live in you, in the same way I let my books live and take their own course in life. Let the questions mature in your being, then one day you’ll discover the answers before you. Send.
SAQUIEL: Are you still there? Send. Are you still there? Send. Writer? Send. Answer me, please. Send.
(Lights down on Saquiel. The phone rings. Lucila enters.)
BEMADETTE: Don’t answer. It could be the student.
LUCILA: It could be the doorman.
BEMADETTE: I’m not expecting anyone.
LUCILA: It could be the superintendent.
BEMADETTE: He would ring the bell.
LUCILA: I ordered a pizza.
BEMADETTE: Then go downstairs and get it.
LUCILA: I was hoping this young student would become your friend and . . .
(Bemadette gives her a look.)
BEMADETTE: Und was? [And what?]
LUCILA: I don’t know . . . that he’d get you out of the house and . . .
BEMADETTE: Und? [And?]
LUCILA: Just for a change of pace. Look at me . . . I’m starting to have a new life. My husband was a bore like . . . like . . .
BEMADETTE: Like me . . . you can say it . . .
LUCILA: Oh, I wasn’t going to say that, Ms. Kahn.
BEMADETTE: It’s all right. I’m not offended. I know I suffer from agoraphobia. I admit it.
LUCILA: What is that, Ms. Kahn?
BEMADETTE: Someone who doesn’t like leaving the house.
LUCILA: Ah! Like an Angora cat. My husband was like one of those cats, furry and housebound. He had hairs in places where I never thought hair could grow.
BEMADETTE: Ach, nein! [Oh, no.]
LUCILA: Well, it’s true. Never thought I liked a hairy back. But making love to him was like petting a panther or a bear.
BEMADETTE: Wie unangenehm! [How unpleasant!]
LUCILA: Ay, I’m sorry, Ms. Kahn. You don’t need to know these things.
BEMADETTE: No, that’s all right, darling, if you enjoy a furry back . . . I myself have always preferred a less-forested man.
(They both laugh.)
LUCILA: Ay, Ms. Kahn, it was very sad my husband’s case. That was the part that did us in . . .
BEMADETTE: His hairy back?
(More laughter from the two of them.)
LUCILA: No, not going out anywhere. (Making her point now) I love to go out. I love the nightlife. After a couple of years of being married our outings consisted of pretending to go out.
BEMADETTE: Having dates at home you mean?
LUCILA: Sure, all it would take were two pounds of pork loin and I’d land him in Colombia through a delicious stew of pork and cassava. And with a leg of lamb with mint and couscous I’d take him as far as Morocco.
BEMADETTE: That far?
LUCILA: Ah, that’s nothing! Through a dish of curry prawns with coconut milk, I’d take him straight to Bali.
BEMADETTE: I didn’t know you were an international chef.
LUCILA: Ay, no, Ms. Kahn! I was more like a doomed flight attendant, twenty pounds overweight from all the cooking. Because in the end, the only place the meals took us were to city hall for a divorce.
(The phone rings.)
BEMADETTE: Was ist das? Schon wieder! . . . Gott, hilf mir! Nein, Ich kann nicht mehr! [What is this? Again? God help me! No, I can’t take this anymore!]
(Frustrated, Bemadette goes out. Lucila answers the phone.)
LUCILA: Hello, Ms. Kahn’s residence.
(Lights up on Saquiel, holding a bouquet of flowers.)
SAQUIEL: Bemadette.
LUCILA: Hold one moment please. (In a loud voice to Bemadette) It’s the student.
BEMADETTE (Offstage): He shouldn’t be calling me. Tell him I’m not at home.
LUCILA (To Saquiel): Hold on. (To Bemadette) He probably knows you’re always here.
(Bemadette reenters.)
BEMADETTE: Tell him I’m ill.
LUCILA (To Saquiel): Ms. Kahn is sick.
SAQUIEL: Oh, that’s a shame.
LUCILA (To Saquiel): May I ask who’s calling?
SAQUIEL: Saquiel.
LUCILA (With sensuality): Hello, Saquiel.
(Bemadette rolls her eyes.)
I help her with the housecleaning. My name is Lucila.
SAQUIEL: Will I be able to visit her?
LUCILA (To Saquiel): Where are you calling from?
BEMADETTE: Hang up.
SAQUIEL: I’m across the street.
LUCILA (To Bemadette): He says he’s standing across the street.
BEMADETTE: How dare him! Tell him I’m going to call the police.
LUCILA (To Saquiel): She says she’s in bed.
BEMADETTE: Was?! [What?!]
LUCILA (To Saquiel): I mean, Ms. Kahn . . . she’s in bed.
SAQUIEL: I can see the light from her room.
LUCILA (To Bemadette): He says he can see the light from your room.
BEMADETTE: Unbelievable! Hang up!
LUCILA (To Saquiel, dismissing what Bemadette said): That’s because I’m cleaning. I’m cleaning.
BEMADETTE: What are you doing? Hang up!
SAQUIEL: I brought her some flowers.
LUCILA (To Saquiel): You did?
SAQUIEL: Should I leave them with the doorman?
BEMADETTE: What is he saying?
SAQUIEL: I brought her flowers. I’ll leave them with the doorman. Tell her that I sent them to her.
LUCILA (To Saquiel): Uh-hum . . . from you to her. Yes. Uh-hum . . .
BEMADETTE: Give me the phone.
LUCILA (To Bemadette in one breath, speaking rapidly from excitement): He said he brought you some flowers. He’s going to give them to the doorman so the doorman can give them to the elevator man and the elevator man can give them to me so I can give them to you.
BEMADETTE: Tell him thank you, good-bye and hang up.
LUCILA: Ay, Bemadette!
BEMADETTE: Tell him.
SAQUIEL: Are you still there?
LUCILA (To Saquiel): So we want to thank you . . .
SAQUIEL: Yes . . .
BEMADETTE: Not we. The flowers are not for you.
SAQUIEL: What did you say?
BEMADETTE: Hang up!
LUCILA (To Saquiel): So thank you, good-bye and I’ll hang up now. Ms. Kahn will call you tomorrow.
BEMADETTE: I will do no such a thing!
LUCILA (To Saquiel): No, you call her tomorrow.
BEMADETTE: Don’t tell him that!
LUCILA (To Saquiel): So thank you again. I’ll hang up now. Good-bye. Ciao.
(Lucila hangs up the phone. Lights down on Saquiel.)
BEMADETTE: What’s gotten into you?
LUCILA: Ms. Kahn, you just got flowers.
BEMADETTE: I don’t care about any flowers.
LUCILA: Let’s look out the window to see what he looks like.
(She turns off the lights and runs to the window.)
BEMADETTE: Absolutely not. You’re acting like a fifteen year old.
LUCILA (Looking out): Ay, Ms. Kahn, he’s a peach.
BEMADETTE: Get away from that window. We’ve lost a lot of time in useless chatter.
LUCILA: I’ll go downstairs and get the flowers.
BEMADETTE: No, you will not. I mean really . . . ! Will you stop this nonsense!
LUCILA: It’s time for me to go. I’ll go get my purse.
(She exits to get her purse.)
BEMADETTE: No. You’re not leaving now.
(Lucila reenters with her purse.)
LUCILA: Don’t worry! I won’t steal him from you.
BEMADETTE: You talk so foolishly sometimes.
LUCILA: It’s true. Remember I’m myopic. If I don’t wear my glasses, I won’t see him when I go out. (Takes off her glasses) See right there, where you’re standing . . . it’s all a haze.
BEMADETTE: Honestly, Lucila!
(Lucila puts her glasses back on. She takes out a powder compact and starts powdering her face.)
LUCILA: Myopia is not a handicap, Ms. Kahn. You just have to use it to your advantage. When I take Ms. Brookner to the fancy stores, I take off my glasses so I’m not tempted to buy anything. —And when it comes to men . . . The other night when my friend Benita Santos invited me to go dancing, I said to myself, I’m not going to wear my glasses or my contact lenses. Tonight I’m going to be myopic.
(She takes out a crayon and colors her lips.)
If a man comes and asks me to dance, I’m not going to tell him no because his nose is too big or I don’t like his mustache. I’m simply going to say yes and enjoy myself dancing. And I did. I had the time of my life. —Let me get my coat.
(Lucila exits to get her coat. Bemadette approaches the window and looks out. Lucila reenters and catches Bemadette looking out the window.)
BEMADETTE: You do realize how idiotic this whole thing is.
LUCILA: Is he gone?
BEMADETTE: No.
(Lucila walks to the door.)
LUCILA: I can’t stay here the whole night.
BEMADETTE: He’s still standing there. You can’t go just yet.
LUCILA: I’ll be myopic if I see him.
BEMADETTE: Ach mein Gott!! [Oh my God.]
(Lucila opens the door and goes out. Bemadette goes to the window. Lights up on Saquiel.
Outside, Lucila approaches Saquiel. Lights fade on Bemadette.)
LUCILA: What are you doing standing there?
SAQUIEL: Are you the owner of the sidewalk?
LUCILA: No, simply walking out the door, hurrying along . . .
SAQUIEL: If you were hurrying along, how come you noticed me?
LUCILA: Because you just happened to be standing there staring at that window.
SAQUIEL: I saw you last night when you went out of that same exact building.
LUCILA: Did you follow me?
SAQUIEL: Yes.
LUCILA: Did you enjoy following me? Should I be afraid of you and call the police? Are you a stalker?
SAQUIEL (To himself): You’ve got to be kidding me. (To Lucila, in a playful and exaggerated manner) Yes, I’ve been following you for weeks. I have no way of stopping myself from following you. I’m Saquiel Rafaeli.
LUCILA: I’m Bemadette Kahn.
SAQUIEL: No you’re not.
LUCILA: Are you here to kill her or me?
SAQUIEL: Not interested in blood.
LUCILA (All in one breath): Good. Now let’s get down to business. I just spoke to you on the phone. You’re the student, she’s Bemadette Kahn, I’m Lucila Pulpo, I work for her, I’m her personal assistant, her caretaker, her maid, her friend, and sometimes her cook and her security guard. I tried to help you out today, but I didn’t get anywhere with her. So let me tell you something: she won’t come down to meet you, so you’re wasting your time.
SAQUIEL: All right.
LUCILA: And don’t expect her to thank you for the flowers—
SAQUIEL: All right—
LUCILA: And much less to send you a note with the doorman or me—
SAQUIEL: Okay—
LUCILA: So give it up!
SAQUIEL: Oyéee! [Ouch!]
LUCILA: Go home. You won’t get anywhere with her.
SAQUIEL: Woosh! You just broke my heart.
LUCILA: Then deal or go to a heart surgeon.
(She turns to leave.)
SAQUIEL: Can you help me?
(She turns to him. A moment.)
LUCILA: Just beat it, kid!
SAQUIEL: Help me out. Please. Help me connect with Ms. Kahn.
LUCILA: I already told you.
SAQUIEL: Can you help me get some information?
LUCILA: You’re not asking me to be a spy, are you? An informer?
SAQUIEL: I just want to meet Ms. Kahn. What if I . . . ?
LUCILA: There’re no ifs. I know so. Been working for the woman for ten years now.
SAQUIEL: But there are things I’d like to ask her.
LUCILA: Like what?
SAQUIEL (Becoming nervous): Things I’d like to ask her in person . . . questions related to her life, her work . . .
LUCILA: What was your name again?
SAQUIEL: Saquiel. Saquiel Rafaeli.
LUCILA: What kind of name is that?
SAQUIEL: Saquiel means “the angel of water.”
LUCILA: What kind of water? And what kind of angel?
SAQUIEL: I don’t know. Just a name.
(He looks at her straight in the eyes.)
I’m just Saquiel. You?
LUCILA: Lucila Pulpo. Seriously, what are you after with Ms. Kahn?
SAQUIEL: There’s certain information I need. I’m here doing research.
LUCILA: Are you a writer too?
SAQUIEL: Yes I am.
LUCILA: You got anything published?
SAQUIEL: No.
LUCILA: Then you’re not a writer according to Ms. Kahn.
SAQUIEL: All right, I’m not a writer then. (Straight into her eyes) You’re going to help me, right?
LUCILA (Looking into his eyes): Leave. Don’t make things difficult for me.
SAQUIEL: I’ve come too far to leave now.
LUCILA: What do you call far?
SAQUIEL: All I had to go through to get here.
LUCILA: That’s not far in the world of Ms. Kahn. Many others have come from faraway looking for her.
SAQUIEL: And she didn’t let them in.
LUCILA: Unh-unh.
SAQUIEL: Then I’ll be the lucky one. I’m staying with someone who gives dancing lessons. Do you want to take a dance class with me?
LUCILA: No.
SAQUIEL: Don’t you know how to dance?
LUCILA: Are you kidding me? You’re talking to a Colombian from Cartagena.
SAQUIEL: And you’re talking to a Jew from Cuba. The classes require a dance partner. Here’s a flier with the address. They start at seven o’clock. Wear dance shoes. And don’t be late. Tell them at the door you’re a friend of Saquiel Rafaeli. I’ll see you there.
(He turns and goes off. Lucila exits. Bemadette enters with flowers. We hear the beep of the answering machine. She listens to the message attentively.)
(Recorded voice) Bemadette. Bemadette. I know you’re listening to me, I can hear you breathing. No one knows what it’s like to look for someone, that is, if you’ve never gone out of your way to search for another person. It takes dedication and determination. Sometimes it feels as if I had nothing else to do in life but find you. I hope to meet you.
(Bemadette takes the initiative to write to Saquiel.)
BEMADETTE: Dear Student, are you at the library? Send.
(The computer chimes. The lights reveal Saquiel.)
SAQUIEL: Dear Writer. Yes I am. Send.
BEMADETTE: Dear Student, good! So, you must read my novels in a particular order: The Scent of Wood, Gentle Rain, Immutable Time, Unguided War, Vanquished Summer and That Man Over There. Send. Please don’t ask me how they are connected and how they got written. All I know is they took form in the malleability of time. Send.
SAQUIEL: I’m learning not to ask too many questions about your novels. Send. Did you like my flowers? Send.
BEMADETTE: They’re lovely. Send.
SAQUIEL: I’m glad. Send.
BEMADETTE: I was thinking of their color, of the victory of their presence over every other color in my house. Send.
SAQUIEL: When can I see you? Send.
BEMADETTE: That won’t be possible. Send.
SAQUIEL: Then let me describe myself. I always dress in black clothes. People think I’m always in mourning. In Cuba, people think I’m in a rock band, which I’m not. Women think I’m a musician who is in love with his own self because I wear kohl under my eyes. Men think I’m peculiar or gay because I’m not a sports fan. What would you think of me? Send.
BEMADETTE (Laughs): That you’re eccentric like me. Send.
SAQUIEL: Laughter. Send.
BEMADETTE: Writers can be unusual creatures. Send.
SAQUIEL: I’m here on a student visa. I pretty much ran out of money so I found a job walking dogs. They’re my only friends in New York. Do you have a dog? Send.
BEMADETTE: No. No dogs. Only a blue parakeet. Send.
SAQUIEL: In Havana, I live in my grandfather’s apartment. Send. I sleep in what used to be his bed. Send. As the light in his eyes began to fade and his German accent became thicker, he filled his room with pictures of his sister and newspaper clippings of the doomed St. Louis voyage. Send. This is why I am reaching out to you. Among the refugees that were denied entry into Cuba and the United States was his sister, Eleanor Rafaeli. It was my grandfather’s wish for her not to be banished from history. And I’ve taken it upon myself to rescue my grandfather’s wish. Send.
BEMADETTE: Call me on the phone. Call me now. All of a sudden I feel like listening to your voice. Send.
(The phone begins to ring. She hesitates before answering.)
SAQUIEL: Hello. Bemadette. Bemadette. Bemadette.
(Bemadette hangs up. Dial tone. Saquiel is disconcerted. Lucila comes in with a coffee tray. She begins to pour coffee for Bemadette. Lights down on Saquiel.)
BEMADETTE: You spoke to him yesterday.
LUCILA: Who?
BEMADETTE: The student. I saw you from the window.
LUCILA: Yes, he approached me when I was leaving the building.
BEMADETTE: What did he have to say?
LUCILA: What you already know, that he wants to meet you.
BEMADETTE: You talked to him for a long time.
LUCILA: I listened.
BEMADETTE: Did he have much to say?
LUCILA: My! Have you had a change of heart?
BEMADETTE: No, not at all. I’m just posing a question.
LUCILA: One of these days I’m going to sit and try to figure you out, Ms. Kahn.
BEMADETTE: You haven’t answered my question.
LUCILA: I think there’s something broken about him.
BEMADETTE: Well, it’s not normal for a young man to stand across the street, in front of a window for hours.
LUCILA: And who wants to be normal? You’re not normal.
BEMADETTE: Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. It seems like you’ve taken an interest in the young man.
LUCILA: No.
BEMADETTE: Look at you . . . you’re even blushing.
LUCILA: So what do you want me to tell you, Ms. Kahn, that I had dinner with him . . .? And he slumped over his meat and potatoes thinking of you? And he sipped indifferently at his martini, and when I tried talking to him, he seemed not even to hear me because he was thinking of you?
BEMADETTE: My! We are feisty today!
LUCILA: Are you going to have coffee?
BEMADETTE: I don’t like your tone, Lucila. You have a problem with manners. This whole country does.
LUCILA: You don’t have to blame the whole country, Ms. Kahn. You can blame me.
BEMADETTE: No, I am convinced that it is a cultural collapse. And what causes this crudeness is a sort of anarchy in which everyone has lost sight of indiscretion.
LUCILA: And how can we gain back our discretion, Ms. Kahn?
BEMADETTE: Maybe through a little fear. But nowadays I don’t know anymore. Nowadays no one is afraid of anything. We have lost our fear.
LUCILA: What kind of fear are you talking about?
BEMADETTE: Fear that everything will fall into a state of disorder and ruin. In the old days we used fear as a way of bettering ourselves. Wars used to remind us of our own demise.
LUCILA: I have my own fears, Ms. Kahn. Fear of invisibility . . . fear that no one will see me for who I am . . . fear that I’ll be unnoticed like a breadcrumb on a table . . . and that I’ll never be able to go back to my country and age like a palm tree, straight and uncurved. I fear that I won’t be able to spend my last days in the water, like I used to when I was a child, when I lived in my bathing suit. Oh, I don’t know why I always get the feeling that I’ll forget how to swim.
BEMADETTE: Then go back to Colombia and swim.
LUCILA: Are you firing me?
BEMADETTE: Don’t be ridiculous.
LUCILA: I can’t recall whose idea it was for me to come to this city when it’s so cold. When I was in Cartagena I used to spend the whole day in the water like a manatee.
BEMADETTE: Come, sit. Drink coffee with me.
(Lucila sits with Bemadette.)
LUCILA: You want me to read you your fortune on your coffee cup?
BEMADETTE: What color are his eyes?
LUCILA: Brown.
BEMADETTE: What sort of brown?
LUCILA: Chestnut brown. He has puppy-dog eyes, sad and innocent.
BEMADETTE: And his hands?
LUCILA: Like the hands of a poet.
BEMADETTE: Tell me, what’s going on inside his head? Why is he stalking an old woman like me?
LUCILA: He said he had come from far away, and I asked him from how far. And he said it was not a matter of distance. He was referring to all he had to go through before coming here.
BEMADETTE: You mean to get a visa and leave Cuba.
LUCILA: I guess.
BEMADETTE: But is he going to stay here?
LUCILA: No. He’s here on a student visa. I only spoke to him for a bit, and then I went to buy some olives.
BEMADETTE: With him?
LUCILA: No, by myself . . . for myself . . .
BEMADETTE: And why didn’t you share your olives with him?
LUCILA: Because I prefer to eat olives privately and share them with my solitude. That’s why I eat them when I’m alone at night.
(The phone rings. Bemadette answers. Lights reveal Saquiel. Lucila stays to listen to the conversation.)
SAQUIEL: Ms. Kahn, don’t hang up. It doesn’t matter if you don’t talk to me. You don’t have to tell me a word. —Ms. Kahn, are you there?
BEMADETTE: Yes.
SAQUIEL: Oh, I got a yes from you. We are making progress. Perhaps I can get another word from you.
BEMADETTE: I’m not mute . . .
SAQUIEL: I didn’t think you were. When can I see you?
BEMADETTE: Why would a young man like you want to meet an old woman like me?
SAQUIEL: Don’t worry. I won’t be fresh.
BEMADETTE (Laughs): Oh, I’m not worried. That didn’t even cross my mind.
SAQUIEL: Then I should tell you that I prefer the wisdom of mature women than the naïveté of young women.
BEMADETTE: I sense you are asking me on a date. Are you asking me to go out, young man?
SAQUIEL: As a matter of fact, can I invite you to dinner?
BEMADETTE (Playfully): Be careful Mr. Rafaeli. I might say yes, but I warn you I am not responsible for myself when I drink two martinis.
SAQUIEL: Then let me take you out.
BEMADETTE (Laughs): Oh, I was just making fun of myself! But no, I don’t go out.
(Lucila listens. She looks at Bemadette. She lowers her eyes.)
SAQUIEL: But it can still be a possibility, Ms. Kahn.
BEMADETTE: I beg your pardon.
SAQUIEL: We can still make it a reality.
BEMADETTE: I’m not sure I understand what you mean.
(It is difficult to know what Lucila is thinking, but she cannot bear the conversation. She rises to her feet and exits.)
SAQUIEL: We could meet without either one of us leaving the house.
BEMADETTE: And how is that possible, young man?
SAQUIEL: I’m referring to a virtual rendezvous through a computer screen.
BEMADETTE: A virtual rendezvous! I never heard of such a thing. It sounds a bit technological.
SAQUIEL: You’ll see. We could just walk through the streets without walking on the streets. We could sit on park benches without actually sitting on them.
BEMADETTE: In that case we don’t need a computer.
SAQUIEL: Are you saying you’re open to my invitation?
BEMADETTE: Well, I’d much rather use my imagination and form a visual image of all the places we want to visit.
SAQUIEL: And where would you like me to take you?
BEMADETTE: You probably know the city better than I do.
SAQUIEL: I’m practically a foreigner here.
BEMADETTE: They’re probably gone, all the places I used to visit.
SAQUIEL: Does it really matter if they’re closed?
BEMADETTE: No. You’re right.
SAQUIEL: Then take me to those places.
BEMADETTE (Laughs): Now?
SAQUIEL: Why not?
BEMADETTE: In that case I must grab my purse to go out the door.
SAQUIEL: I’m already waiting for you downstairs.
BEMADETTE: I would have to powder my face.
SAQUIEL: In that case I should comb my hair.
BEMADETTE: I’ll be ready in a second.
SAQUIEL: Then I will anticipate seeing you.
BEMADETTE: And what will you think about as you anticipate seeing me?
SAQUIEL: That my dear writer will look ravishing.
BEMADETTE: Yes. Like Nadine in my book. Young. Light on her feet. Wearing her silk dress, pearl earrings and a fedora hat.
SAQUIEL: Is it summer yet?
BEMADETTE: No, it would have to be spring if I wear my fedora hat.
SAQUIEL: Then I’ll bring you flowers.
BEMADETTE: Tulips?
SAQUIEL: Red or Yellow?
BEMADETTE: No. Purple.
SAQUIEL: Purple then.
BEMADETTE: Young man, here I am!
(They look at each other through their imagination. The lights change to illustrate the virtual rendezvous.)
SAQUIEL: Ah, there you are! You look simply splendid.
BEMADETTE: Thank you. How-do-you-do, dear Student!
SAQUIEL: How-do-you-do, Ms. Kahn! I’m happy now that you’re here.
BEMADETTE: Aren’t you a gentleman!
SAQUIEL: I’ve been looking forward to seeing you.
BEMADETTE (Steps out of the fantasy): I feel like such a fool doing this.
SAQUIEL: You mustn’t judge yourself.
BEMADETTE: Never mind, I can fake it.
SAQUIEL: No, it should be real since you refuse to see me.
BEMADETTE: All right! Go on.
SAQUIEL: Well, now we just met. And I’ve kissed your hand.
BEMADETTE: In that case I will look at the sky and say, “My, I do hope the weather will keep good.”
SAQUIEL: Then we walk and I tell you there’s nowhere like New York in spring. —Should we go to Central Park?
BEMADETTE: I’d rather go to the Algonquin Hotel for some tea. Have you called a taxi?
SAQUIEL: I thought it would be better to hire a private chauffer. After all, I have a rendezvous with Ms. Bemadette Kahn.
(She laughs.)
BEMADETTE: Let’s walk instead. It’s not far from here.
SAQUIEL: Whatever you like, Ms. Kahn.
BEMADETTE: It’s such a lovely day. How I miss walking through the city.
SAQUIEL: There’s nothing like walking through Fifth Avenue and getting lost in a sea of people and stores.
BEMADETTE: Let’s enter Saks Fifth Avenue.
SAQUIEL: Look, there’s a lady asking you if you want to try on some perfume.
BEMADETTE: What kind?
SAQUIEL: I don’t know. It looks expensive.
BEMADETTE: I only wear Molinard De Molinard and occasionally Shalimar.
SAQUIEL: Then it’s Molinard. Can I buy you a bottle?
BEMADETTE (Playfully): Young Student, when a man buys perfume for a lady it is expected that he’ll want to smell it on her skin.
SAQUIEL: Ms. Kahn, you mustn’t give me ideas that you’ll later regret.
BEMADETTE (Laughs): Well, in that case. (As if singing) Let’s continue walking. Let’s continue walking.
SAQUIEL: Let’s walk over to Broadway where it never gets dark.
BEMADETTE: Is it night already?
SAQUIEL: Yes, and the theaters are about to open.
BEMADETTE (Coquettish): Hum! Nighttime and me walking with a young man!
SAQUIEL: Holding hands . . .
BEMADETTE: I can’t help feeling that this is impossible.
SAQUIEL: But are you happy?
BEMADETTE: Ecstatically!
SAQUIEL: That’s all right then, isn’t it?
BEMADETTE: Oh, it’s perfect. Take me to see a play.
SAQUIEL: In Berlin, you couldn’t be like this with Ariel Strauss.
BEMADETTE: In Berlin you couldn’t do anything after 1933. I had many photos that showed me in Berlin with my friends, many who were Jewish. But after 1933 everything changed.
SAQUIEL: Where did you meet Ariel Strauss?
BEMADETTE: His father had a bookstore in Berlin. It was there that I discovered the books of Thomas Mann, Colette, Virginia Woolf . . .
SAQUIEL: And you discovered Ariel Strauss.
BEMADETTE: Yes and Ariel Strauss. But he wasn’t a writer. He was an avid reader. Gott [God], I don’t want to remember Berlin.
(The lights go back to normal.)
SAQUIEL: Why is that, Ms. Kahn?
BEMADETTE: Because for many years I wanted to forget that chapter in my life and what kills memory is not remembering. Why meet him again in a memory?
SAQUIEL: Perhaps to write about him.
BEMADETTE: I’ve never been able to write about Ariel Strauss.
SAQUIEL: You mentioned him in one of your books.
BEMADETTE: Yes I did. He was my first love. My Jewish lover from Berlin.
SAQUIEL: So there’s nothing left for you to say about Ariel Strauss.
BEMADETTE: No.
SAQUIEL: And yet he’s still there in your mind.
BEMADETTE: Yes. He’s still there; the way things become frozen in time.
SAQUIEL: So you lack the courage?
BEMADETTE: Do you mean the courage to bring him to light?
SAQUIEL: Yes.
BEMADETTE: Maybe.
SAQUIEL: Is it that difficult for you to get rid of your feelings? I mean, by turning them into literature.
BEMADETTE: Some things can’t be expressed through words. Becoming literature can never redeem what happened to Ariel Strauss and his sister Nina.
SAQUIEL: And yet history wants you to write about them.
BEMADETTE: No, not history. Only you.
SAQUIEL: Then he may already be in the book that you can’t write.
BEMADETTE: I don’t want it to be a revenge on life or for it to be on the side of melancholy.
SAQUIEL: I think whatever story you decide to write you’re the only one who can write it.
BEMADETTE: Can we talk tomorrow?
SAQUIEL: No, you’re not going yet! Don’t go yet.
BEMADETTE: I’ll expect your call tomorrow. Same time.
SAQUIEL: Ms. Kahn! Ms. Kahn.
(The lights fade.
We are at a dance studio. We hear the recorded voice of a dance instructor teaching the waltz. Lights reveal Lucila joining Saquiel in the initial dance position.)
VOICE OF DANCE INSTRUCTOR: Men will start with their left foot forward . . . Ladies will start with their right foot back . . . And one two three . . . and one two three . . . One more time, one two three . . . one two three . . .
(The couple dances to a waltz. Music plays: The Chopin Waltz in A minor, op. 69, no. 1. A blue sea is projected on the curtain. Bemadette enters, narrating the story that she has begun writing.)
BEMADETTE: Ariel and Nina Strauss never expected to be sailing on such a big and luxurious ship.
The brother and sister roamed around through the decks, inspecting the lofty and ornate salons of the ocean liner.
(Although Lucila and Saquiel are dancing in the present, they become Ariel and Nina Strauss in 1939. The lights change to signify the shift of time.)
ARIEL: The ship is moving! The ship is moving!
NINA: We’re leaving! We’re finally leaving!
(Bemadette turns to Ariel and Nina Strauss.)
BEMADETTE (Almost in a whisper): Ariel . . . Nina . . . (Waves to them) I will meet you in Havana! I will see you in Havana! Write to me!
ARIEL: We’ll be waiting for you!
NINA: I’ll write to you soon!
BEMADETTE: There were families waving their hands and handkerchiefs as the tugs towed the ship to the open sea. A band was even playing music and flags were flying in the wind.
NINA: Feel the pure sea air . . . Good-bye, Germany! I see all the things we’re leaving behind. But we must close our eyes and say to ourselves that they were never ours . . .
ARIEL: Of course they were. We’re German . . . we’re German . . . we were born in Germany . . . Why are you saying that?
NINA: Because there are no more streets for us to walk through in Germany . . . No more stores for us to shop in . . . No concerts for us to attend . . .
BEMADETTE: Ariel and Nina Strauss thought there was someone important on the ship. They never found out who was the important passenger on board. But they felt special and later in the evening they pretended to be the guests of honor as they danced to a waltz.
ARIEL: Maybe we are indeed the guests of honor and that song is being played for us.
NINA (Playfully): Monsieur, do you not recognize the music?
ARIEL: Yes, they’re playing Chopin for us.
NINA: I haven’t gone to the beauty shop in so long, I shall like to get my hair done.
ARIEL: Not so fast, little sister.
NINA: Why not, my porcupine?
ARIEL: We can’t be spending our money in beauty salons.
NINA: Who says?
ARIEL: I do. I have the money.
NINA: Tomorrow I want to look divine at the ball . . .
ARIEL: We can’t spend our savings.
NINA: In Cuba we’ll work and make money.
ARIEL: Then in Cuba you can go to a beauty salon.
NINA: It’s not a matter of vanity, Ariel.
ARIEL: Then what, little sister?
NINA: It’s feeling the liberty of entering places we were banned from in our country and saying once again: “I’d like to get my hair cut like this woman in this magazine. Or I’d like to try this perfume.”
ARIEL: All in due time, little sister. All in due time.
(He lifts her up in the air and swivels her. She shouts, full of joy.)
BEMADETTE: Night fell and the moon floated in the water like debris, like the ghost from a sunken ship.
My father had purchased the two tourist-class tickets at six hundred reichsmarks for Ariel and his sister. My father had been a good friend of their father. He thought it’d be best to send them to Cuba . . .
(Lights fade on Ariel and Nina Strauss.
Sound of the telephone ringing. The answering machine picks up the call. Lights reveal Saquiel.)
SAQUIEL: Bemadette, are you there? It’s Saquiel. Are you there?
(Bemadette picks up the phone.)
BEMADETTE: Yes, this is Bemadette.
SAQUIEL: I didn’t think you would answer.
BEMADETTE: You never call at this time.
SAQUIEL: I’ve been trying to reach you for a few days.
BEMADETTE: I know. I’ve missed your voice.
SAQUIEL: Why didn’t you answer the phone?
BEMADETTE: I was writing. What have you done to me? I’m writing again.
SAQUIEL: That’s a good thing, isn’t it?
BEMADETTE: Yes. Your voice. It’s good to hear your gentle voice again.
SAQUIEL: I’ve started writing too. I’m writing about us.
BEMADETTE: What could you write about me?
SAQUIEL: I write about what I don’t know about you. There can be no relation stranger than ours.
BEMADETTE: Is that because we’ve never met in person?
SAQUIEL: It is strange. After all, we’re two people who only know each other through words and our voices.
BEMADETTE: Sometimes that’s all that is needed.
SAQUIEL: Only the voice, Ms. Kahn?
BEMADETTE: Yes, only the voice. Don’t call me Ms. Kahn anymore. Call me Bemadette. And I shall call you Ariel Strauss.
SAQUIEL: Why Ariel Strauss?
BEMADETTE: Because you have brought him back to me. And he has brought you to me. Because, for me, you are him. And it’s frightening writing about you.
SAQUIEL: Why frightening?
BEMADETTE: To hear your voice, my Ariel Strauss, and to want to tell you what I’m writing about, as if you would understand.
SAQUIEL: I have understood everything else that you’ve written.
BEMADETTE: I could never resign myself to think that you were gone forever, my Ariel Strauss. I thought you and your sister Nina had only disappeared. That’s what I was writing about this morning.
SAQUIEL: Do you have any idea what became of them?
BEMADETTE: They say the ship dropped anchor early on the morning of May 27 at the Havana harbor and was denied entry to the usual docking areas. The next six days in the harbor seemed endless. Then it was finally announced that the passengers would only be allowed to disembark if they had official Cuban visas.
SAQUIEL: And of course they didn’t.
BEMADETTE: No, not Ariel and Nina. And neither did the other Jews. No one thought it was needed. Only twenty-two Jewish passengers were allowed to disembark on Cuban shores. After long negotiations, the remaining 908 Jewish passengers, would try their luck in Miami. But they met the merciless face of America, since entry was also denied to them.
SAQUIEL: Did you think this was a plan devised by the Nazis?
BEMADETTE: No, no one knew that at that time.
SAQUIEL: But the St. Louis was forced to return to Europe, showing the world that no one wanted the Jewish refugees.
BEMADETTE: Yes. And among those émigrés were Ariel and Nina.
SAQUIEL: Did you know what country they ended up in?
BEMADETTE: Much later.
SAQUIEL: And what country was that?
BEMADETTE: Belgium. But I lost touch with them.
SAQUIEL: They didn’t write?
BEMADETTE: I don’t know if they did. But I never got any letters. Much later I found out that they had been taken to a camp called Mechelen, halfway between Brussels and Antwerp.
SAQUIEL: When did you find out?
BEMADETTE: After the war. After it was all over.
SAQUIEL: And from there? From the camp?
BEMADETTE: I was told they were transported to another camp in the east, from where no one seemed to return.
SAQUIEL: The truth is that most passengers on that ship were sent to death camps.
BEMADETTE: But I didn’t want to know that!
SAQUIEL: So you stopped your inquiry.
BEMADETTE: Yes! I stopped! I stopped! I didn’t want to accept the truth of it all! For me, Ariel and Nina stayed on that ship bound for Cuba, where we were supposed to meet.
SAQUIEL: So you’d much rather remember Ariel and Nina alive . . .
BEMADETTE: Yes, yes . . . on their way to Cuba . . . before they were denied refuge in Havana and Miami.
SAQUIEL: But this journey became their end.
BEMADETTE: No, it was supposed to be their beginning.
SAQUIEL: Why is it so difficult for you to admit . . . ?
BEMADETTE: Admit what? What? That sending them back to Europe was the same as killing them?
SAQUIEL: That’s a fact.
BEMADETTE: No. That’s like letting darkness fall upon them or covering them with a wall of certainty.
SAQUIEL: That’s what happened. Even God can’t change what took place.
BEMADETTE: But I see so clearly what God could’ve prevented and how He should’ve intervened. I stopped praying after that.
(She looks into the distance.
Sound of foghorns and the cries of seagulls.)
It’s that day of the crossing, when Ariel and Nina leave for Cuba, that I start loving Ariel with the same blind faith of a Jew. And it’s with that same strength of faith that I confront my father. I ask him if he has bought tickets for Ariel and Nina on the St. Louis to get rid of them. My father tells me they’re better off in Cuba—away from the madness, away from the chaos all around us, away from this hellish nightmare. “But away from me! Away from me!” I shout. “Yes, away from you,” he tells me. “It couldn’t go on,” he says. “A Gentile and a Jew . . . it just couldn’t go on, my little Babs. Not now, Bemadette . . . not now, meine Liebling [my darling].” —My father tells me he’s done this to protect them, to protect me.
My father . . . my poor father . . . he thinks he’s saving Ariel and Nina . . . he thinks he’s offering me salvation. —From then on everything becomes a blur. I walk around the city and try to find myself in Berlin . . . But Berlin is no longer a place for me. I can’t live here anymore. I stare at the puddles of rain evaporating on the streets and the memory of Ariel invades my body. Like the vanishing rain he begins to rise and become every part of my being. The memory of him pursues me everywhere. It emblazons me. A stare from a stranger, a glare from a passerby, a shaft of light, reminds me that he’s within me, he has become part of my being, I have become my Jewish lover. I am Ariel Strauss, naked and defenseless. Even though I don’t have a star pinned to my dress, my star is there, invisible, fixed to my chest . . . because I carry within me the memory of a Jew, a Jew who was my beloved. So I too have become a Jew . . . A Jew in a city, in a country that wants to exterminate all Jews.
SAQUIEL (Gently): How old would Ariel Strauss be now?
BEMADETTE: He would be as old as I am and as young as you are.
(Suddenly, she smiles gently. Then, playfully:)
But are you trying to find out my age?
SAQUIEL: I know how old you are.
BEMADETTE (Laughs): So my nineteen years did me in?
SAQUIEL (Following her playfulness and sense of humor): Not necessarily.
BEMADETTE: Ah, young man, if you only knew that in the mathematic of age every wrinkle is counted.
SAQUIEL: And who counts?
BEMADETTE: Probably God, to remind us of our end.
SAQUIEL: Have you written all this down?
BEMADETTE: No. Another Bemadette who is foolish and mad has written about it. Because to babble over scraps of life is to betray the past.
SAQUIEL: You’re not babbling, Bemadette . . .
BEMADETTE: I am. Memories are inefficient, and very impolite.
SAQUIEL: But they’re also obedient to some extent.
BEMADETTE: And what good does divulging these memories do, young man?
SAQUIEL: They’re part of you! They’re a part of who you are! Trust your story. Trust me.
BEMADETTE: Believe me, my hands would love to hand you every page, but my memories are unconvinced.
SAQUIEL: Then trust your hands.
BEMADETTE (Smiles): You always say what I’d like to hear, don’t you?
SAQUIEL: I just say what comes to mind.
BEMADETTE (Smiles and shakes her head in disbelief): I don’t know what I’m going to do when you’re gone.
SAQUIEL: I will come back.
BEMADETTE (Laughs): If Lucila were eavesdropping on our conversation, she would think we’re having an affair.
SAQUIEL: I think we are.
BEMADETTE: You think there’s a love affair here?
SAQUIEL: Yes. If voices could have affairs that would be the case.
BEMADETTE: In fact, now that I think about it . . . There’s more than one affair: writer and student, youth and old age.
(She laughs)
SAQUIEL: You’re laughing. How good to hear you laugh.
BEMADETTE: This is what happens when one lives with silence for so long, one runs the risk of falling for a voice.
(She laughs, coughs and becomes light-headed.)
Oh God, all of a sudden I feel very tired. As if . . .
SAQUIEL: Do you want to hang up?
BEMADETTE: No. I’m afraid.
SAQUIEL: Are you all right? (Pause) Bemadette.
BEMADETTE: Maybe I should hang up.
SAQUIEL: Can I call you later? Bemadette. Are you all right?
(All of a sudden Bemadette has a blank stare. She becomes very pale, as if life has abandoned her.)
Bemadette . . . Bemadette . . . Are you there . . . ? Bemadette . . . Are you all right?
Bemadette . . . Bemadette.
(Bemadette is motionless, sitting in her chair.
Blackout. Music plays.)