rum & coke
Camila:
(Music plays as stage lights go down. Music changes and lights come upon Camila, an overweight, but shapely young girl. She looks at the audience and then she begins to strut downstage as if it were a catwalk. Music comes down.)
That's my basic strut.
(In the following sequence she will demonstrate each designers strut with music coming up on each strut.)
Different designers require different struts. You've got the Marc Jacobs. (Does strut) The Dior. (Does strut) And the Chanel. (Does strut) You basically have to capture the moods of the entire show.
Me, Camilla, I am going to bring supermodels back to their glory. I mean come on, Amber Valetta? Giselle Bunshen? They're gorgeous, but they haven't earned it. The true greats went the way of the 90's. But, if Naomi Campbell takes anger management classes and Linda Evangelista lets me do the talking… Watch out world, we're back!
I know what you're thinking. You think I'm too old to be a supermodel. But I haven't wasted time. If you want a long career, you've got to get educated. You want fashion history, you go to Vogue. Social customs, Cosmopolitan.
If you want to get to the top, you have to learn how to act like the best. Listen to how they talk about their photo shoots. Who are the cool designers? What water do they drink? But most important, think attitude.
Before I learned how to walk with an attitude, I used to get made fun of all the time. Oh yeah, for being fat. Randomly, guys would yell out "Hey, fat ass!" to see if I'd turn around.
Sometimes I'd get really lucky, and I'd be walking next to some six foot tall beautiful blonde (Motioning) I'd say, "Don't worry, hun, I think you look great! You know how guys are!"
Then, one day I was walking to work and I was listening to George Michael's "Freedom" on my Walkman. And something came over me. For the first time in my life, I felt beautiful. What a gift, to feel beautiful.
And I naturally started to strut down the street and everybody looked at me like I was somebody. I'd never felt like somebody before. What freedom! I was fearless. I wanted to hold on to that feeling forever. But how do you hold on to something like that?
At first I thought, "OK, I'll never eat again." But in doing my research, I discovered that in the eighteenth century, I was considered the perfect woman. (Incredulous) I know! Weight isn't ugly; it's just not fashionable right now. All fashion goes in cycles. Three is the perfect number- and hello the 21st century is divisible by three!
I was on my way. All I had to do now was lose my virginity.
You can't be a virgin and a supermodel!
Don't get me wrong, I'd always had a healthy sex life and until then had kept it safe, right up here. (She points to her head) But I figured it was time to move the action down a little. (Motions to her body)
After all, supermodels are about sex. Desire in one of its purest forms!
You can't embody all desire if you haven't experienced it first hand! Then God-sent, I started dating somebody.
I'd been working at Nobu for a couple of months when I met him. Not as a waitress. No, not as a hostess. See, for their place, they're a little more Asian Chic and I was too Caribbean Obvious. So they hired me as a dishwasher. Which is great, otherwise I would have never met Nick. He noticed my strut and I gave him my 'I am so cute I can barely stand it attitude!' and he asked me out.
From the first time we kissed, that tension and excitement. I was 22 years old and had never been anythinged. Every step was just complete, delicious discovery and I was fascinated. And, as a bonus, I was finally going to be an n.v. A non- virgin.
We waited, until the time was right. I got everything. The music, the candles, the condoms: extra ribbed and extra LARGE! I was ready. And at the last minute, you know the one, ladies. When you go, 'go'!
(She makes her body tense like if she was holding on to something.)
He wouldn't do anything. He said, "I just don't want to hurt you."
I was like, "Oh my God, but its totally supposed to hurt. Go crazy." (She positions herself again.) And he didn't move.
So I gave him a really gentle kiss and said, "Hurt me… please."
And… nothing. He just sat there and held me.
I've got to get sex. It's the only thing missing in my strut. Nobody says sex is over-rated anyways. People only say that because they've already had it! It's not my fault they're not any good at it. I feel like I'm having Christmas at somebody else's house. Everybody I know has had it!
And it can't be just a friend doing you a favor. It's a true art form to love someone. Unless art is inspired, it falls to the mediocre and forgettable. I don't want it like that. Besides, beauty doesn't count unless it's authentic.
I don't know… I need to be something everybody wants… like the Cuban Cigar. From connoisseurs to first timers, nobody turns down a fine Cuban. What am I talking about? (This is a true revelation.) I am the Cuban cigar! Everybody wants me, they just don't know how to smoke me!
Somewhere there's got to be a boy who knows how to smoke a Cuban! (She looks out into the audience.) I've been in a humidor. Aged to perfection. All he has to do is remove my ring. Feel me up a little. Snip my tip. Light the match, burn my end. Set me on FIRE. And IN-HALE!
My strut will be complete. (Music fades up as Camila dances with it.) Cindy, Kate, Christy, jump on my coattails girls, there's room.
I'll have lunch with Karl Lagerfeld, dinner with Tom Ford and Cristal with Donatella. Until then, I will practice my strut, wash my dishes, and keep myself humidified. And one day, beauty will be mine! (Finishes in a pose.)
Oh my God! I'm late for the protest!
My grandmother is going to kill me! Juana! Come on we're going to be late for the protest and you know how my grandmother gets! Juana?
Juana:
(Juana turns around in complete surprise and embarrassment. She has a very specific but light Cuban accent. She is all a lady. Femininity incarnate.)
Oh my God! The protest was today? No, I completely forgot. Yeah you know I went out last night! I never miss a Saturday night at Mystiques. It's like playing the lotto, the day you don't play your number comes up and I need my Prince Charming to come, and soon! You know what I mean?
Ay, you should have seen me. Mira, I plucked my eyebrows, I dyed my mustache, I even did my roots and let me tell you something, Ms. Clairol was particularly good to me yesterday!
I wore my pink dress. Nina, you've seen it, the spandex one. It has a ruffle and it's low cut to emphasize my chest, the ruffle hides my hips. (She demonstrates) Hide, emphasize, hide, emphasize! Si coño, that one! No, no, no, no, no! Don't start. I'm not obsessed with ruffles. It's just the only thing you can count on. If you can't pack it into spandex put a ruffle around it and you'll be fine.
Anyway, that's not the point. The point is — I looked good you know? So I get there around 10:30–11:00 and the place is packed, like me in the dress. And everybody is like "Juana you look so good! Mama what have you done? You look beautiful!"
And I was like, "Get out of town! You? You're such a clown! Me? I've done nothing!" But I was working it you know! Because I knew I looked good. I felt great!
Then Paco the Wacko comes out of nowhere pulls me from behind by the ruffle and growls in my ear, "Mami, when you look so good, you bring out the wild animal in me. Why don't we go somewhere so you can tame me?"
I got so upset I turned around and I said, "Look if I want to fuck a monkey, I'll go to the zoo OK."
Then he said, "Pero gorda, your monkey's right here!" I was so embarrassed! No, he's a nice guy; I just hate it when he acts like that.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see this beautiful young boy walking towards us, like out of a movie. (She demonstrates) Very macho. Then he says to Paco, "Excuse me, but I believe I'm the lady's monkey tonight."
He takes me by the hand over to the dance floor and says, "I'm sorry, I hope I haven't insulted you, but he really didn't seem like your type. Hi, I'm Jose Gomez."
And I was like "OK. I'm Juana."
And he says, "Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?"
Mija, inside I was like, (She starts to dance wildly) 'Yehes, yehes, yehes!' But outside I stayed cool! You know? (She composes herself) Because you have to stay cool!
So I said, "OK. I'll dance with you." And we danced.
(Juana is getting more and more excited as the story progresses.)
Ay...first of all he had these big, strong, beautiful hands. He was dressed from head to toe in Tommy Hilfiger. Figger. Figer. Ay, whatever, Camila you know what I mean!
Anyway, he tells me he's going to graduate school. So you know what that means? He's going to graduate. Turns out he's a Cuban from Miami, I got so excited. I said, "Oh my God. I'm Cuban too! Look, (She pulls out her bra) I'm wearing a black bra in mourning for the death of our country."
And then I see him turn red and I realized that in wanting to bond with this boy I was showing him my bra. Pero nada, we just kept dancing and talking. He was so respectful. He was classy you know. He made me feel classy.
Then he says to me, "I'm sorry but I can't wait another minute. May I kiss you?" (She motions) Cool.
"OK. (Her voice cracks) You may." He dips me and he kisses me and he drops me.
No, I mean he drops me on the floor. Then I hear all of his friends laughing in the corner and he walks over to them and they each hand him a twenty-dollar bill. You know I've never wanted to die, but at that moment.
I thought, finally I have what I deserve. Somebody who can appreciate me for who I am and not for how good I look. But it was all a joke, I was the joke. So what was the joke to do?
I got up, brushed myself off, re-fluffed my ruffle, walked straight over to him, slid the money out of his hands and said, "Oops, Butterfingers. You better learn how to keep a tighter hold on things. Oh and by the way, the next time you fuck with Juana you better borrow a set of balls, asshole!" and I walked straight to the door.
Then Paco comes up to me and says, "Mami, you give me the word y yo lo mato I'll kill him."
And I said "No Paco, no. He's not worth your time." Besides he was at least three feet taller than Paco — he would have killed him. No, I'm generous like that. Bueno, nada… What are you going to do? Someday my prince will come.
No, no protest for me today. I'm not in the mood. But you better go, you know how your grandmother gets. Tell her that I say hi. Bueno, bye…
Alicia:
(Alicia's voice is old but strong. Like a raspy horn. She stands erect but her body naturally tilts to the side. She is hard but her vulnerability is as obvious as her General-like quality. Sounds of protest are in the background.)
Camila! So nice of you to finally show up. (She sees a reporter) Hey that's Jorge Martinez! Jorge ven, ven, interview me. What do you mean who am I? I just finished my hunger strike shift and I'm starting on my prayer shift now.
What do you mean, don't do hunger strikes in shifts? Oye, we're here to protest the starvation of the Cuban people, not show how it's done. There are eleven million people starving in Cuba and you expect us to starve ourselves voluntarily! Comunista! (Alicia crosses to chair) Asi mismo te lo digo! No, no, now you can go interview your grandmother.
Camila, sit down. Do you expect me to believe you missed the hunger strike shift by mistake? Please! We both need to do something. (She announces to everybody) The other day I bought a dress that could have been used as a sofa cover. Don't look so traumatized. I'm only asking for ten little pounds. (Realizing Camila came alone) Don't get mad… (She sticks out her tongue) Where's Juana? She forgot! How nice it must be to forget? I wish I could forget.
Today is 39 years since your Abuelo and I left la Habana. We thought, two or three months maximum. We'll bring back the kids and step back into our lives again and 39 years later I'm missing my soap opera because of that demon.
No, no, I don't want to talk about it. No, no, no, talking about it doesn't help. I'm not that modern. (Notices her husband) Ramon, para de comer mierda chico! He gets so excited when he sees your cousins! Put him down! You're going to have un patatus.
Niki, come here. You left your Barbie doll at the house. (Holds up a Barbie Doll.) Look at this, this isn't a children's doll, it's a prostitute! Sorry Niki, ballerina Barbie. (Looks at audience like Niki is crazy) OK, I'll hold it for you.
Sometimes I do wonder what the people that got our house did with everything. Nada, the pictures, the toys, our clothes. What could those things have meant to anybody?
Look at Elenita! (Yells to her) Since when are you using a walker?! It's the climate! I don't care if we're only 90 miles away from Cuba — I'm telling you, the climate here kills you. Caballero, in Cuba it only rained when we wanted it to! Eh? Ay Elenita, you and me both. I'm dead. I'm like the Queen of England destroyed and just for show. Everything hurts. (To Camila) She can't hear anymore. She probably doesn't want to, her son is gay.
(Turns back to Elenita, loudly) How's Tony? Such a good boy. Don't worry, he'll get married soon, (Barely speaks it) to Jonathan.
(To Elenita) Sit down, sit down, pray with us. (Looks at Camila and laughs.)
Camila, don't joke around like that. That's not funny. What? Can you please explain what business you have going to Cuba? Mi Vida, if you want to find beauty you need to lose your way to Burger King. You're not going to find anything in Cuba!
Don't you know why we left? They tried to take away your father? Oh, si. But I recognized the miliciano that came to arrest him. I was his second grade teacher. I jumped in front of my son and said, "I taught you how to read descarado! You're not taking my son anywhere. Get out of my house!"
Within hours, your grandfather put your father and the other four kids on a plane to New Orleans. I was sure they were going to come back and arrest me. Every minute was like you were waiting for an attack, and you never knew where it was going to come from.
Everybody was scared. The random assassinations. The ridiculous arrests. We had built this life together and just when we are living what we earned — because nobody gave it to us — Castro comes along and says that we are the enemy, that we deserve to lose it all. And if you don't like it, take the next flight out. There was nothing to say, nothing to do.
Cuba was beautiful. It's not that it was perfect. But it was our home, we spoke our language. Then from one day to the next everything changed.
The months after we sent the kids away took forever. Half of everybody we knew had left. People didn't come to visit anymore. You couldn't talk to your friends because you didn't know who was on whose side. Your Abuelo and I were afraid to talk to each other. La Habana got so cold.
In my backyard, I used to have five trees. One for each child. When they bloomed, you would swear the sun was sitting on top of our house. I would spend hours looking at each tree. Wondering how my kids were doing. Mis hijos. I would remember the family reunions and wonder if my brother and sisters had places to live yet. If they had food to eat. I'll tell you this, I never knew how beautiful those trees were until Castro took over. (She chants)
"Castro, Traidor, Assesino y Dictador" Wait a minute, in English so that they understand us! No wonder they think we're crazy! Yes, they do think we're crazy!
The other day I got into a fight with this Canadian. He said he didn't know why everybody was still complaining, Cuba was fine. That he had been there many times. That we were a bunch of nostalgic aristocrats. The 'Jews of the Caribbean'.
'Jews of the Caribbean'? That's right, we are the Jews of the Caribbean and you, you let my people go! You animal. Don't you see you can go to Cuba all the times you want, and do God knows what, no questions asked, but I will never see my country again?"
(In utter disgust) Let me pray because now I'm mad! (She crosses herself)
God I wish I had a cigarette! Si, Elenita, si! I quit smoking a year ago! (Gestures as if Elena is brain dead.) Mariquita pa'la escuela. Ramon was having these pains when we were on the cruise and we had to go to shore in that dingy boat and I promised God that if he cured him, I would quit smoking.
The second we walked into the emergency room, prah, he was fine. He had gas! Where is he? Every time I want a cigarette now I want to kill him.
(Turns quickly to Camila) I'm nostalgic because I need to be. When your grandfather retired, he insisted on planting the same garden that we had in Cuba. We had such a fight over it.
"Chico no comas mierda. Our garden is fine! You don't know what you're doing and you're going to have a heat stroke!"
"Coño Alicia! I think I can plant a simple garden!"
"Aya tu! I'm not saying another word. I don't want it! And God save you if anything happens because I've already quit smoking." Eh! Es que why did he want it?
He started with the plants… They looked beautiful! Then the flower bedsÉThey looked beautiful. Then he planted the same five trees. I was so excited, I could hardly wait for them to grow. I don't think I had let myself look forward to anything as much as I did to those trees. But they wouldn't take root.
Camila no matter where you go or how good you do, you're never free because you're Cuban and you're not home and the home you knew doesn't exist anymore. And now you tell me you are going to go to find beauty? (Surprised by her own admission) I hope you do.
It's over. (Music plays) Niki, go find your Abo. It's time to go. (Sees Ramon) Ramon, suelta el mojonete ya Chico! (Bends over slowly) Michael give Aba a kiss. I love you too! (She takes a look around. We get Camila again music fades out.)
Camila:
My grandmother has always told me that if I'd been raised in Cuba I'd speak French. Can somebody please tell me what that means?
I know that as a Cuban you have two lives. The life that you have in spite of the revolution and the life you could've had without the revolution. I've been raised on images of Cuba that make Oz look like a trailer park. But I need my own.
If I'm going to be the Cuban cigar, I've got to be browned by the Cuban sun.
I could stay with my great-aunt, Ninita. She's 90 years old and very cool. It's very 'Euro' to go. Very high fashion.
But I'm afraid. What if one of Castro's people took my picture at the protest and when I get there it's hanging on the wall at the airport and they arrest me because they think I'm going to start a counterrevolution? Which is sexy, but only if it's on film.
More than anything I feel guilty. Everybody that I love can't go back. My dad died without being able to go back. What am I going to do? Strut through the streets they fled?
I have a Cuban problem. I need a Cuban solution!
(Santeria music comes in. Then it hits Camila. She whispers to the audience)
I'm going to go to a Santera!
Iluminada:
(Iluminada dances downstage. She's round and everything about her is big. Her body language is characterized by a flamboyancy that is a staple in Cuban ghettos everywhere. She takes pride in her refined vulgarity, taking pleasure in everything she says.)
Entra, entra! Come in quick! Don't let the chickens in. Get that one! Close the gate! Ay baby, I'm sorry about the farm in my front yard. But if I had to go to the botanica every time I had to sacrifice a chicken I'd live in the car! Who has the time?
You want a manicures? Oh no, honey. I'm sorry. I only do Santeria psychic readings Tuesdays and Thursdays. Manicuree Monday, Wednesday, Friday. I can't jump back and forth manicure, psychic readings. Manicuree, Santeria. It's too much! I get emotional psychic constipation and then you can't talk to me for days.
Come on in and I do your hands! What kind of attitude is that? Oh, that's cute. I like it. OK, OK. When you put it like that, who am I to say no? Let me get ready.
(She moves the table to center. Goes to get her things, comes out with an aerosol can, and sets everything on the table. She begins to shake wildly.)
Mira, I'm shaking — I'm shaking and nothing's falling off, nothing's falling off! Que te parece? Oooh Atche! That means good luck! And let me tell you something, you have plenty of it! Aha! I can see it in you AURA! ATCHE! (She sits down)
Now, let's begin by explaining what I do and how I do it. I am a Santera. Santeria is basically the Afro-Cuban form of Catholicism. You're Cuban? So what if you were born over here, it doesn't matter where the chicken lays the egg baby! It matters that the chicken was Cuban!
OK. (Indicating the cards) This is like God on speed dial. It's our direct line.
I can read your cards, tell you where you came from and where you're going. Ask me a question and I tell you no lies. What's your name? Camila. Mira, you ask me, Iluminada, should I wear orange? I say, 'No! No Camila, don't ever wear orange.' Only children should dress like fruit.
Don't ask me to do anything bad because I can't! I work only through the grace and glory of God! Got it? Good. Let's begin! Touch the cards!
TODAY! I'm a santera, not a magician. Mira they're Goya cards — because if it's Goya it's got to be good! Go ahead. That's a good girl! Now, let's begin.
Oooh, the Money card. I can see you are going to have plenty of it. And that's good because I expect a little compensation! Ey, who ever said faith was cheap?
Oooh, the PASSION card! ATCHE! Are you Catholic? Well obviously you're not a very good one because Catholics don't believe in pre-marital sex and I see that you and your Mr. Macho Banana almost had premarital brujaja! Oooh. Let's see what happened!
Oh I see, how do I say it sensitive, his hard drive has become a floppy disk! What good is a pickle if it doesn't tickle? Why do you look so shocked? I may work with the holy forces but I'm no saint. Is that why you're here? Ay niña, don't worry about that! I've got your solution!
Mira you take palm oil and rub it all over your body with flank steak. Then you wash it off with Gardenia water. Then you're going to get, how is the American English way of saying—a piece of the rock!
Mija what's wrong? Oye I didn't buy a ticket for this drama. Why are you crying? SIT DOWN! With Iluminada it is always satisfaction guaranteed!
You want to talk to your father? That's nothing to cry about. If it's a local call—it's no problem. He's dead. (Iluminada is visibly shaken by this)
Why didn't you tell me? I told you today is my manicure day, you have to help me out a little! Why do you want to talk to him? Do you have family in Cuba? She's 90? Mi Vida, I don't know what you're waiting for? You better get there quick!
Oh, I see. (Iluminada puts out the cigar and starts to gather the cards)
My father died when I was 23. When my grandparents called me from Cuba to tell me, at that instant, the whole world changed for me. Everything, colors, sounds, people, it all just changed. I could not imagine a world without my father in it.
There's such a desperate feeling when somebody dies. You almost lose your breath and you want to do anything for it not to be true. And the pain never goes away, but you can learn how to deal with it.
For weeks after my father died I walked around in a daze. I kept expecting for him to call me or to see him.
I tried to talk to him through the saint, but the saint refused. He would tell me that I had to have faith. When I would answer that I couldn't, he would say that if it was easy everybody would have it.
I would go into a room and ask my father for a sign. Something for me to know he's still with me somehow.
No, I don't get it. Not when I ask for it.
Mira, one of the most painful things about when somebody dies is no matter how much you love them, you forget what they look like. They start to fade away. You have to concentrate to keep them in your mind's eye for a second.
But then out of nowhere, a scent or a place will bring them back into your mind perfect and suddenly they're not so far away. Your pain disappears and you are left with this peace.
Then that second passes and let me tell you something, Camila, it sucks. Because you realize how alone you are in the world.
But through the years, this moment comes when you least expect it, and when you most need it. It flows right through you and manages to give you something that nothing else in the world can, the love that person gave you.
I believe God sends us here as gifts, to give love. Once you've given all you got, God takes us. And if we use what we got right, those seconds stay with the people we love forever.
My father was my gift. Your father was yours. The time was short, pero we had them. God gave them to us. You want to go to Cuba, go. If you need your father he'll be there with you. Besides, if anything happens to your aunt you don't want to lose the time you might be able to spend with her. Too many of us have lost it. Don't give that dictator another minute.
What are you doing? What is that? No, no—I'm not taking any money! Please, I'm not here to be insulted. Look, if I take money for Santeria on a manicure day, the saint won't talk to me for weeks! In today's economy I have to be cost effective!
But you can do me a favor. Come back and let me give you a good manicure? You need it. No Cuban girl should have her hands like that. OK. Yeah, call me. Or better yet, go to my website, www.iluminada.com.
Watch out with the chickens! Don't let the chickens out! OK baby—I see you soon. And oye, Camila ATCHE!
(Looks around and starts to dismantle Santeria table.) Papi, I know this never works but I haven't felt you in a long time. Can you please do something. Anything, coño. (Nothing happens ) Bueno, that's OK. Because whether you know it or not, I love you anyway. (Iluminada turns to take the chair backstage. When she does, the lights blink and she stops her in her tracks. She quickly turns around and realizes that she is not alone.)
Gracias Papi. I miss you so much…
(Iluminada takes the feeling in. Then she says goodbye silently to Camila as she waves to the plane taking off. She then runs upstage and finishes putting the chair away.)
Camila:
(Music comes in with the sound of a plane landing. Camila walks back downstage.)
As soon as I step on the plane, I feel like I'm on another planet. Everybody's yelling back and forth to one another, nobody's sitting in their assigned seats, people are wearing crock pots as hats.
This one lady sitting next to me, Daisy, has the strangest body I've ever seen. I mention I have a headache and she pulls out a Costco size bottle of Tylenol, from her bra. Well, a few minutes later, I smell cheeseburger and I tell Daisy that under no circumstances do I want to know where it's coming from.
The pilot announces, "Please prepare for landing." And this hush comes over the plane. And I look out the window and all of a sudden thousands of royal palm trees rise through the mist and there's this brilliant emerald green countryside.
I am sure that I am going to strut off the plane and be like, "Hey brother! How you doing? Oye, I'm here, I'm finally home!" But I am freaked!
The first thing I see are the militiamen. The same milicianos who threatened my family and gutted the houses people left behind. They're directing tourist traffic. Their uniforms are old dingy green — they don't even have guns. Very Prada, actually.
Cubans aren't allowed inside of the Cuban airport. So I go outside to find my Aunt Ninita, and I see her, this little meringue with her white hair and black eyes and she's standing in the middle of this fenced in sea of Cubans calling out my name.
On the cab ride home, I see all of these amazing houses, large and small, falling apart into the streets, which are filled with hundreds of people on bicycles or waiting for busses. And everybody is dressed up, but in rags. It looks like the Salvation Army threw up on everyone. Tube tops and polyester shorts galore! This is Cuba?
I am so relieved when we get to the house! It's this big white wedding cake sitting on a garbage can of a block. It's got 20-foot ceilings and everywhere you sit there's a rocking chair. There are amazing paintings that my aunt Amelia had painted all over the place and I stare at them for hours. I feel like I'm looking into a memory.
Ninita is incredible, this woman gets water out of rocks! She takes me to el reparto, where the government distributes people's rations and asks the guy for extra eggs by pointing to me and saying, (Camila turns into her aunt) "Come on, she's visiting, can you imagine how much she eats?" (Camila is back to herself) He sells them to her. There's no such thing as a communist over here. They can't afford to be.
Every day at two, the table that seats twelve is set with the silverware, crystal, and china that the rest of the family left behind. Along with five course black market meals, Ninita feeds me old family stories. (Music comes in as underscore.)
Ninita:
(Ninita walks downstage and moves the chair to the center. Her spirit is huge but she is tiny. Ninita relishes in the points she makes and loves to tease Camila.)
Bueno, bueno, do you know what you want to see in Cuba? (Cupping her ear) Eh? Que? You want what? You want to smoke cigars? Ah, the cigars aren't any good anymore.
(Having trouble hearing her) Oh, you want to be a cigar? Really? Are you sure you're ready to get burned? What size cigar do you think you would be? (Ribbing her) I think an Esplendido! I wouldn't even qualify to be a little cigarette.
I've seen you looking at the paintings. You will always be able to have a conversation with a great painting. You understand them, don't you?
Look at your plate. The last time I used these plates was New Year's Eve, 1958! That plate is older than you.
New Year's was my favorite holiday. This house overflowed with people. Everybody was dressed beautifully because they all had their parties and clubs to go to. But the whole family always had dinner here first. At this very table. It was our tradition.
It's interesting, no? The way the years can silence rooms? This was always a house of opinion and everybody was always sure that theirs was the right one! A very Cuban house.
(Looking around) It's hard to believe now because the years have quieted these walls… But before there was never a quiet moment and everybody always got to speak their mind, bueno, if you could figure out a way of being heard. It's how Mama raised us.
But that night was different. We were all arguing about what could or couldn't happen. It was rumored that Batista would flee la Habana. Which was fine with me because I thought he was a cretin. Pero bueno, nobody really knew very much about these so-called revolutionaries either.
And I got very upset with Mama because she wouldn't give her opinion. All she would say was that she didn't believe in any kind of revolt, because revolts never lead to stable governments.
Then your Abuelo and your uncle started arguing. Which was nothing unusual, they were always at the opposite ends of things. But they were raging at each other. Your Abuelo lost his temper and cursed. Something that never happened.
Bueno, after that the house got very quiet. Then… people started calling. This party was cancelled, that dinner had been called off, that club closed early. Your Tio Humberto offered to take the widows to their houses and your Abuelo assured us that it was all just a scare. (She pauses) Mama looked sad. I don't think I've ever seen her look so sad.
I cleared the table, put these plates away and went to bed. At around two in the morning the phone roared. Batista has fled La Habana.
That was the last New Year's I would ever have dinner with my family.
I wonder if all the people that left took Cuba with them? I woke up the next day in a different country.
Late at night, I like to walk around the house remembering my brothers and sisters. Remembering the things I never thought I could forget. Every once in a while I can hear what time has taken.
I don't know if you came too early or too late, Camila. But I can tell you this, I have lived the best of la Habana. And I don't know what I would do without these quiet walls. Pero you are a different story. Enough of this walking around the house, talking to paintings and asking an old lady a bunch of questions. It's time to get you into the sun. (Music pops in.)
Camila:
(Camila sets the chair out of the way.) Ninita takes me to old Havana and I am mesmerized. I recognize all of these things I know I've never seen before, but I get them. Buildings are three and four hundred years old. They're either falling apart or restored but very strictly for tourists only.
Cuban vanity is ever present. This one woman tells me things are so bad, she has to use shoe polish as mascara. I suggest maybe not wearing mascara, and everybody laughs at me and the woman says, "Poor thing, you can tell she's not Cuban."
(As Camila) "Hey, its doesn't matter where the Cuban chicken lays the egg! Of course I'm Cuban chicken!"
(As Woman) "But you are a Cuban- Americanita right?"
I don't want to answer yes, but I have to.
All these cute Cuban guys are flirting with me. And at first I think, 'Oh my God! Could my plan be working? These guys are gorgeous and really sweet, but I don't know, something doesn't feel right.
The Plaza. The Plaza is packed with tourists. Why would people go to a Communist country to vacation? Then I see what — or should I say who — these tourists are buying. As the milicianos conveniently look the other way, these old, pink, rude men and women walk away with young Cuban boys and girls. And I tell Ninita I want to go home. I've had enough sun for one day.
But she takes me along el Malecon, the sea wall, for some fresh air instead. And hello— who do you think is standing right there? Naomi Campbell! Doing a photo shoot! I could identify her strut blindfolded. And she's a few feet away from me— in Gaultier! This has got to be a sign. I turn to Ninita, "That's what I want to do!"
Ninita looks up at me and asks, "Why?"
And I can't for the life of me think of what to say.
There's this one prostitute trying to get into the picture. And she's going on about this time an Italian tourist tried to pay her with a half eaten Nestlé's Crunch.
Nikita:
(Music plays as the lights change and Nikita notices the Crunch Bar. Nikita is uninhibited and sexual. She's only 15 but seems much older. Nikita's movements are vulgar and complete. She has a thick Cuban accent.)
Un meter Nestlé's? A no. Half a Nestlé's? What you think this is 1993? You know what? You liked the first half so much; I'm going to help you eat the second half. Babene Carajo!
Oh, por favor! What are you going to do to me? Let me tell you something, I just fucked you and I know for a fact I'm more man than you. Hijo de Puta! (Music fades out as she realizes the audience is watching, then composes herself)
And let me tell you I was. I spent a week in jail, but it was so worth it! He spent two weeks in the hospital. You give a little smile. You do a little walk. You put out your lip and lead with your hips. You show them… heaven is hanging off of your waist. We are ballerinas of the Malecon. (Whenever she talks specifically about the ballet, she becomes very graceful)
Ay, I wish I was at the ballet today! This heat isn't worth the burn.
(Looks at the audience and addresses them directly) Now, if you are young and oh so white, there is a good chance you might find somebody to marry you. But don't expect your prince in blue to be dashing or charming. They all love to talk about how wonderful Cuba is. How lucky we are to live here! I don't argue. I don't need to believe it, but they do. I'm more creative than that.
When I see a tourist, the first thing I think is: what do they need me to be? Basically, you can divide it into the three great characters of the ballet. (In the following she does each representation.) You have Giselle, the fragile but courageous peasant. Odette, the beautiful and trapped Swan Princess. And Sleeping Beauty, waiting, just waiting to be given a whole new world.
I love the way ballerinas move their hands. The great ones seem to have hands made of water. And have you ever been on your toes? It's hard! It's one of the hardest things to do but they make it look easy. Whenever I'm working, I always look past the men and dance with my hands.
I studied ballet until I was eleven. But when I became a little lady, God put a little too much coffee in the mix. And everybody knows, if you're darker than a brown paper bag you don't even get to pull open the curtain at the Teatro Nacional. So I was going to be a teacher.
My great-grandmother was a teacher. She lived to be 105 years old. She was crazy, but when I was little I loved her because I didn't know the difference. She would tickle me and tickle me until I yelled, "Stop, Mima! Stop!"
Then she'd say, "Shh, Nikita, don't yell out my name like that. Don't you realize the only reason I can still play with you is because God has forgotten I'm here."
(Looking up at God) "Ooh. I'm so sorry, Mima, I love you."
At night I would pray, for chocolate, for a tutu, and for Mami. I wouldn't pray for Mima. I wasn't going to be the one to remind God. Yo nunca he sido chivata!
One day my mother came into my room and told me she had been fired. She had applied for visas to leave Cuba, so they let her go. She told me she couldn't afford us anymore and that she was too old and ugly to make any money, which I could see. So she sent me here… (Sees Herminia) and Herminia (Calls out and waves to her) taught me how to dance.
At first it was an adventure. In my wildest dreams, I couldn't have imagined the hotels and restaurants I was getting to go inside. I was twelve years old. It was a fantasy.
But the spell was weak and broke quickly. Coño! Having to take these disgusting men on top of you day after day. And I couldn't stand being at home either. Mima had gotten so bad! She spent the entire day staring at me and shaking her head in disgust.
A few months ago, I got home from a horrible night, I wanted to open a vein, and Mami told me that the visas were approved. I was so happy, I thought I was going to explode! All of the stench and filth that had stuck itself in every corner of my body evaporated.
"Caballero! When are we leaving? OK. I've lived here all my life, so I have to say goodbye to everybody, but first I'm going to pack! When are we going to go?"
But no. We couldn't take Mima because she was too old and too crazy and we couldn't leave her behind because nobody would take care of her.
"No, Mami, please! I can't do this anymore. She's 105! I'm 15. Please? She doesn't even know who we are anymore!"
But the visas were good for three months, so let's see what happens. She was 105. How much longer could she go?
Dios Mio, those three months with Mima! One day I was giving her a bath and she started calling me a whore. Over and over again. "Whore, whore, whore."
"Mima, this is Nikita. I'm not a whore. I lay down for them to feed you!"
But she was like a wind up toy that would spew the Comandante's views on prostitution.
"You think I don't know what Fidel says about me? Papa Fidel is my pimp, Mima!"
The clock was ticking and was alive and kicking and kicking and kicking.
"You know what Mima? You know God forgot you are here? Don't worry about it, OK? Because I'm going to remind him!"
(It looks as though she is going to hit Mima but instead she gets in prayer position.)
"God? God if you can hear me, Mima Martinez is at 322 San Rafael on the corner of San Rafael y Galiano Room 2! (She looks to see if she's still alive)
"She's the one with the bad hair. And she sits in the kitchen most of the time. Be sure to write it down, so you don't forget again!
"OK, Mima? So pack your bags. 'Cause God is coming to get you and I'm going to pack mine because I'm going to Miami! And I'm going to be a ballerina!"
She turned to me and so easily said, "God doesn't listen to whores unless they repent."
"Mima, I promise you, when I have a reason to repent, I will."
(Looks up to the audience, realizes they're watching) Who lives to be 105? Will somebody tell me that please? This woman could not go to the bathroom alone and we still had to pay her communist party dues in dollars!
Two weeks after the visas expired, so did Mima!
I found her, in the kitchen, dead.
I didn't talk to my mother for months. I stopped coming out here.
I finally said, "Mami, you want to make some money! It's about time! Why don't you go and sell your own ass on el Malecon. I'm not getting on my back for you or anybody ever again."
But I got used to eating. So here I am. So what? (Cynically) Being on top is better anyway.
I was born to be a seed and my fertilizer is the shit of the world. I'm better than this, but nobody will tell me that. And if I don't believe it, I won't be able to afford what I lose earning my daily bread.
I am trapped by the evil magician's spell with no hope for a normal life. But you know what? I'm going to get on my toe and I'm going to spin until I'm so dizzy everything makes sense.
And I'm great and I make it look easy. Out with the lip and lead with your hip. You show them, heaven is hanging off of your waist.
(She sees a tourist) "Hey Mister, come here. Oh, I see you have some chocolate. Nikita loves chocolate. Do you have dollars? Great. Come on, let's go for a walk." (Nikita walks away motioning for the tourists to follow her. Music plays.)
Camila:
(Camila turns back to audience) My last night in Cuba I got to go to the world famous Tropicana Nightclub. Now, at first I don't want to go because if you're Cuban, you're not allowed in anymore. And I've spent my entire trip meeting people that can't go anywhere or do anything. But Ninita makes me go, she says it's very Cuban, I can't miss it. Whatever, so I go.
I get there and everything is neon! I'm outside in the waiting area and I see these four big men are wearing white polyester-spandexy outfits with enormous florescent ruffled sleeves. Their attitude is huge. And I'm dying! Because I see that Cuban machismo and I'm like, "How manly can you feel? You're wearing ruffled sleeves and white spandex!"
They all look at each other and start playing. (Music comes in and Camila is shocked) They start moving and singing so perfectly. They're fantastic.
I'm escorted to my seat. First, I had no idea the Tropicana was an open-air nightclub. The stage is at least four levels high and it's framed with palm trees and all kinds of plants. To the right of my table, there's this bar area that has a sort of metal type roof with all these little lights in it that dim and brighten like stars.
Right away a bottle of rum and two coke bottles per person are brought to the table with a bucket of ice. Now, I've never been a rum girl, but this rum is syrup. And I am a big waffle! Hello!
And I am sort of moving in space. There's a perfect breeze, the night is just beautiful.
Then I see the band members take their places so I turn out my chair to face the stage. Then the showgirls take their places. And when I say they take their places, I mean they 'take' their places. (She does the pose)
They come out with these huge chandeliers on their heads and their costumes are — well I wear more when I'm naked. Eyelashes out to here. The woman positioned next to me looks down for a second to adjust her extension cord, and her eyelash hits the top of my glass. I am STUNNED! WHAT IS THIS? Who has these bodies?
Everything goes black and in the dark you hear 'A Gozar.' Literally translated to English, this means 'to enjoy.' But to us, it's so much more. It means to consume and be consumed by the moment. To savor and be savored at all cost.
Suddenly all the showgirls light up and all of these dancers burst from every level out of every tree… And they're not doing your average (Dances the following sequence) Guys and Dolls fluorescent burlap wearing kind of wild night in savage Havana kind of dancing. No. The music is playing through their bodies.
Then the singers go into this medley of old Cuban songs. I grew up listening to my grandparents play these songs. And I'm sitting at this table seeing this explosion of Cuban-ness. Rum instead of blood is running through my veins and I look over to the audience (Music cuts out) and they're not reacting at all.
On stage you have a few hundred Cubans giving everything they are to an audience that doesn't know or care what these songs mean. And you know what, they don't want to know or care about what these people go through.
And all I can do is cry. Because here I am, a Cuban-Americanita with all the freedom and opportunity in the world. And I feel completely helpless. I realize I'm more Cuban than I could ever want to be, because I can't wait to leave.
Cuba is a still life. Everyday I see its colors, feel its shape, but I don't understand its misfortune. Time is standing still but everything is deteriorating. And all I can do— cry. (Camila runs off stage.)
Nena:
(Nena runs downstage with a roll of toilet paper in hand. She pulls out a bench and sits on it. She will fold toilet paper throughout her story. Her voice is deep and smooth. She has excellent posture and a slight Havana accent.)
Halo? Hold on, hold on. You need one of these. (Holding out toilet paper) Are you alright? Que te pasa? Sit down. You're Cuban? (Looks around to make sure the bathroom is empty)
But from over there? Miami! I have a friend in Miami. Who doesn't? Sit down, sit down. Calm down. In English.
Are you visiting family? Good. Do they need some…? (Indicates toilet paper) It's American. I'll give you a deal. Oh, OK. Shh… what's so unfair? (Laughs) No— the people here don't even know what they're missing! It's nice to have a Cuban in the audience.
Is this your first time in la Habana? What do you think? Beautiful? It's in ruins. No, no, no don't get excited. I'm not an anti-revolutionary. (Raises her voice and calls out over her shoulder) I'm a product of the revolution. 'All we have we owe to the revolution.' (Motions to Camila to keep her voice down in case somebody is listening)
Was Cuba anything like you thought? Nobody ever knows what to expect. Did you think we were all crazy? I used to think all the Cubans in Miami were crazy. But I almost moved there with my fiancée. Luis.
He was too much. From the minute I saw him it was one of those things where your blood runs in slow motion.
He was obsessed with Miami. Miami this and Miami that and I have a cousin that runs a grocery store. Is it true that all the grocery stores over there are always full of food? Really? He drove me crazy with it.
"Don't you want to work wherever you want? Be able to say anything you want to say? We're slaves in this country, Nena!"
"Mi amor, we can't be defeated if we won't admit it. We struggle, so what, I adore you. Come on, let's be slaves to each other."
Besides, I didn't want to work anywhere else.
Oh, no… not this. I used to open this show. Oh si, I was the lead singer. Everybody would take their places, like obedient, colorful ants, and I would stand center stage silent, which you know is hard for us, but it was my favorite moment. In my head I pictured the star my voice would hit as it waited with a quiet lover's anticipation.
(She sings "Son de la Loma" by the Trio Matamoros in pieces) The stage would explode with our lives. (Sings) I would start to move in ways that made people wish they were my costume. Or at the very least, an attachment. (Suddenly stops and realizes where she is) I love doing that!
Luis was my piano player. His hands were velvet, and they fit perfect. My God, when he played the piano, I lost my breath. I loved watching him. But the fights! "Luis I love where I work. OK? I'm singing in one of the best shows in the world!"
"Yeah," he answered, "But your own family can't see you on that stage you love so much. I can play your piano, but I can't sit in your audience!"
"Mi amor, if I'm going to bleed, we are going to bleed together. If Miami is so great, then how come all the Cubans over there are still trying to get back over here? Ha! Basta ya! Enough. Besame…"
What is being 'free'? How can we be free in a country that offers us nothing except change, a word that to us has no meaning?
Then one day Luis brought me a box of old pictures that he found in the house his family got after the revolution. I couldn't believe my eyes. These people didn't look Cuban; they didn't look silenced.
For the next couple of weeks I walked around looking at everything. The constant looking to solve a problem. I've got this; you've got that. Having to whisper and hide if you wanted to criticize the government.
What did we owe to the revolution? Stealing and whoring to survive is the national pastime. But at the same time I didn't know another way of life.
My best friend was getting married. The couple didn't have any family in Miami so we all got together and brought whatever we could so they could have a great wedding.
And we were all dancing and really gozando tu sabes? And I looked around that room and I just though everybody in this room has made a personal sacrifice to make the day perfect for somebody else. Where else in the world could we find that? So I pulled Luis close to me and I whispered in his ear, "Gordo, how can we leave all this, why would we want to?"
Then the lights went out. An apagon. An unscheduled black out.
Luis pulled me closer and said, "This is why!"
The bride was crying, the groom held her and said, "Don't worry negra; we had a beautiful wedding…"
Then Pepe started yelling that this government was shit and minutes later Pancha was at the door to see, "Who had a complaint?" Pepe, who was a saint, lost his job that week.
And everything got to me. Everything. The constant hate, the constant fear. You! You and your family have always been the enemy. But why? I just wanted to leave.
We saved an entire year to buy a raft that would be steady. Luis and I went down to a secluded beach. First Luis got on to make sure it was strong and then he held out his hand, "Vamos Gorda."
(Nena seems as though she has suddenly been paralyzed. She starts to tear up)
(The Cuban national anthem comes in quietly as underscore) The sand around my feet became cement. "No gordo, stay with me. We'll fight it together. Don't you see, if it separates us, it won again."
(She looks back up to Camila)
But he turned around and started paddling away. And I stood there praying to Yemaya to get him to Miami safe as I watched him disappear into the ocean.
You want to know somebody? Watch how they walk away from you. How they came to you won't tell you anything, but how they walk away… that will bare their soul.
The next day I came to work and I just wanted to forget everything. Forget Luis, forget love, forget I had to forget. I just wanted to get back to my stage and sing. But at rehearsal, Mirelita announced I was replaced. That if I wanted to, I could work in the bathroom.
So, I said, "OK, it's still the Tropicana". You should have seen her face. She left six days later. She exposed me to take attention away from herself.
But it doesn't matter. (Points to the upstage) Because one day you'll come back, you'll sit in my audience and you will see me on that stage, and I'm going to sing, "Mama yo quiero saber, de donde son los cantantes." (She can barely finish the song) And I will be free. (She looks back upstage. Music comes in as Camila gets up and walks downstage.)
Camila:
My trip is over. Ninita insists on taking me to the airport. She tells me not to say goodbye. (In Ninita's voice) "Mama used to say 'goodbye is always written in tears'. Camila, don't cry. Mira, my thoughts have wings and they will fly to be with you."
"You know what Ninita? You're not a meringue. You're a little pearl."
"And you're a cigar!"
"No. I'm an exile. Will you be here when I get back?"
"I'll be waiting for you with the table set." And she pushes me towards the door.
As I walk through, I look back at her standing there. This little giant. Smiling at me. I could barely walk and she's standing solid.
She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
Stepping on the plane, coming back to everything I've ever known, I think about all the people who had ever stepped on a plane, on a boat or on a raft. Fleeing into the unknown. Knowing only that they were leaving home behind.
I wait for the day that I can return to my country. Will I come back to find that Cuba has become a few pages in a history book? Will we even recognize each other? I wonder about all the people that have died waiting to be free. Will they know they finally are?
(Music comes in as underscore) Flying over Havana, I look out the window and I see huge patches of city blacked out. And suddenly I get it. What makes beautiful, beautiful.
Beauty survives.
(Music comes in as Camila smiles at the audience then walks upstage and off)
THE END
Otium
