The Refugee Hotel Read online

  FLACA:

  I’m sorry you were picked up.

  FAT JORGE:

  I’m sorry YOU were picked up.

  FLACA:

  Sometimes it’s the price one pays. But one doesn’t regret it.

  They stare out the window again.

  FAT JORGE:

  Flaca.

  FLACA:

  Yes.

  FAT JORGE:

  They were telling the truth, weren’t they?

  FLACA:

  Who?

  FAT JORGE:

  The secret police. When they were torturing me. They were telling the truth.

  FLACA:

  About what?

  FAT JORGE:

  About you.

  FLACA:

  That all depends.

  FAT JORGE:

  On what?

  FLACA:

  On how they worded it.

  FAT JORGE:

  “Your wife is a Marxist terrorist who’s on her knees right now sucking her leader’s cock.”

  FLACA:

  Marxist.

  FAT JORGE:

  What does that mean?

  FLACA:

  You know how you always criticize the revolutionary movement?

  FAT JORGE:

  Well, yes, I used to—

  FLACA:

  That we’re extremists—

  FAT JORGE:

  We?

  FLACA:

  That violence is never the solution, that we should all just sit down and talk things out—

  FAT JORGE:

  Yes—

  FLACA:

  I don’t believe that. It would be so nice to believe that. So safe. But so blind. I couldn’t turn a blind eye anymore.

  FAT JORGE:

  You believe in violence?

  FLACA:

  I believe in armed struggle.

  FAT JORGE:

  I see.

  FLACA:

  I no longer believe you can talk to the enemy. I believe you must fight him.

  FAT JORGE:

  Uh-huh.

  FLACA:

  Especially now.

  FAT JORGE:

  Because of what they did to you.

  FLACA:

  No. Because of what they’re doing to our country. Because of what they’re doing in Vietnam. Because of what they did in Guatemala.

  FAT JORGE:

  They said you were sucking your leader’s cock and that you were responsible for a car bomb that killed a businessman from the American Embassy.

  FLACA:

  Businessman? That gringo’s with the CIA and he came to train torturers. Anyway, that’s not true. None of it is true. I was not involved in that. But I would die for what I believe in. And I would kill for it too.

  FAT JORGE:

  Right—

  Scene Four

  They are interrupted by the SOCIAL WORKER who enters with CRISTINA and ISABEL.

  SOCIAL WORKER:

  Ici we are. (seeing FAT JORGE and FLACA) Oh! You two are still up! Excellent. Ici our new refugees! Do you know them? Amigos?

  CRISTINA:

  Where are we?

  FAT JORGE:

  In Canada.

  FLACA:

  Vancouver.

  JOSELITO and MANUELITA descend the stairs.

  MANUELITA:

  What’s your name?

  The SOCIAL WORKER starts to ring the bell on the reception desk.

  CRISTINA:

  Cristina. I thought they were sending me to Toronto. (to ISABEL) Did you think you were going to Toronto?

  ISABEL shrugs her shoulders.

  CRISTINA:

  Her name’s Isabel.

  The RECEPTIONIST enters.

  SOCIAL WORKER:

  These are our next batch.

  RECEPTIONIST:

  (handing the SOCIAL WORKER two separate keys, then referring to CRISTINA) Love the poncho. Hand-woven alpaca.

  He leaves.

  SOCIAL WORKER:

  (to FAT JORGE and FLACA) Moi feliz tu are here. Tu make it mucho easier for the new arrivals to see some compatriots ici—

  FAT JORGE:

  (nodding) Jes jes.

  CRISTINA:

  What did she say?

  FAT JORGE:

  I have no clue. Just say jes jes to anything she says. It’s called minding your manners. (to CRISTINA) Are you from Santiago?

  CRISTINA:

  No. I’m from the south. Mapuche. She’s from Iquique. We just met on the plane.

  FAT JORGE:

  (to ISABEL) You don’t talk, comrade?

  ISABEL shakes her head no.

  FLACA:

  I see.

  FAT JORGE:

  Well, comrade, silence is underrated. You keep your words to yourself all you want. We’ll call you Calladita: Little Silent One.

  SOCIAL WORKER:

  Well, ici are the keys to your rooms. Your new casa. For el momento.

  FAT JORGE:

  Kids, let’s help your aunties to their rooms! Just ’cause we’re here doesn’t mean you have to lose respect for your elders! Come on, let’s go!

  MANUELITA:

  Aunt Calladita, can I hold your hand?

  ISABEL nods. FAT JORGE and the kids take the women up to their rooms.

  SOCIAL WORKER:

  Well! Moi so feliz this worked out!

  FLACA:

  Jes jes.

  SOCIAL WORKER:

  Je ne sais pas if this means anything to you, my family and moi arrived from Hungary, in 1956. We’re Jews—uh, not Cristianos (crossing herself)—

  FLACA:

  Ahhh! Cristiana!

  SOCIAL WORKER:

  No. No. NOT Cristianos. Jews. Anyway. And it meant a lot to have fellow Jews waiting for us when we landed—

  FLACA hugs the SOCIAL WORKER.

  Scene Five

  FAT JORGE and the kids return from showing the two women to their rooms. The two kids go to the family’s room. FLACA and FAT JORGE stay in the lobby.

  FAT JORGE:

  It was a week ago today that you would have been executed.

  FLACA:

  Me and the nine others.

  FAT JORGE:

  Would they have given us your body?

  FLACA:

  Oh, I’m sure they would have buried us all in the desert—

  FAT JORGE:

  And I would have spent the rest of my life looking for you.

  FLACA:

  I wouldn’t have wanted that.

  Pause.

  FLACA:

  I need you to know that I’m not sorry for any of it. Except for one thing: I’m sorry you were picked up.

  FAT JORGE:

  I’ve gotta ask you something.

  FLACA:

  Okay.

  FAT JORGE:

  When did you join the resistance?

  FLACA:

  Two years ago.

  FAT JORGE:

  Two years ago?!

  FLACA:

  At the university. You remember the day. My students had asked me to address the school on International Students’ Day.

  FAT JORGE:

  I remember that day.

  FLACA:

  We all marched downtown and there were thousands of students and teachers from all over the city and Allende and Victor Jara and the leader of the Chilean Students’ Federation were all there on the balcony of La Moneda Palace. Remember that we jumped so much and sang so loud we couldn’t move the next day?

  FAT JORGE:

  You pulled a muscle and I lost my voice.

  FLACA:

  My students approached me after my speech and told me I had what it takes to be a revolutionary. After the celebration downtown, I knew I was ready. I had been asked to enter a room and I could never leave again. There was something bigger than me, than you, than us, than our country on that day. I understood why people give their lives. It had been easy to support Allende as long as there was no risk to take. Those days were gone and I
knew we’d have to fight tooth and nail for what we’d achieved so far. It was an honour to be asked and when you are asked to give your life for a better world, you don’t say no. You say yes. So I said yes. No matter what. Yes. But I couldn’t tell you because I took an oath.

  The oath says that I will give my life to the cause. It says that I will not tell a soul. Not even my family. The oath talks about how if you are caught, you will not speak under torture. You will not give anyone away. Especially in the first twenty-four hours, when the torture is the worst. You will hang on to any information you have: a meeting point, an address, a licence plate number. You will not speak. And if they break you, only let them do so after enough time has passed to give your comrades the opportunity to run and hide. If you break and give people away easily, you agree to be executed by the leadership. Because you are a coward. A traitor.

  FAT JORGE:

  What about the kids? What about me?

  FLACA:

  Fat Jorge.

  FAT JORGE:

  Yes.

  FLACA:

  I’m not the same.

  FAT JORGE:

  But you still love me.

  FLACA:

  Fat Jorge.

  FAT JORGE:

  (reaching for her) What?—

  FLACA:

  (catching him before he pulls her close to him) They cut off my nipples.

  Scene Six

  Two days later. Morning. MANUELITA and JOSELITO watch My Favorite Martian on TV. They sit very close to the TV, mouths agape.

  The RECEPTIONIST nods off at his desk.

  On TV, BARBARA, a hip Los Angeles secretary, enters her apartment to find MARTY, a green man with antennae, sitting cross-legged on her loveseat.

  BARBARA:

  AAAAHHHH!

  BARBARA faints.

  MARTY:

  Greetings, Earthling. I am Marty from Mars. I have travelled in my spaceship to come and study you specimens—

  FAT JORGE enters. He is drenched.

  FAT JORGE:

  I just went into every restaurant up and down this street and said, “Me job”—

  MANUELITA:

  Shhh.

  MARTY:

  Very interesting. So you Earthlings arrive at your dwelling and immediately fall into a trance, much like we used to do ten thousand years ago—

  FAT JORGE:

  What the hell’s up with the Martian?

  JOSELITO:

  He came into the lady’s house and she fainted when she saw him.

  FAT JORGE:

  I can’t believe these gringo shows. Anything to keep the people numb.

  MANUELITA:

  Huh?

  FAT JORGE:

  The comrades in jail explained it to me—

  He turns off the TV.

  JOSELITO AND MANUELITA:

  No! Papá! Papi!

  FAT JORGE:

  They make these stupid shows to keep their people numb. Where are the women?

  MANUELITA:

  Crying in their rooms.

  FAT JORGE:

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. Again? Damn it’s warm in here. One minute you’re freezing in this country, the next you’re boiling.

  JOSELITO:

  Mom went to buy some food. She told us to watch as much TV as possible so we could learn English.

  FAT JORGE:

  Yeah, right. By osmosis?

  MANUELITA:

  No. Just by listening. Real close.

  FAT JORGE:

  Look here, kids, these shows are designed to keep people from thinking about their world. Well, let me tell you, I could give a shit about outer space. Until the problems in this world are solved, I will give a shit about outer space.

  JOSELITO:

  But the Martian comes to Earth.

  FAT JORGE:

  Oh, yeah, and what a coincidence; the Martian comes to Earth and he lands right in the United States. Why doesn’t he land in Chihuido del Medio? Why? Because Chihuido del Medio is in the so-called Third World and, according to these gringos, the Martian would only land in the centre of the world, which, according to them, is, let me guess, New York?

  JOSELITO:

  Maybe the Martian will land here next time.

  FAT JORGE:

  Maybe.

  JOSELITO:

  I’d like to talk to a Martian.

  FAT JORGE:

  So would I. ’Cause if I saw a Martian, I would ask him what it would be like to live in an anarchist society. ’Cause you gotta understand, kids, that if a creature from another planet were to land here on Earth, it would automatically mean that he is superior. Not just technologically, but in every way. Remember what I was telling you kids about the society we live in? Remember what it’s called?

  MANUELITA:

  Capitalism.

  FAT JORGE:

  That’s right, Manuelita. Capitalism. We live in a capitalist, imperialist society. We have a long way to go before the whole world is socialist. Centuries, really. And that dialectical process will take a lot of fighting from the masses. And once the whole world reaches socialism—which is, what, Joselito?

  JOSELITO:

  A classless society.

  FAT JORGE:

  That’s right. And then, once the whole world is socialist, we will move towards communism and then towards anarchism. We’ve already gone through feudalism and now we’re in the final phases of capitalism. The whole thing will come down and we will have to rebuild a socialist society—

  MANUELITA:

  What’s anar-kism?

  JOSELITO:

  (whispering) Shut up.

  FAT JORGE:

  Anarchism is something you and I cannot even imagine, Manuelita. It’s a state in which not only are everybody’s basic needs met, but also, because everyone’s nutritional needs are met, and everybody’s in perfect health, and everybody has a good place to live, the human brain will naturally develop to its full capacity—’cause I already told you guys that we only use about two percent of our brain right now—and the human race will be able to live in peace and harmony. But that will only come through centuries of struggle, of liberating ourselves from oppression—

  JOSELITO:

  DAD! What does this have to do with the Martian?!

  FAT JORGE:

  Oh, right. The Martian. I would like to talk to the Martian too. Because the Martian is light years ahead of us, which automatically leads me to believe he lives in an anarchist society, and I would like to ask him about it. You know, converse. Converse with a man of the future. You children are very lucky that you have me to explain all of this to you. That your conscience can be born at such a tender age. That your conscience doesn’t have to be born in jail.

  FAT JORGE turns towards the Coke machine.

  MANUELITA:

  What’s consc—(JOSELITO covers her mouth with his hands. FAT JORGE doesn’t hear her.)

  ISABEL and CRISTINA descend the stairs.

  FAT JORGE:

  (to the women) Comrades. Man, I’m thirsty. (arriving at the Coke machine) How does this Coke machine work?

  MANUELITA:

  (muffled, through JOSELITO ’s hand) I dunno.

  FAT JORGE presses all the buttons on the machine. Finally, the Coke machine talks in a robot-like voice.

  COKE MACHINE:

  Feed me a coin, and I will give you a Coke.

  FAT JORGE:

  How ’bout that? The thing talks. It’s asking me what I want. You gotta admit these gringos have a sense of humour. (to COKE MACHINE) Coca-Cola! Coca-Cola! I want a Co-ca-Co-la! (FAT JORGE waits. Nothing happens. He slaps the machine.) Stupid thing doesn’t even work.

  FLACA enters with grocery bags. She is drenched.

  FAT JORGE:

  (to CRISTINA and CALLADITA) Comrades! You’re going to take the kids on a stroll of Stanley’s Park, aren’t you?

  CRISTINA:

  We are—?

  JOSELITO and MANUELITA:

  Yayyyy!

  FAT
JORGE:

  (shooing them out of the hotel) Have a good one. Oh! And take your time!

  Scene Seven

  They leave. FLACA and FAT JORGE are alone.

  FAT JORGE:

  Let’s go upstairs, my Mona Lisa—

  FLACA:

  I don’t want to.

  FAT JORGE:

  Why?

  FLACA:

  I want us to talk.

  FAT JORGE:

  We’ll talk too—

  FLACA:

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

  FAT JORGE:

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

  FLACA:

  I don’t want to.

  FAT JORGE:

  Flaca—

  FLACA:

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

  FAT JORGE:

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

  FLACA:

  I want us to talk.

  FAT JORGE:

  Flaquita, I want to see you.

  FLACA:

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

  FAT JORGE:

  What do you wanna talk about?

  FLACA:

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

  They stare at each other.

  FLACA:

  I want to know about the nightmare.

  FAT JORGE shakes his head no.

  FLACA:

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

  FAT JORGE:

  I can’t.

  FLACA:

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

  FAT JORGE:

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

  FLACA:

  Is that so bad?

  FAT JORGE:

  Yes, Flaca, yes. It would be bad.

  FLACA:

  Why?

  FAT JORGE:

  Do revolutionaries cry?

  FLACA:

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

  Pause.

  FAT JORGE:

  Don’t tell me about the torture.