(A Small, Rural Adobe House. Strips of Cloth Hang from a Light on the Ceiling Into a Metal

1

Undercurrents

(A small, rural adobe house. Strips of cloth hang from a light on the ceiling into a metal tub filled with water. A stepladder and a table stand next to it. A fan sits on a nightstand next to a bed. Two candles surround it. They are not lit. A white comforter covers the bed. The room has a Mexican folk flair with a cross covered with milagros next to the doorway, a picture of the Virgen de Guadalupe on the wall, and statues of saints, such as Santo Niño de Atocha, Saint Jude and the Infant of Prague, scattered around the room. There is an altar set up in a nicho on one wall that is filled with colored votive candles, a bottle of holy water, pictures of family members, and folded pieces of paper—handwritten petitions to God. A screen door hangs to one side.

Lights up. A Chicana in her mid-twenties, ADELA, lies on top of the table. She is sweating and fanning herself. A pair of scissors sits next to her on the table, as well as some partially ripped sheets.)

ADELA. It's hot, Abuela. I bet you can feel it all the way up in heaven because heat rises. That's what Fernando says. But he doesn't know everything. Rip up the sheets like the pioneers—that's what you always said. Then, set them in the water. Let the water crawl up from the current below the earth. “The sheets will cool off the whole house, m’ijita. That's how the pioneers used to do it. They knew how to survive out here. In the desert.” Did you blow out the electricity just to get rid of him? Did you blow out the electricity with the breath of God?

(She crosses to the sheets, arms outstretched. She grabs the sheets and begins to wrap herself in them, refreshed.)

(Beat) I thought I was going to die. You know when it gets hot like that? When it's hard to breathe. When it feels dangerous to live here. In the desert. And I get so scared. On days like this. With the electricity out. And no one here, except the dead. Is it a beautiful night? Is it one of those nights we'd watch together? When the stars are so sharp they cut through your eyes? He wants me to leave with him. To move far away. He says that I don't belong here. He says the wiring in this house is bad—that it isn't safe—I could have a fire. He wants me to move with him. He says—

(A knock at the door.)

It didn't work!

(Another knock)

The lights didn't come on. (No answer) Fernando?

(ADELA unlocks the door. She does not unlock the screen door behind it.

ENRIQUE stands on the other side of the door.)

ENRIQUE. Adela? Come on, let me in.

(She doesn't.)

ADELA. (Alarmed) Who is it?

ENRIQUE. Me.

ADELA. I don't know you. Go now, somebody's coming any minute.

ENRIQUE. I'm somebody.

ADELA. Really, who are you?

ENRIQUE. Nobody. If you don't know me, I'm nobody.

ADELA. You're not funny.

ENRIQUE. Adela, for Christsakes.

ADELA. We don't have anything to say to each other.

ENRIQUE. Say my name if you know me so well.

ADELA. Enrique. There, I said it.

ENRIQUE. Aren't you gonna let me in?

ADELA. Again?

ENRIQUE. What're you saying?

ADELA. You can't come in. The electricity is out. The fuse went bad. Someone had to go replace it.

ENRIQUE. I guess, we'll just have to talk in the dark.

ADELA. I guess, we'll just have to not talk at all.

ENRIQUE. Aren't you glad I'm here?

ADELA. It's not a good time.

ENRIQUE. I drove straight here. From there. From where I was.

ADELA. I'm impressed.

ENRIQUE. It took me four days. I didn't rest. I knew where I was going. Straight here. Straight to you.

ADELA. I can't do this.

ENRIQUE. I came here for a reason.

ADELA. Just remember me the way I was. Trust me on this, Enrique. You don't want to see me.

ENRIQUE. I know what I want.

ADELA. It's not like you think.

ENRIQUE. How is it?

ADELA. Different. Changed. Ruined.

ENRIQUE. Are you pregnant?

ADELA. No.

ENRIQUE. It's okay if you are.

ADELA. I'm not pregnant. Go visit your family. I’m sure they’ve missed you, too.

ENRIQUE. We've got a lot to say to each other.

ADELA. Like what?

ENRIQUE. About the past. The present. Our future.

ADELA. Oh yeah?

ENRIQUE. I want you back.

ADELA. That's the funniest thing I've heard since, "We should see other people, babe."

ENRIQUE. Don't hold that against me.

ADELA. It's been too long.

ENRIQUE. It's been awhile.

ADELA. It's been four and a half years. I counted. I wasn’t dead, so why’d you ignore me like that? (Quickly) I’m not getting into this. Good-bye, Enrique.

(She begins to shut the door.)

ENRIQUE. Time escaped me. I admit that. But you didn't. You held on to me. You never let go.

ADELA. It's not like you remember. Me holding on. You running away. I let you go.

ENRIQUE. But . . .

ADELA. I can't erase the past like you can. It's not so easy for me. I remember everything. Details. Me crying and you looking at me with that cold stare like you couldn’t touch my feelings even if you crawled inside my body.

ENRIQUE. Why are you making this so hard? Dwelling on things like that.

ADELA. That was the last time I saw you or heard your voice, so that’s what stuck in my mind.

ENRIQUE. You want to know what I remember? Making love to you—the softest skin in the world, and eyes that could pierce right through you like they knew your truth better than you. Someone who knew me and wouldn’t let me forget who I was, and sometimes, who I wasn’t.

ADELA. It was never judgment.

ENRIQUE. It felt like it sometimes. But I deserved it, so it’s okay.

ADELA. This isn't fair. You can't do this to me.

ENRIQUE. Have you forgot who I am?

ADELA. You arrogant son-of-a-bitch, you’re not that thing anymore. You’re not him.

ENRIQUE. I'm Enrique.

ADELA. Sometimes, words like that, people’s names, are just sounds that fall out of someone’s mouth onto the ground and disappear. They’re meaningless.

ENRIQUE. You erase me.

ADELA. Maybe someday we can talk, but not now.

ENRIQUE. There are things that you don't know.

ADELA. There are things you don't know, too. Big things.

ENRIQUE. It's gonna take some time.

ADELA. If I said I loved you, would you leave me alone?

ENRIQUE. Yes.

ADELA. So, all you want is reassurance before you go along your merry way? The security of knowing your first love will never forget?

ENRIQUE. That’s not it.

ADELA. Look, I don't know what kind of elaborate fantasy you concocted while you were away at sea, but I'm not starring in it.

ENRIQUE. Why not?

ADELA. This is silly. There are other people involved.

ENRIQUE. Other people, or another guy? (No response.) He's not me. He'll never be. It won't be the same.

ADELA. He was present, like in school, when you raise your hand and you’re there.

ENRIQUE. Don't you want what we had?

ADELA. You gave up what we had, Don Amnesia.

ENRIQUE. You've got to look inside your heart and remember the good times. Look inside. What do you see?

ADELA. Good-bye.

ENRIQUE. Just take a peek. (No response.) Are you looking? Tell me what you see, and I'll go.

ADELA. Stop talking about seeing.

ENRIQUE. Just look inside.

ADELA. I can’t.

ENRIQUE. You'll let me in again. You will.

ADELA. I'm strong.

ENRIQUE. I know I screwed up.

ADELA. Did you just admit something?

ENRIQUE. I'm trying to be real here.

ADELA. I waited.

ENRIQUE. I knew you would.

ADELA. But not forever. I tried. I really did. But even when you really love someone, life doesn't let you wait. Even when you stare at his picture all day long, it finds a way to take that away, too. It keeps reshaping you even though you fight back with everything you’ve got, your bones, muscles and eyes all screaming, “God, don’t make me change.” And one day, they give into it and there’s not a damn thing you can do. It’s too late and you’re somebody else.

ENRIQUE. What happened to “I’ll love you” for the rest of my life?

ADELA. I will.

ENRIQUE. But you won’t be with me again because of what? (No response.) Don’t worry, I know.

ADELA. Know what?

ENRIQUE. I saw him.

ADELA. Who?

ENRIQUE. Your other guy. I drove by him on the way over here. He looked . . . distressed.

ADELA. He was just trying to take care of me.

ENRIQUE. It looked like he was doing a handsome job of it, too.

ADELA. Don't make fun of him.

ENRIQUE. He looked like a real pendejo, but that doesn't mean he isn't nice.

ADELA. I like him.

ENRIQUE. I gotta say, he was sort of an insult to my good looks.

ADELA. I don't care about looks.

ENRIQUE. Sure, you do.

ADELA. It's what's inside that counts, you ego-maniac.

ENRIQUE. Open the door. I feel like I’m in a confessional and I should be saying an Act of Contrition at the end.

ADELA. You got your truth. Now go.

ENRIQUE. I want to see your face. Just a glance, and I'll be outta here. That's all I want.

(ADELA almost shuts the door, but doesn't. She has her back to him.)

ADELA. A glance?

ENRIQUE. I drove all the way from North Carolina to see your face. I was stationed out there. And it was the Army, not the Navy.

ADELA. I know. The Army—your big adventure.

ENRIQUE. I wanted to see the world. You can't hold that against me.

ADELA. You had your glance, now get lost.

ENRIQUE. Let me see your nose, your cheeks, your eyes . . . that guy I saw out there. He's not right for you. I could tell the second I saw him.

ADELA. You can't tell.

ENRIQUE. Just give me another chance. I'm not the same kid who left here.

ADELA. You don't understand what's happened here.

ENRIQUE. Because you won't let me.

ADELA. Because I can't let you.

ENRIQUE. Look me in the eye. When you look at me, you'll know the truth. You know what they say. They say that when you look at a person, you know if they're right for you. Instantly, you just know. It's magic.

ADELA. You want magic?

ENRIQUE. I want one look.

ADELA. It's not so easy. To let you in here to look. To look and to judge.

ENRIQUE. Remember, our promise?

ADELA. You can't hold that against me.

ENRIQUE. Remember?

ADELA. Yes.

ENRIQUE. Keep it, Adela.

(A moment, Adela opens the screen door. He rushes up to her. He holds a bottle of champagne.)

Adela.

(He hugs her. She doesn't respond. He steps back. She stares at him off center. He looks at her, sees no response. He realizes she is blind.)

ADELA. There's your magic.

(She reaches behind herself, finds the chair, sits.)

ENRIQUE. Adela?

ADELA. I'm sorry that was mean.

ENRIQUE. I . . .

ADELA. You should have left when I told you.

ENRIQUE. I'm sorry. No one said anything. I--

ADELA. You should have left. I wanted to believe everything you were saying. That you knew I couldn’t see, and you didn't mind. You can leave if you want. You didn't know who you were talking to.

(Enrique stands up, looks at the door, looks at her.)

ENRIQUE. You're still you, right?

ADELA. I'm sorry. I know this must be an awful shock. I just didn't want to say those words.

ENRIQUE. When did this happen?

ADELA. I can't talk about it. I want to, but--

ENRIQUE. Okay. I've missed you.

ADELA. Stop trying to be nice.

ENRIQUE. It hasn't been like that. Not with anyone since.

ADELA. But . . .

ENRIQUE. I came here to say something. Let me say it.

ADELA. I thought you just wanted one glance?

ENRIQUE. I lied.

ADELA. Leave before you break my heart.

ENRIQUE. I wouldn't do that. I learned.

ADELA. I'm protecting you. Can't you see that? You don't want this. This is not easy to live with. I loved you, too. It wasn't all one-sided. I'm not a cold person. But I know you, Enrique. This isn't something you can handle.

ENRIQUE. I know what I can take.

ADELA. Last time, you left over nothing.

ENRIQUE. I was wrong. I admit it.

ADELA. Think about this. Give yourself a couple of minutes and think about it.

ENRIQUE. You're beautiful.

ADELA. I'm blind.

(She turns away from his voice.)

ENRIQUE.(Beat) It was there. It was a sad kind of magic, but it was still there.

ADELA. But I can't see you. How can I tell if you're the right one? (Beat) You're staring.

ENRIQUE. Sorry.

ADELA. There's no place for you anymore, okay?

ENRIQUE. If that other guy didn't exist, would you say that?

ADELA. He does. Exist. And I love him.

ENRIQUE. Pretend he didn't.

ADELA. I don't pretend anymore. My imagination's all dried up. I used to believe, like you. In fantasies. In dreams. And love.

ENRIQUE. I thought you loved him.

ADELA. It's a practical kind of love.

ENRIQUE. You gave up. It's true, isn't it?

ADELA. This isn't simple. This isn't something you solve by just being the toughest guy on the block. Not seeing is something I've got to face everyday, and it's for life. That's not something a lot of men can deal with.

ENRIQUE. I still love you.

ADELA. You don't know me anymore.

ENRIQUE. I know you better than that guy out there. A person like that can't know your heart.

ADELA. You stopped knowing me four and a half years ago. That was your choice. Live with it.

ENRIQUE. Quit harping on the four and a half years, it's only been four years even. (Adela laughs.) God, you're just as beautiful as I remember.

ADELA. Abuelita died. I guess, you didn’t know that either. See, there's a lot that you just don't know.

ENRIQUE. I didn’t. I'm sorry.

ADELA. It seems like she was just in the kitchen this morning, making tortillas, humming to herself. (Pats her hands) Oh, forget it. Just leave.

ENRIQUE. Always at the church, praying to the saints, lighting green candles to San Judas Tadeo, the patron saint of lost causes. She thought he could help your grandfather to make some extra money, so he could buy her a—what was it she wanted?

ADELA. A washer.

ENRIQUE. That’s right.

ADELA. I miss her.

ENRIQUE. She was the best cook.

ADELA. She was good.

ENRIQUE. The best.

ADELA. You know they're lost now. Her recipes. My sisters and I. None of us can make a decent mincemeat empanada.

ENRIQUE. Those were great. At Christmas.

ADELA. And you should see my tortillas. They look like maps of the United States.

ENRIQUE. My mom can teach you how to make them.

ADELA. (Beat) They wouldn't be abuelita'stortillas.

ENRIQUE. No.

ADELA. The food's just a thing. We're losing everything. We're losing who we are. Without her, we all blend in.

ENRIQUE. She's still with you. You know that.

ADELA. Yeah, there's a presence, a feeling, a communication, but it doesn't tell me how to make an empanada. (Beat) I wish I could see you.

ENRIQUE. So do I.

ADELA. My abuelita understood the hard things. Like when I lost my eyes. She'd touch me. With those little hands—cracked, wrinkled, loving. The same hands that made tortillas at five o'clock every morning. On my face. Stroking my hair. They weren't afraid to touch me.

ENRIQUE. What about your guy? He must touch you.

(Enrique puts his arms around her.)

ADELA. It's not the same.

(He strokes her hair.)

You're not the same either.

(She moves away.)

Sometimes, she's the only image left in my mind.

ENRIQUE. And me?

ADELA. You're a voice. But I can see her so clearly. Every detail. When I talk to her, I see who I'm talking to. And when we talk, it's not with words really. We use words, but it goes deeper than sound, it's heart to heart, no, soul to soul.

ENRIQUE. Aren't I an image in your mind?

ADELA. You're more like a nightmare in my mind.

ENRIQUE. Don't you remember the good things, Adela?

ADELA. I forgot everything about us.

ENRIQUE. Sure, you did.

(He kisses her gently on the cheek. She backs away from him.)

ADELA. Just don't try to kiss me again.

ENRIQUE. I'm crossing my hands.

ADELA. We can talk. For a little. I like hearing your voice. You sound different.

ENRIQUE. It's called puberty, but thanks.

ADELA. My abuelo had a beautiful base voice like that. He used to talk on the radio. (Imitating him) Compañeros y Compañeras, buenas noches. Welcome to rrrrrradio bilingüe. Now there was someone who knew how to roll an “r.” Me and my sisters used to imitate him and see who could hold their “r” the longest. He used to stick his finger in our mouths to try to help us.