By Hugo Salcedo
Translated from Spanish by Carolyn Malloy and Georgina Whittingham
We are delighted to present our English translation of “Los hijos de la Malinche,” a theatrical masterpiece authored by the renowned Mexican playwright Hugo Salcedo. A leading figure in the Mexican theatrical world, Salcedo is widely recognized for his other dramatic works such as El viaje de los cantores, La bufadora, Nosotras que los queremos tanto, Música de balas, and Bárbara Gandiaga. “Los hijos de la Malinche” utilizes various theatrical styles and strategies to showcase unforgettable characters from key moments inMexican history, politics, and literature.
The play employs satire in several vignettes to expose and ridicule the greed and stupidity that has impoverished the Mexican nation and subjected its people to untold forms of violence from pre-Columbian times until today. One notable example of this theatrical approach is the linguistic dialogue composed of pidgin English, French, and Spanish in the third vignette. This effectively portrays the United States foreign policy towards Mexico during the country’s struggle against the rule of French Emperor Maximillian. However, this linguistic blend presented unforeseen translation challenges. We worked tirelessly to maintain the translation’s fidelity to the source text while preserving linguistic nuances and theatrical styles that make the play unique. We thank the translation reviewer and Tracey K. Lewis for their excellent suggestions.
Similarly, the fifth vignette was also challenging due to character wordplay involving political in-jokes that may be difficult for non-Mexican audiences to comprehend. To overcome this obstacle, we sought the invaluable assistance of Rafael Madrid, who helped clarify the significance of various puns. After careful consideration, we added a footnote to explain the connection between the wisecracks and the political corruption and ineptitude in Mexico’s past and contemporary history. We found this method to be the most advantageous solution.
Hugo Salcedo is a remarkably gifted playwright renowned for creating immersive theatrical performances that delve into historical, political, and literary themes. His theatrical works typically feature satire, which he uses to expose the foolishness and flaws of individuals, resulting in humor that is both cutting and hilarious. Salcedo’s repertoire showcases admirable heroes and remarkable everyday citizens who strive for the betterment of their nation, as well as antagonists who perpetuate the legacy of colonial exploitation, looting, and violence that has significantly impacted modern Mexico. His theatrical productions are a testament to his expertise in the art form and skill in captivating audiences with thought-provoking performances.
We sincerely hope that our translation of “Los hijos de la Malinche” brings this groundbreaking theatrical work to a broader audience beyond the Mexican stage and the country’s borders. We firmly believe this invaluable contribution to dramatic arts and cultural exchange is worth experiencing abroad, regardless of linguistic and national boundaries.
Hugo Salcedo Larios is a full-time theater professor at the Universidad Iberoamericana in Mexico City, holding a doctorate in Philology from the Universidad Complutense in Madrid, Spain. He also completed postgraduate studies in “Theory and Criticism of Theater” at the Autonomous University of Barcelona, Spain, and holds a baccalaureate from Universidad de Guadalajara. In addition to his academic career, Salcedo is a prolific playwright and essayist. He has received numerous national and international awards, including the prestigious Tirso de Molina award in 1989 for his groundbreaking work, El viaje de los cantores (The Troubadour’s Journey). Salcedo’s plays have won first place in various competitions and have been translated into several languages, such as English, French, German, Persian, Korean, Czech, and Hungarian. Through different literary and theatrical styles and strategies, Salcedo’s works address issues of violence, sexual and racial discrimination, political corruption, and ineptitude in Mexico’s past and contemporary history.
Carolyn Malloy is a Professor of Spanish at Siena College, New York, currently teaching in the Department of Modern Languages and Classics. She holds a B.A. and M.A. from the University of Connecticut and a Ph.D. from the University of Wisconsin. Dr. Malloy’s scholarly work includes presenting and publishing articles on Mexican theatre, with a particular focus on the works of prolific dramatists such as Estela Leñero, Guillermo Schmidhuber, Victor Hugo Rascon Banda, and Ariel Dorfman. Additionally, she has co-translated plays by Hugo Salcedo.
Georgina Whittingham (B.A. Queens College, M.A. Stanford University, Ph.D. Rutgers University) is a Professor of Spanish and Chair of the Department of Modern Languages and Literatures at the State University of New York at Oswego. She is the author of the book Gilberto Owen y la crisis del lenguaje poético (Gilberto Owen and the Crisis of Poetic Language), published by Mexico’s Autonomous State University Press. Her areas of expertise include Latin American poetry, theater, narrative, gender studies, cultural studies, and US-Mexico border environmental studies. Her scholarly articles have been featured in journals such as Latin American Theatre Review, Latin American Literary Review, and Texto Crítico. In addition, she has collaborated in translating theatrical works by Hugo Salcedo.
The Children of La Malinche
By Hugo Salcedo
Translated from Spanish by Carolyn Malloy and Georgina Whittingham
In a sense, we all are,
by the mere fact of being born of a woman,
children of la Chingada.
(…)
the true children of La Malinche,
who is La Chingada herself.
Octavio Paz
VIGNETTE TITLED ZERO: In the Postmodern Style
History
Diddy (History’s cousin)
Government Official
Chico
A large area on a hill and facing the audience: the Precipice.
Everything is clean, green, and clear. From time to time, the wind is heard —
a few small clouds in the background. The heads of the characters begin to appear: first History’s, then Chico’s, next Diddy’s, and behind them, overwhelmed, the Government Official’s head emerges.
All wear high-mountain climbing gear.
History: Here it is. Right here.
Diddy: Finally, we arrived! We will have to celebrate with a toast of Dom Perignon.
Chico: From up here, everything looks like a movie.
History: Spectacular, like a 3-D movie.
Diddy: You did a magnificent job, cousin! All this is… beautiful, infinite, green, gorgeous.
History: So, you agree the climb, sweat, and fatigue were all worth it? We could not have made it here with the Cheyenne, even with its 4 x 4 dual traction! The ascent with the truck would have been impossible with so many rocks and boulders. The incline is so steep… Come closer, Official! Don’t be afraid! You won’t slip!
Official: I’m so exhausted! My heart and my head are about to explode!
Diddy: Take a deep breath. (She does so, then the others follow.) Inhale, exhale. Ahhhh! It feels great. Stretch out your arms, everyone. Inhale, exhale. That’s it. Oxygenate, Official! So, they say, right?
History: Something like that, cousin, more or less.
Diddy: The air is so clean, not even a speck of dirt.
Official: Hey, Diddy, you’re both in great physical shape and have plenty of energy to keep going. You never get tired.
Diddy: Official, it is my cousin, History, who never gets tired. At times I feel “deflated.”
History: I never get tired. History always looks forward and never pauses. On the contrary, it advances with more and more haste. I learn from past mistakes and make headway steadily. (Remembering times past) Before, when there were oxen and carts, everything moved with the turn of the wheel; what a hassle! What else could one do in those times? Later, everything became faster with the steam engine and electricity.
Diddy: That’s right, cousin. Technological advances have changed everything, breaking even the digital divide!
History: Now, with fiber optics, we have revolutionized communication via the information superhighway, almost at the speed of light. What existed yesterday is a thing of the past. Now, we have heat and electromagnetic waves, algorithms, and, tomorrow, teleportation.
Chico: Like on Star Trek!
History: Exactly!
Official: I wonder if it will ever be a reality.
History: Teleportation? Of course!
Diddy: If we don’t annihilate each other first…
History: (With mild reproach) Diddy, don’t be so Didactic with all that moralizing!
Diddy: It is the truth, and let the truth be told. Period.
Official: Are you going to start again? Since we began climbing, you have continued to repeat the same thing. You are going to end up boring our Chico, that’s if he isn’t already bored.
Chico: Me? No, I am not bored. I continue learning from our teacher, History, and Miss Didactic.
Diddy: Call me Diddy! It’s shorter, and it sounds sexier!
Chico: OK, Diddy.
Diddy: Thank you.
History: The expanseyou see below, now overpopulated, was originally an endorheic basin of the huge Texcoco, Chalco, and Xochimilco lakes connected by underwater tunnels. Above, wild ducks, herons, reeds and reedbeds populated the bodies of water.
Diddy: Now everything has been destroyed by urban sprawl.
History: The bodies of water I mentioned were fed by runoffs and filtrations from nearby mountains, such as where we are now. From here, the continuous thaws fed the estuaries that flow into our “great lakes:” Texcoco, Chalco, and Xochimilco.
Diddy: Like Lake Michigan!
History: We must consider the lakes’ unique proportions and distances, of course. We are in Mesoamerica, not in Chicago.
Diddy: Of course…but it is now common to confuse the “Mexican Basin” with the “Valley of Mexico.” The Valley of Mexico sounds nicer.
Official: Sexier?
Diddy: Yes, Official. It sounds like meadows and forests, trees, and streams… and deer… (Smiling). So, you get my point.
Official: Always so didactic, Diddy.
Diddy: I appreciate the compliment, my dear Official.
History: From here, we have a panoramic view. It is as if History were passing right before our eyes in an Omnimaxmovie or when turning the pages of a photo album.
Official: I understand you are referring to Official History, right? Now, you are not going to…
History: Of course not, Official! Don’t worry. I am a hundred percent official –more official than legal-sized paper or any City Hall stamp. Official History endures, like the history carved in the Mayan stelae or the stelae that adorn the entrance to “The Temple of Heaven” in Beijing. Diddy, do you remember when we were there as part of an entourage? When you got lost in that Hutong, we searched and searched for you.
Diddy: OK. Enough with that tall tale. Forgive me for living!
History: It was just an example…but, as I mentioned, Official History is similar to the information inscribed on the sarcophagi of Egyptian pyramids or the codices elaborated by imperial order. It is Official History as it appears in school textbooks, repeated in speeches, and included in commemorative dates on the calendar. In short, it is History that makes us great.
Chico: And the other History?
History: What other History?
Diddy: There is no other.
Official: No, of course not.
Chico: Yes, there is! It is the History written in small letters in the margins of a page or on prison walls; it is kept alive in memories, tattooed on skin, and crossed out or erased from monuments. This History passes from elders to children by word of mouth, speaks of minorities, uses unsanctioned languages, and is excluded from official speeches.
Official: Careful, young man!
Chico: I apologize… I meant to say…
Official: It is very clear what you meant to say.
Diddy: Extremely clear!
History: Don’t argue! Remember, we are dealing with a young person—an example of a whole generation that must be taught, in almost a whisper, not to compare apples and oranges, because otherwise, this generation is likely to rebel and be destroyed. That’s why we are here! Do not scold him. Let’s be patient…tolerant.
Official: At times, young people are the worst. They are like larvae with their naive faces full of pimples. They go here and there asking awkward and somewhat stupid questions.
History: It is as natural for them to pose rather stupid questions as to have pimples, acne, and blackheads. Remember, once upon a time, although it was a long, long time ago, you, too, were young.
Diddy: History, what you just said is not SEXY! How can you equate pimples with apples?
History: You are very sensitive today, cousin.
Diddy: So, what! I have the right to be!
Official: Pardon me for butting in now, good Diddy, but it is at this moment when you lose your rights; you are nothing more than a mere strategy of History and, frankly, a boring strategy.
Diddy: You are an officializing bureaucrat; that is what you are!
History: Enough! For the last time, Diddy, stop! Official, you’re confusing our boy with your chatter.
Chico: No, not really… but I am enjoying myself a lot…
History: They are confusing you! I am History, and if I say they are confusing this larva of a boy, that is the case. He is just a tadpole!
Official: Very well said.
Diddy: How categorical, how square, how uncouth!
History: (A long pause) The expanse of the horizon is marvelous: forests, rivers, jungles, and mountains. Villages,foundations, narratives, efforts… (Profound) Someday, child, everything you see, as far as the eye can reach and beyond, will be all yours.
Chico: What? And the Cheyenne?
History: What?
Chico: (Pouting) What I want is the truck.
Stunned looks among the group
Darkness
FIRST VIGNETTE: A Conquest
Young woman
The other woman
Old woman
Outlying, unpopulated area
Young woman: Run! Don’t let them catch you!
The other woman: I can’t go any farther! My feet hurt. Look at them! They are so red! I didn’t wear any shoes!
Young woman: It’s just that you need to walk carefully. You must watch where you step, as I do.
The other woman: Since I was a child, my feet have always been like this. The heat makes them swell, and the cold makes my skin crack.
Young woman: It is delightful to walk. (She does so.) Feet are a marvel. With the tips of your toes, you can feel the cold water that flows from the springs, enjoy the damp earth and the sand hidden between your toes…
The other woman: …and experience the sharp stones cutting you when you walk, the earthworms in the damp soil you squish unintentionally… thorns that make you bleed…
Young woman: That, too, is a delight!
The other woman: Yeah, of course …
Young woman: You complain about everything.
The other woman: That’s not true! Not everything.
Young woman: Look…no one is here!
The other woman: We knew there would be no one.
Young woman: Where have they gone?
The other woman: The men are panicking. They have orders to go from one place to another to prepare their weapons, sharpen lances, and tense bows while others plead with the gods, burn incense to their stone idols, and bleed parts of their bodies. It’s not surprising they didn’t notice us when we first arrived.
Young woman: The men know everything.
The other woman: You’re right.
Young woman: I have never seen them so blinded by fear for so many reasons…
The other woman: Such things have never happened before…
Young woman: I am frightened.
The other woman: Change is always good. You’ll see.
Young woman: What about those of us who do not want change?
The other woman: It’s so boring if everything always stays the same!
Young woman: I’m not so sure…
The other woman: Then, you must deal with it!
Young woman: It will no longer be as it was before. I close my eyes, and the nightmares begin; hundreds of warriors, crushing my skull, pull out from my swollen belly a half man, half coyote. The moment it is born, the monstrous creature devours first my face, tearing my skin with its long fangs.
The other woman: I, too, am afraid…of other things…
Young woman: Shhh…They may hear you! (In a low voice) If they do, they are capable of…
The other woman: (Suddenly very sad) I don’t want to die as if I were a criminal who betrayed her family.
Young woman: Don’t say that. It makes me dizzy, and I feel like vomiting.
The other woman: They must already know! When I go to the market to buy vegetables, people gossip. They see me and whisper. Their piercing stares are like darts. (She forces Young woman to come closer.)
Young woman: You are hurting me!
The other woman: Then, look at me! What do they say to you? Have you told them anything?
Young woman: No! I haven’t.
The other woman: What do they say? What do they know?
Young woman: They say a woman met the men who arrived on the seashore. She fell in love with the strongest, a captain… and she taught all the men our customs and languages, so we would understand when they cursed us.
This woman, whose hushed voice is like a river that sings among the stones, is ashamed of being like us, the color of earth. She is a treacherous and evil woman – a resentful traitor, who turns her back on her own people. Don’t make me say these things! (She cries.) I love you, but I can do nothing for you.
The other woman: I love you, too!
She kisses her on the cheek.
A long silence
Young woman: They say you are a little like that woman…
The other woman: They will kill me…
Young woman: Before they do anything… they are going to… The elders are afraid.
The other woman: They will kill me.
Young woman: You already know, and you make me repeat it!
The other woman: I would like to rise above all who arrived on our shores, to understand the enigmas! Is that so terrible? With my stubby fingers, I would like to touch their long, slender hands, lips, and manes and serve them when they rest with no reward other than the close warmth of their large white bodies.
Young woman: You frighten me…! You must not think of lying with the demon and smilingwith complicity and pleasure. You baffle me.
The other woman: Shooting so many arrows is also inhumane!
Young woman: The purpose is to defend us.
The other woman: What about the tributes we all must pay?
Young woman: Those are economic issues I don’t understand!
The other woman: And the sacrifices? The blood? We lose family, friends, and children because of so much brutality!
Young woman: Our cosmogony requires sacrifices to redeem ourselves in the universe!
The other woman: We are all war-like tribes who delight in oppression and misfortune!
Young woman: Quiet! You terrify me!
The other woman: Do you know who will lead the imminent battle? My father and brother, as well as your father and brother… Do you know who will survive? Not your father nor your brother, not my family nor yours. No one!
Young woman: Quiet! Bite your tongue! Don’t repeat what we already know! I want to pretend it is nothing more than a bad dream.
The other woman: Perhaps, I am still too young to understand the contempt people have for one another! I hate the disdain among the tribes, the stones stained red, the disgusting smell of blood that lingers after the sacrifices… People secretly howl from fear and sadness. Terrified of our leader, they choke silently on their tears.
Young woman: I would like to say you are mistaken…
The other woman: I would, also, but soon, not even we will be here. Should we be destroying one another like evil predators biting each other’s flesh to the bone? Both sides are arrogant and contemptuous. Our leaders oppress smaller tribes, and the foreigners destroy our homes.
Young woman: I do not want to listen to you!
The other woman: I want to say out loud what I believe. I want to live, whether reviled or enslaved. Either is better than death!
Old Woman, expressionless, appears.
Old woman: Come with me.
The other woman: Mother!
Old woman: They are waiting for you.
The other woman: Mother!
Old woman: Do not touch me! For some time, you have been dead to me as a daughter. Do not pretend you do not hear me! … Leave if you don’t want me to drag you by the hair. Get out! There is no name for what we all know you are. Damn you! You are like the other woman who met them on the seashore! You’re like a child, Malintzin, a whore, so young and confused! Get out! Leave now!
The other woman leaves quickly.
Immediately, her friend follows.
Silence, then the sound of a drum…
Old woman: No one is larger than life, not even men. Patriarchal society will destroy you and your dreams. As an elderly mother, I can do nothing to protect you. Finish her off, once and for all. Throw her to the hungry pigs as they do with criminals. Let them have a feast of gold. I will not allow them to see me broken. I will not falter nor claim the body of my daughter. It will be crueler to hear their reasons because they will not relinquish their mean-spirited behavior. Here, the one who dreams is considered a criminal.
May she die quickly, her name ignored and forgotten. Let there be no stelae nor codices to remember her. Stone her to death! Hit her between the eyes and end her madness. Men will come who are capable of dreams, not absurd ones that provoke nightmares. Shoot an arrow in her side, draw blood, and drink it while it is still warm; then, offer it to our capricious gods. My child: avoid the gaze of the butchers, the devourers of people and dreams. Close your eyes and forget the pain. Rest, sleep, dream…
Slowly it gets dark.
A horrible shriek…
The drums disappear.
SECOND VIGNETTE: The Insurgency
Doña Maria
Beatriz
Marcos
Inside a modest thatched hut…
Doña Maria: Quince jelly, dragon fruit, eight tortillas, cheese, stewed prickly pears, nopales with cilantro and tomato…
Beatriz: (Entering) I am here, doña Maria.
Doña Maria: Beatriz, child. I thought you weren’t coming…it’s so late…
Beatriz: My mom was getting difficult. She didn’t want me to leave her alone.
Doña Maria: Poor woman! How is her leg?
Beatriz: Not well. It is more and more difficult for her to stand. That is why she complains and becomes so unbearable… But she is resigning herself.
Doña Maria: Damn resignation! I’m not saying it because of your mom, of course. I’m saying it for the whole bunch of underdogs and conformists.
Beatriz: Yes. I know, doña Maria.
Doña Maria: Did you bring what I requested?
Beatriz: Yes. Here are the pork rinds and a pitcher of mezcalito I brought from the store. The young men may crave it. Who knows when they will taste it again?
Doña Maria: Yes. Who knows? (Pause) But at least it will give them courage, right?
Beatriz: (She nods her head in agreement.) And what does Marcos say?
Doña Maria: I agree with what he says. He is my only son, and he knows why he will join don Miguel Hidalgo.
Beatriz: Frankly, I feel like crying, not only for your son but forall who will be leaving. Even don Nicanor, the old apothecary, who is not doing badly with his business, will go with them.
Doña Maria: That’s how it is. All our efforts are directed toward overthrowing once and for all the Spanish gachupines. The snooty Spaniards still get angry because we call them that: gachupos, gachupines, pines, gachupines! (They both laugh.) Pines, gachupines, pines! We have been enslaved in a country plundered for three hundred years…
Beatriz: We’ve put up with so much…
Doña Maria: Yes, but no longer! (Transition) Don’t worry! I know our men will return sooner than we expect. You’ll see!
Beatriz: The men have composed a short festive song that even the women in the Red District sing…
Doña Maria: How much do you know about that “animated” district?
Beatriz: Please, Doña Maria.
Doña Maria: Don’t let the guards hear you singing that song!
Beatriz: They never come around here. You can see they are afraid and sense something is happening. Everything is changing. Everything. (Marcos enters.)
Doña Maria: Marcos! Here are the provisions we prepared for you.
Marcos: Thank you, Mom.
Doña Maria: I put aside some quince jelly so you may give it to the priest Miguel Hidalgo on my behalf. I don’t think he has had quince jelly, at least not as tasty as mine. Don’t you eat it; give it to him!
Marcos: Surely, don Miguel has tasted quince jelly! Thousands of parishioners love him…
Doña Maria: Of course, and that’s why we’re going to be independent, because of the combined strength of so many barefoot Indians… But make sure you save the quince jelly and give it to him from me!
Marcos: (To Beatriz) Now what? Why are you crying? (He hugs her.) Nothing bad will happen to us.
Doña Maria: What time do you leave?
Marcos: As soon as it gets dark. (Pause) Don’t cry. Come, let me hug you.
Doña Maria: Commend yourself to the Virgin of Guadalupe, and may God be with you.
Marcos: Thank you, Mom.
Beatriz: (Beatriz begins to sing; Marcos and doña Maria accompany her.)
Today, joyous Valladolid
Recognizes its advantages.
A great man has arrived,
Who will not relinquish the struggle.
His entrance occurred
In eighteen hundred and ten,
October seventeenth.
It has been concurred.
Before entering, he ordered
The bars, windows, and locks opened,
All prisoners released,
And the prison destroyed.
Valladolid awaits
Recognizing its advantages.
If your faith is strong, Valladolid,
Let us say, Hail Mary,
And long live the great leader
Who will not relinquish the struggle.[1]
The scene gradually brightens with an unusual glow…
Suddenly, darkness.
THIRD VIGNETTE: Interventions
France
The United States
Mexico
Vendor
In the background of a lavish office, a huge map displays the Mexican Republic in the 1840s.
The United States: Is very long, long and extenso el Mexicano territorio. Miles and miles of square millas of arid desert are not even exploited here en el norte of the country. (With a long wooden pointer, he indicates the place on the map.) You need to look to the futuro!
France: Je suis d’accord avec vous.
The United States: Thank you, Miss Francia.
France:Madame, not Miss… s’il vous plaît…
Mexico: You’ll see, gentlemen. If what you say is true, why not invest your capital, dollars, and francs in this northern part of Mexico.
The United States: Escuuuuuse me? Permiteme to “intervenir,” not “invertir.”
It’s a fact that economic recovery is imposibol. The per capita income is falling, destabilizing the New York stock market, while the brain drain exacerbates tensions in Bosnia and Sarajevo…¿Comprehendeme?
France: Oui! The same is true of Ruanda and Crimea, the Foreign Legion in Algeria, the Battle of Annual in the Rif, François Hollande, and climate change!
The United States: Macroeconomics, mi dear neighbor, macroeconomics ES NO UN GAME de SALOON. Foreign investment minimizar theeffects of financialexchange, which reduces the circulacion of foreign currency. What is the monetario precio index? How mucho, mio Mexicano, is the current monetary economic flow? How afectados are el peso-dollar exchange rate and the balance of payment?
Mexico: But…
The United States: Tener uste idea of the efecto per capita income en la balance de payments and cuanto es un ounce of silver? Do you know the boiling point of water on the centigrado scale? Is Prince Felipe now King? Will Leonardo di Caprio ganar el Oscar?
Mexico: Gee, ni idea…
France: Je suis d’accord avec vous.
The United States: Comprehende, mi dear neighbor. These are drastico, but necesario measures. The livestock that abunda in Texas con sus cows, baby goats, and sheep will end up dying of thirst because the right technology es no inventado to transport water and make the desierto bloom. (He sings.) Tell me what you want me to be, except a little leafy plant in the middle of a desert of stones, tralali, tralalala…
Mexico: Mmmm…. you’ll see…we were thinking about bringing all the cattle here, to the Cuchillo dam, where there is a lot of water. You agree?
The United States: What about the tomato crops?
Mexico: Well…we were thinking about installing one of those little factories for canning the product and selling in supermercados. The little red cans look so cute, all lined up one next to the other on the shelves, like in Carrefour!
France: Carrefour!
The United States:… and how are you going to take care of the cotton plantaciones in Upper California? Don’t be such hoarders!
Mexico: Gee… I didn’t think of that…
The United States: And the oil fields in the Mexico Golfo? They are useless if you are distraidos and don’t exploit them as you should.
France: Je suis d’accord avec vous.
Mexico: As you put it… I guess I’m also d’accord.
The United States: Any way…take this checkecito as your compensacion.
Mexico: No! That is treason, betrayal of the Homeland! As a result, we are portrayed very badly in elementary school books. I cannot accept that check…
The United States: Eeeeeasy! With un pequeño parte of this compensacion, you can pay someone to write any little thing your heart desires in textbooks—tailor-made and perfecto according to necesidad!
Mexico: Will it work?
The United States: Pleeease! That’s how we do everything! Of course, it will work!
France: Oui!
The United States: Listen to me…. Pretend you know nothing de nada. Let us, as Madame Francia and I always do, interferir in your country… and kill two or three dirt-poor souls…
France: Les Miserables! Vive la France! Oh-la-la.
The United States: Don’t interrupt me!
France: Pardon …Excusez moi…
The United States: You and todos los Mexicanos work with us and we, in turn, will prepare los documentos to leave you in pis in exchange for territorios that I show you. It is a strategic tactic—un exemplar mechanical modelo: few deaths, mucho world attention, no mucho casualties, mucho gains, such as the emergence of heroes nationales, whose cabezas, crowned with olive branches, are essential for your futuro. Just imagine – the loud roar of drums, war cries, parades, honor guards, memorials, coin and bill effigies, etc., etc. Du yu understand me? Everybody feliz, everybody contento!
France: Je suis d´accord avec vous.
Mexico: Seeing it that way…
The United States: We will also give you a lifetime passfor visitar las estrellas de Hollywood Bulevar los weekends, and caminar on them. Imagine – sauntering on the sidewalk full of luminaries, visitor Las Vegas casinos, even Magico Mountain, Seis Flags, and Disneyland Aventura in California.
Mexico: Don’t forget! You promised me Lady Gaga’s autograph!
The United States: Sure! Claro!
Mexico: In that case….
France: ¿D’accord o no d’accord?
Mexico: You really convinced me.
France: D´accord! Merci!
Mexico: So…when will this famous “intervention” take place?
The United States: Not so rapido, amigo mio! We’ll take it easy. Does tomorrowito sound good?
Mexico: Tomorrito?
The United States: Mañana, then.
Mexico: So, the two countries together as one, right?
The United States: Noooooo. Jesuuuus Criiiistoooo! We are not primitivos! First, uno country, and then the other.
Mexico: Ah, OK. We appreciate it. You are so considerate.
The United States: Sí, mucho considerados. Aren’t we?
Mexico: Listen, mister…don’t take it badly. Now, I have a simple question…if you don’t mind… how should I put it? A personal question…
The United States: OK. Say me your question?
Mexico: Santa Claus? Does Santa Claus really exist?
The United States: Whaaat did you saaaaay!!
France: Plopp!!
Astounded, France plops on the floor!
They freeze.
A vendor enters the scene.
Vendor: Tiiiiickets! Tiiiiickets! Todaaaaaay, the execution in Cerro de las Campanas! Few front-row seats are left! The last tickets! Right here, don’t miss the execution of Maximillian of Hapsburg, the final invader of independent Mexico, and the traitors Miguel Miramon and Tomas Mejia! Only one ticket for the three acts! Let the invaders of Meeeeeeexico perrrrrrrrish. The M of Mexico is supreme in contrast to the M of Maximillian, Miramon, and Mejia. Let them all die!
France: Maximilien, mon fils!
Vendor: Do not waste any more time! Execute him!
France: Maximilien c´est moi!
Vendor: Blindfold him!
France: Je suis Maximilien! I am France, Austria, the Archduke Maximillian, my cousin Charlotte’s husband, or whatever, who cares!
Vendor: Screw the Emperor Maximillian of Hapsburg, the intruder on Mexican soil!
France: Don’t screw with me!
Vendor: Blindfold the transgender Emperor!
France: No, do not block my view of my beloved Mexico. I wish to take this image with me for eternity!
The United States places the long blond cascading beard on France.
France: I will die for a just cause: an Independent and Free Mexico. I hope my death ends the misfortunes of my new Homeland!
Drumroll…
France: Allow me to part my beard. I beg you, aim directly at my chest!
Vendor: Firing squad! Ready! Aim! Fiiiierrrr!
Gun fire
France falls dead.
The United States: He is deeeeaaaad. Maximiliano is deeeeaaaad. (A malicious smile) This is excellent: America ONLY for Americans! Viva los Yankees. America for the Americans.
FOURTH VIGNETTE: Revolution
Attorney Botellas
A lamppost on a street corner.
Attorney Botellas: (Staggering and talkative) The Revolution is gonna hit us right between the eyes, Botellas, and neither you nor anyone else is going to be able to do anything about it, much less in these conditions, right? Cheers! (He drinks, laughs, combs his hair to one side, and holds up a bottle.) I don’t know… I don’t know anything or know so little about this matter, sir. If there are copies of El hijo del Ahuizote at home, I want to assure you I haven’t the faintest idea how they got there… No, don’t laugh, SIR!
They are going to “revolutionize our entire country.” Everything will be a circus here. One and all will succeed in getting a tiny or a big fat slice of the pie. Neither the dictator Porfirio Diaz, who will soon arrive in his adored France, nor Mr. Madero could foresee the looting to come with the revolution, which begins here at this moment in history in 1910.
No, I am referring to those who could foresee the looting to come – sackers who sell the motherland – the cursed descendants of the poor stereotyped woman La Malinche. We have a horde of motherfuckers, beginning with Victoriano Huerta, and, from there, the list goes on forever…
As mushrooms after a heavy rain, they make their flamboyant appearance, multiplying like rabbits. From first to last or last to first: Piña Ñeto, Calde-Ron, Foxy-foxy, Ernesto Cepillo… From last to first or first to last: Santa Anna, Miramon, Porfirio Diaz… and in the middle: Elias Calles, Miguel Aleman… Or even before, Diaz Ordaz, Lopez Por Pillo… and so on.[2]
And not all are men, noooooooo! Corruption, betrayal, and deception have gender equality! Here are a few examples: Marta Segun de Fox-fox, Rosario Muebles, Elbester Portiyo, Ivon Ortiga, Alejandra Jota. All of them, sons and daughters of the bulging bellied Malinche, all with the “M” as a sign of the Prehispanic curse on their foreheads.
In this magical country, all good people with abit of power change, transform, metamorphosize and performatize. The problem is in their genes – corrupt politicians who rob you blind. Consider the following examples for practical use, not only in politics but also present and rooted in daily life:
“The one who does not steal does not advance.”
“It is an error not to live under the umbrella of the corrupt government’s budget.”
“Me first, then me, and finally me”
“The devaluation of the peso in December”
“In the year of Hidalgo: whoever does not rob is fucked.”
“The dead in Acteal and Piedras Blancas do not cast their vote in elections.”
“Olympic and Bloody Tlatelolco”
“The train, La Bestia, full, full of…”
“The train of death”
“Narco graves and drug cartels”
“Narco juniors”
“The Lord of the Leagues or the Dandy of las Lomas”
“FOBAPROA, or rather, the Savings Bank Protection Fund”
“El SENTE, the teachers’ union, la CENTE, the workers’ commission, and Pemexgate”
“Towelgate and the presidential family”
“Telecommunication Laws and Secondary Laws”
“The Mexican White House”
“The raffle of the large presidential plane”
(Now sober) These are not science fiction series. Noooo! It is reality itself, the pure, unadulterated truth of the planet, and, of course, the party’s flag color no longer matters. The corrupt are all born and bred the same way, cut from the same cloth, with the same scissors.
The youth, adults, independents, and counter-independents all work under the tricolor banner – blue, ecologist green, and even yellow– of corruption and looting. They all engage in cronyism, bribery, fraud, accommodations, and threats.
All with that capital “M” written on their forehead:
M
M for malediction
M for Malinche
M for Mexico
La Malinche’s descendants, to say the least! Children of la Malinche, to put it respectably, and without euphemisms: Children of la Chingada, which is the honest to God’s truth!
FIFTH VIGNETTE: ‘68
Several young people
The fuse lit in Paris spread like wildfire all over the planet.
It is the revolutionary year of nineteen sixty-eight,
Sixty-eight of nineteen hundred.
One thousand nine hundred sixty-eight laps around the Sun.
The year young people convened, protesting against a corrupt society,
against a bureaucratic society
against a sick political class.
Paris, Berlin, Prague, Chicago, London, Santiago, Chile, and, of course, Mexico
City.
May in France lit the spark.
Soviet tanks on the streets of Czechoslovakia as an inspiration
The Counterculture in the United States:
hippies, psychedelia, and the beat generation as a motif
Communal life, sexual freedom from bourgeois mentality!
Renewed liberty, renewed equality, renewed fraternity!
Postal address:
October 2nd Street
Plaza of the Three Cultures, no number
Tlatelolco Neighborhood
Cuauhtemoc District
Mexico, Federal District
Three cultures anointed in blood
The confluence of three Mexicos simultaneously:
PREHISPANIC MEXICO
of the poet Nezahualcoyotl and teponaztli drums, chirimia woodwind instruments, mockingbirds, human skull-racks, and the Aztec flower wars:
| Then, where will we go? Will we go to a place where death does not exist? Will I always shed tears? Let your heart learn to accept no one lives here eternally. Even princes come here to die. The deceased are cremated. Let your heart learn to accept no one lives here eternally.[3] | ¿Can nelpa tonyazque cannon aya micohua? ¿Ica nichoca? Moyoliol xi melacuahuacan: Ayac nicam nemiz Tel ca tepilhuan omicoaco, Netlatiloc. Moyoliol xi melacuahuacan: Ayac nicam nemix. |
COLONIAL MEXICO
of the cross brandished in fire
of the Juanes:
of Juan Ruiz and Sor Juana, the muse with a Spanish demeanor on mestizo soil,
a prodigious mixture in a cauldron equally prodigious,
who writes in Mexico and premieres in Madrid:
Noble Mexicans,
Whose ancient lineage
Originates
in the Clear rays of the Sun.
Come decorated with your insignias,
For today is the year,
The joyous day,
The greatest Relic
Will be consecrated.
Let merriment join devotion
As we celebrate in splendor
the sublime God of Seeds![4]
MODERN MEXICO
of oil and telecommunications,
of the XEW and the Olympics, the Mexico of Carlos Fuentes,
Octavio Paz and Elena Garro.
I escape along a chair’s backrest.
I look at my image in the buried mirror of the centuries.
The same face
A nation, an amalgam of nations
A shadow passes.
Here, the fiesta goes on and on:
It is the carnivorous feast that tears our children apart.
A bloodied triple plaza:
Prehispanic
colonial and modern
An open vein of Latin America
Of our America of José Martí
A bloodied public square
bloodied atrium
bloodied condominium
a triple stone altar ready for sacrifice
Suddenly, from all directions, a rain of bullets sprays thousands of us, who were young at the time.
“Paquita, where are you my dark-skinned beauty?”
Sartre and his existentialism
Che and his humanism
China and its Maoism
Bakunin and his anarchism, collectivism and atheism.
“It is forbidden to forbid.”
“Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be.”
-It is Wednesday, October second,
-five thirty in the afternoon.
-Only ten more days until the inauguration of the modern Olympic games in the Aztec nation.
-The government suppresses the student protest.
-Tlatelolco becomes a massacre.
-Paquita, where are you, my dark-skinned beauty?
– A flare in the sky,
and suddenly,
– only the sound of crossfire and machine guns is heard.
-shouts, fear, horror
– Twenty-nine minutes of intense gunfire from the buildings
– gunfire from every side
– bullets from all sides
– dead and wounded everywhere:
– in the central military hospital
– in the Red Cross
– in the Green Cross
– And my Paquita?
– There are detainees in military camp number one.
– Paquita is missing. She is nowhere to be found.
– Paquita will no longer appear…
– I would like to tell you, Paquita, I had never loved before knowing you.
– I love your dimples and how they look when you laugh,
– and your anger when I tickle you……
– But I will no longer be able to tell you…
– because you vanished without a trace
– I let your hand go for only a moment, and I could not find you among all the shouting…
– You disappeared among the thunder of rifles
– when the inconceivablenightmare began…
Five Olympic rings that hide the bloody deed!
Light the cauldron!
Have everyone be silent and not push!
Asshole, asshole, asshole, asshole government!
“Today, October twelfth, Nineteenhundredsixtyeight,
I declare open the games of Mexico celebrating the nineteenth Olympiad
of the modern era.”
SIXTH VIGNETTE: Brevis interruptus
History
Diddy, her cousin
Official
Chico
On the hill
There is an open parasol and a canvas chair.
History: During almost nine thousand years there were no great civilizations in the Valley of Mexico until the rise of Tlacuilco and Cuicuilco, the first major civilizations in the central area of …
Chico: I understood that! It was clear to me from the beginning. You keep repeating it like a singsong…
History: What?
Diddy: I toast with Dom Perignon! Bubbly and happy champagne. Cheers!
Chico: Enough of this! You all are beginning to bore me.
Diddy: Who do you think you are to say that? Take a hike, kid!
Official: I told you both! Your experiment, History and Diddy, will not work. This kid is already corrupted, damaged; nothing can be done to save him. Your project is worthless. Today young people are clueless from the day they are born. Don’t speak too loudly to them, don’t raise your voice because they’ll rebel! It would be better…
Diddy: Don’t say it, Official! Don’t even hint that human rights are for the birds…!
History: None of you is of any help to me. Each to their own! You’re not team players, Official.
Official: Who, me? If it were up to me, I would already be building a huge pyre that could be seen from outer space, to put an end to all the young kids who throw tantrums… Mexican history has shown the way – burn, erase, disappear; disappear, burn, erase.
History: And you, cousin, are not thinking clearly either. You’re already more inebriated than a fumigated cockroach!
Diddy: The altitude affects me. (She hiccups.) That’s it, hip, hip; it is my health. I mean, the height.
Official: I am going to look for a bathroom; I have to piss. (He leaves.)
Chico: I want my truck, the Cheyenne, the one you promised me! You took me out of class to bring me here! Keep your promise! I have put up with everything you wanted to teach me Miss Historic or Hysteric, or whatever your name is! I want my truck!
Official: I’ll be back. I’ll piss and then return.
Diddy: Cheers, Official; see you later!
SEVENTH VIGNETTE: Migrations
I’m going north.
We’re going north. Pack your suitcases; it’s decided.
There’s no longer any work here, and there’s more violence every day.
Here, there is more and more corruption and no work.
I’ll go, work, make money, and return.
I’ll go, work, make money, and no fuckin’ way will I return!
I’ll go to East LA.
I’ll go to Pueblayork,
to Portland,
to Minnesota, Minneapolis, or Madison, all with a capital M,
a capital M like the tall towers of a cathedral,
like the two entrance doors to worldly Paradise.
I’m going with the Carolinas or the Virginias.
I’ll go to Canada: to Winnipeg, Montreal, or Toronto.
Here, the minimum wage makes it more difficult to make ends meet.
Drug violence, kidnappings, human trafficking, extortion, and crime rule the day
while the government looks the other way, as if nothing were happening.
I’m going north, mamacita.
I’m going north, papacito.
I’m going north, virgencita.
I’ll go, and later I’ll send for you to join me soon, very soon. I’ll get a place, settle in, and send you the first letter. Buy yourself a thick notebook, so you can write me a thousand letters for each of the thousands I’m going to send you.
I will send you letters, emails, and Facebook messages. I’ll get settled in, and send you a money order from Bank Azteca or Elektra.
I’m leaving, and when I get there, I’ll send and keep sending you money so you can pay the school bills for the children, the medicine for Grandma, monthly bills, and unpaid bills. You’ll pay the telephone, cable, water, electricity, and internet. You may even save a little. With the money, you can continue working on the upstairs of the house and the patio, and also finish that smelly bathroom for us to enjoy when I return. You can even give money to the church. You’ll decide how to best use the money. As simple as that! That’s what we’ll do!
I’ll call you from Colorado.
I’ll send you an email, or we can talk on Skype.
I will never return.
Don’t wait for me because I will never return.
You can stay with the handful of children I gave you, so ugly when they were born, so grumpy and ill-tempered. Where I am going, I’ll have another family, younger and more hip.
I will go in search of Aztlan, the site of our origin.
I am going to join a rock band that doesn’t yet exist.
I’ll join a gang and take charge of the Latino narcotrafficking market.
I’ll triumph like a Hollywood star, like Dolores del Rio, Anthony Quinn, or Vicky Carr, like Salma Hayek, Alfonso Cuaron, la Barraza, Gael Bernal, Thalia or Patricia Manterola.
I want to join the “Yes, we can, yes, we did” movement.
I want to earn dollars.
I want a truck with chrome rims, even if it’s not a Cheyenne.
I want to be a co-star in a movie with Angelina Jolie.
I want to be the new kid on the block.
I want to be the employee of the month in a Walmart in Springfield.
I want to learn to paint like Andy Warhol.
I want to work as a housekeeper for someone in Palm Springs.
I want to work selling lotions at Macy’s in National City.
I want to work at the Dunkin’ Donuts in Penn Station.
I want to say whatever I think without being fired from my job.
I want to say what I think and not end up disappearing or in jail…
I want them to recognize my labor rights.
I want them to recognize my human rights.
Finally, I want them to recognize me, period.
I want my taxes invested and not robbed.
I want to learn English and get 700 points on the TOEFL exam.
I want to write “Pedro was here!” in the public bathrooms in Central Park.
I want to get a doctorate so they will offer me a position at a university.
I want to compose a song for the Billboard chart.
I want to have a tortilla shop in Manhattan,
and a taqueria in the Empire State Building.
I will go, triumph, and return.
I will go, triumph, and, like an idiot, return!
I will…
spend time outwitting the migra officers,
climb the walls like Spiderman,
jump the fence as my brothers did,
hide in a train wagon,
cross the border one night in the Sonora Desert,
climb like a rider on the back of La Bestia.
I will…
swim across the Gulf or the river,
or along the seashore in Tijuana,
dye my hair and answer “yes, yes” to whatever they say,
disguise myself as a piece of furniture so I may cross in a pick-up truck,
emigrate so I may marry a gringo or a gringa,
hide in a train wagon or a trailer truck, although I run the risk of being
asphyxiated,
because I can take no more. Because
we are screwed here,
as someone already said,
really fucked
totally fucked and worse!
EIGHTH VIGNETTE and Finale
History
Diddy, her cousin
Official
Chico
On the hill
History: We were doing so well, cousin, and now look at you: you are more drunk than a fumigated cockroach. Drinking is not a pleasure for you, but rather a sickness.
Diddy: It is the altitude. (She hiccups.) That’s it, hip, hip. It’s my health. I mean, the height.
Official: I am going to look for a bathroom; I’ve had to piss for a while.
Chico: I want my Cheyenne! That’s what I want!
History: Here there are no bathrooms, Official.
Official: Then I’ll piss right here. But I don’t want you to see my wiener!
History: There are no bathrooms Official, nor are there Cheyennes on the mountain, stupid kid!
Chico: My Cheyenne!
Official: A bathroom, please! A bathroom!
History: Look! Over there the mist is dissipating! (Ecstatic) What a treat! The mist reveals the tutelary volcano, The Popocatepetl, also known as Don Goyo! Look at it in its entirety! Grandiose, enormous, incomprehensible! The clouds crown it!
Official: The Popo, and I am peeing my pants! I’ll take it out and piss right now. And I don’t care if you see my “weenie.” So, what!
He pees copiously.
History: How disgusting.
Diddy: So much Official foam!
Official: Exactly!
Diddy: Foam and bubbles like my Dom Perignon! Dom Perignon! (She dances.) Sea foam, celestial foam!
History: Rabid dog foam. Shaving foam. You are not poetic!
Diddy: Shall we dance, Official? Have you finished peeing?
Official: Done. Just let me shake it and put it away.
Diddy: Wow! How sexy! For me, leave it out; it looks so rigid.
Official: No, because it will get cold and get the sniffles.
Diddy: Hold me tight by the waist so I don’t fall off the cliff. And let’s dance close with the same rhythmic steps… That’s it, like that, yes!
History: How the two, no, the three of you fuck around with witticisms!
Chico: Me too?
Diddy: Ha, ha, ha, you said some swear words, cousin!
History: Who the hell cares anymore? You are disrespectful drunkards!
Official: Same old History, saying shit!
History: Piss off, then!
Diddy: Go screw yourself! Damn you!
History: Bitch!
Diddy: You’re a bitch!
Official: A pair of bitches!
An extremely loud sound
The earth quakes.
Diddy: What the fuck was that?
Official: Weren’t you able to control your damn urges?
History: The earth is shaking, and all of you are fucking around. It is quaking! The volcano is vomiting, it’s erupting!
Diddy: Shit! The lava is almost reaching us here!
Official: What? What the fuck is happening?
The volcano is erupting!
Diddy: Shit, it stinks!
Official: It stinks like sulfur.
Diddy: Nothing like ending up under a shit of fucking lava!
History: Fuck that cursed volcano!
Official: We are all screwed because of this volcano. Fuck history and didacticism and the experiment with the kid. Say goodbye to your fucking shitty life. The volcano fucked itself and us all!
Chico: (Ecstatic) Wow! How incredible! Really incredible!
The smoke and tons of lava bury them.
Darkness.
The end
[1] Annonymous ballad titled Hoy, Valladolid gozoso (Today, Joyous Valladolid). A musical recording is available by Jorge Buenfil.
[2] Translators’ note: Attorney Botellas’ satirical wordplay highlights the theme of looting, sacking, and pilfering of the motherland. He traces the corruption to the conquest, false Revolutionary leaders, and the former presidents who perpetuated or failed to stem Mexico’s extreme income inequalities and poverty. Botellas cites numerous well-known examples of fraudulent presidential conduct and extravagant display of wealth. Towelgate describes the purchase of excessively costly towels by Vicente Fox’s wife for the presidential mansion. Pemexgate alludes to the Mexican political party PRI’s misuse of petroleum revenues during Ernesto Zedillo’s tenure to support an election campaign, underscoring a very unfair election system. The Mexican White House illustrates Enrique Peña Nieto and his wife’s suspected unlawful acquisition of a luxurious residence (white house) in Lomas de Chapultepec—Mexico’s presidential house is pink. Botellas ridicules the former presidents by linking their names to some fruit, an alcoholic beverage, a brush, and instances of conniving (foxy/sly) behavior and bribery. Jose Lopez Portillo (1976-1982) becomes “Lopez Por pillo” – a scoundrel/rascal/ thief (pillo). Ernesto Zedillo (1994-2000) is compared to a brush (cepillo) for sweeping heinous acts under the rug. Vicente Fox (2000-2006) becomes “Foxy-foxy.” Felipe Calderon (2006-2012), a drunkard, is allied with rum (ron). Enrique Peña Nieto (2012-2018) is associated with a pineapple (piña). Piña is Mexican slang for a lie.
[3] From the poem beginning with the words “¿A dónde iremos?” (“Where will we go?) by Nezahualcoyotl
[4] De la “Loa” para el auto de “El Divino Narciso” (From the “Loa to the Divine Narcissus”), an allegorical play by Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz
The Mercurian 