LOCAS (2026 EDITION)
LOCAS: The Mirror of Our Own Sanity
By José Pascual Abellán
About the Author and His Playwriting Profile
José Pascual Abellán is not just a playwright; he is an observer of the human psyche. With a degree in Therapeutic Pedagogy and a career as a special education teacher, Abellán translates his clinical knowledge to the stage with unusual mastery. His profile is characterized by a theatre of identity, where characters are forced to confront their shadows and deepest fears.
From his early works like El pirata Roberts (The Pirate Roberts) to the founding of the company Teatro A Cuestas, he has consolidated a language that blends vulnerability with biting humor. His training in film and television screenwriting gives his plays an agile pace and sharp dialogues that grip the audience from the very first minute.
The Global Importance of "Locas"
What separates us from madness? That is the question that has turned this work into an international success. Premiered to great acclaim in Spain and exported to stages across Latin America (including iconic productions in Mexico), Locas has resonated globally due to its universality.
In a world obsessed with success and appearance, the play brings face-to-face two women who represent the two sides of the social coin: the successful executive and the invisible housewife. Its importance lies in how it destigmatizes mental health disorders, reminding us that the "line" separating sanity from a breakdown is, in reality, a very thin thread upon which we all walk.
Technical Specifications and Intellectual Property
Important: This work holds all legal registrations and reserved rights. For performance or professional use, please contact the author.
Original Title: LOCAS
Author: José Pascual Abellán Herreros
Genre: Drama / Dramatic Comedy
SGAE Code: 10.485.988
IPI / CAE Code: 634.370.066 (Rightsholder: 100%)
Approximate Duration: 70 minutes
Cast: 2 Actresses (Gregoria and Martirio)
Contact and Distribution
Entity: Clipes (Creación y Gestión Cultural y Social S.C.L.)
Direct Contact: José Pascual Abellán
Phone: +34 610.67.42.75
Email: josechiq@yahoo.es
Audiovisual Material:
Production Trailer
 |
LOCAS
By José Pascual Abellán
A play composed of an introduction and two acts, for two actresses:
Actress 1: Gregoria
Actress 2: Martirio
® José Pascual Abellán
ORIGINAL TITLE: LOCAS
SGAE CODE: 10.485.988
GENRE: DRAMA
IPI / CAE CODE: 634.370.066 | NAME: JOSE PASCUAL ABELLAN HERREROS | CE: 100.00 %
DURATION: 01:10:00
 |
Locas, ® José Pascual Abellán TÍTULO ORIGINAL: LOCAS CÓDIGO SGAE: 10.485.988 GÉNERO: DRAMA CÓDIGO IPI / CAE PROFESIÓN NOMBRE DERECHOHABIENTE CE 634.370.066 AUTOR JOSE PASCUAL ABELLAN HERREROS 100,00 % DURACIÓN OBRA: 01:10:00 CONTACTO Y DISTRIBUCIÓN Clipes (Creación y Gestión Cultural y Socila S.C.L. José Pascual Abellán 610.67.42.75 josechiq@yahoo.es |
Link para ver video del montaje: |
INTRODUCTION
SCENE 1
The stage is completely dark. Suddenly, a lightbulb flickers on, very dim in the foreground... and a music with voices is heard, somewhat ominous...
Actress 1: (Off-stage, informative) In the 17th and 18th centuries, medicine in general took several significant steps forward, each of which was to influence, in its own way, the manner in which successive generations would understand mental disorders.
Actress 2: (Off-stage. Meanwhile, Actress 1 enters the stage wearing a white nightgown tied at the back; she appears only as a white blur in the darkness, walking until she stops at a point) William Harvey, Marcello Malpighi, Thomas Willis... scientists who studied the nervous system and the existing relationships between sanity and madness. These were the first steps...
Actress 1: (Actress 2, dressed the same, enters in the same manner until she stops at a point. From now on, they remain on stage, though only seen by the light of the bulb as two white blurs floating across the scene) Some scholars innovated by publishing the first pediatric texts on the main internal diseases of the head. Origin, causes, symptomatology... these were years of investigative excitement that heralded the new era of scientific thought.
Actress 2: Not long after, it would be heard... "I must admit that I have never been fortunate enough to cure a patient suffering from the symptoms that undoubtedly denote this disease."
Actress 1: "So vile and miserable is the human condition that not only do men live tormented by innumerable ailments, but even fetuses are not exempt from evils and disorders in their uterine confinement, even before joyfully breathing the vital air and seeing the light..."
Actress 2: Melancholy or delirium, mania without delirium, mania with delirium, dementia or suppression of the faculty of reasoning... idiocy or annulment of the intellectual faculties and affects... Patients were driven like herds into overcrowded rooms with wretched beds, where they were thrown without distinction of diseases;
Actress 1: Two, four, six, and even twelve people slept together in various positions. By the natural course of the times, medical assistance was limited, as was religious assistance, despite the disproportionate number of priests and nuns...
Actress 2: Hotel Dieu, Paris 1606, a royal order by which all idiots and mentally ill were sheltered... (Clarifying) According to the language of the time...
Actress 1: (Sharp, serious, resolving) The women... (Silence)... The women were housed in the Salpétriere... 7,000 women all dressed in coarse sackcloth. Five inmates slept in one bed; the diet consisted of a bowl of porridge, 30 grams of meat, and three slices of bread.
Actress 2: The stench was unbearable. More than 1,000 mentally ill women—those deprived of reason—huddled in one wing of the building in the most deplorable conditions... All of them, men and women, bound by chains and shackles. (Threateningly) "Woe to you if you deceive me and hide enemies of the people among your madmen."
Actress 1: But some more years of confinement and torture would pass before the knowledge of the disease received its next great impulse from the hand of the Frenchman Philipe Pinel.
Actress 2: In the era of progress, 19th-century Europe brought with it the understanding of mental disorders. Scientific bases were established, leaving behind ideas of doubtful origin and verification...
Actress 1: (Beginning to leave the stage through a side wing, though she finishes this line right at the edge before disappearing) Since ancient times, mental illness was attributed to supernatural causes: a condemnation of the soul, a demonic possession, an enchantment, a crime, antisocial behavior, a vice, (Looks at Actress 2 with a certain humor and hallucination...) a stone in the head!
Actress 2: (Does the same as Actress 1 but on the opposite side, also stopping at the exit) For a good part of humanity, madness was a sentence... and the madmen... were guilty. The healers were little more than inquisitors... Fortunately, this changes... and now we find ourselves at the dawn of considering mental deterioration as a disease.
Actress 1: (Speaking off-stage, her voice fading) Pinel symbolically liberated all mental patients and replaced the term "madman" with "alienated." His greatest contribution was conferring scientific status to the treatment of the sick psyche.
Actress 2: (Doing the same, also off-stage) And after Pinel’s starting pistol, the 20th century brought the theories of Kraepelin, Jaspers, and Freud... (Silence... nostalgia) Ah... Sigmund Freud. So loved and so hated at the same time...
Actress 1: (Off-stage) More than 70,000 people with mental disorders were murdered in gas chambers in pursuit of the purity of the human race, the Aktion T4 program, World War II...
Actress 2: (Concluding, off-stage) Unfortunately, the understanding of madness is still very far from being complete.
The music swells louder and louder, with only the dim lightbulb on stage, which will remain throughout the play...
ACT ONE
The music from the introduction stops abruptly when Gregoria appears. As she speaks her first words, a potent white light illuminates the main setting: a waiting room, perhaps for a psychiatrist. Only basic elements: a door, a sofa or waiting chairs, some lamps, and a small desk with a chair and a standing ashtray. Some stools are at the sides of the sofa.
Gregoria appears. She is about 40, tall, thin, well-dressed in a suit, carrying a briefcase or bag. She has class and elegance.
Gregoria: (Talking on the phone) No, no, no... No. We’ve already discussed that matter in several board meetings. The restructuring of the staff remains at the disposal of the high-ranking executive, that is, at my disposal. If there is something humanity has done well, it’s... the distribution of power, the classes. No matter what they say, they still exist.
(Light laughter) Yes, yes... otherwise, everything is fine... (More relaxed) A bit of a busy morning, but fine. You know I’m one of those who function better with activity. I can’t stop. Yes... (interacting), anyway, today after leaving the office I stopped by the salon and got some tanning rays. Doesn't hurt between meetings. At this time of year, if the sun won't come to see me... As soon as I have a few days off, I’m heading to the apartment in Lloret: sleeping, eating, walking... anyway, those pleasures only allowed to those who have nothing in their heads.
(She lights a cigarette while listening to her interlocutor on the phone)
Arturo? Arturo... (thoughtful). Arturo is fine. Yes, yes, very well, thank you. He’s away for a few days now, I think. With his family, the village... (Lacking credibility). I’ll give them your regards. (Nervous) Now? No, no... I can’t right now. (Making it up) I’m waiting to go into a meeting. In fact, I have to go, (in a low voice, pretending someone is calling her). They’re calling me, let’s talk later. Kisses.
(She stays alone on stage, pacing from one side to the other)
(After a silence) Every day I trust the human being less. You can't trust anyone. (Continues smoking) I trust the external forms of bodies, the figures... of the interior, I have more misgivings. I find it hard to believe in anyone's goodness. If it’s already shitty being here since no one asked me if I wanted to come... it’s even shittier to find someone with good intentions.
(She approaches the ashtray to put out her cigarette)
(On the other side of the stage, a woman appears. She seems about the same age as Gregoria, perhaps a year or two older, though she doesn't project the same presence. In reality, she is a more classic woman, dressed like an older woman, even with some eccentric element in her clothing, composed of a long skirt and a cardigan. The eccentric element might be due to not being very mentally centered. She arrives a bit out of breath; she stops upon entering. A bag hangs from her shoulder)
Silence. Glances. Gregoria continues putting out the cigarette.
Martirio: Hello.
Gregoria: (Still putting out the cigarette, without looking at her, indifferent. After a while) Hello.
Martirio: (Takes only one step forward. Silence...) The elevator isn't working. (Gregoria looks at her indifferently, not insulting, but indifferent), though well... taking the stairs isn't bad either.
Gregoria: The elevator isn't working because nothing ever works. And taking the stairs, to a fifth floor, is a bitch. (Looking at the door)
Martirio: (Starting to take off her cardigan and set down her bag) Are you also here for Doctor Carrión's consultation?
Gregoria: Yes... (Slower), yes, yes. I’m here to see Doctor Carrión, (hurrying) but only to ask him a few questions. I won't be long. I have work, meetings, reports... Actually, I came because I know him and I drop by from time to time to say hello. Friend of the family, from the tennis club... (Walks behind the sofa where the other woman is now sitting). I’ll be leaving shortly.
Martirio: (After a long, complicated silence) I... I’m here because I’m going crazy. (Gregoria reacts but says nothing, surprised. After a silence) Yes, crazy. (Lighter) But don't be scared. (While she continues messing with her bag, fixing things, etc.) But not crazy like I’m going to start shooting at everyone... no, no; nor crazy like shouting naked in the middle of Gran Vía. (Laughing) Can you imagine?... Oh, no, no, no... (Gregoria remains standing, listening without saying a word, perhaps moved). I’m... (as if thinking), a little crazy. Yes. Crazy from not being able to stop crying or crazy from stuffing myself with meds so I don't fall deeper into the pit... (In her own world) Crazy from spending ten hours straight in front of the TV... mostly watching "El Diario de Patricia," which is where I realize there are people worse off than me... even if it's a lie... (She smiles).
(Gregoria has moved, but still doesn't speak; she has stood by the consultation door, impatient, waiting to be called. Martirio continues talking, looking at her watch)
Martirio: Oh, my son must have finished work by now. Well, that’s if his boss didn't ask him to finish some task. (Looking at Gregoria). He trusts him a lot. He’s an engineer... civil. I like to be home when he returns at night, so we can have dinner together. So he can tell me how it went, if he had any problems. He’s 21. He’s so handsome... and good. (Looking at the watch again) But today... (looks again), today it won't be possible. Anyway, I left the fish in the oven for him. He really likes hake with pepper and onion... Green pepper. (Naive, tender) He doesn't like red because it reminds him of blood, and since he was little, he said he would never eat anything red... (Reflects and realizes something). Actually, I never eat white foods... Butter, milk, cheese... (In another tone, perhaps more melancholic). His father doesn't need hake, or onion... or pepper. (More serious) Nor me. At least he loves his children.
Gregoria: (Cutting her off) Does this doctor always take this long?
Martirio: (Looking at her, after a silence) Are you expected?
Gregoria: (Energetic) Yes, yes... I had a very important meeting.
Martirio: In fact, no one is expecting me...
Gregoria: But... what about your son?
Martirio: (Thinking) My son has the hake ready in the oven.
Gregoria: (Stepping away from the door, moving forward a few steps) And your husband?
Martirio: My husband? (Resolving) In Spain, there are 457 automobiles, 407 landlines, one bank office, and eight catering activities, such as cafes, bars, or restaurants, for every 1,000 inhabitants. One bar for every 125 inhabitants. Do you think my husband has time for other things?
Gregoria: (Takes out another cigarette and the lighter, though she doesn't light it. She puts it in her mouth but takes it out to speak) Spain, and this land we live in, is a complete lie. They educate us since we are children, making us believe in the idyll of life. We grow up among false images of spontaneous happiness... and what? In the end, alone like rats. Alone... all of us. This isn't something that happens to just a few. This is everyone's thing. We are born alone, we live alone, and we go alone "to the other side."
Martirio: My friend Elvira has a beautiful family and an exemplary life.
Gregoria: And I suppose she comes to rub it in your face a lot.
Martirio: Yes, weekly, at the Thursday coffee.
Gregoria: Your friend Elvira is alone like everyone else. (Lights the cigarette. Smokes. Silence).
Martirio: Hey, hey... I don't think you can smoke here.
Gregoria: But... but there’s an ashtray...
Martirio: Yeah, I know. (Innocent, amused) But it's for throwing away tissues. In these offices, people cry a lot. And not so much the patients... We patients bring it all cried out from home. What happens is that sometimes parents come with their children. Sometimes I observe them when the son is inside with the doctor. At first, one of them goes in with him. But later they leave him alone inside, so they can explain, and I stay with the parents, listening to them.
Gregoria: (With a certain mockery) Do you play psychiatrist?
Martirio: (Defending herself, incisive) No, I play person... (After a silence, in a slow, serene tone). And I ask them why they bring their son to the psychiatrist. And they tell me they don't know. Because he’s not well. Because he’s become violent when he wasn't, evasive... because he’s afraid to leave the house... And I tell them not to worry, that what he’s afraid of is life, (already talking to herself)... and that that, that happens to everyone... (Silence). But they keep crying because they believe their son is slipping away from them... and they don't know that in reality, the ones slipping away are them; we are always the ones escaping from our children's lives...
Silence.
Gregoria: (Breaking the other woman's light drama) Children are cysts that grow on adults who don't take care of themselves. (Starts getting nervous, takes out her phone, dials a number) Sergio?... Sergio, listen (a bit exalted)... listen. You start the meeting for me. Listen... listen to me! I won't make it to the meeting... No, no, no... I don't want you to cancel it. What I want is for you to start for me. As soon as I arrive, I’ll take over what's left. But I can't right now. I’m finishing some last-minute matters... yes, yes. I thought I’d finish earlier but I’ve been delayed. If I don't arrive in time, I want all the reports in my office, and a summary of the administrative conclusions that have been proposed. I will make the final decision in less than 48 hours. (Hangs up and walks to the door, anxious. Leans her head against the door and tries to listen to what's happening inside. Thinks about knocking, restrains herself...).
Martirio: Don't bother... the world of psychiatry is full of silences. You never hear anything. (After a silence in which Gregoria is disappointed, she stops). There is a strange myth that we madmen spend the day screaming, hysterical... (irony, sweetness) and it’s true (smiling), but when we come to the office, we seem cured, serene. It’s funny; it seems that upon leaving through that door, upon returning to our lives, that’s when the madness is back inside us.
Gregoria: No wonder. The lives of some of you are enough to drive anyone crazy.
Martirio: Yes, it’s true. (After a silence) And you? Doesn't it happen to you?
Gregoria: To me? No, no... it doesn't happen to me. I control every aspect of my life.
Martirio: Sometimes the problem comes from excessive control over what we do.
Gregoria: (Angry) You insist on finding in me...
Martirio: (Cuts her off) No, no... excuse me. I insist on occupying the waiting time in this tedious room.
Gregoria: (Starts walking around the scene, behind the chairs where Martirio is. A moment, after thinking much, she stops right behind her to confess something) Actually...
Martirio: (While Gregoria walked behind her, she has taken her phone from her bag, dialed a number and waits for a response, though it seems to go to voicemail. When Gregoria says "Actually," Martirio cuts her off). Hi Victor, it's Mom. I’m calling your mobile but it’s going to voicemail. So I’m speaking... I left the hake with onion in the oven for you. If you find it cold, you just have to heat it for two minutes in the microwave. I won't make it home in time, (Gregoria gives up on waiting to speak and goes to the table where she left her folder. She takes out papers and seems to start working), I’m at the doctor's office. You just have to heat it if it’s gone cold... the hake. Two minutes. It’s in the oven... Kisses from your mother (Gesticulates a couple of kisses and turns off the phone, puting it away).
Gregoria: (In her own business, and after a brief silence, with a certain sarcasm) I wonder if your son will find the hake, and if he’ll know how long to heat it if it’s gone cold for him.
Martirio: (Laughing, sweet) It’s normal. Poor thing is very busy. He works a lot...
Gregoria: Work? Did you say work?..... This is work....
(Gregoria continues with her papers. The other woman watches her from the armchair. Gregoria, noticing this, puffs herself up and starts a flurry of signing, paperwork... starts giving herself importance, calling attention... until Martirio, who follows her for a while, stops looking at her... When Gregoria sees that Martirio is no longer paying attention, she starts, like a child, making noises so she looks again... Martirio, after looking again, begins a small speech to herself, with her gaze intentionally lost).
Martirio: (After a slight silence) There are two things that make life worth living. Peace is one of them... the other, that your family is well. (Thinks) The problem for many like me is that when the second is fulfilled, the first is missing. It’s curious... I’m 44. Married (with an ironic gesture, somewhat resigned). Married, what you call married, I am. With the suit and the coins. The banquet and the cruise... married. A husband who comes home around twelve at night and leaves at six in the morning. What more for? I think I remember the last time we spoke was last Thursday... or Wednesday... no, Thursday... Two sons. Victor, 21... (to Gregoria) the hake one. And Carlos, 19. (Reflecting with irony) These two are definitely faithful. They don't fail me one bit. Punctual, by my side. Especially at lunchtime, from two to two-fifteen. They eat, leave everything a mess, and go. I get up every morning to make coffee for my husband, basically to chat for a bit. I end up drinking his and mine alone... given how much it shakes me up (Light laughter). I start with the house, wake up the boys, make their breakfast, the sandwich, the clothes, the room, their books, the ironing, the garden, the dust, the kitchen, the dishes, their slippers... No, busy, busy I am. After eating, I clear the table, finish the kitchen, put the laundry on... two a day, rare is the day I don't put them on... hey! some days I put on even three... I leave dinner made and I sit in an armchair for hours... Waiting. (Silence). Waiting for the next day, which will be the same. The same as yesterday and the day after tomorrow.
(The woman remains in her thoughts, somewhat distressed, takes a pill bottle from her bag, takes one and swallows it; the other, pretending to work on her business, almost unmoved by what she's told).
When I was young and dreamed of starting a family with children and a husband like Rock Hudson, I don't know if I meant exactly this. (Resolving) I’m no Doris Day, I know, but... The other day, right here in the waiting room, there were two elderly ladies arguing about the origin of madness. One said it was from the radiation of mobile phones from holding them so close to the head. The other because on TV you see very strange things that end up influencing you. (Sad, thinking). And I tell myself that I feel very alone, and more so every day. That neither my husband nor my sons need me, nor do I need myself anymore. (Silence, takes out her phone to see if anyone called, waiting for something). At first, it was depression, mood swings. But that got worse. We madmen are like actors, we never retire. We die with our boots on... (looking at Gregoria, as if provoking her)... when we die... of dying...
Gregoria has started to get nervous and reacts again by standing up.
Gregoria: I don't like this place, I don't like the people...
Martirio: (Reacting to what she heard) But... but we’re alone...
Gregoria: (Noticed seeking activity, approaching the woman on the sofa) Do you read?
Martirio: (Surprised at first, but flexible to the question) Yes, Luis Sepúlveda. (Looking ahead) "The Old Man Who Read Love Stories."
Gregoria: (Concluding, wanting to make something clear) I don't read... oh, no way. I don't read. I can't. I don't have time. (Brilliant). The management of the company leaves me almost no free time. I coordinate the management of 4 buildings spread all over Spain; the personnel, the budgets... Right now I actually had a meeting with the works committees. We were going to talk about the restructuring of the staff. I imagine it’s already started without me. (Returns to her papers).
Martirio: I also really like Mario.
Gregoria: Eh?
Martirio: (Obvious, as something everyone knows)... Mario.
Gregoria: (In the papers) I don't remember exactly where I left the graphic balance of the last fiscal year.
Martirio: Don't you think he’s been valued more for his poetry than for his prose?
Gregoria: (To her own business) I think all this documentation is... (pensative).
Martirio: I always carry "The Truce" with me (takes it from her bag and flips through until she finds a specific text. She reads). "It is evident that God granted me a dark destiny. Not even cruel. Simply dark. It is evident that He granted me a truce. At first, I resisted believing that this could be happiness. I resisted with all my might, then I gave in and believed it. But it wasn't happiness, it was only a truce. Now I’m back in my destiny. And it is darker than before, much more." (Silence. Reflection). This book makes me think how beautiful pain can become.
Gregoria: (Reacting) How beautiful pain can become?
Martirio: (Looking puzzled) In the novel, there is pain, as in life. It’s good to learn to live with that.
Gregoria: Good? You think so? Has it been good for you?... (Somewhat dismissive). But, have you looked at yourself?... (After thinking what to say). Some people like you are capable of paying more than a hundred euros to come here for less than an hour... (With sarcasm) to cure yourselves of your illness, only to conclude by saying "this book makes me think how beautiful pain can become."
Martirio: Don't you have pain?
Gregoria: (Struck) I don't have time to feel it.
Martirio: (Repeats more slowly) Listen, don't you have pain?
Gregoria: (Reacting somewhat annoyed and even slightly violent) Don't you think that with that thought you deserve a bit of what you have? (The woman on the sofa looks at her, or doesn't, saying nothing. Perhaps her gaze is lost in nothingness). I hate defeatism, victimhood, pessimism...
Martirio: (Changing the subject, presumably out of interest) Your job must be exciting.
Gregoria: (Who was returning to her papers and is surprised to hear this. After a silence) Yes, yes it is.
Martirio: It must be exciting to get up every morning, get pretty, put on a face full of makeup, and go to a position of responsibility like yours. That everyone waits for you, that everyone receives your orders, your rules. Feeling that you are someone and that you do something... It must be...
(A silence covers the scene. The woman on the sofa remains thinking, the other a bit nervous).
Gregoria: (Standing up or sitting up suddenly, exalted) But what is this doctor doing with the patients? Is he eating them? I have a meeting, papers, I have so much to do. (Takes the phone out again, dials, but desperately hangs up and puts it away again. The other woman, still seated, takes out a pill bottle, shakes it so the content is heard, and asks her):
Martirio: Do you want one?
The first one goes to the woman, without stopping looking at the pill bottle; when she arrives and reaches out her hand to take it, the woman puts them away immediately, with a certain sadistic sarcasm:
Martirio: Well, maybe these aren't the ones you take... (and puts them in her bag).
Gregoria: (Scared) You? What are you doing here?
Martirio: (Looking the other way as if there were another person. Speaks with confidence and extends a hand) Hello... yes, it's me.
Gregoria: (Reacting a bit violently, slapping the woman's hand away, or at least pushing it away) Leave me alone... And don't touch me... (Calms down a bit, goes to the left side near the ashtray, somewhat more relaxed and conscious, as if this had been a crisis, a hallucination perhaps). And don't tell me your life story anymore, woman... for God's sake. You reek of vulgarity. I have a lot of work. Can't you see? I have a lot to do and here everyone is bothering me... (Returns to the door. Definitively knocks on it with her knuckles, calls a couple of times. Waits. Defeated upon seeing that no one opens, she returns to her desk and collapses; Martirio has been emotionally touched by how the other woman spoke to her, they both remain somewhat absorbed. The light changes, with music, and in the next scene we see Martirio who has fallen asleep where she was sitting. Gregoria takes a golden pearl necklace from her bag, she does it like a child discovering a treasure, looks at it and puts it on; touches it and stands up to show it to the other woman, but realizes she’s asleep and gets angry, again, like a small child; without making noise she returns to her place, and when she goes to sit down she grabs the chair, lifts it, and sits down abruptly causing a loud noise. Martirio wakes up startled, and Gregoria continues with her business as if it had nothing to do with her. Martirio wakes up little by little, looks at the door, the clock, Gregoria, etc... puts the bag on her lap and takes out various things inside).
Martirio: (To the other) Do you want a piece of gum?
Gregoria: (At first looks at her like someone hearing a noise, but ignores her. Then answers, looking at her things) No, no...
Martirio: A magazine?
Gregoria: No.
Martirio: A chocolate bar?
Gregoria: No...
(A few seconds of silence. The woman on the sofa resigns. But tries again).
Martirio: Water? (The other stands up, goes towards her "defeated" by her rival who won't stop insisting, the scene is comical. When she gets to her side, she realizes she doesn't have any bottle). I don't have water.
Gregoria: Then why do you offer me water if you don't have any?
Martirio: Because if you want, I can go down and buy one for both of us, there’s a supermarket right downstairs.
Gregoria: (Can't believe the situation, but the scene is comical, I repeat. Starts returning to her place) No, no need... Oh. (When she’s about to get back to her business, she takes out a small fan and fans herself, making some gestures and moans that catch the attention of the woman on the sofa... then looks back and sees that woman who has been sitting all afternoon. Looks at her for a few seconds and speaks to her again). And what's wrong with you...?
Martirio: (Knowing the woman wants to know her name) Martirio. My name is Martirio. My mother was a bit visionary in picking that name for me.
Gregoria: Yes, back then parents had very little taste...
Martirio: (Animated) Yes... yes, yes. And you? You are named?
Gregoria: Back then, you know, the parents... (Wanting to hide it). Gregoria.
(After holding it in, both burst out laughing).
Martirio: (Definitely more animated) But I go by Marta. I say it's Marta, from Martirio.
Gregoria: Right... (Laughs. Irony). And I’m Jennifer, why the fuck not? From Gregoria, Jennifer.
(After both laughing again, especially Gregoria, the tone of the scene recomposes, and Martirio prepares to tell what’s happening).
Martirio: The emotional life. (Gregoria looks at her, Martirio makes a gesture for her to sit with her, Gregoria hesitates, distrusts, and finally settles by her side to listen). Yes, the emotional life. Human beings have two lives. On one hand, the physiological, and on the other, the emotional. Bah! In reality, they are only one. Every emotion has a physiological component. When we get emotional, our hearts beat faster; when we blush, our cheeks turn red...
Gregoria: (Listening attentively) And you...?
Martirio: (Doesn't hesitate in the answer) What hurts me is the emotional life... Emotional life pain is like a disease that devours you from the inside. (Slowly) It’s like a fist that grabs you by the neck and tightens more every day... I go to sleep late every night. I don't want to go to bed because I know that the next thing after going to bed is getting up. (Concluding) And many days I don't want to get up. Other days I get up and run to the bathroom mirror because I’ve dreamed that I’m someone else. I have the need, the illusion, of being someone else. Thinking that today I’m no longer me. That I’m another person, with another life... with other lives... Last night, for example, I dreamed I was Iñaki Gabilondo, imagine what nonsense... (Lowering the tone, the mood). But when I look in the mirror... well, it’s me... it’s me again. With my misery, with my sadness... With my madness, perhaps. Yes, I suppose so... (Looking at Gregoria who has followed attentively, very attentively, to Martirio)... And that’s why I come. Bua! In reality, it's pure bureaucracy. We come to the psychiatrist, tell (little) of what's happening, take medicines. You start off bad... psychologist. They see you worse... psychiatrist. Now, I can't deny the tranquilizing effect of the pills... the chemical help... the evasion.
Gregoria: (With a thin thread of voice) So?
Martirio: So... so man doesn't live by chemistry alone, right?
Gregoria: (Slightly gives her hand to Martirio, brings it close. Very decided in what she says) What you need to do is get out there. Get rid of everything you have now and take the first train you see...
Martirio: (Almost doesn't let her finish, but with sweet irony) Sometimes I don't know if it’s better to take the train or if it would be more profitable for the train to take me.
Gregoria: Dying? Huge mistake... (Mocking). Throwing yourself at the train, throwing yourself at the train... The one you need to throw yourself at is...
Both: The driver! (Complicity).
(Both laugh, though soon Martirio lowers the pace of the scene again with her sweet pessimism).
Martirio: If I die now, I’ll do it voluntarily, not like the rest of humanity who does it half-complaining... If I kill myself now, I’ll do it by taking the initiative; when I’m raging with pain, they won't offer me that possibility.
Gregoria: (Shakes her head) Kill yourself?
Martirio: Killing oneself is a whim that not everyone can afford. Why stay here?
Gregoria: I don't know either; but once here, I’m not going to spend my days wallowing in my own shit, and less in everyone else's. I want to live every world...
Martirio: (Cuts her off) Even if they are invented? (Gregoria looks at her defiantly, but lets it go. She stands up and seems to return to her business). We can't flee anymore, we’ve already fled enough.
Gregoria: (Turns, stopped) Flee?
Martirio: Many people spend their entire lives fleeing from one place to another... fleeing from happiness. When you flee from a problem, you also flee from the solution. And the solution to a problem always brings happiness. There are people who don't know how to be happy...
Gregoria: (Brilliant, a bit superior) Well, it’s not that hard, dear.
Martirio: (Sweet and sad irony, with a certain grace) What I’m going to do is throw myself from a good eighth or ninth floor... and ker-plop.
Gregoria: (With more irony, though not so sweet) Well of course. And if you find a tenth, all the better, so you don't end up like a vegetable quiche... And the mess for whoever you leave behind, right?
Martirio: What? A madwoman? Nowadays we madmen are useless, we have no value. Zero... No, no... why would my sons want a mother like that? But madmen are surplus even in asylums. A madman is a human being who breaks down, who is no longer useful... (She recomposes herself and adds some humor to the matter).
Gregoria: You madmen are angels looking for refuge in a cruel and mostly ruthless world.
Martirio: (Something comes to mind and she gestures for Gregoria to pay attention) These are two guys in the asylum, Pepe says to María: "María, do you want to marry me?" And María says to him: "Are you crazy?" And Pepe says to her: "And are you here on vacation?"
(Both laugh, and although at first she doesn't understand anything, Gregoria ends up cracking up, which leads Martirio to stop in the end, as the joke wasn't that good).
Gregoria: (Amused, brazen) You are crazy...
Martirio: (To herself)... yeah, and you’re here on vacation...
Gregoria: (Annoyed, but in a half-amused way) Anyway, between a fool and a madman, I’ll take the second without a doubt. A fool is more dangerous. (Despairs again). And this doctor? What is he doing? (Heads to the door, without waiting knocks knuckles repeatedly; since no one opens, she is the one who opens the door, slowly... she stays still at what she sees, as if suddenly scared, taking a step back... music sounds, melancholic, sad... waits a few seconds standing looking into the room. Slams the door shut. Turns to Martirio, from behind; the music lowers but doesn't disappear). I’m going to the bathroom. (Leaves stage right, defeated).
Martirio: (When she sees Gregoria has left): Life is sad, (takes a paper from her bag, a diagnosis from a hospital, heads to the table where Gregoria has her papers, and among them leaves the paper she took from her bag), and especially for people like you and me...
Darkness falls and a music is heard, which will also serve as intermission music.
END OF ACT ONE.
ACT TWO
After the light returns, we see Martirio occupying the opposite side of the sofa she occupied throughout the first act; she is shuffling a deck of cards. In the place she occupied is Gregoria, who has returned from the bathroom and is waiting for Martirio's proposal. The music fades...
Martirio: I always carry a deck in my bag, since I spend so much time in this office...
Gregoria: What a woman... and, what are we going to play?
Martirio: Tute, right?
Gregoria: Oh, great... I’m very good at Tute...
Martirio: (While dealing) We’ll see...
Gregoria: We’ll see...
They play a few hands until Gregoria calls...
Gregoria: 20 in clubs.
Martirio: Damn! Boy, this businesswoman...
Gregoria: (Brilliant, tender) Yes... my father taught me when I was a brat. (Martirio nods). Anyway, in my work, I also have some free time for leisure. Bah! Not much. You know; I have four companies all over Spain, papers, meetings...
Martirio: (Continues playing and listening) Right, I imagine the ones you form in those works committees. I, beyond the meetings with my aunts at mass, which I don't believe in but I go, and with my neighbors on the landing... I don't meet with anyone. And you, I see, nothing but meetings, and more meetings...
Gregoria: (They keep playing, after a silence and throwing a card again) These are mine...
Martirio: (With grace...) These and all of them. This business thing I see awakens ambition, eh? I’m going to have to set up four or five myself... (Continues talking while they play). I, on the other hand, stuck in the house all day, (lowers pace) barely aspire to anything. (Silence. After it, Martirio provides mystery and grace to her speech). Sometimes... (more mystery and more grace at the same time)... sometimes (laughs, high-pitched mad laugh)... sometimes I think about killing my husband. (Silence, Gregoria's shocked astonishment, Martirio continues with sarcasm). To get out of the routine for a bit... (laughs again and provides mystery, grace, and theatricality, boldness). Then I’m going to approach the neighborhood police station with the ham knife and my hands full of blood. My bulging eyes will alert the officer on duty. Officer, officer... I’ve killed my husband (Laughing like a madwoman).
Gregoria: (Wildly) But, are you crazy? What the fuck are you saying? (Martirio approaches her from the table and takes her hand). And don't touch me! (High tension). First suicidal, now homicidal... (Suddenly stands up from the table). You’re not right in the head, lady, you’re not right. (Stays nervous).
Martirio: (With tenderness) No, I’m not right... that’s why I’m here. But don't be scared; it was only a joke. Can you imagine me? (laughs sweetly). Well, with this look I could seem like anything... (Gregoria sits back down and picks up the cards). But no, woman. Not that. (Sadder). If I don't even have the courage to take myself out of the middle. And well, I’ve tried. Actually, I’ve tried to try... But no, no.
Gregoria: 40 in hearts...
Martirio: (Silence, and laughter). But boy, 40 in hearts! 40 in hearts! Well, let’s toast, woman. (Martirio with the flask, Gregoria with the plastic cup). For, for... (Hesitates), for my husband, (and laughs), that I haven't killed yet... (They laugh, silence... Direct to Gregoria) And for yours, right?
Gregoria: (Disconcerted) Yes, yes... and for mine.
Martirio: (Wipes her mouth after a gulp) They’ve called me selfish for wanting to blow my brains out. Selfish for not thinking about those I leave behind. Selfish, me! Selfish, them who want to keep me here even if I don't want to be... (Suddenly changing). But, I won't bore you anymore with my speech...
Gregoria: (A bit spaced out, changing the subject completely, brilliant) You know? The graphic balance of the financial activity of my companies is one of the most optimal in the current business sector in Spain. I always have so much work, papers, meetings... Actually right now (looks at her watch), yes, yes, right now I should be in a very important meeting to...
Martirio: (Defiantly) To?
Gregoria: ...to analyze some machinery purchases, bah! management. I have to be on top of everything all day...
Martirio: Well, I’m usually more like at the bottom... bottom of it all.
Gregoria: 20 in clubs... (Martirio reacts like with an "oh")... But, do you know how to play this?
Martirio: Me? No. Not much.
Gregoria: Then why?
Martirio: Well... the social game. I try not to waste any occasion for human contact. I spend so much time alone.
Gregoria: (Amused) Shameless; and me wasting time with you, with everything I have to do...
(Both throw the cards on the table at the same time; while Gregoria goes for her papers again, Martirio stays at the table picking up the cards. Gregoria picks up the papers that had remained on her briefcase next to the ashtray, and picks up an unknown paper she found among the pile).
Gregoria: (Reads aloud after a silence in which something seems to have surprised her; Martirio reacts from the first word). "Manic depressive disorder with behavioral disturbances and other associated disorders: in sleep,..."
Martirio and Gregoria: (At the same time) "...nutrition, affectivity, activity, and language."
Martirio: (Gregoria stops reading aloud although follows to the letter what Martirio continues saying, looking at her). "As well as in sphincter control, sexuality, mood, and social relations..."
(After a silence Martirio stands up and goes towards Gregoria who remains with the paper in hand).
Martirio: (Picking up the paper) Excuse me, I must have dropped it earlier. (Sits down again).
Gregoria: (Frozen since she read it; approaches Martirio from behind. Martirio looks ahead. Speaks with sadness, perhaps a trembling voice and very, very slowly, shock, tact). And... and, is all this what's happening to you?
Martirio: (Looking ahead, with Gregoria right behind; leaves a silence and changes the subject radically, to liven the moment though conscious of the climate she achieved). Have I told you the story of my cat already?
Gregoria: (Still shocked behind Martirio. Shakes her head very slowly at Martirio's question. Though she still thinks of the previous. Almost imperceptible voice). No.
Martirio: (Always looking ahead) Years ago, I’d be 5 or 6, I asked the three kings for a cat. Since I didn't know if what they’d bring was a cat, or on the contrary, would be a female, I prepared two names. If it were a cat he’d be named Manolo, like my father. And if it were female, Estrella, like a rag doll I had. My anxiety was so high to have it and care for it that I spent twenty days practicing... (Represents how she’d be with the cat). Manolo! (looking elsewhere), Estrella!. (repeats) Manolo!, Estrella!, (making gestures as if chasing a cat but sitting in her chair), Manolo!, Estrella!.
Gregoria: (More animated by the story although still moved) And in the end?
Martirio: (Categorical) In the end it was a cat.
Gregoria: Great... and he was named?
Martirio: Manolo Estrella!
Gregoria: (Between amazed and amused) Aha, nice name for a cat...
Martirio: (Laughing) Thing is, it’s always been very hard for me to decide, I’ve been indecisive... yes, very indecisive.
Gregoria: And... what became of Manolo Estrella?
Martirio: He died.
Gregoria: Yes, I could imagine that happening after 40 years. I meant if he never suffered any identity crisis.
Martirio: (Between tender and surreal) My Manolo Estrella? Oh, no, no... no. He was always a happy cat. He was so happy by my side that even when he died I had him taxidermied and I still keep him in a little box next to the suit I have prepared for my shroud...
Martirio and Gregoria turn to each other. Martirio laughs suddenly, Gregoria follows, though more lightly.
Martirio: Did you believe it? (laughing).
Gregoria: (Sure) No, no...
Martirio: (Both return to the initial position, one behind the other). Well, it's true... (After a silence destined to analyze all the previous, Martirio looks at Gregoria from above). Come closer. (So they put heads together, but Gregoria is a bit wary). Come closer... don't fear. (Gregoria does it slowly, until almost touching heads; the office light disappears and an intimate one is created, only for the two of them). Do you see this line? (Pointing with her finger right in front of her to an imaginary line. Gregoria tries to see it). Do you see it? This line is what separates what is from what isn't. The real from the fictitious. This line separates what we see from what we invent. We are all on one side or the other of the line... and there isn't much difference between both sides. It’s a very thin line that makes it so we can just as soon be in one place as in another. Madness is separated from sanity by this very fine thread so easy to cross. You can be here (pointing to one side), and almost without realizing pass to the other side (points to it too). It’s such a short path...
Gregoria: (After a painful, long silence that made her think, and raising her head almost completely, returning to the previous light. To break the pace of Martirio's speech): Manolo Estrella! (And both laugh exaggeratedly looking ahead). Oh, Manolo Estrella... I can't believe it...
Both remain in silence. Martirio with a sad gesture, in her own things. Gregoria a bit stunned still. Gregoria, who was stopped, starts picking up all the papers and putting them in her briefcase. Martirio, leaning on the table, decides to start playing a solitaire. When Gregoria finishes picking everything up, she sits back in her chair, with Martirio in front.
Gregoria: Do you know the world population rates? (With interest, repetitive). Eh? (Martirio responds with a gesture, though says nothing. Gregoria continues brilliantly). Six billion people! Six billion people...
Martirio: Yes.
Gregoria: I have serious doubts if in that amount of people there are as many people as busy as me... (Back in her truth, her delirium, perhaps). I have so much work, papers, meetings...
Martirio: (With sarcasm, boldness, joy). Yes, yes. It seems it’s just Woody Allen, a gentleman from Burgos, and you... (Laughing).
Gregoria: It's true, that gentleman makes movies like crazy,
Martirio: Yes, many, many.
Gregoria: (Amused, very innocent) But they aren't all good...
Martirio: No, not all, not all...
Gregoria: (Looking haughtily at Martirio) But, do you go to the movies?
Martirio: To the movies? No, no... it’s very dark.
Gregoria: Oh, you’re afraid of the dark...
Martirio: No, not me... no, no...
Gregoria: But you just told me that...
Suddenly a clock sounds, like a cuckoo but louder. It strikes ten times... darkness. Upon return of light Martirio leaves the scene, with her bag, on the right feeling her way without the other woman noticing. Gregoria remains in her position next to the papers, very distressed, breathing hard...
Gregoria: (Talking to herself, and somewhat desperate. Nervous). I can't miss that meeting. I can't miss it. I can't. I can't miss it. (Takes the phone from the briefcase and repeats almost the same scene from the previous act, but different, more nervous, more desperate...) Sergio? Yes, Sergio. Listen, listen to me. You start the meeting for me. Yes, yes... No, I don't want you to suspend it. What I want is for you to start for me. As soon as I finish some matters I’m doing I’ll take responsibility. I thought I’d finish in time, but I couldn't. I couldn't, damn it, I couldn't; if I don't arrive in time I want all the conclusions in my office. I will make a decision within 48 hours. (the last words she can barely articulate).
(Gregoria realizes she is alone, and continues with her state of nerves, restlessness. Heads to the right side of the scene to look for her companion. Stops at the end of the side exactly where Martirio left).
Gregoria: (Speaking to the place where she went). Hey... (after a few seconds waiting)... hey...
(Stays still a few seconds there, and then returns and sits where Martirio was sitting during the first act, where she repeats a new "hey" very weak, fragile, almost broken. At this moment Gregoria truly evidences what is happening. The light changes as she moves to another state: Gregoria's mind, alone on stage. A sequence of stereotypies begins, slight movements... that evidence Gregoria is having the onset of a psychotic episode...)
Gregoria: It happened that the dogs, riddled with fleas, barked like beasts that afternoon. In the room the little ones played with their cardboard boxes and colored fabrics, and the older ones cleaned and picked up the mess on the ground floor. Dad and Mom traveled continuously. That day they had gone to the shopping center by the river. Christmas Eve was coming and provisions were scarce in our cold-colored house. Darío was turning 3 that December 24 and Sofía had finished preschool that summer. Camilo and I were past 12 and hadn't reached 15. The snow had covered the roads and the edges of the paths. The river came down frozen from the mountains with its premonitory message... (Suddenly stands up as if talking to her mother...)
Mama! Mama! I want those little chocolate and almond cakes... yes, those. And sodas with bubbles... (Tenderly). Mama... (After a silence). Mama put on her violet dress and her black cloth coat with her silk scarf, the only one she had, but it always looked like new when knotted on her neck. (With pride). She looked like an Italian movie actress. (Sits back down) Dad with his very thin mustache drove the car with his bright gaze and his sparse hair... (Dignified) That year we would eat turkey. Dad had worked hard in his workshop and had saved enough to buy it. Mama would stew it in our coal kitchen installed in the gap of the stairs.
(Suddenly stands up and grabs the briefcase that had fallen from her lap when she stood, and takes out some drawings she carries inside). Camilo! Camilo! Look, look what drawings I’ve prepared for the table. Mama and Papa will be very happy. The room is already clean. Yes, yes... it's clean now. Let's get the linen tablecloth and set a beautiful table. It's Christmas Eve... We’ll have turkey, we’ll drink soda, with bubbles, and we’ll sing carols until Darío and Sofía sleep... The snow was melting from the rain that was swallowing it...
(Gregoria repeats the last part of the phrase "swallowing it" several times. The sound of rain has begun to be heard, louder and louder. She throws herself to the ground, on her knees, and rocks back and forth. The sound of rain, which is in her mind, remains intense until suddenly the sound of a car braking sharply and colliding loudly is heard. This sound has made Gregoria cover her head; it wasn't very dramatic but she tried to shield herself from that sound, that memory, which is prolonged... the woman stays in that position, in that pain, in that memory... when the car sound ends, firefighters, shouts, etc. are heard... until it diminishes and gives way to a complicated, jumbled, even psychedelic melody... a melody that reflects the disorder in Gregoria's mind, who after continuing rocking has stood up and doesn't stop moving around the scene, desperate until she picks up some drawings from the floor, refuges in them and rocks... so for quite a while until Martirio enters the scene again. She hears nothing because the sounds are in Gregoria's mind; she approaches her as she moves nervously. When Martirio is right behind Gregoria she puts a hand on her shoulder. The sound, the melody, stops at once, suddenly: what stops is Gregoria's thought, who turns).
Martirio: Did I take too long? (Gregoria stares at her in silence. From this moment the woman tries to recompose from everything she lived and walks slowly around the scene, picking up her briefcase, her things... and Martirio follows behind, always, in good spirits without stopping talking, with a certain grace...). Thing is, I was in the bathroom... (with amused embarrassment) menstruation... I thought: for the two or three periods I have left, better enjoy it... And I’ve been recording it with my phone. (laughs, a bit crazy). Then a sister-in-law called me. I have a very special sister-in-law... My sister-in-law has the characteristic of always being in bed. Once she was up for 6 hours straight and it was an event... I on the other hand spend the day sitting in an armchair... With this "exam-studying" ass I’m getting, I see my end clearer every day: (relates it very graphically)... villa; outskirts of the city; alone like a rat and weighing 150 kilos. Sitting on the sofa watching TV with a 2.5-kilo tub of ice cream, and surrounded by cats and trash... with social services banging on the windows... "Ma'am, ma'am..." (laughs), what a picture! (Martirio continues talking with Gregoria—always silent and sunken—who is now on her knees picking up papers from the floor, putting them in the briefcase: Martirio kneels to help her). Can I help? (Gregoria slams the briefcase shut, hard, violent, so Martirio won't even approach; she continues talking and Gregoria stands up little by little picking up what was left). Maybe you think I talk too much, eh? Actually I talk so much my husband told me one day my tongue was going to get a tan... My husband doesn't say much to me, but when he does, he says it very well...
Do you like history? I like it a lot. History is the only thing that can unite us people. Yes... History makes it so we understand what happened so it doesn't happen again. History must not be forgotten. Who denies it is condemned to live it all again. To me, that "what's past is past" doesn't work, nor "you shouldn't stir the past"... none of that...
I like history, well... history and cinema: Amelie, Singin' in the Rain... Cinema Paradiso. Do you like cinema? Cinema reflects what we are and what we sometimes forget to be... who among us hasn't been Totó once? The problem is when there’s nothing new to discover... (Gregoria has already finished picking everything up, recomposing, fixing herself and with her briefcase on her arm she goes in the opposite direction to Martirio)... Hey....... hey.
Gregoria: (Turns to look at her, she doesn't speak by shouting, but with a broken, weak, sunken voice). I can't take it anymore... (Silence, complicated, between the two. Glances)... I can't take it anymore.
(Silence and glances continue. Both standing. Face to face. A very emotional moment. Suddenly Martirio moves. Gregoria stays in the same position she was in when she emitted her last words).
Martirio: (Turns and grabs a white coat she finds hanging on the "consultation" door, from behind. Gregoria stays still in her place, stunned). All right... And? (Martirio also grabs a clipboard, notes, where she seems to write things down. Writes something in it and heads back to Gregoria stopping right in front of her. Speaks to her tenderly. Gregoria barely nods or emits a very slight gesture, weakness). How have you felt? (Gregoria says nothing. Martirio puts a hand on her shoulder, although Gregoria rejects it but without violence, very slightly). You say nothing? Well, for me you’ve done perfectly. (Continues noting in her folder, anything). I am Doctor Carrión. From now on we will see each other almost every day. What we’ve done is a technique we use with patients who have been in the unit for a short time. (Hand on the shoulder again, although Gregoria, from weakness, says nothing). In the next sessions we will continue working. (With complicity, tact, affection... almost in Gregoria's ear). By the way, I’ve read in your reports that you really like sweets... Well, I’ll tell you, just between us... tomorrow there’s custard tart for lunch... (Together, with Martirio's guidance they head towards the door, which was actually Gregoria's room. She stays there, the other woman starts to undress her starting with the blouse).
Martirio: I really like the color of your blouse, it goes very well with your skin. (Leaves the blouse on the chair and starts removing the skirt). And the skirt suits you beautifully, fits you very well... (Starts taking off her shoes) I’ll tell you one more thing, I’m also new here, I’ve just been assigned, so we can get to know the people together... (Goes to take off the necklace she is wearing perhaps so she won't choke at night, Gregoria reacts with violence)... Yes, I’ll give it back to you tomorrow... (Gregoria accedes, and stands up at Doctor-Martirio's command; she disappears from scene while continuing to speak). We can do one thing... we can go to the garden and pick some flowers for your room; there are roses and tulips the gardener just planted... (re-enters with a gown, nightgown in hands which she starts putting on Gregoria)... with them it will be more cheerful... (Ties the nightgown from behind, takes out a pill and gives it to Gregoria to take, and accompanies her to the door of the room...) Now try to rest, all right? (When Gregoria is practically entering through the door with Martirio accompanying her to the threshold, she turns still insisting, still in her delirium, her problem with reality).
Gregoria: But what about the meeting? Will I be on time?
Martirio: (Tries to get her to finally enter the room and after a silence). Come on, go in. Tomorrow will be another day.
Gregoria: I have so much work... Will I be on time? (very desperate although without shouting). Will I be on time?
Martirio: (Closing the door, takes a padlock from her pocket and definitively locks the door with it, or at least locks the door with a key). Of course... (this "of course" gently caressing the already closed door).
Music sounds, light. Music that barely envelops the atmosphere of the scene. Martirio, after all the above, crosses the scene in front, picking up something if anything remains, turning off some light points and leaving to the right. At the end, there is a table or floor lamp lit. When she is about to touch the switch she turns her torso and head, looks towards the door, the scene, she stays there standing, fixed...
The scene goes completely dark. Music begins and on the upper part of the stage, old images of mental patients are projected, in asylums, in the pitiful situations they were in... in the street, in black and white, some heartbreaking images, others tender... The music plays and the images succeed each other...
When this projection ends, Martirio-Doctor Carrión is seen again in the same position she ended in the previous scene, standing next to the lamp almost about to exit... when she is about to turn it off, she repeats the same thing.
Martirio: (looking at the door before turning it off, a few seconds, standing there...). Of course... (She turns, turns off the light and disappears from the scene...)
The End
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
José Pascual Abellán
Holding a degree in Therapeutic Pedagogy and serving as a special education teacher from the University of Castilla-La Mancha, he began his journey in theatrical literature with the play "El pirata Roberts," a stage adaptation of William Goldman's novel "The Princess Bride," which was performed for two years in the Castilla-La Mancha Theater Network. Also the author of some children's pieces, he founded the company Teatro A Cuestas with Doriam Sojo, presenting "Locas," one of his latest texts which he writes and directs.
He has trained in various creative writing courses, especially at La Factoría del Guión in Madrid where he followed an Intensive Film and TV Scriptwriting course, through which he has written several short films.
CONTACT AND DISTRIBUTION
Clipes (Creación y Gestión Cultural y Social S.C.L.)
José Pascual Abellán: +34 610.67.42.75
josechiq@yahoo.es
