The Chicano/Latino Literary Prize (51 page)

               is waving wild

         as beautiful laughter like song strums from your mouth into the sky,

         and your eyes, your eyes are catching the shine of the Son,

         like two huge apples begging notice on the tree, and you are shouting

         with your smile, “hallelujah! hallelujah!” and all the angels

                are dancing and

         laughing with you, and Jesus is saying, “i love you so much, mija.”

         and you are saying, “mi amor, mi amor,” like a beautiful sigh.

i would give you a star. a multitude.

perhaps

                        if I were a romantic

                                    i would say:

from the sky I have stolen stones of fire

and strung them together on a tight

invisible string of fishing line.

i have brought them to lace

the shiny skin of your neck,

your wrists, brought them to wrap

your ankles, plant them one at a time,

carefully, in each of the nails of your toes,

starlight lighting the dirt before you feet.

but this would be a lie.

                                     they are already yours. The stars.

                                                   a lie.

                           your feet never needed their light.

what then?

the sun? the moon?               yours.

                                             maybe that single berry

                                             begging notice on the vine?

but even this has fallen

from your breath.

i can offer you

a piece of flesh

fallen from my bones.

another. and another.

another. rotten and smelling.

the bones.

               a bit yellow,

                           too, are yours.

i give you

this image:

if you brought fire

                                               at the end of a stick.

or maybe just a hot coal,

                                      a burning ember,

and touched my lips

burning away to the gums

                                       and gums to the skull

                                                and skull to the soul to the spirit,

                             i would finally sing you,

truly sing you, on my knees, my forehead leading the way … love.

Angelo Parra

First Prize: Drama

(In Act II, Scene 1, of
Song of the Coquí, RAY
, about 40, the Americanized son of
EDNA
and
RAMÓN
now known as “Raymond”
GUERRERO
, makes an unannounced visit to his parents' home, and unexpectedly encounters
TERESA
, about 30, the Guerrero's new neighbor.)

According to legend,

if you take the coquí,

a small frog native to Puerto Rico, off the island

it will survive, but it will never sing again.

(Present, in the living room of
EDNA
and
RAYMOND
's home, afternoon. The yapping of a small dog is heard.)

RAY: Shhhhh! Shut up, Zorro. It's me, your brother. Shhhhh! (
Pause.
) Here. Bon appetit. (
The dog quiets down.
) Stupid dog. (RAY
enters nervously, fidgeting with a set of keys.
) (
Calling.
) Mom? (
Pause.
) Mom. (
Pause.
) Mom! (
Pause.
) MOM!
(
RAY
exits to another room, and returns in a couple of seconds. He looks at his watch, and sighs.
RAY
picks up some photos and laughs to himself. He turns on the T.V., switches channels until he finds what sounds like a tennis match. He picks up the newspaper T.V. section, plops into a seat, and thumbs through it. After a few moments, the dog begins yapping again, and
TERESA
's voice is heard.)

TERESA: (
Off stage
.) Shhhhh! ¡Cállate, hombre! You call that a bark? Embustero. Hello. Hellllo, Edna. Edna!

(RAY
gets up quickly, and turns off the T.V..
TERESA
enters carrying flowers tied with a bow, and stops when she sees
RAY. TERESA
is in clothes that show her off.)

   (
Very pleased.
) Well, hello, Ray.

RAY: (
Doubtfully
.) Hello. Who are you?

TERESA: (
Suggestively
.) The girl next door.

(TERESA points to the window.)

RAY: Oh, Joe's old place. Right. Eh, how'd you get in?

TERESA: I guess you left the door open.

RAY: I guess I did. (
Jokingly
.) And I don't guess that's for me.

TERESA: It's for your mother, but you could have it if you want it.

RAY: How do you know who I am?

TERESA: Your mother said she had a handsome son.

RAY: (
Laughs
.) My mother's not here. Probably stopped on the way home to pick up some groceries or something. Maybe you should come back another …

(TERESA
steps closer to
RAY.)

TERESA: (
Interrupting
.) That's nice.

RAY: Huh?

TERESA: You smell nice.

RAY: Yeah, well, it's some cologne or other. A gift.

(TERESA
puts the flowers down, takes
RAY
's hand, leads him to the sofa, and sits next to him
.)

TERESA: Your mom says you're this big shot lawyer.

RAY: No, not really.

TERESA: You do divorce law 'n shit?

RAY: Corporate law actually …

TERESA: (
Cutting in.
) Maybe you could help me out with my ex. Pendejo, coño. I gotta keep on his ass for my alimony, you know? Maybe you could fix him good, you know, like for friendship, 'cause I got no money for lawyers.

RAY: I really don't think I can help you because, well, I don't take private cases. Anyway, I don't practice that kind of law.

TERESA: You could practice on my case—(
Snaps her fingers
.)—any time. RAY: (
Nervously
.) Actually, I'm not practicing any kind of law right at the moment …

TERESA: No, no, no, no. That ain't no Aqua Velva I smell. It's kinda sweet, but …

RAY: I paint. Maybe it's the oils you're smelling on me. It's almost impossible to entirely get rid of the …

TERESA: ¡Ay, Dios mío! A lawyer and a painter. So talented. Do you paint women naked?

RAY: (
Backing away
.) No, I usually keep my pants on.

TERESA: I make you nervous or something?

RAY: Me? No. Why? (
Awkward pause.
) So … the flowers. For my mother, you said?

TERESA: She's a saint, your mother.

RAY: If you say so.

TERESA: She babysitted my little girl so I could get a job.

RAY: Thus the flowers—a thank you.

TERESA: (
Impressed
.) “Thus”? That's the first time in my life I ever heard somebody actually use the word “thus” in a sentence.

RAY: There's still a lot of lawyer in me. I'm recovering.

TERESA: Some people got all the luck. Your mom's got this nice house, a reliable man, a good-looking son, a granddaughter. She's got it made, you know what I'm sayin'? I mean, I don't mind working 'n shit, but, once in a while, man, it would be, you know, fair if something worked out for me. (
Pause
.) I'm not complaining. I got my health and my daughter, and I got a new job and a place to sleep, pero coño … She's definitely got it made, your mother. Claro. Some people got all the luck. (
Pause
.) So, I hear you're divorced.

RAY: No. I mean yes. What I'm saying is that it was a while ago. It feels like another lifetime. So to speak.

TERESA: I know how lonely it can be. Being divorced and alone. So to speak.

RAY: Well, I'm not exactly … (RAY
rises, and moves to the plant
.) So … you bought it?

TERESA: Yeah, I bought them. I ain't no farmer.

RAY: Farmer? Oh, no, not the flowers; I was talking about Joe's place. Did you buy …

TERESA: (
Laughing
.) ¡Ay, Dios mío! I look like I'm made of money to you?

I'm renting. I tole you I got no money.

RAY: (
Awkward pause.
) You know, it doesn't look like my mother's going to be home anytime soon. Why don't you come back …

TERESA: Did I say something wrong?

RAY: No, it's just …

TERESA: You don't like … my company?

RAY: … I don't even know your name.

(TERESA
extends her right hand, and they shake hands
.)

TERESA: (
Heavily rolling her R.
) Terrrrrrrresa.

(RAY
awkwardly frees his hand
.)

RAY: (
Hard R, no roll
.) Teresa, I'm sort of just minding my own business, waiting for …

TERESA: (
Interrupting, heavily rolling her Rs.
) Terrrrrrrresa. Don't be shy with me. Terrrrrrrresa.

RAY: Sorry, I can't do that. I can't roll my Rs, if you must know. My tongue is too fat or something. I can't even pronounce my own name right. (
Hard Rs, no roll.
) Guerrero.

TERESA: Guerrrrrrrrerrrrrrrro. I'll teach you how to rrrrrrrroll your RRRRRRRRRRs. (TERESA
snaps her fingers.
)

RAY: I appreciate your … interest, Teresa …

TERESA: Terrrrrrrresa.

RAY: Right, but I don't even know you.

TERESA: Pero, we could fix that, enseguida. You know what? I'll make you dinner. I'm a good cook. My husband was a pain in the you-know-what, but he ate good. To this day he says “but that bitch could coooo-ooook.” I'll make something you'll like, arrrrrrrroz y habichuelas con plátanos frrrrrrrritos, sweet, real sweet. Y ensalada, because I can see you're the type that eats salad. Con un poquito de cerveza fría, and for dessert I'll teach you to rrrrrrrroll your RRRRRRRRRRs.

RAY: Sounds nice, but no thanks, really. Like I said, I don't mean to be rude, but I'm happily … girlfriended, and …

(TERESA
picks up a photograph
.)

TERESA: This your baby picture?

RAY: Yes.

TERESA: Coquí?

RAY: (
Surprised
.) What?

TERESA: That's what's written on the picture: “Coquí.”

RAY: Oh. That's what they used to call me. When I was a kid.

TERESA: You know what that means?

RAY: Yeah, frog.

TERESA: (
Laughs
.) Sí, pero more than that. A coquí is a tweeny-weeny little frog that lives in Puerto Rico. At night it whistles, like a cricket or a small bird, pero only prettier. Like this …
(Half said, half whistled; cricket-like
.) Ko-KWEE, ko-KWEE, ko-KWEE. Like that. They say if you take a coquí off the island, it will live but it will never sing again.

RAY: Well, that's charming, but I'm not a frog, and I hated it.

TERESA: Hated what?

RAY: “Coquí.” It sounded so …

TERESA: Puerto Rican?

RAY: (
Pause
.) Listen, Teresa, it was nice meeting you and …

TERESA: Your girlfriend, she something special?

RAY: Valerie is … is … Look, I don't even know why we're having this conversation.

TERESA: Valerie?

RAY: Yes.

TERESA: Valerie what?

RAY: You don't know her.

TERESA: I don't think so either, but what's her name?

RAY: Appleton.

TERESA: Apple-ton?

RAY: Yes.

TERESA: A white girl?

RAY: (
Pause
.) Non-Hispanic, if that's what you mean.

TERESA: (
Mocking
.) Well, excuse me. Valerie Appleton. (
Affecting a gentile, upper-class tone.
) Of the Georgetown Appletons or of the Appletons of Boston? (
Normally
.) And what's your ex-wife's name? No. Let me guess. Veronica? Penelope? Gwendolen? No? Certainly not RRRRRRRRosa or Margarrrrrrrrita or Marrrrrrrría.

RAY: (
Pause
.) I'm sorry, but what exactly do you want from me?

TERESA: Nada. No quiero nada. I saw you come in, so I brought the flowers over now. Just to say hello, pendejo.

RAY: (
Trying to stay calm
.) There's no reason for us to get into an argument—

TERESA: (
Overlapping
.)—“Non-Hispanic” Appleton. The apple of your white eyes. Eres un coco.

RAY: Listen, I don't know you well enough to …

TERESA: Estás olvidando tus raíces. Coco. Eres un coco, coño.
(Pause as they glare at each other.)
You got no idea what the fuck I'm saying to you.

RAY: I'm not interested. Actually, now would be a good time for you to …

TERESA: You're a
coconut
, that's what I said. A coconut. Brown on the outside, white inside.

RAY: Oh, Christ, take a hike, okay? I don't need this from you too. All right?

I'll tell my mother you stopped—

TERESA: (
Interrupting
.)—I know you. You ain't nothing new. You one of those Latinos who likes a white girl near him. Your white turkey meat. Right? You don't speak no Spanish 'cause that ain't gonna get you no blonde pussy around the office. Well, let me tell you, you ain't better than me, you ain't better than nobody, mister asshole lawyer. I bet you only got white girls workin' for you at your white-bread lawyer office. I bet you never even been with a Latina. Right? Am I right? I know I'm right. I can see it in your face. What you got against Latinas, pendejo? Tell me. What's your problem? (
Pause
.) Well? I'm all fuckin' ears.