A DOOR OPEN TO THE SEA, play by Viviana Marcela Iriart: excerpt

 

The stage is barely lit. “Porque vas a venir” (Because you’re coming), a song by Carmen Guzmán and Mandy, sung by Susana Rinaldi, is played until the characters speak. 

Dunia enters from the right side. She is excited and nervous. She sits down, stands up, walks from side to side. She is thrilled. She can barely hold her laughter. 

Sandra appears on the left side. She is nervous and excited, but she moves slowly, in a controlled way. She stops at the large window, which is softly lit with a warm glow. She looks inside but sees no one: Dunia has left the stage at that point. She moves towards the proscenium. Dunia enters and does not see her. She goes to the proscenium. 

Until indicated, Sandra and Dunia behave as if they were in a dream. They never touch or look at each other. When they speak, it seems like they are talking to themselves. 

SUSANA RINALDI

“Because you’re coming my old house

unveils new flowers throughout the railing.

Because you're arriving, after so long,

I cannot tell if I'm crying or laughing.

 

I know you're coming, though you didn't say it,

but you'll arrive one morning.

There's a song in my voice, I'm not so sad,

and a ray of sunlight is coming through my window.

 

Because you're arriving, after a long journey,

there's a different hue, a different landscape.

Everything shines a different light and has changed its way,

because you're arriving after all.

 

Because you’re coming, from so far away,

I've looked at myself in the mirror once again.

And how will they see me, I asked myself,

the eyes of this day I was waiting for.

Because you're arriving I wait for you,

because you love me and I love you.

Because you're arriving I wait for you,

because you want it

and I want it too.”

SANDRA (As if she were alone, without noticing Dunia)
And then I thought, will she have changed much? Have I changed so much?

DUNIA (With the same attitude as Sandra)
I was waiting impatiently. I looked at myself in the mirrors and wondered what look you’d give to these wrinkles that have surrounded my eyes without yours. Would you recognize me with these gray hairs I didn't tell you about?

SANDRA
The street in front of your house seemed to be the same. The orange tree in the corner where the greengrocer's was, the paving stones at Don Giuseppe’s store - still broken -, the magnolia tree that would never bloom. But above all, the smell of the orange tree announcing your house was nearby. It all looked the same.

DUNIA

Your voice on the phone, cheerful and teasing, here and not there once again, the same old voice, and I swear I could have eaten up the receiver to eat your voice so that you’d never be gone again.

SANDRA (She turns her back on her)

I admit it - I was scared. The doorbell was there, tiny and glossy. It looks like a nipple, I thought, a nipple inviting the erotic—but no, this little nipple-doorbell was inviting me to the past and I was saying: should I touch it, should I not? I would stretch a finger and stroke it slowly, without pressing, in case I could excite it and make it ring. My finger was bringing you back to my memory.

DUNIA (She turns her back on her)
I looked at you through the peephole, which of us did I see? Years flashed by in the glass eye and did not let me see you.

SANDRA (She comes forward slowly with her back to Dunia)
My finger was still on the doorbell. A door was coughing weakly and I listened to it. The little moaning nipple would not need to be touched. I crossed the doorstep and rested my chest, my whole body, on the door.

DUNIA (She comes forward slowly with her back to Sandra)
I saw you and I pressed my body on the exact same place as you had placed yours. A door divided us and bound us. I was drowning and I thought: there’s no shore near here or any lifeguard in this place.

SANDRA
Your breathing in my ear was suffocating me, it didn't let me think. I was going crazy, I was fainting.

DUNIA
The air from your mouth made me warm, and I was getting filled with sweet old memories. The air from your mouth was burning me, immolating me.

SANDRA (Stands very close to Dunia’s back, without touching it)
Your fingers scratching the wood, scratching and moaning like a stray cat about to give birth to dead memories.

DUNIA
I felt you were sliding down the door to the floor and I reached out to stop you from hitting it.

SANDRA
Your back was sticking into mine, piercing me. I felt pain, I felt pleasure.

DUNIA

You were crying—and you never cried—in a way that was new to me.

SANDRA
You were crying and in your tears was the same old pain I always remembered.

DUNIA
I heard you say: you’re back at last.

SANDRA
And I heard you answer: at last I’ve returned.

(...)

A DOOR OPEN TO THE SEA by Viviana Marcela Iriart

Dr. Susana D. Castillo, University of San Diego, United States:

“…...the play explores the uprooting of its two characters on different levels. On one level, the play deals with the anxious reunion of two women separated for ten years…

Aptly, the initial encounter is choreographed as a slow dance in which the two women try to find each other—as if in a mist—while simultaneously suppressing the outward expression of their conflicting emotions… Thus, they will move—with caution and restraint—from reminiscence to laughter, from song to nostalgia, from distance…to the tango!...

(...) It is worth adding that Viviana Marcela Iriart—novelist and journalist—sought refuge in the Venezuelan Embassy at the age of 21, a period that marked the beginning of her exile, which would take her to various parts of the world before she settled in Venezuela…”

Available for sale on Amazon

 

Viviana Marcela Iriart (1958) is an Argentine-Venezuelan writer, playwright, and interviewer.

She has published "La Casa Lila" ( novel), "Interviews" (interviews with cultural figures, in English), and "¡Bravo, Carlos Giménez!" (biography). She compiled the free-to-read book "María Teresa Castillo-Carlos Giménez-Festival Internacional de Teatro de Caracas 1973-1992", a collaborative work with José Pulido, Rolando Peña, Karla Gómez, Carmen Carmona, and Roland Streuli.

"A DOOR OPEN TO THE SEA", as well as her forthcoming novel "Lejos de Casa", is based on her experiences with the Argentine dictatorsh

A DOOR OPEN TO THE SEA, play by Viviana Marcela Iriart, available for sale on Amazon

 

 

Play. Argentina, early 1990s. Sandra and Dunia, childhood friends who were detained and disappeared by the dictatorship in a concentration camp for being pacifists, reunite after Sandra's years in exile.

The emotional reunion gives way to the shocking realization of how the dictatorship managed to separate them and create two communities: one for those who stayed and one for those condemned to exile.

Suddenly, an abyss opens before their eyes, leaving them on opposite shores.

Can they build a bridge to unite them?

 

Dr. Susana D. Castillo, University of San Diego, United States:

“…...the play explores the uprooting of its two characters on different levels. On one level, the play deals with the anxious reunion of two women separated for ten years…

Aptly, the initial encounter is choreographed as a slow dance in which the two women try to find each other—as if in a mist—while simultaneously suppressing the outward expression of their conflicting emotions… Thus, they will move—with caution and restraint—from reminiscence to laughter, from song to nostalgia, from distance…to the tango!...

(...) It is worth adding that Viviana Marcela Iriart—novelist and journalist—sought refuge in the Venezuelan Embassy at the age of 21, a period that marked the beginning of her exile, which would take her to various parts of the world before she settled in Venezuela…”

Available for sale on Amazon

 

Viviana Marcela Iriart (1958) is an Argentine-Venezuelan writer, playwright, and interviewer.

She has published "La Casa Lila" ( novel), "Interviews" (interviews with cultural figures, in English), and "¡Bravo, Carlos Giménez!" (biography). She compiled the free-to-read book "María Teresa Castillo-Carlos Giménez-Festival Internacional de Teatro de Caracas 1973-1992", a collaborative work with José Pulido, Rolando Peña, Karla Gómez, Carmen Carmona, and Roland Streuli.

"A DOOR OPEN TO THE SEA", as well as her forthcoming novel "Lejos de Casa", is based on her experiences with the Argentine dictatorship and exile.

ABOUT TO TAKE OFF... excerpt from the book "How to endure life with HUMOR", Confidences of an actor, by Jairo Carthy

 

ABOUT TO TAKE OFF...

During the filming of the first movie in which I had the pleasure of participating, I experienced a very, very improbable episode, but I assure you it is true.

We were filming on the outskirts of Maracaibo, it was a Wednesday, and I was performing in a play in Caracas, which was the final week of the season. The clauses in my contract stated that I could film until noon that day, as I had to fly to Caracas to do the performance that night, and starting the following Monday, they could use my time as they saw fit since I would no longer have theater performances.

Up to that point, everything was going very well. The detail was that it was almost 3 PM, the last flight to Caracas left at 4, and we were on the outskirts of the capital. To top it off, the scene we were filming was none other than the death of my character, a terrible hitman, who, to the delight of the cinema audience, would be killed with many shots and there would be a lot of blood. Well, in reality, blood flowed throughout the movie since they killed the entire cast; it was not for nothing that it was called "The Slaughter of Santa Bárbara."

Well, a Spanish special effects makeup artist was in charge of my terrible appearance. Among all the things he did to me, he carefully introduced a product similar to gel into my scalp. It was more like a black gum that would melt with heat and give a very natural blood-like appearance that would run down my temples, my eyes, my neck, etc. Finally, we filmed the scene. The assistants were ready with towels, water, and my clothes to remove and clean any trace of my character. There, in the middle of the street and as quickly as I could, I took off my makeup and hopped into a taxi heading to "La Chinita" airport to catch my flight back to Caracas.

We were going over 120 km on those roads; it seemed like we would never arrive. I felt like Cinderella rushing home before the clock struck twelve and the magic was gone.

Finally, we arrived. I jumped out of the taxi and headed to the airline counter, where I encountered an employee who looked terrified and informed me that the flight was about to take off.

I wondered: what’s wrong with this guy? I wanted to die; I had to catch that flight no matter what! I asked him which way to the runway, and he pointed to some ramps. I looked like a figure skater flying down those ramps, and at the end, I encountered some national guards who obviously stopped me and looked at me in horror. I said to them:

·        Excuse me, but I have to catch that flight; it’s a matter of life or death... The guard looked at his partner, who nodded, and he communicated with the control tower via radio to stop the plane. Again, they both looked at me almost with pity. I thought: everyone here is crazy. The official said: Run! Run, the plane is waiting for you!

I don’t know if you know that those small planes have a rear entrance or exit, yes, like from the back of the plane. As I was running, I saw a door opening, but no stairs came down. When I arrived and looked up, the terrified flight attendant told me:

·        Get on, get on... and I wondered: How the heck? Finally, a small ladder of about two steps came down, and it was still very high. Like a primate, I climbed up the steps and sat in a random seat. The flight attendant told me: - Don’t move; we are about to take off. Of course, all the passengers' eyes were on me, and I thought, why are they looking at me in horror? Finally, the plane took off, and the flight attendant kindly asked me:

·        Would you like something, a sedative? You look very pale, and I replied:

·        Well, water or something to drink, if you don’t mind.

They assigned me my seat, and the guy sitting next to me almost yelled and said:

·        Sir, what happened to you, for God’s sake!!! I didn’t understand anything. But when I went to wipe the sweat off my face, what I wiped was "blood." The famous product did its job, and of course, they hadn’t removed everything they had put on my scalp, so it did its function. I was bleeding quite naturally.

The incredible thing about this story, which I have always wondered, is how they let a person who was supposedly injured get on a plane? They never asked me my name, nor did they ask for my ticket... nothing. The important thing is that I was able to arrive in time for my performance... Oh! And that scene that took so much effort was useless. We repeated it a few weeks later in Calabozo, and with all the calm and tranquility, I enjoyed the death of my character.

By the way, the guy who traveled next to me… yes, the one who yelled, was none other than Amílcar Boscán, the soloist of the well-known group "Guaco."

 

On Amazon

JOSÉ PULIDO in the book INTERVIEWS (2025) by Viviana Marcela Iriart “I'm like a castaway clinging to his tongue”

 

José Pulido. Photo: Vasco Szinetar

José Pulido was part of one of the most beautiful and beloved traditions in Caracas: Sunday, buying the papers, having breakfast at the bakery, going up the Ávila, enjoying the blue butterflies and the singing of Quebrada Quintero, spreading the papers among the stones and then… José Pulido and his interview completed the happiness of the day. It did not matter who he interviewed, because the real pleasure was reading him. And my friends would go: what does Pulido say? Have you read what Pulido said? Pulido is so wonderful! Pulido was the main character. Then came the person being interviewed. Because reading José Pulido is good for you. It gives you joy. It makes you think. Because José Pulido writes with humor, tenderness, compassion, intelligence, love. José Pulido the poet, the writer, the journalist. The interviewer who created a new style. The kind, simple and tender man who creates bridges for people to meet, to cross, to discover the other side of their side.

 

José Pulido, who does not deserve to be exiled like he is today, walking around Genoa while he goes around Caracas.

 

And José Pulido is also Carlos Giménez, who he and I love so much, and that beautiful article he wrote: Carlitos sin olvido (Carlitos without oblivion). And he is that marvelous interview he just made to another wonderful and beloved figure from Caracas: Rolando Peña.  An interview that is like a story written with four hands.  An interview that is like a love letter.

 

And José Pulido is this poem of his, which I find while I'm writing this and then I'm out of words.

 

 

THE OLD SONG

 

Before antiquity arrived

the birds that died

turned into carnelian and tourmaline

John claimed in the Book of Revelation that the face of god was made of jasper and carnelian

birds probably made one of their best graveyards in that face

 

All mountains have been built out of birds' ancestors

 

From a yellow, blue and green bird

who dies when put in a cage and sings in beautiful fury

the mountain of Caracas was born creating ripples of water and branches

 

the Ávila of stones and roots, spit with Pleiades

is our most concrete mountain

 

I wish I could sweep its pathways with a broom of dreams

clean them up of all miseries

 

It is so big it could only fit into the universe once

when the heavens dilated

so that mangos could bloom

 

hummingbirds in the Ávila seem as if they were invented by Borges:

they fly backwards because they care more about the beginning than the end

 

the Ávila is huge but it is not so hard to carry in a bag

it is completely portable when carried as a feeling

especially if you have looked at its mermaid-like curves,

its crests resembling a resting animal

Or if you have ever heard the waters talk in Quebrada Quintero

about how to go down to the Caribbean Sea without having to ask for

directions in the valley

 

In the afternoon the mountain opens its eye made of sun

An eye that falls asleep on the voracious head of dry trees

at night it crouches with its breath of burning plants

ready to jump again on the fearful valley with its rabbit heart

this is the mountain that feeds on looks

that on the beach side is the Ávila of Reverón

deranged by light

and on the Caracas side is the Ávila of Cabré

borrowing the iridescence of the sparkling hummingbird

and all Pleiades sneeze with love when molasses grass stirs,

the delicious herb

and at the top and the bottom it is the Ávila of everyone and no one

a mountain that is like the Virgin of Coromoto and the Virgin of the Valley

like La Chinita and the Divina Pastora

because you do not have to know its pathways

to believe it represents our customs

 

The mountain was a bedroom for clouds a million years ago

and it still is.

The mountain was there making guacharacas

before anyone even thought of building the wall

that we would call town;

this ancient air is what comforts me.

The Ávila is a bird with apple mint in its wings,

it is the pain of fires kept within a case made of roots.

The Ávila is like saying amen when you pray for Caracas.

 

 

 

José Pulido, Salamanca, España.

 

 Carlos Giménez, Barbarito Diez, María Teresa Castillo,
Pablo Milanés,Miguel Henrique Otero, José Pulido...
"Macondo", María Teresas`s house

José, how has coronavirus treated you? What did you do during the quarantine?

 

I don't think coronavirus has treated anyone well. Fortunately I haven't got it because I'm always shut in writing and I only go out to walk up to the nearest mountain. I visit populated areas when I have to read poetry somewhere.

 

What was the first thing you did when the quarantine was lifted?

 

For me, it hasn't been lifted. I go out to walk but I wear a mask. Here you are fined if you don't wear it in the street. I haven't had any plans for when we get to the end of this. Beer tastes as good at home as it does in the bar.

 

Are you writing anything? What?

 

Poetry. I do some interviews for amusement. Poetry is my constant passion.

 

What are your plans for the mid-term?

 

Not dying yet to see what things have changed.

 

(...)

Excerpt from the book INTERVIEWS by Viviana Marcela Iriart, graphic design by Jairo Carthy, sold on Amazon

On sale on AMAZON