SOL POR ENTRE AS GALLAS

Secuencia
(Manhattan)

Interior. Pequeno supermercado. Día.

Tracey e Ike percorren o establecemento.

IKE (suspira): Miúdo rolo! Viches algo máis inconcibible? Imos, é unha auténtica...

TRACEY: Bo, parecía moi nerviosa.

IKE: Nerviosa? Despótica, quererás dicir. Algo, mm, como che diría, mmm, espantoso.

Ike sinala a súa fronte cun dedo.

IKE: Unha snob indecente, xa sabes (Suspira). A santo de que esa pequena cretina de Radcliffe atrévese a ridiculizar a, bo, Scott Fitzgerald, e a Gustav Mahler, e a Henrich Böll?

Tracey inclínase para meter algo na cesta que leva.

TRACEY (ri): Tampouco hai que enfadarse tanto.

IKE: Enfádome porque me carga todo ese lixo seudo-intelectual. E ademais é unha pedante. Van Goch. Non a escoitache? Dixo Van Goch. Eu sería incapaz... Se fala como os árabes! Eu sería incapaz... Se chega a dicir outra bobada máis sobre Bergman...

Ike levanta un puño ameazador.

IKE:...fágolle voar as lentes de contacto dunha labazada.

Ike e Tracey seguen camiñando.

TRACEY (ri): Oe, non é a amante de Yale?

IKE: Isto é algo que non me cabe na cabeza.

Tracey e Ike páranse ante un mostrador. Tracey colle unha botella e unha caixa de chocolate e méteos na cesta.

IKE: Imos, ten unha muller fantástica e prefire perder o tempo con esa tontaina que que, bo Ah, pero... pero sempre se deixou encandear por esa clase de mulleres, xa sabes, desa clase que sempre che enreda en discusións sobre a realidade existencial, xa sabes.

Tracey colle outra botella e pona na cesta.

IKE: Figúrome que sentan no chan, beben viño, comen queixo e confunden alegórico como didáctico.

Ike suspira. Seguen camiñando.

TRACEY: Bo, a min dáme a impresión de que a Yale gústalle de verdade.

IKE: Mira, eu, eu son chapado á antiga. Non creo nas relacións extra- matrimoniais. Eu creo que a xente debe aparearse para toda a vida como os pombos, ou os católicos.

TRACEY: Psé: Bo, non sei, talvez a xente non está feita para ter unha única relación profunda.

Tracey e Ike detéñense. Tracey pon a cesta no mostrador, e unha dependenta empeza a sacar os comestibles.

TRACEY: Quizá o que nos vai é ter varias relacións de duración variable, sabes? Quero dicir que o outro xa está pasado de moda.

IKE: Oe, non me contes o que está pasado de moda, vale? Tes dezasete anos. Ti criáchesche coas drogas, a televisión e a pílula. Eu...eu...eu coa segunda guerra mundial. Estiven nas trincheiras (Suspira.)

TRACEY (ri): Ti tiñas oito anos cando a segunda guerra mundial.

IKE: É verdade. Xamais estiven nas trincheiras. Pilláronme xusto no medio. Unha posición moi dura.

Tracey ri.

IKE: Recolle a compra, queres?

Interior. Dean and Deluca's Food Shop—Day.

Tracy and Ike are picking up some groceries. While Tracy calmly looks at the foodstuff, a wire basket in her hand, Ike talks and gestures rapidly.

IKE (Sighing) What a creep! Could you believe her? I mean, she was really—

TRACY (Interrupting) Oh, she seemed real nervous.

IKE Nervous? She was overbearing. She was, mm, you know, mm, terrible. She was all cerebral (Sighing and pointing to bis head) you know. Wh-was—where the hell does that little Radcliffe tootsie come off rating, mm, Scott Fitzgerald and Gustav Mahler and then Heinrich Boll?

TRACY (Putting a can in her basket) I don't understand why you're getting so mad.

IKE I'm mad because I don't like that pseudointellectual garbage. And she was pedantic. Van Gogh. (Prouncing it "Goch") Did you hear that? She said "Van Goch." I couldn't— Like an Arab she spoke. I couldn't. . . and if she had made one more remark about Bergman, I would've knocked her other contact lens out.

He makes a fist in the air.

TRACY (Putting a container of cocoa in her basket) Oh, is she Yale's mis­tress?

IKE (Shaking his head) That will never cease to mystify me. I mean, he's got a wonderful wife and he prefers to—to, mm, diddle this little yo-yo that—that. . . you know. Uh, but—but he was always a sucker for, uh, th-th-those kind of women, you know, the kind, uh, who'd involve him in discussions of existential reality, you know. They probably sit around on the floor with wine and cheese and mispronounce "allegorical" and "didacticism." He sighs.

TRACY Well, I get the feeling that Yale really likes her.

IKE Well, I'm old-fashioned. I don't believe in extramarital relation­ships. I think people should mate for life, like pigeons or Catholics.

They walk to the cashier. Tracy takes out her parcels and places them on the counter.

TRACY Tsch. Well, I don't know, maybe people weren't meant to have one deep relationship. Maybe we're meant to have, you know, a series of relationships of different lengths. I mean, that kind of thing's gone out of date.

IKE Hey, don't tell me what's gone out of date, okay? You're seven­teen years old. You were brought up on drugs and television and the pill. I-I-I was World War Two. (Sighing) I was in the trenches.

TRACY (Chuckling) Oh, you were eight in World War Two.

IKE That's right. I was never in the trenches. I was caught right in the middle. It was a very tough position. Tracy laughs.

IKE (Looking away, gesturing) Get the groceries, will you?