The Refugee Hotel

by Carmen Aguirre

Well, that’s settled. Okay, have you told them about Manuel?

  BILL:

  You mean Condor Passes?

  SOCIAL WORKER:

  Uh—

  BILL:

  Condor Passes—incidentally, where is the men?

  JOSELITO:

  On a job search.

  BILL:

  Shit. Why lose time in that? Nobody give them job that way. Okay. Job for Condor Passes. Gardener at UBC garden botanical. Father of Pat member of Forestry School and get Condor job—

  CAKEHEAD:

  Excellent. Excellent.

  BILL:

  And Juan: two paper routes and cleaning a daycare—

  The men enter. JUAN is wearing a chicken costume.

  FAT JORGE:

  Comrade Bill! Our respected social worker! Please! Make yourselves at home! Have we got news for you! (pointing to JUAN in the chicken costume) This one is literally fresh off the boat and look at him! We got here before him and he’s the one that gets a job! Son of a bitch.

  JOSELITO:

  Is that Uncle Juan in there?

  JUAN:

  Yes! It’s me! Look, you can see my face through the beak!

  JOSELITO:

  I wanna wear one of those!

  MANUELITA:

  Me too!

  JOSELITO:

  Copycat.

  MANUELITA:

  Show off!

  SOCIAL WORKER:

  What’s going on?

  BILL:

  It would seem that Juan already got a job that involves wearing that degrading costume.

  FAT JORGE:

  So he’s like literally fresh off the boat and we walk by this fried chicken place and Juan goes in there and says, “Me job,” and before you know it they’ve got him in this chicken costume and all he has to do is dance cumbia on the corner there.

  BILL:

  Juan, you not do that job: (enunciating every syllable) Humiliation—

  JUAN:

  Are you kidding? Getting paid to dance on a corner all day? I gotta go back. My new boss will think I stole the uniform.

  JUAN exits.

  BILL:

  Uniform?

  FLACA:

  (to FAT JORGE and CONDOR PASSES) We’re all getting out of here tomorrow. They’ve found us all homes and jobs. We’re leaving the refugee hotel.

  Everyone looks at each other, in silence. They look around the hotel.

  Scene Eight

  Later that night. FAT JORGE and FLACA are in the middle of a confrontation in the lobby. FAT JORGE drinks. The remainder of the cast witnesses it from different spots on the stairs and the lobby.

  FAT JORGE:

  Don’t look at me like that.

  FLACA:

  Like what?

  FAT JORGE:

  Like I’m the only bad guy here. Like you’re not a traitor too.

  FLACA:

  (trying to take the bottle from him) Fat Jorge, you’ve gotta stop drinking—

  FAT JORGE:

  You betrayed me. And the kids.

  FLACA:

  I took an oath.

  FAT JORGE:

  You also took an oath with me.

  FLACA:

  I tried to keep you guys as well, because I couldn’t choose. Maybe that was my mistake—

  FAT JORGE:

  I would have joined too if you’d told me to.

  FLACA:

  No. I thought about it. And now I see I was correct in not telling you. You don’t have what it takes—

  FAT JORGE:

  (throwing the bottle on the floor, where it smashes to smithereens) No! I’m not the crème de la crème!

  BILL O’NEILL, with JUAN’s help, takes the children away from their parents, off-stage. FLACA goes to her room. FAT JORGE stays in the lobby. CALLADITA starts to clean up the glass.

  Scene Nine

  Later that night. CAKEHEAD knocks on CONDOR PASSES’s door. She is holding a cake she just baked. It has one candle on it. CONDOR PASSES opens the door.

  CAKEHEAD:

  (in a whisper so as not to disturb the sleeping hotel) Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you—

  CONDOR PASSES:

  Cakehead—What the—

  CAKEHEAD:

  —Shhhh!—Happy birthday, dear Condor—

  CONDOR PASSES:

  How did—

  CAKEHEAD:

  Shut up—Happy birthday to you!

  CONDOR PASSES:

  I just don’t—

  CAKEHEAD:

  Blow!

  CONDOR PASSES:

  Huh?

  CAKEHEAD:

  Blow! The candle!

  CONDOR PASSES:

  Oh.

  Pause as CAKEHEAD and CONDOR PASSES stare at each other awkwardly.

  CAKEHEAD:

  Holy fucking Jesus. Are you gonna blow the candle or do I have to slap you now?

  CONDOR PASSES blows out the candle.

  CAKEHEAD:

  Spit all over me now too, why dontcha.

  CONDOR PASSES:

  Oh, sorry.

  CAKEHEAD:

  So? Can I come in?

  CONDOR PASSES:

  Uh, yeah, yeah. Of course. It’s a bit—

  CAKEHEAD:

  Messy? I can see that.

  CAKEHEAD makes her way to the kitchenette and starts to cut the cake, arranging two slices on plates.

  CONDOR PASSES:

  What time is it?

  CAKEHEAD:

  Around 12:05.

  Another big awkward pause as CAKEHEAD approaches CONDOR PASSES with his slice. They arrange themselves on the floor, after looking awkwardly at the bed. They begin to eat.

  CONDOR PASSES:

  This is very good.

  CAKEHEAD:

  You can make them from packages here.

  CONDOR PASSES:

  Packages?

  CAKEHEAD:

  I went to the supermarket up the street and I found a whole section of different kinds of packages for cakes. You just add water and eggs and that’s all. Are you eating?

  CONDOR PASSES:

  Yeah.

  Long awkward pause as they both eat.

  CAKEHEAD:

  I wonder where we’ll be living.

  CONDOR PASSES:

  I don’t know. But I’ll be a gardener.

  CAKEHEAD:

  And I’ll be a baker. Have you ever gardened before?

  CONDOR PASSES:

  No. I worked the assembly line at the RCA Victor factory. And I worked for the union. Night and day. Have you ever baked?

  CAKEHEAD:

  Just the pottery. I make beautiful pottery, you know.

  CONDOR PASSES:

  What does it look like?

  CAKEHEAD:

  Big bowls shaped like salmon and seashells and the craters on the moon.

  CONDOR PASSES:

  You worked with your hands. And so did I.

  CAKEHEAD:

  And we will still work with our hands. I’ll knead dough and you’ll dig up the earth.

  Pause as they continue to eat and look at each other awkwardly.

  CAKEHEAD:

  So. You’re eighteen now. A man.

  CONDOR PASSES:

  How did you know?

  CAKEHEAD:

  Looked at your passport.

  CONDOR PASSES:

  You looked at my passport?

  CAKEHEAD:

  I looked at your passport.

  CONDOR PASSES:

  You looked at my passport?

  CAKEHEAD:

  Yes, I told you that already.

  CONDOR PASSES:

  When did—

  CAKEHEAD:

  I came into your room the other day and I saw your passport lying on the bed here and I looked at it—

  CONDOR PASSES:

  Why were you in my room?

  CAKEHEAD:

  I wanted to smell it.

  CONDOR PASSES:

  Oh.

  CAKEHEAD:
/>   I wanted to smell your room and I saw the passport on the bed and I just couldn’t help myself.

  CONDOR PASSES:

  How did it smell?

  CAKEHEAD:

  The passport?

  CONDOR PASSES:

  No. The room.

  CAKEHEAD:

  Good. Good. Like home. Your poncho, your sheets, the armpit of your shirt, it all smells like the house where I was born, with the kelp and the seaweed drying on the sill … You smell like our roots, you smell so good, so good, so good, I could burst from the smell of it all, from the smell of you and your pain and the look in your eyes—

  CONDOR PASSES moves closer to her. He positions himself very close to her. She leans over and smells his hair, his skin, his breath, his clothes. He surrenders to her.

  CAKEHEAD:

  (smelling in great big breaths) Ohh! You smell like that floor. Just waxed. And the mud on the road after a fresh rain.

  CAKEHEAD starts to unbutton CONDOR PASSES’s shirt. He allows himself to be taken.

  CAKEHEAD:

  (smelling his chest, neck, and underarms) You smell like my past, the good past, the one that existed so long ago—

  CONDOR PASSES:

  I come from Santiago. The smell of diesel and peanuts cooking in caramel, the smell of open sewers and tear gas, suffocating me—

  CAKEHEAD:

  Am I suffocating you?

  CONDOR PASSES:

  No! I can breathe, I can breathe, I can breathe you in, but I can’t smell. Nothing. I can smell nothing.

  CAKEHEAD:

  Breathe through your nose. (offering her mouth) Smell my breath.

  CAKEHEAD:

  Can you taste?

  CONDOR PASSES:

  No. Nothing.

  CAKEHEAD:

  Can you feel?

  CONDOR PASSES:

  I think so.

  CAKEHEAD:

  You’re shaking.

  CONDOR PASSES:

  I’ve never done this before.

  CAKEHEAD:

  Just keep breathing. Breathe like the seven volcanoes in the deep south of Chile.

  CONDOR PASSES:

  I’ve never been with a woman before.

  CAKEHEAD:

  Oh.

  CONDOR PASSES:

  I’m afraid.

  CAKEHEAD:

  Don’t be.

  CONDOR PASSES:

  Wait. There’s something I have to tell you. I can’t feel down there. I’m numb there. I wasn’t born like that. They did it to me.

  CAKEHEAD:

  Does it hurt?

  CONDOR PASSES:

  Nothing hurts anymore.

  CAKEHEAD:

  Let me love you. Let me worship you. You shine like copper and I could kiss you forever.

  CONDOR PASSES:

  Kiss me forever. Kiss me forever …

  The CUECA DANCER emerges and does his zapateo as “La Partida” by Inti-Illimani begins to play. They embrace and eventually make love, on the floor. As CONDOR PASSES and CAKEHEAD make love, FAT JORGE goes up to the room to join FLACA. JUAN, who is with MANUELITA and JOSELITO in his room, makes his way to the lobby, where CALLADITA is rocking in a fetal position on the couch. JOSELITO and MANUELITA stay in JUAN’s room. JUAN approaches CALLADITA and lies next to her, spooning her. He rocks too. FAT JORGE tries to make love to FLACA in their room. She pushes him away and locks herself in the bathroom. FAT JORGE collapses on the bed. MANUELITA and JOSELITO make shadows with their hands on the wall of JUAN’s room.

  Scene Ten

  CALLADITA and JUAN OF THE CHICKENS are asleep, curled up on the couch in the lobby. JOSELITO and MANUELITA have fallen asleep in JUAN’s room. CONDOR PASSES and CAKEHEAD are asleep on CONDOR’s bed. FAT JORGE is asleep on his bed. FLACA looks out the window of their room, smoking a cigarette.

  FAT JORGE’s nightmare returns to haunt him. He takes on his usual shape, as do FLACA and MANUEL. The rest of the cast contribute to the soundscape. FAT JORGE sees something terrible directly in front of him.

  WOMAN (played by FLACA):

  Don’t let them take my baby! They’re going to sell her to a military family! That’s what they’re doing! Stealing babies!

  She screams. FAT JORGE screams.

  FLACA:

  (shaking him awake) Fat Jorge! Fat Jorge!

  FAT JORGE:

  Oh, shit. Oh, shit.

  FLACA:

  It’s the nightmare again.

  FAT JORGE:

  I have to puke.

  FLACA:

  It’s okay, my little big bear. It’s okay.

  FLACA holds him. He finally cries. And cries. And cries.

  FAT JORGE:

  Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me. Please.

  Scene Eleven

  The next morning. It rains like hell. MANUELITA and JOSELITO contemplate the RECEPTIONIST as he dusts the lava lamp. All the adults are in their rooms, packing their bags. The RECEPTIONIST whistles “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” The SOCIAL WORKER and BILL O’NEILL enter.

  SOCIAL WORKER:

  Hi, kids!

  JOSELITO AND MANUELITA:

  Hola!

  JOSELITO:

  Bill O’Neill!

  The adults start to descend the stairs with their bags.

  FAT JORGE:

  I do believe that I will never see the sun again in this fucking country.

  BILL:

  You will, you will. In three months more.

  FAT JORGE:

  Three more months?!

  BILL:

  Okay. Four maybe.

  FAT JORGE:

  Christ.

  CAKEHEAD:

  It’s like Mapuche land. It really is.

  SOCIAL WORKER:

  (opening her bag and pulling out gifts, talking to MANUELITA and JOSELITO) I’ve brought you some gifts. Just small little toys, but I really wanted to express to you two just how brave you are and how good you are and how much you remind me of myself when I was a small child and we first arrived in this country. (choking up) And that even though I don’t speak your language, I want to be considered your auntie too. And, Bill, don’t translate that. They’re kids. They understand the heart of what I just said.

  The SOCIAL WORKER gives the kids their gifts. She hugs them tightly.

  SOCIAL WORKER:

  Well, the volunteers should be arriving any minute now to take you to your new homes. Bill, translation please.

  BILL:

  Interfaith Church come in van, me got station wagon, and couple of my friends coming in VW van too. They good gringos. Run away from California because not go war in Vietnam. They solidarity.

  MANUELITA:

  Where are we going to live, Mommy?

  FLACA:

  I don’t know. I’m sure it’ll be nice.

  FAT JORGE:

  And you’ll be going to school tomorrow, kids. Brand new school for you.

  JOSELITO:

  Will I make friends there?

  FLACA:

  I’m sure you will, Joselito. I’m sure you will.

  JOSELITO:

  I hope so.

  FAT JORGE:

  I can’t believe Juan of the Chickens. Within a few days of his arrival he’s got a job and a girlfriend.

  CAKEHEAD:

  And he made her talk.

  CALLADITA:

  He’s got a way about him, my Juan.

  BILL:

  You two now lovers?

  CAKEHEAD:

  Yeah, Juan of the Chickens and Calladita and me and Condor Passes.

  BILL:

  You chilis act with velocity.

  CAKEHEAD:

  That’s right, brother. We work fast. No time for in-between. Either you’re in or you’re out. Either you’re hot or you’re cold. Either you’re on the left or on the right. Remember: we come from a land of active volcanoes, massive earthquakes, the highest mountains in the Americas, the driest desert in the world, a huge hunk of ice to the south and the violent Pacific
to the west.

  CALLADITA:

  By the way, Bill. Me and Juan of the Chickens are going to take the place you had gotten for Cakehead and me. Cakehead and Condor Passes will take the one meant for the men.

  BILL:

  Okay. (to the SOCIAL WORKER) Pat, this may come as a shock to you, but it seems that things have gotten hot and heavy here at the refugee hotel in the last couple of nights—

  SOCIAL WORKER:

  Oh please, Bill. I’m not blind. Same thing happened with us Hungarians when we first arrived. Here are the volunteers.

  BILL:

  Okay, you very velocity chilis. Off we go.

  FAT JORGE:

  Off we go.

  FLACA:

  Come on, kids. Say goodbye to the old gringo.

  All the Chileans pile around the counter and hug and kiss the RECEPTIONIST goodbye. They thank him profusely.

  RECEPTIONIST:

  (handing the record player to FAT JORGE) I want you to have this. So you can listen to your record.

  BILL:

  (to FAT JORGE) Gift to you.

  FAT JORGE:

  Oh my God. Thank you, esteemed old gringo. Thank you.

  FAT JORGE embraces the RECEPTIONIST.

  RECEPTIONIST:

  De nada. (taking a camera from his desk) I would like to photograph you before you go.

  JOSELITO:

  He wants to take a picture!

  BILL:

  Right now, everybody, stand there! All you!

  FAT JORGE:

  (to BILL and the SOCIAL WORKER) Come and join us!

  BILL:

  No. This picture of you.

  The RECEPTIONIST takes the picture. This is a suspended moment, with a loud sound effect of a shutter.

  Epilogue

  The entire cast remains frozen in the photograph position. MANUELITA breaks away from the photo and refers to each one of the characters as she speaks, thirty years later.

  ADULT MANUELITA:

  Juan of the Chickens ended up forming a union of all the people in his field: sandwich-board people, sports mascots, singing telegram workers. He now leads the union, which has gone national. Flaca, my mom, worked at the cannery for many years. She put herself through school again, revalidated her degree and she’s now one of the top professors in pedagogy at SFU. Fat Jorge, my dad, worked at the steel mill for a decade. He drank and drank and drank. My mother eventually left him for Bill O’Neill, and my dad drank himself to death on skid row. He lived in the open wound and he died in the open wound. My brother Joselito, always the rebel, became a stock broker. Cakehead baked bread for many years. She put her potter skills to good use with the dough. She now owns the most successful bakery in East Vancouver. It’s called Cakehead’s Delicacies. She specializes in gingerbread houses depicting real-life experiences, such as people attempting suicide by sticking their heads in electric ovens or jumping off the third floor of a building only to land in a dumpster of fibreglass. Calladita is head of housekeeping at the refugee hotel, and, yes, she’s still with Juan of the Chickens. Condor Passes died of a brain aneurysm while lying in Cakehead’s arms. All those blows to the head finally caught up to him. They had just made love. And nine months later Cakehead gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. No one knows how it happened—but Cakehead said that Mapungenechen, the Great Mother, had her hand in it. Cakehead named the baby Salvador, after Allende. Pat Kelemen keeps in touch; she’s one of Cakehead’s regular gingerbread clients. As for me, I just do what my dad told me to do when I was a little girl: I keep my eyes and ears open. Oh, yeah. The receptionist filled a wall with photographs, because many, many, many more refugees came to stay at the refugee hotel. From Guatemala, El Salvador, Vietnam, Iran, Ethiopia, Somalia, Yugoslavia, Colombia, Iraq …