Ruined

by Lynn Nottage

  CHRISTIAN: Tst!

  (Christian cracks open a few peanuts, and playfully pops them into his mouth. The parrot squawks.)

  What’s there? In the cage?

  MAMA: Oh, that, a gray parrot. Old Papa Batunga passed.

  CHRISTIAN: When?

  MAMA: Last Thursday. No one wanted the damn bird. It complains too much.

  CHRISTIAN (Amused): Yeah, what does it say?

  (Christian walks to the birdcage, and peers under the covering.)

  MAMA: Who the hell knows. It speaks pygmy. Old Papa was the last of his tribe. That stupid bird was the only thing he had left to talk to.

  CHRISTIAN (To the bird): Hello?

  MAMA: He believed as long as the words of the forest people were spoken, the spirits would stay alive.

  CHRISTIAN: For true?

  MAMA: Yeah, well, when that bird dies this place is gonna lose part of its story.

  CHRISTIAN (Poking his finger into the cage): What are you going to do with him?

  MAMA: Sell it. I don’t want it. It stinks.

  CHRISTIAN (Still poking; to the parrot): Hello.

  MAMA: Hey, hey don’t put your fingers in there.

  CHRISTIAN: Look. He likes me. So, Mama, you haven’t asked me what else I’ve brought for you? Go see. (Quickly withdraws his finger) Ow. Shit. He bit me.

  MAMA: Well, you shouldn’t be messing with it. (Laughs)

  CHRISTIAN: Ow, damn it.

  MAMA (Impatiently): Don’t be a cry baby, what did you bring me? Well? … Are you going to keep me guessing?

  CHRISTIAN (Sitting back down): Go on. Take a peek in the truck. And don’t say I don’t think about you.

  MAMA (Smiling): How many?

  CHRISTIAN: Three.

  MAMA: Three? But, I can’t use three right now. You know that.

  CHRISTIAN: Of course you can. And I’ll give you a good price if you take all of them.

  (Mama goes to the doorway, and peers out at the offerings, unimpressed.)

  MAMA: I don’t know. They look used. Worn.

  CHRISTIAN: C’mon, Mama. Take another look. A full look. You’ve said it yourself business is good.

  (Mama considers, then finally:)

  MAMA: Okay, one. That one in front. (Points into the distance)

  CHRISTIAN: Three. C’mon, don’t make me travel back with them.

  MAMA: Just one. How much?

  CHRISTIAN: Do you know how difficult it was getting here? The road was completely washed out—

  MAMA: All right, all right. I don’t need the whole damn saga. Just tell me, how much for the one?

  CHRISTIAN: The same as usual plus twenty-five, because … because … You understand it wasn’t easy to get here with the—

  MAMA: I’ll give you fifteen.

  CHRISTIAN: Ahh! Fifteen? No. That’s nothing. Twenty-two. C’mon.

  MAMA: Twenty. My best offer.

  (Christian mulls it over. He’s reluctant.)

  CHRISTIAN: Aye. Okay. Okay. Damn it. Yes. Yes. But I expect another cold Fanta. One from the bottom this time.

  (Christian, defeated, exits. Mama smiles victoriously, and retrieves another soda from the cooler. She reapplies her lipstick for good measure, then counts out her money.

  Christian reenters proudly bearing two cartons of Ugandan cigarettes. A moment later two women in ragged clothing step tentatively into the bar: Sophie, a luminous beauty with an air of defiance, and Salima, a sturdy peasant woman whose face betrays a world-weariness. They hold hands. Mama studies the women, then:)

  MAMA: I said one. That one.

  (Mama points to Sophie.)

  CHRISTIAN: It’s been a good week, and I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you two for the price of one. Why not?

  MAMA: Are you deaf? No. Tst! I don’t need two more mouths to feed and pester me.

  (Mama continues to examine each woman.)

  CHRISTIAN: Take both. Feed them as one. Please, Mama, I’ll throw in the cigarettes for cost.

  MAMA: But, I’ll only pay for one.

  CHRISTIAN: Of course. We agree, why are we arguing?

  MAMA (Yelling): Josephine! Josephine! Where is that stupid woman?

  (Josephine, a sexy woman in a short western-style miniskirt and high heels appears in the beaded doorway. She surveys the new women with obvious contempt.)

  Take them out back. Get them washed and some proper clothing.

  JOSEPHINE: Kuya apa (Beat) sasa.1 (Beckons to the women. They reluctantly follow)

  MAMA: Wait.

  (Mama gestures to Salima, who clings to Sophie.)

  You. Come here.

  (Salima doesn’t move.)

  Come.

  (Salima clings to Sophie, then slowly walks toward Mama.)

  What’s your name?

  SALIMA (Whispers): Salima.

  MAMA: What?

  SALIMA: Salima.

  (Mama examines Salima’s rough hands.)

  MAMA: Rough. (With disdain) A digger. We’ll have to do something about that.

  (Salima yanks her hand away. Mama registers the bold gesture.)

  And you, come. (Sophie walks to Mama) You’re a pretty thing, what’s your name?

  SOPHIE (Gently): Sophie.

  MAMA: Do you have a smile?

  SOPHIE: Yes.

  MAMA: Then let me see it.

  (Sophie struggles to find a halfhearted smile.)

  Good. Go get washed up.

  (A moment.)

  JOSEPHINE (Snaps): C’mon, now!

  (Salima looks to Sophie. The women follow behind Josephine. Sophie walks with some pain and effort.)

  MAMA: Did you at least tell them this time?

  CHRISTIAN: Yes. They know and they came willingly.

  MAMA: And … ?

  CHRISTIAN: Salima is from a tiny village. No place really. She was, captured by rebel soldiers, Mayi-mayi, the poor thing spent nearly five months in the bush as their concubine.

  MAMA: And what of her people?

  CHRISTIAN: She says her husband is a farmer. And from what I understand, her village won’t have her back. Because … But she’s a simple girl, she doesn’t have much learning, I wouldn’t worry about her.

  MAMA: And the other?

  CHRISTIAN: Sophie. Sophie is …

  MAMA: Is what?

  CHRISTIAN: … is … ruined.

  (A moment.)

  MAMA (Enraged): You brought me a girl that’s ruined?

  CHRISTIAN: She cost you nothing.

  MAMA: I paid money for her, not the other one. The other one is plain. I have half a dozen girls like her, I don’t need to feed another plain girl.

  CHRISTIAN: I know this, okay, don’t get worked-up. Sophie is a good girl, she won’t trouble you.

  MAMA: How do I know that?

  CHRISTIAN (Defensively): Because I am telling you. She’s seen some very bad times.

  MAMA: Yeah? And why is that my concern?

  CHRISTIAN: Take her on, just for a month. You’ll see she’s a good girl. Hard worker.

  (Mama gestures toward her own genitals.)

  MAMA: But damaged, am I right?

  CHRISTIAN: Yes … Look, militia did ungodly things to the child, took her with … a bayonet and then left her for dead. And she was—

  MAMA (Snaps): I don’t need to hear it. Are you done?

  CHRISTIAN (Passionately): Things are gonna get busy, Mama. All along the road people are talking about how this red dirt is rich with coltan. Suddenly everyone has a shovel, and wants to stake a claim since that boastful pygmy dug up his fortune in the reserve. I guarantee there’ll be twice as many miners here by September. And you know all those bastards will be thirsty. So, take her, put her to work for you.

  MAMA: And what makes you think I have any use for her?

  CHRISTIAN (Pleads): The girl cooks, cleans and she sings like an angel. And you … you haven’t had nice music here since that one, that beauty Camille got the AIDS.

  MAMA: No. A girl like this is bad luck. I can’t have it. Josephine! Josep
hine!

  CHRISTIAN: And, Mama, she’s pretty pretty. She’ll keep the miners eyes happy. I promise.

  MAMA: Stop it already, no. You’re like a hyena. Won’t you shut up, now.

  (Josephine enters, put upon.)

  JOSEPHINE: Yes, Mama.

  MAMA: Bring the girl, Sophie, back.

  CHRISTIAN: Wait. Give us a minute, Josephine.

  (Josephine doesn’t move.)

  Mama, please. Look, okay, I’m asking you to do me this favor. I’ve done many things for you over the years. And I don’t ask you for a lot in return. Please. The child has no place else to go.

  MAMA: I’m sorry, but I’m running a business not a mission. Take her to the sisters in Bunia, let her weave baskets for them. Josephine, why are you standing there like a fool … go get the girl.

  CHRISTIAN: Wait.

  JOSEPHINE (Annoyed): Do you want me to stay or to go?

  MAMA (Snaps): Get her!

  (Josephine sucks her teeth and exits.)

  CHRISTIAN (With a tinge of resentment): Tst! I remembered your lipstick and everything.

  MAMA: Don’t look at me that way. I open my doors, and tomorrow I’m refugee camp overrun with suffering. Everyone has their hand open since this damned war began. I can’t do it. I keep food in the mouths of eight women when half the country’s starving, so don’t give me shit about taking on one more girl.

  CHRISTIAN: Look. Have anything you want off of my truck. Anything! I even have some … some Belgian chocolate.

  MAMA: You won’t let up. Why are you so damn concerned with this girl? Huh?

  CHRISTIAN: C’mon, Mama, please.

  MAMA: Chocolate. I always ask you for chocolate, and you always tell me it turns in this heat. How many times have you refused me this year. Huh? But, she must be very very important to you. I see that. Do you want to fuck her or something?

  (A moment.)

  CHRISTIAN: She’s my sister’s only daughter. Okay? I told my family I’d find a place for her … And here at least I know she’ll be safe. Fed.

  (He stops himself and gulps down his soda.)

  And as you know the village isn’t a place for a girl who has been … ruined. It brings shame, dishonor to the family.

  MAMA (Ironically): But it’s okay for her to be here, huh? I’m sorry, but, I can’t. I don’t have room for another broken girl.

  CHRISTIAN: She eats like a bird. Nothing.

  (Sophie enters.)

  SOPHIE: Madame. MAMA (Defensively): It’s “Mademoiselle.”

  (Mama stares at Sophie, thinking, her resolve slowly softening.)

  Come here.

  (Sophie walks over to Mama.)

  How old are you?

  (Sophie meets Mama’s eyes.)

  SOPHIE: Eighteen.

  MAMA: Yeah? Do you have a beau? SOPHIE: No.

  (Mama’s surprised by her haughtiness.)

  MAMA: Are you a student?

  SOPHIE: Yes, I was to sit for the university exam.

  MAMA: I bet you were good at your studies. Am I right?

  SOPHIE: Yes.

  MAMA: A petit bureaucrat in the making.

  (Sophie shifts with discomfort. Her body aches, tears escape her eyes. Mama uses her skirt to wipe Sophie’s eyes.)

  Did they hurt you badly?

  SOPHIE (Whispered): … Yes.

  MAMA: I bet they did.

  (Mama studies Sophie. She considers, then decides:)

  Christian, go get me the chocolate.

  CHRISTIAN: Does that mean … ?

  MAMA: I’m doing this for you, cuz you’ve been good to me. (Whispers to Christian) But this is the last time you bring me damaged goods. Understood? It’s no good for business.

  CHRISTIAN: Thank you. It’s the last time. I promise. Thank you.

  MAMA (To Sophie): You sing?

  SOPHIE (Softly): Yes.

  MAMA: Do you know any popular songs?

  SOPHIE: Yes. A few.

  CHRISTIAN: Speak up!

  (Christian exits.)

  SOPHIE: Yes, Mad … (Catching herself ) … emoiselle.

  MAMA: Mama. You do math? Stuff like that?

  SOPHIE: Yes, Mama.

  MAMA: Good.

  (Mama lifts Sophie’s chin with her fingers, enviously examining her face.)

  Yes, you’re very pretty. I can see how that caused you problems. Do you know what kind of place this is?

  SOPHIE: Yes, Mama. I think so.

  MAMA: Good.

  (Mama carefully applies red lipstick to Sophie’s mouth.)

  Then we have no problems. I expect my girls to be well behaved and clean. That’s all. I provide a bed, food and clothing. If things are good, everyone gets a little. If things are bad, then Mama eats first. Am I making myself clear?

  (Sophie nods.)

  Good. Red is your color.

  (Sophie doesn’t respond.)

  Thank you, Mama.

  SOPHIE: Thank you, Mama.

  (Mama pours a glass of local home-brewed liquor. She holds it out.)

  MAMA: Here. It’ll help the pain down below. I know it hurts, because it smells like the rot of meat. So wash good.

  (Sophie takes the glass, and slowly drinks the liquor down.)

  Don’t get too dependent on drink. It’ll make you sloppy, and I have no tolerance for sloppiness. Understood?

  (Christian, put upon, reenters with a faded, but pretty, box of chocolates.)

  CHRISTIAN: Handmade. Imported. Très bon. I hope you’re impressed. A Belgian shopkeeper in Bunia ordered them. Real particular. I had a hell of a time trying to find these Goddamn chocolates. And then, poof, she’s gone. And now I’m stuck with twenty boxes, I tried to pawn them off on Pastor Robbins, but apparently he’s on a diet.

  (Mama opens the box, surveying the chocolates. She’s in seventh heaven. She offers a piece to Sophie, who timidly selects a piece.)

  SOPHIE: Merci.

  (Mama bites into the chocolate.)

  MAMA: Mmm.

  CHRISTIAN: Happy? That’s what the good life in Belgium tastes like.

  MAMA: Caramel. (Savoring) Good God, I haven’t had caramel in ages. You bastard, you’ve been holding out on me! Mmm. Smell ’em, the smell reminds me of my mother. She’d take me and my brothers to Kisangani. And she’d buy us each an enormous bag of caramels wrapped in that impossible plastic. You know why? So we wouldn’t tell my grandfather about all of the uncles she visited in the big town. She’d sit us on the bank of the river, watching the boats and eating sweaty caramels, while she “visited with uncles.” And as long as there were sweets, we didn’t breathe a word, not a murmur, to old Papa.

  (Sophie eats her chocolate, smiling for the first time. Christian reaches for a chocolate, but Mama quickly slaps his hand away.)

  CHRISTIAN: What about me?

  MAMA: What about you?

  CHRISTIAN: Don’t I get one?

  MAMA: No!

  (This amuses Sophie. She smiles.)

  CHRISTIAN: Why are you smiling? You’re a lucky girl. You’re lucky you have such a good uncle. A lot of men would’ve left you for dead.

  (Sophie’s smile disappears.)

  MAMA: Never mind him. (To Christian) Go already and bring the other stuff in before the vultures steal it!

  CHRISTIAN: Sophie. I’m … you … you be a good girl. Don’t make Mama angry.

  SOPHIE: I won’t Uncle.

  (Christian exits, an apology in his posture. Sophie licks her chocolate-covered fingers as the lights fade.)

  Scene 2

  A month later. The bar. Josephine cranks the generator. Colorful Christmas lights flicker. The generator hums on. Music and lights provide a festive atmosphere. The birdcage rests in the back of the bar. Periodically the bird makes a raucous.

  At the bar, drunk and disheveled Rebel Soldiers drain their beers and laugh too loudly. Salima, wearing a shiny gold midriff, a colorful traditional wrap and mismatched yellow heels, shoots pool, doing her best to ignore the occasional lustful leers of the Soldiers.

/>   Jerome Kisembe, the rebel leader dressed in military uniform, holds court. Mama, toting bowls of peanuts, wears a bright red kerchief around her neck, in recognition of the rebel leader’s colors. Josephine dirty-dances for Mr. Harari, a tipsy Lebanese diamond merchant, who sports surprisingly pristine clothing. He is barefoot.

  Sophie plows through an upbeat dance song, accompanied by a guitar and drums.

  SOPHIE (Sings):The liquid night slowly pours in

  Languor peels away like a curtain

  Spirits rise and tongues loosen

  And the weary ask to be forgiven.

  You come here to forget,

  You say drive away all regret

  And dance like it’s the ending

  The ending of the war.

  The day’s heavy door closes quick

  Leaving the scold of the sun behind

  Dusk ushers in the forest’s music

  And your body’s free to unwind.

  (Josephine dances for the men. They give her tips.)

  You come here to forget,

  You say drive away all regret

  And dance like it’s the ending

  The ending of the war.

  But can the music be all forgiving

  Purge the wear and tear of the living?

  Will the sound drown out your sorrow,

  So you’ll remember nothing tomorrow?

  (A drunk Rebel Soldier stands, and demands attention.)

  REBEL SOLDIER #1: Another! Hey!

  MAMA: I hear you! I hear you!

  REBEL SOLDIER #1: C’mon! Another!

  (He clumsily slams the bottle on the counter. He gestures to Sophie.)

  Psst! You! Psst! Psst!

  (Another Rebel Soldier gives Sophie a catcall. Sophie ignores him. Rebel Soldier #1 turns his attention back to Mama.)

  Her! Why won’t she come talk to me?

  MAMA: You want to talk to her. Behave, and let me see your money.

  (Kisembe, haughty, lets out a roar of a laugh.)

  REBEL SOLDIER #1: The damn beer drained my pocket. It cost too much! You’re a fucking thief!

  MAMA: Then go somewhere else. And mind your tongue. (Turns away)

  REBEL SOLDIER #1: Hey. Wait. Wait. I want her to talk to me. Mama, lookie! I have this. (Proudly displays a cloth filled with little chunks of ore)

  MAMA: What is it? Huh? Coltan? Where’d you get it?

  REBEL SOLDIER #1 (Boasting): From a miner on the reserve.

  MAMA: He just gave it to you?

  REBEL SOLDIER #1 (Snickering): Yeah, he give it to me. Dirty poacher been diggin’ up our forest, we run ’em off. Run them good, gangsta style: “Muthafucka run!” Left ’em for the fucking scavengers.