My name is Dylan, I am a Spanish and Italian student at Trinity College, and the co-director and translator of Yerma by Federico García Lorca.
To give a brief synopsis of the play, it revolves around the gradually deteriorating relationship of the eponymous protagonist, Yerma, and her husband Juan. The two, despite having been married a while before the play begins, have been unable to have a child, and this is the cause of a worsening conflict between them as Yerma desperately wants to fulfil the role of the mother which traditional rural society has assigned for her, while Juan is increasingly dismissive and uncaring. Yerma’s mental state declines and she turns to more unconventional solutions to her problem, eventually culminating in the murder of her husband.
Over the summer, I translated the play, one of the last plays Lorca wrote before his murder in 1936. I did this for a number of reasons, but primarily with the intention of staging the play in some way in Cambridge this academic year. I thought that many of the existing translations didn't feel quite right, and especially if I wanted control of the creative direction, I decided I would also need control of the script.
Having said this, the translation process itself was driven by the creative decisions I was already thinking about when it came to staging. First and foremost, I, along with my co-director, had decided that we wanted to do something different to recent productions of Yerma, most famous of which being the (fairly) recent one at the National Theatre by Simon Stone, which abstracted the story and removed it from its context in rural, 1920s Spain. This meant that we decided we wanted to bring it back to its roots and emphasise – and indeed celebrate – its Spanish-ness. Sometimes the most radical and unique thing to do, it seems, is to go back to basics.
Because of this creative decision, throughout the process I made sure to stick as closely as possible to the original Spanish, especially with certain metaphors and imagery which firmly plant it in the countryside of Andalusia. Furthermore, as the story develops and the protagonist's mental state deteriorates, the play becomes increasingly surreal and, frankly, weird. To convey this, I made the decision to keep certain parts of the more surreal scenes either entirely in Spanish or alternating between Spanish and English – especially the more verse-like sections. I did this primarily thinking about the experience I wanted to convey when the play would be staged: in these scenes, for the audience members who don't speak Spanish, these sections which are kept in the original language would add to the surreal, confusing feeling which I wanted to present. That is, it doesn't necessarily matter if the average audience member doesn't know exactly what is being said in these sections – one of which, for example, is some recitations during a paganistic ritual in the final scene – indeed, I believe it would be better if you don't know.
The scene here, Act Two Scene Two, demonstrates this perfectly. The broader context of the scene within the play is that Yerma and Juan’s relationship has reached a crescendo of tension: rumours of her infidelity with another man, Victor, are haunting the couple, which isn’t helped by her increasingly erratic behaviour. Juan has brought his two sisters, themselves unmarried and childless, to watch over Yerma and ‘keep her in line’, but even they aren’t enough. To add to this, her friend Maria, who has managed to have a baby, comes to visit, and Yerma is forced to see what an ideal version of herself looks like. So, once Maria leaves and Yerma is left alone in the house, she falls into an almost trance-like state, dipping into a weird song-like monologue. This, I thought, was perfect to put into practice my strategic use of Spanish, and so she flips between the two languages throughout this section to show that this is a turning point for her. This scene is also rich with very grounded metaphors and imagery which roots it firmly in the Andalusian countryside, and so I made sure to keep those as authentic as possible.
If this interests you at all, then make sure you come to watch this translation be put on stage in the brilliant venue of Trinity College’s Cloisters from the 8th-10th March. With a live guitarist, vocalist and choreographed Andalusian dance, we hope to celebrate this classic of Spanish literature in a fresh but authentic way.
CUADRO SEGUNDO
(Casa de YERMA. Atardece. JUAN está sentado. Las dos CUÑADAS de pie.)
JUAN. -¿Dices que salió hace poco? (La hermana mayor contesta con la cabeza.) Debe de estar en la fuente. Pero ya sabéis que no me gusta que salga sola. (Pause.) Puedes poner la mesa. (Sale la hermana menor.) Bien ganado tengo el pan que como. (A su hermana.) Ayer pasé un día duro. Estuve podando los manzanos y a la caída de la tarde me puse a pensar pare qué pondría yo tanta ilusión en la faena si no puedo llevarme una manzana a la boca. Estoy harto. (Se pasa la mano por la cara. Pausa.) Esa no viene... Una de vosotras debía salir con ella, porque para eso estáis aquí comiendo en mi mantel y bebiendo mi vino. Mi vida está en el campo, pero mi honra está aquí. Y mi honra es también la vuestra. (La hermana inclina la cabeza.) No lo tomes a mal. (Entra YERMA con dos cántaros. Queda parada en la puerta.) ¿Vienes de la fuente?
YERMA. -Para tener agua fresca en la comida. (Sale la otra hermana.) ¿Cómo están las tierras?
JUAN. -Ayer estuve podando los árboles. (YERMA deja los cántaros. Pausa.)
YERMA. -¿Te quedarás?
JUAN. -He de cuidar el ganado. Tú sabes que esto es cosa del dueño.
YERMA. -Lo sé muy bien. No lo repitas.
JUAN. -Cada hombre tiene su vida.
YERMA. -Y cada mujer la suya. No te pido yo que te quedes. Aquí tengo todo lo que necesito. Tus hermanas me guardan bien. Pan tierno y requesón y cordero asado como yo aquí, y pasto lleno de rocío tus ganados en el monte. Creo que puedes vivir en paz.
JUAN. -Para vivir en paz se necesita estar tranquilo.
YERMA. -¿Y tú no estás?
JUAN. -No lo estoy.
YERMA. -Desvía la intención.
JUAN. - ¿Es que no conoces mi modo de ser? Las ovejas en el redil y las mujeres en su casa. Tú sales demasiado. ¿No me has oído decir esto siempre?
YERMA. -Justo. Las mujeres dentro de sus casas. Cuando las casas no son tumbas. Cuando las sillas se rompen y las sábanas de hilo se gastan con el uso. Pero aquí no. Cada noche, cuando me acuesto, encuentro mi cama más nueva, más reluciente, como si estuviera recién traída de la ciudad.
JUAN. -Tú misma reconoces que llevo razón al quejarme. ¡Que tengo motivos para estar alerta!
YERMA. -Alerta ¿de qué? En nada te ofendo. Vivo sumisa a ti, y lo que sufro lo guardo pegado a mis carnes. Y cada día que pase será peor. Vamos a callarnos. Yo sabré llevar mi cruz como mejor pueda, pero no me preguntes nada. Si pudiera de pronto volverme vieja y tuviera la boca como una flor machacada, te podría sonreír y conllevar la vida contigo. Ahora, ahora déjame con mis clavos.
JUAN. -Hablas de una manera que yo no te entiendo. No te privo de nada. Mando a los pueblos vecinos por las cosas que te gustan. Yo tengo mis defectos, pero quiero tener paz y sosiego contigo. Quiero dormir fuera y pensar que tú duermes también.
YERMA. -Pero yo no duermo, yo no puedo dormir.
JUAN. -¿Es que te falta algo? Dime. ¡Contesta!
YERMA. - (Con intención y mirando fijamente al marido.) Sí, me falta. (Pausa.)
JUAN. -Siempre lo mismo. Hace ya más de cinco años. Yo casi lo estoy olvidando.
YERMA. -Pero yo no soy tú. Los hombres tienen otra vida, los ganados, los árboles, las conversaciones; las mujeres no tenemos más que ésta de la cría y el cuidado de la cría.
JUAN. -Todo el mundo no es igual. ¿Por qué no te traes un hijo de tu hermano? Yo no me opongo.
YERMA. -No quiero cuidar hijos de otros. Me figuro que se me van a helar los brazos de tenerlos.
JUAN. -Con ese achaque vives alocada, sin pensar en lo que debías, y te empeñas en meter la cabeza por una roca.
YERMA. -Roca que es una infamia que sea roca, porque debía ser un canasto de flores y agua dulce.
JUAN. -Estando a tu lado no se siente más que inquietud, desasosiego. En último caso, debes resignarte.
YERMA. -Yo he venido a estas cuatro paredes para no resignarme. Cuando tenga la cabeza atada con un pañuelo para que no se me abra la boca, y las manos bien amarradas dentro del ataúd, en esa hora me habré resignado.
JUAN. -Entonces, ¿qué quieres hacer?
YERMA. -Quiero beber agua y no hay vaso ni agua, quiero subir al monte y no tengo pies, quiero bordar mis enaguas y no encuentro los hilos.
JUAN. -Lo que pasa es que no eres una mujer verdadera y buscas la ruina de un hombre sin voluntad.
YERMA. -Yo no sé quién soy. Déjame andar y desahogarme. En nada te he faltado.
JUAN. -No me gusta que la gente me señale. Por eso quiero ver cerrada esa puerta y cada persona en su casa. (Sale la HERMANA PRIMERA lentamente y se acerca a una alacena.)
YERMA. -Hablar con la gente no es pecado.
JUAN. -Pero puede parecerlo. (Sale la otra hermana y se dirige a los cántaros en los cuales llena una jarra.)
JUAN. -(Bajando la voz.) Yo no tengo fuerzas para estas cosas. Cuando te den conversación cierra la boca y piensa que eres una mujer casada.
YERMA. -(Con asombro.) ¡Casada!
JUAN. -Y que las familias tienen honra y la honra es una carga que se lleva entre dos. (Sale la hermana con la jarra, lentamente.) Pero que está oscura y débil en los mismos caños de la sangre. (Sale la otra hermana con una fuente de modo casi procesional. Pausa.) Perdóname. (YERMA mira a su marido, éste levanta la cabeza y se tropieza con la mirada.) Aunque me miras de un modo que no debía decirte: perdóname, sino obligarte, encerrarte, porque para eso soy el marido. (Aparecen las dos hermanas en la puerta.)
YERMA. -Te ruego que no hables. Deja quieta la cuestión. (Pausa.)
JUAN. -Vamos a comer. (Entran las hermanas.) ¿Me has oído?
YERMA. -(Dulce.) Come tú con tus hermanas. Yo no tengo hambre todavía.
JUAN. -Lo que quieras. (Entra.)
YERMA. -(Como soñando.)
¡Ay, qué prado de pena! ¡Ay, qué puerta cerrada a la hermosura!, que pido un hijo que sufrir, y el aire me ofrece dalias de dormida luna. Estos dos manantiales que yo tengo de leche tibia, son en la espesura de mi carne dos pulsos de caballo que hacen latir la rama de mi angustia. ¡Ay, pechos ciegos bajo mi vestido! ¡Ay, palomas sin ojos ni blancura! ¡Ay, qué dolor de sangre prisionera me está clavando avispas en la nuca! Pero tú has de venir, amor, mi niño, porque el agua da sal, la tierra fruta, y nuestro vientre guarda tiernos hijos como la nube lleva dulce lluvia.
(Mira hacia la puerta.) ¡Maria! ¿Por qué pasas tan de prisa por mi puerta?
MARÍA. -(Entra con un niño en brazos.) Cuando voy con el niño lo hago..., ¡como siempre lloras!
YERMA. -Tienes razón. (Coge al niño y se sienta.)
MARÍA. -Me da tristeza que tengas envidia.
YERMA. -No es envidia lo que tengo; es pobreza.
MARÍA. -No te quejes.
YERMA. -¡Cómo no me voy a quejar cuando te veo a ti y a otras mujeres llenas por dentro de flores, y viéndome yo inútil en medio de tanta hermosura!
MARÍA. -Pero tienes otras cosas. Si me oyeras podrías ser feliz.
YERMA. -La mujer de campo que no da hijos es inútil como un manojo de espinos, y hasta mala, a pesar de que yo sea de este desecho dejado de la mano de Dios. ( MARÍA hace un gesto para tomar al niño.)
YERMA. -Tómalo, contigo está más a gusto. Yo no debo tener manos de madre.
MARÍA. ¿Por qué me dices eso?
YERMA. -(Se levanta.) Porque estoy harta. Porque estoy harta de tenerlas y no poderlas usar en cosa propia. Que estoy ofendida, ofendida y rebajada hasta lo último, viendo que los trigos apuntan, que las fuentes no cesan de dar agua y que paren las ovejas cientos de corderos, y las perras, y que parece que todo el campo puesto de pie me enseña sus crías tiernas, adormiladas, mientras yo siento dos golpes de martillo aquí, en lugar de la boca de mi niño
MARÍA. -No me gusta lo que dices
YERMA. -Las mujeres cuando tenéis hijos no podéis pensar en las que no los tenemos. Os quedáis frescas, ignorantes, como el que nada en agua dulce y no tiene idea de la sed.
MARÍA. -No te quiero decir lo que te digo siempre.
YERMA. -Cada vez tengo más deseos y menos esperanzas.
MARÍA. -Mala cosa.
YERMA. -Acabaré creyendo que yo misma soy mi hijo. Muchas veces bajo yo a echar la comida a los bueyes, que antes no lo hacía, porque ninguna mujer lo hace, y cuando paso por lo oscuro del cobertizo mis pasos me suenan a pasos de hombre.
MARÍA. -Cada criatura tiene su razón.
YERMA. -A pesar de todo sigue queriéndome. ¡Ya ves cómo vivo!
MARIA. ¿Y tus cuñadas?
YERMA. -Muerta me vea y sin mortaja, si alguna vez les dirijo la conversación.
MARÍA. -¿Y tu marido?
YERMA. -Son tres contra mí.
MARÍA. ¿Qué piensan?
YERMA. - Figuraciones. De gente que no tiene la conciencia tranquila. Creen que me puede gustar otro hombre y no saben que aunque me gustara, lo primero de mi casta es la honradez. Son piedras delante de mí. Pero ellos no saben que yo, si quiero, puedo ser agua de arroyo que las lleve. (Una hermana entra y sale llevando un pan.)
MARÍA. - De todas maneras, creo que tu marido te sigue queriendo.
YERMA. -Mi marido me da pan y casa.
MARÍA. -¡Qué trabajos estás pasando, qué trabajos! Pero acuérdate de las llagas de Nuestro Señor. (Están en la puerta.)
YERMA. -(Mirando al niño.) Ya ha despertado.
MARÍA. -Dentro de poco empezará a cantar..
YERMA. -Los mismos ojos que tú, ¿lo sabías? ¿Los has visto? (Llorando.) ¡Tiene los mismos ojos que tienes tú! (YERMA empuja suavemente a MARÍA y ésta sale silenciosa. YERMA se dirige a la puerta por donde entró su marido.)
MUCHACHA 2ª-Chiss.
YERMA. -(Volviéndose.) ¿Qué?
MUCHACHA 2ª-Esperé a que saliera. Mi madre te está aguardando.
YERMA. ¿Está sola?
MUCHACHA 2ª-Con dos vecinas.
YERMA. -Dile que espere un poco.
MUCHACHA 2ª -¿Pero vas a ir? ¿No te da miedo?
YERMA. -Voy a ir.
MUCHACHA 2ª -¡Allá tú!
YERMA. -¡Que me esperen aunque sea tarde! (Entra VÍCTOR.)
VÍCTOR. ¿Está Juan?
YERMA. -Sí.
MUCHACHA 2ª- (Cómplice.) Entonces, luego, yo traeré la blusa,
YERMA. -Cuando quieras. (Sale la MUCHACHA.) Siéntate.
VÍCTOR. -Estoy bien así.
YERMA. -(Llamando.) ¡Juan!
VÍCTOR. -Vengo a despedirme. (Se estremece ligeramente, pero vuelve a su serenidad.)
YERMA. -¿Te vas con tus hermanos?
VÍCTOR. -Así lo quiere mi padre.
YERMA. -Ya debe estar viejo.
VÍCTOR. -Sí. Muy viejo. (Pausa.)
YERMA. -Haces bien de cambiar de campos.
VÍCTOR. - Todos los campos son iguales.
YERMA. -No. Yo me iría muy lejos.
VÍCTOR. -Es todo lo mismo. Las mismas ovejas tienen la misma lana.
YERMA. -Para los hombres, sí; pero las mujeres somos otra cosa. Nunca oí decir a un hombre comiendo: qué buenas son estas manzanas. Vais a lo vuestro sin reparar en las delicadezas. De mí sé decir que he aborrecido el agua de estos pozos.
VÍCTOR. -Puede ser. (La escena está en una suave penumbra.)
YERMA. -VÍCTOR.
VÍCTOR. -Dime.
YERMA. ¿Por qué te vas? Aquí las gentes lo quieren.
VÍCTOR. -Yo me porté bien. (Pausa.)
YERMA. -Te portaste bien. Siendo zagalón me llevaste una vez en brazos, ¿no recuerdas? Nunca se sabe lo que va a pasar.
VÍCTOR. -Todo cambia.
YERMA. - Algunas cosas no cambian. Hay cosas encerradas detrás de los muros que no pueden cambiar porque nadie las oye.
VÍCTOR. -Así es. (Aparece la HERMANA SEGUNDA y se dirige lentamente hacia la puerta, donde queda fija, iluminada por la última luz de la tarde.)
YERMA. -Pero que si salieran de pronto y gritaran, llenarían el mundo.
VÍCTOR. -No se adelantaría nada. La acequia por su sitio, el rebaño en el redil, la luna en el cielo y el hombre con su arado.
YERMA. - ¡Qué pena más grande no poder sentir las enseñanzas de los viejos! ¡Se oye el sonido largo y melancólico de las caracolas de los pastores!
VÍCTOR. -Los rebaños.
JUAN. -(Sale.) ¿Vas ya de camino?
VÍCTOR. Y quiero pasar el puerto antes del amanecer.
JUAN. ¿Llevas alguna queja de mí?
VÍCTOR. -No. Fuiste buen pagador.
JUAN. -(A YERMA.) Le compré los rebaños.
YERMA. -¿Sí?
VÍCTOR. -(A YERMA.) Tuyos son.
YERMA. -No lo sabía.
JUAN. -(Satisfecho.) Así es.
VÍCTOR. -Tu marido ha de ver su hacienda colmada.
YERMA. -El fruto viene a las manos del trabajador que lo busca. (La hermana que está en la puerta entra dentro.)
JUAN. -Ya no tenemos sitio donde meter tantas ovejas.
YERMA. – (Sombría.) La tierra es grande. (Pausa.)
JUAN. -Iremos juntos hasta el arroyo.
VÍCTOR. -Deseo la mayor felicidad para esta casa. (Le da la mano a YERMA.)
YERMA. - ¡Dios lo oiga! ¡Salud!
(VÍCTOR le da salida y, a un movimiento imperceptible de YERMA, se vuelve.)
VÍCTOR. ¿Decías algo?
YERMA. -(Dramática.) Salud, dije.
VÍCTOR. - Gracias. (Salen. YERMA queda angustiada mirándose la mano que ha dado a
VÍCTOR. YERMA se dirige rápidamente hacia la izquierda y toma un mantón.)
MUCHACHA 2ª-Vamos. (En silencio, tapándole la cabeza.)
YERMA. - Vamos. (Salen sigilosamente.) (La escena está casi a oscuras. Sale la HERMANA
PRIMERA con un velón que no debe dar al teatro luz ninguna sino la natural que lleva. Se dirige al fin de la escena, buscando a YERMA. Suenan las caracolas de los rebaños.)
CUÑADA 1ª-(En voz baja.) ¡Yerma!
(Sale la HERMANA SEGUNDA. Se miran las dos y se dirigen hacia la puerta.)
CUÑADA 2ª-(Más alto.) ¡Yerma!
CUÑADA 1ª- (Dirigiéndose a la puerta y con una imperiosa voz.) ¡Yerma!
(Se oyen las caracolas y los cuernos de los pastores. La escena está oscurísima.)
***
Scene Two
(YERMA’s house. It’s getting dark. JUAN is sat. The two SISTERS-IN-LAWS are standing.)
JUAN:
You say that she left not long ago? (The older sister nods her head.) She’ll be down by the spring. But, you know, I don’t like it when she goes out alone. (He pauses) You can lay the table. (The older sister exits) Hard-earned is the bread that I eat. I had a hard day yesterday. I was pruning the apple trees, and as evening fell I thought to myself: why do I put so much effort into my work when I can barely have an apple for myself. I’m fed up. (He passes his hand over his face) She’s not coming. One of you should have gone with her, that’s why you’re here, eating at my table and drinking my wine. My life is in the fields, but my honour is here. And my honour is also yours. (The younger sister lowers her head) Don’t take it poorly. (YERMA enters carrying two jugs. She stops in the doorway) Have you come from the spring?
YERMA:
To fetch fresh water for the meal. (The younger sister exits) How are the fields? (She puts down the jugs and pauses)
JUAN:
Yesterday I was pruning the trees.
YERMA:
Are you staying?
JUAN:
I have to watch the flock. You know that this is the owner’s duty.
YERMA:
I know that all too well. Don’t repeat it.
JUAN:
Every man has his life.
YERMA:
And every woman hers. I’m not asking you to stay. I have everything I need here. Your sisters look after me well. I have soft bread, cheese and roast lamb, while your cattle eat grass drenched with dew on the hillsides. I’d have thought you’d be able to live in peace.
JUAN:
To live in peace you need to be peaceful.
YERMA:
And that you aren’t.
JUAN:
No, that I’m not.
YERMA:
Don’t even start it.
JUAN:
Don’t you know my way of life? The sheep in the fold and the women at home. You go out too much. Haven’t you always heard me say this?
YERMA:
That’s right. A woman in her home. When that home isn’t a tomb. When the chairs break and the linen sheets wear down with use. But not here. Every night, when I go to bed, I find my bed newer, shinier, as if it had been just brought from the town.
JUAN:
You yourself recognise that I have a right to complain. That I have reasons to be careful!
YERMA:
Careful of what? I’ve done nothing to offend you. I live obediently, and what I suffer I keep close in my heart. And every day that passes will be worse. Let’s stop this, now. I’ll learn to bear my cross as best as I can, but don’t ask me for anything else. If I could suddenly turn into an old woman with a mouth like a withered flower, I might be able to smile and live our life together. But now, now leave me with my thorns.
JUAN:
You’re speaking in a way that I don’t understand. I don’t deprive you of anything, I send to town for whatever you want. I have my faults, but I want to live peacefully and quietly with you. I want to sleep in the fields knowing that you sleep too.
YERMA:
But I don’t sleep, I can’t sleep.
JUAN:
Do you need something? Tell me!
YERMA: (Deliberately, looking directly at her husband)
Yes, I need something. (Pauses)
JUAN:
Always the same. It’s been more than five years now. I’ve almost forgotten about it.
YERMA: But I’m not you. Men have another life: cattle, trees, conversations. Women don’t have anything but children and childcare.
JUAN:
Everyone is different. Why don’t you have one of your brother’s children here? I wouldn’t object.
YERMA:
I don’t want to look after someone else’s child. I think my arms would freeze from holding them.
JUAN:
And this is why you’re living so crazy, instead of thinking about what you should think, you insist on bashing your head on a rock.
YERMA: A rock; it’s shameful that it’s a rock, when it should be a bunch of flowers and sweet scents.
JUAN:
Being at your side brings nothing but worry, unease. In the end, you’ll resign yourself to it.
YERMA:
I didn’t enter these four walls to resign myself. When my head is tied with a cloth so I can’t open my mouth, when my hands are tied tight in the coffin, that’s when I’ll resign myself!
JUAN:
Well, what do you want to do?
YERMA: I want to drink and there’s neither water nor glass; I want to climb the mountain but I have no feet; I want to embroider my dress but I can’t find the thread.
JUAN:
The truth is you’re not a real woman and you’re trying to ruin a man against his will.
YERMA:
I don’t know what I am. I don’t know who I am. Let me wander and let off some steam. I’ve not failed you in anything.
JUAN:
I don’t like people pointing me out. That’s why I want to see that door closed and everyone in the house.
(The first sister enters slowly and goes towards a cupboard)
YERMA:
Speaking to people is no sin.
JUAN:
But it can seem so. (The other sister enters and goes towards the jugs, filling a pitcher. JUAN lowers his voice) I don’t have the strength for these things. When people speak to you, shut your mouth and remember that you’re a married woman.
YERMA: (Astonished) Married!
JUAN:
And that families have honour, and honour is a burden shared between the two of us. (The sister with the pitcher exits, slowly) But it runs dark and weak in the same veins. (The other sister exits in an almost processional way) Forgive me. (YERMA looks at her husband, who raises his head and meets her gaze) Even though you look at me such that I shouldn’t ask for forgiveness, I should instead force you to obey, lock you up, like a husband should.
(The two sisters appear at the door.)
YERMA:
I’m begging you not to speak like this. Let the matter rest. (Pauses.)
JUAN:
Let’s eat. (The two sisters exit) Did you hear me?
YERMA: (Sweetly)
Eat with your sisters. I’m not hungry yet.
JUAN:
As you wish. (Exits)
YERMA: (As if dreaming. Music swells.)
Oh, this meadow of grief!
Oh, this door, closed to beauty!
To ask for a son, to suffer, and the air
offers me the sleeping moon’s dahlias.
These two springs of warm milk
that I have in the thickness of my flesh
are two beats of a horse’s hoof
(Enter VICTOR, dressed as the devil. He motions to JUAN, who stands in the olive grove.)
que hacen latir la rama de mi angustia.
¡Ay, pechos ciegos bajo mi vestido!
¡Ay, palomas sin ojos ni blancura!
¡Ay, qué dolor de sangre prisionera
me está clavando avispas en la nuca!
But you must come, my child, my love,
porque el agua da sal, la tierra fruta,
and our wombs hold tender children,
como la nube lleva dulce lluvia.
(Exit VICTOR.)
(She looks towards the door) Maria! Why are you going by in such a hurry?
MARIA: (With a baby in her arms)
I do whenever I have the baby… you always weep!
YERMA:
You’re right. (She takes the baby and sits down)
MARIA:
Your jealousy makes me sad.
YERMA:
It’s not jealousy; it’s poverty.
MARIA:
You shouldn’t complain.
YERMA: How am I meant to not complain when I see you and other women, filled with flowers, and I see myself, so useless amid so much beauty!
MARIA:
But you have other things. If you listened to me, you’d be happy.
YERMA:
A farmer’s wife who doesn’t bear children is as useless as a handful of thorns, almost evil, even though I too come from this wasteland abandoned by God. (MARIA goes to take the baby) Take him, he’s happier with you. I mustn’t have a mother’s hands.
MARIA:
Why do you say that?
YERMA: (Gets up)
Because I’m tired. Because I’m tired of having them and not being able to use them for something of my own. Because I’m hurt, I’m hurt and humiliated and reduced to nothing, seeing the crops grow, the rivers give water endlessly, the sheep bearing hundreds of lambs, until it seems like the whole countryside is rising to show me its young, tender and sleeping, while I feel these hammer-blows here, instead of the mouth of my baby.
MARIA:
I don’t like what you’re saying.
YERMA:
When you women have children you can’t think of those of us who don’t. You’re always refreshed, unaware, like those who swim in sweet water and know nothing of thirst.
MARIA:
I don’t want to tell you again…
YERMA: I feel more longing and less hope.
MARIA:
That’s not good.
YERMA:
I’ll end up believing that I’m my own child. I often go down to feed the oxen, which I didn’t do before because it’s not a woman’s job, and when I pass through the dark barn my footsteps sound like a man’s.
MARIA:
Everyone has their purpose.
YERMA: In spite of it all, I keep seeking. See how I live!
MARIA:
And your sisters-in-law?
YERMA:
I’ll be dead, and without a shroud, should I ever turn to them for conversation.
MARIA:
And your husband?
YERMA: The three of them are against me.
MARIA: What do they think?
YERMA:
Fantasies. From people who don’t have a clean conscience. They think I might want another man and they don’t know that, even if I did, my honour comes first and foremost. They are stones before me, but they don’t know that I could, if I wanted, wash them away like a stream.
(One of the SISTERS enters and exits carrying a loaf of bread.)
MARIA:
Even so, I think your husband still loves you.
YERMA:
My husband gives me bread and a house.
MARIA:
You are enduring some difficult times, some truly difficult times. But remember the sufferings of Our Lord. (They reach the doorway)
YERMA: (Looking at the baby)
He’s woken up now.
MARIA:
Soon he’ll start to sing.
YERMA:
He has your eyes, you know. Have you seen them? (Crying) He has the same eyes as you!
(YERMA gently pushes MARIA and she leaves silently. YERMA walks towards the door from which her husband left)
FIRST GIRL:
Psst!
YERMA: (Turning around)
What?
FIRST GIRL:
I waited until she left. My mother’s waiting for you.
YERMA:
Is she alone?
FIRST GIRL: She’s with two neighbours.
YERMA:
Tell them to wait a bit.
FIRST GIRL: But you’re going to go? You’re not scared?
YERMA: I’m going to go.
FIRST GIRL: It’s up to you!
YERMA: Tell them to wait for me even though it’s late!
(VICTOR enters)
VICTOR:
Is Juan here?
YERMA:
Yes.
FIRST GIRL: (Complicitly)
Well, I’ll bring the blouse later, then.
YERMA: Whenever you want. (FIRST GIRL exits) Sit down.
VICTOR:
I’m fine like this.
YERMA: (Calling her husband)
Juan!
VICTOR:
I’ve come to say goodbye.
YERMA: (She trembles slightly, but regains her composure)
Are you going with your brothers?
VICTOR:
That’s what my father wants.
YERMA: He must be old now.
VICTOR:
Yes, very old. (Pause)
YERMA:
It’s right that you’re moving fields.
VICTOR: All the fields are the same.
YERMA: No. I’d go far. Very far.
VICTOR:
It’s all the same. The same sheep have the same wool.
YERMA:
For men, maybe; but for women, it’s different. I’ve never heard a man say, while eating: how good these apples are! You go about your business, you take what is yours, without fussing over trifles. For me, I can say that I have grown to hate the water from these wells.
VICTOR:
Perhaps so. (The stage is in a soft shadow)
YERMA:
Victor?
VICTOR:
Yes?
YERMA: Why are you leaving? The people love you here.
VICTOR:
I’ve behaved well. (Pause)
YERMA:
You’ve behaved well. When you were just a boy, you held me once in your arms. Do you remember? Who knows what may happen?
VICTOR: Things change.
YERMA: Some things don’t. There are things shut behind walls which can’t change because nobody hears them.
VICTOR:
That’s how it is.
(One of the SISTERS enters and goes slowly towards the door, where she remains fixed, standing, lit by the last light of the evening.)
YERMA: But if they suddenly came out and shouted, they’d fill the world with their cries.
VICTOR:
Nothing would be gained. Let the ditch be where it’s dug, the flock in its fold, the moon in the sky, and the man with his plough.
YERMA: What a great shame we can’t listen to what our elders teach us!
(The deep and melancholy sound of the shepherds’ horn is heard)
VICTOR:
The herds.
JUAN: (Enters)
You’re already leaving?
VICTOR:
I want to reach the pass before dawn.
JUAN: Do you have any grievances with me?
VICTOR:
No. You paid well.
JUAN: (To YERMA)
I bought his sheep.
YERMA: You did?
VICTOR: (To YERMA)
They’re yours.
YERMA: I didn’t know.
JUAN: (Satisfied)
That’s how it is.
VICTOR: Your husband will soon see his fields overflow.
YERMA:
The fruit comes to the worker who seeks it.
(The SISTER in the doorway goes inside)
JUAN:
We no longer have enough room to keep so many sheep.
YERMA: (Sombrely)
These lands are vast. (Pause)
JUAN:
Let’s go together as far as the stream.
VICTOR: I wish only the greatest happiness for this house. (He takes YERMA’s hand)
YERMA:
May God hear you! Farewell!
(VICTOR waves goodbye and, at an imperceptible movement of YERMA, turns around)
VICTOR:
Did you say something?
YERMA: (Dramatically)
I said farewell!
VICTOR:
Thank you.
(The two men exit. YERMA is left distraught, looking at the hand which VICTOR held. She moved rapidly to the left and picks up a shawl)
FIRST GIRL:
Let’s go. (Silently covering her head)
YERMA:
Let’s go.
(They leave cautiously. The scene is almost dark. One of the SISTERS enters with a lantern which doesn’t give any light but its own natural light. She goes towards the edge of the stage, looking for YERMA. The shepherds’ horn sounds.)
FIRST SISTER: (Quietly)
Yerma!
(The other SISTER enters. They look at each other and go towards the door)
SECOND SISTER: (Louder)
Yerma!
FIRST SISTER: (Going towards the door, in an authoritative voice)
Yerma!
(The shepherds’ horns and bells sound. The scene is in total darkness)
Translation by Dylan Stewart
Original play by Federico García Lorca
Yerma will be showing between 8th and 10th March under Trinity College’s Wren Library. Go to https://www.camdram.net/shows/2024-yerma for more information and tickets.