Out of the Wings

El rufián viudo llamado Trampagos (1610-1615), Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra

Dirty Fraud, the Widowed Pimp (2011), translated by Oliver Mayer

Widowed Pimp Mayer 1

Edition

Cervantes, Miguel de. 2011. ‘Dirty Fraud, the Widowed Pimp’, trans. Oliver Mayer. The Mercurian: A Theatrical Translation Review, 3, 2

Context:

This is from the beginning of the play, between Dirty Fraud and his underling Back Pack, following the death of Fraud's prostitute, Dirty Mule. Please note that the character names are Mayer's invention in his translation (see note from the translator).

Further information:

NOTE FROM THE TRANSLATOR: The translation is highly contemporary, and unapologetically in American (even West Coast) English. The idea is to not get bogged down with overly historical references, and rather to let the stories and themes of the plays move as quickly and dramatically as possible. The plays happen NOW, so the translation when possible modernizes props and historical events. However, the feel of the original Cervantes plays -- their sense of humor, of irony, and the overarching wisdom of the author's observations of male and female behavior -- is intended to be as pure as possible. Also, these plays are translated in order to be acted by and produced for young adults; so references to sex and violence, not to mention the occasional cheap laugh, are highly intentional. (Oliver Mayer)

Sample text

MUSIC: P.I.M.P. (REMIX) 12” by 50 CENT AND SNOOP DOGG

Enter DIRTY FRAUD, pimped out, all in black. BACK PACK shuffles on in NBA jersey, listening to the tune on his IPHONE.

DIRTY FRAUD:

Back Pack!

DIRTY FRAUD changes the tune.

MUSIC: THE BEEGEES “LONELY DAYS LONELY NIGHTS”

He sighs funkily, street cred mixed with petulance.

DIRTY FRAUD:

Respect for the dead.

(Slight pause.)

You bring the honeys?

BACK PACK:

Why you think they call me Back Pack?

It’s in my pocket!

(Checks out DIRTY’s duds.)

Piamp!!!

DIRTY FRAUD:

You think? I feel so eh today.

BACK PACK:

But that mourning coat is fly.

DIRTY FRAUD:

On the real?

(Models it.)

Is it dec on me? It’s RocaWear.

BACK PACK examines the cut of DIRTY’s pants.

BACK PACK:

Mmn mmm MMMN!!!

DIRTY FRAUD:

You pig. What can I say?

BACK PACK:

Is that a third leg?

DIRTY FRAUD:

My claim to fame.

BACK PACK:

I’ll get the rock.

BACK PACK shuffles off. DIRTY addresses the sky.

DIRTY FRAUD:

Ah my Dirty Mule, my dirty shaft mule baby –

And everybody else’s mule baby too, you

don’t gotta remind me! You reached greener

pastures, the final frontier! Me, I’m still here

in the shit; but you quit the scene, and the

worst part is I got no clue which direction that is!

Despite your vida loca, and your body down

below, I can only hope your soul is rocking it

up there with the angels!

Looks up. A bird shits on him. He cleans himself off, laughing.

DIRTY FRAUD:

That’s my Dirty Mule! Aw Baby, without you my

Vida will be a lot less Loca. Why wasn’t I

at your bedside – that headboard we used

to knock around – when you gave up the ghost?

I coulda sucked your spirit out of the air so hard

your eyes woulda caved in! I’da put you –

(Quotes Mike Myers.)

‘In my belly!’ Ah human misery! Damn you

Death! You done us all wrong!

(In a feminine voice.)

‘Yesterday I was Dirty Mule! Saddle me up!

I was chillin’! Today I’m in the cold cold ground – ’

(In his own voice.)

Didn’t Tupac say dat?

Copyright

The above sample taken from the translation Dirty Fraud, the Widowed Pimp (2011) by Oliver Mayer is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

Widowed Pimp Mayer 2

Edition

Cervantes, Miguel de. 2011. ‘Dirty Fraud, the Widowed Pimp’, trans. Oliver Mayer. The Mercurian: A Theatrical Translation Review, 3, 2

Context:

This second excerpt occurs with the introduction of Scary Man (Escarramán), a legendary outlaw just out of prison. Please note that the character names are Mayer's invention in his translation (see note from the translator).

Further information:

Sample text

SCARY MAN:

Scary Man’s the name. Let me tell you

how it’s been.

FUNKY MALE returns with instruments.

The two FUNKY MUSICIANS accompany him as he speaks:

SCARY MAN:

I came to ruin on the Barbary Coast –

Got-damn Bay Area got it in for us SoCal

Bruthas – wearing my Laker gear. Who

knew the Judge moonlighted as a referee

at Golden State Warrior games? Stone

cold, he sent me to Quentin. Then two

months back they moved me to Soledad –

but I escaped! Made my way by night on

foot from Salinas to right chere, San Pablo

Avenue, Oaktown! I made a vow to never

change my threads till I made it back to

the ‘Hood, and recovered what’s rightfully

mine.

With that, he reaches out and pulls all three GIRLS to him.

DIRTY and CHICKYBABY try to act cool.

JUAN BRIGHTASS:

Talk about drama!

SCARY MAN:

So how’s my girl Beyonce? Still fine?

JUAN BRIGHTASS:

Lives in Granada Hills. She’s engaged!

SCARY MAN saddens.

CHICKYBABY:

Ain’t that a cock block! He still loves her!

The GIRLS comfort him.

SCARY MAN:

What do people say about me? Anybody

wrote a rap? I been away a long time.

STRAY KITTY shows him her Iphone.

STRAY KITTY:

I googled you, Scary Baby. 32,000 results!

One of ‘em says you’re dead already.

TAIL WAGGER:

Homies on the street rhyme your exploits.

There’s even a dance called ‘The Scary Man’!

KNOB POLISHER:

You’re a god of The Game. Biggie Smalls meets

IceBerg Slim. What more is there?

CHICKYBABY:

All the kids get their freak on to your song –

‘El Escarraman’!

CHICKYBABY demonstrates the dance as the MUSICIANS play.

JUAN BRIGHTASS:

The Spanish version.

(Off SCARY MAN’s react.)

It’s Reggaeton.

Copyright

The above sample taken from the translation Dirty Fraud, the Widowed Pimp (2011) by Oliver Mayer is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

The Widowed Pimp (1996), translated by Dawn Smith

Extract from pp.30-1 of Dawn Smith’s translation

Edition

Cervantes, Miguel de. 1996. ‘The Widowed Pimp’. In Eight Interludes, trans. Dawn Smith, pp. 21-41. London, Everyman

pp. 30-1

Context:

This is the very beginning of the play, as the pimp Trampagos is lamenting the death of his best prostitute, Pericona.

Further information:

Used by permission of Dawn Smith and JM Dent, a division of the Orion Publishing Group, London.

Sample text

Enter the pimp TRAMPAGOS in mourning clothes, followed by his servant VADEMECUM, carrying a pair of fencing foils.

TRAMPAGOS:

Vademecum?

VADEMECUM:

Sir?

TRAMPAGOS:

Have you brought the foils?

VADEMECUM:

I have them here.

TRAMPAGOS:

That's good. On guard! Advance!

(He makes suitable fencing gestures)

Now go and bring me out the highbacked chair,
And all the other chairs around the house.

VADEMECUM:

What chairs? Did you say chairs? You'll be in luck!

TRAMPAGOS:

You oaf! Bring me the gauntlet and the buckler,
Also the bedstead.

VADEMECUM:

It's no use at all.
It's lost a leg.

TRAMPAGOS:

Does that matter?

VADEMECUM:

Certainly.

(Exit VADEMECUM)

TRAMPAGOS:

Ah Pericona, my own Pericona –
Of course, the Council's Pericona too.
Your hour has come and I'm left quite alone.
What's worse, I dare not wonder where you've gone.
Such an exemplary life must surely mean
You've earned your place in hea ..., yet I'm still unable
To think of you up there among the angels.
Now life for me without you seems like death.
I should have stood beside you when you died,
For then I might have caught your fluttering soul,
Swallowed it and kept it in my belly.
A wretched fate is ours! Who dares to trust it?
Or, as a famous poet might have said:

My Pericona lived but yesterday.
Today she's just a clod of frigid clay.

(Enter CHIQUIZNAQUE, another pimp.)

CHIQUIZNAQUE:

What's this, Trampagos? Can it really be
You've come to hate and loathe yourself so much,
Shrouding yourself in gloomy funeral weeds,
Clouding the sunshine in our den of thieves?
My dear Trampagos, you've gone far enough,
Your weeping and your sighing should now cease.
Instead of floods of tears and lamentations,
Give alms, say prayers and honour Pericona
With masses for her soul – God give her peace –
They'll be of more avail than all your grieving.

TRAMPAGOS:

Well, Mr. Chiquiznaque, you certainly can spout
Like a theologian. Whilst I get used
To my new state, why don't we practise fencing?
Just grab a foil and try a lunge or two.

CHIQUIZNAQUE:

Mr. Trampagos, sir,
This is no time for fencing! It's a day
For condoling, sympathizing and consoling.
And you suggest we try a lunge or two!

(Enter VADEMECUM with an old, broken chair)

VADEMECUM:

Upon my soul, do not deny my master
A chance to thrust and parry with his foil,
For then you rob him of his very life.

TRAMPAGOS:

Go in and find the gauntlet and the bench,
And don't forget the buckler, Vademecum.

VADEMECUM:

I'll whip the roast pan, spit, and platters too!

(VADEMECUM goes out again)

TRAMPAGOS:

Later on we'll practise my new riposte;
In my opinion it's unique and rare.
But now the thought of my dear angel's death
Has bound my hands and senses up with grief.

CHIQUIZNAQUE:

How old was the poor lady when she died?

TRAMPAGOS:

As far as all her friends and neighbours knew,
She was but thirty-two.

CHIQUIZNAQUE:

A lusty age!

TRAMPAGOS:

But if the truth be told, her actual age
Was fifty-six; yet she amazed me quite,
Such was her skill at hiding all the signs.
Such dyeing of grey hair, such girlish curls,
Transmuting silver into burnished gold!
Fifteen years have come and gone again
Since first she paid me dues. In that time
I never had to fight on her behalf,
Nor bent my back to bear the cruel lash.
While she was mine, my late lamented jewel,
Fifteen times the lenten season came,
Deafening her with countless pious sermons;
Throughout them all she kept her faith in me,
Unflinching, like the steadfast rock that stands
Against the pounding of the restless sea.
As she emerged from those relentless trials,
Those endless pleadings, prayers and supplications,
Which left her drenched with sweat and quite exhausted,
She'd say to me, ‘I pray to Heaven, Trampagos,
My sufferings here for you will all be noted
And credited in payment for my sins.’

CHIQUIZNAQUE:

Ah, what a triumph!
Rare example of undying constancy!
She's made herself immortal.

TRAMPAGOS:

Beyond a doubt!
Through all those solemn moral exhortations
She shed no tears, her eyes were dry as straw:
You'd swear her soul was fashioned out of flint.

CHIQUIZNAQUE:

Ah, woman, equal of those worthy matrons
In Greece and Rome who won the praise of all!
What caused her death?

TRAMPAGOS:

What caused it? Almost nothing.
The doctors said she suffered with her liver,
And ailments in the hypochondriac region.
With tamarisk infusions, they maintained,
She'd reach the ripe old age of seventy.

CHIQUIZNAQUE: