Leonardo Felix Character Analysis

NEIGHBOUR. Calm down. What good does it do you?

MOTHER. None. But you understand.

NEIGHBOUR. Don’t stand in the way of your son’s happiness. Don’t tell him anything. You’re an old woman. Me too. You and me, we have to keep quiet.

MOTHER. I won’t say anything.

NEIGHBOUR (kissing her). Nothing.

MOTHER (calmly). Things!...

NEIGHBOUR. I’m going.

Down they went to the river bank,
Down to the stream they rode.
There his blood ran strong and fast,
Faster than the water could.
[…] Go to sleep carnation,
For the horse will not drink deep.

LEONARDO (getting up). I suppose the bride will be wearing a big wreath of flowers? It shouldn’t be so big. Something smaller would suit her better. Did the bridegroom bring the orange-blossom so she can wear it on her heart?

BRIDE (she appears still in petticoats and with the wreath of flowers in place). He brought it.

SERVANT (strongly). Don’t come out like that.

BRIDE. What’s the matter? (Seriously.) Why do you want to know if they brought the orange-blossom? What are you hinting at?

LEONARDO. What would I be hinting at? (Moving closer.) You, you know me, you know I’m not hinting. Tell me. What was I to you? Open up your memory, refresh it. But two oxen and a broken-down shack are almost nothing. That’s the thorn.

BRIDE. […] I’ll shut myself away with my husband, and I’ll love him above everything.

LEONARDO. Pride will get you nowhere! (He approaches her.)

BRIDE. Don’t come near me!

LEONARDO. To keep quiet and burn is the greatest punishment we can heap upon ourselves. What use was pride to me and not seeing you and leaving you awake night after night? No use! It only brought the fire down on top of me! You think that time heals and walls conceal, and it’s not true, not true! When the roots of things go deep, no one can pull them up!

I can’t hear you. I can’t hear your voice. It’s as if I’d drunk a bottle of anise and fallen asleep on a bedspread of roses. And it drags me along, and I know that I’m drowning, but I still go on.

[…]

And I know I’m mad, and I know that my heart’s putrified from holding out, and here I am, soothed by the sound of his voice, by the sight of his arms moving.

BRIDE. I want to be your wife and be alone with you and not hear any other voice but yours.

BRIDEGROOM. That’s what I want!

BRIDE. And to see only your eyes. And to have you hold me so tight that, even if my mother were to call me, my dead mother, I couldn’t free myself from you.

It hurts to the ends of my veins. On the face of every one of them I can only see the hand that killed what was mine. Do you see me? Do I seem mad to you? Well I am mad from not being able to shout what my heart demands. There’s a scream here in my heart that’s always rising up, and I have to force it down again and hide it in these shawls. They’ve taken my dead ones from me and I have to be silent. And because of that people criticize.

FATHER. It can’t be her. Perhaps she’s thrown herself into the water-tank.

MOTHER. Only decent and clean girls throw themselves into the water. Not that one! But now she’s my son’s wife. Two sides. Now there are two sides here. […] My family and yours. All of you must go. Shake the dust from your shoes. Let’s go and help my son. (The people split into two groups.) He’s got plenty of family: his cousins from the coast and all those from inland. Go out from here! Search all the roads. The hour of blood has come again. Two sides. You on yours, me on mine. After them! Get after them!

Be quiet. I’m certain I’ll find them here. You see this arm? Well it’s not my arm. It’s my brother’s arm and my father’s and my whole dead family’s. And it’s got such strength, it could tear this tree from its roots if it wanted to. Let’s go quickly. I can feel the teeth of all my loved ones piercing me here so I can’t breathe.

Oh, I’m not the one at fault.
The fault belongs to the earth
And that scent that comes
From your breasts and your hair.

Won’t you be quiet? I don’t want weeping in this house. Your tears are tears that come from your eyes, that’s all. But mine will come, when I’m all alone, from the soles of my feet, from my roots, and they’ll burn hotter than blood.

Here. Here’s where I want to be. At peace. All of them are dead now. At midnight I’ll sleep, I’ll sleep and not be afraid of a gun or a knife. Other mothers will go to their windows, lashed by the rain, to see the face of their sons. Not me.

You would have gone too. I was a woman burning, full of pain inside and out, and your son was a tiny drop of water that I hoped would give me children, land, health; but the other one was a dark river, full of branches, that brought to me the sound of its reeds and its soft song. And I was going with your son, who was like a child of cold water, and the other one sent hundreds of birds that blocked my path and left frost on the wounds of this poor, withered woman, this girl caressed by fire. I didn’t want to, listen to me! I didn’t want to! Your son was my ambition and I haven’t deceived him, but the other one’s arm dragged me like a wave from the sea, like the butt of a mule, and would always have dragged me, always, always, even if I’d been an old woman and all the sons of your son had tried to hold me down by my hair!

NEIGHBOUR. Calm down. What good does it do you?

MOTHER. None. But you understand.

NEIGHBOUR. Don’t stand in the way of your son’s happiness. Don’t tell him anything. You’re an old woman. Me too. You and me, we have to keep quiet.

MOTHER. I won’t say anything.

NEIGHBOUR (kissing her). Nothing.

MOTHER (calmly). Things!...

NEIGHBOUR. I’m going.

Down they went to the river bank,
Down to the stream they rode.
There his blood ran strong and fast,
Faster than the water could.
[…] Go to sleep carnation,
For the horse will not drink deep.

LEONARDO (getting up). I suppose the bride will be wearing a big wreath of flowers? It shouldn’t be so big. Something smaller would suit her better. Did the bridegroom bring the orange-blossom so she can wear it on her heart?

BRIDE (she appears still in petticoats and with the wreath of flowers in place). He brought it.

SERVANT (strongly). Don’t come out like that.

BRIDE. What’s the matter? (Seriously.) Why do you want to know if they brought the orange-blossom? What are you hinting at?

LEONARDO. What would I be hinting at? (Moving closer.) You, you know me, you know I’m not hinting. Tell me. What was I to you? Open up your memory, refresh it. But two oxen and a broken-down shack are almost nothing. That’s the thorn.

BRIDE. […] I’ll shut myself away with my husband, and I’ll love him above everything.

LEONARDO. Pride will get you nowhere! (He approaches her.)

BRIDE. Don’t come near me!

LEONARDO. To keep quiet and burn is the greatest punishment we can heap upon ourselves. What use was pride to me and not seeing you and leaving you awake night after night? No use! It only brought the fire down on top of me! You think that time heals and walls conceal, and it’s not true, not true! When the roots of things go deep, no one can pull them up!

I can’t hear you. I can’t hear your voice. It’s as if I’d drunk a bottle of anise and fallen asleep on a bedspread of roses. And it drags me along, and I know that I’m drowning, but I still go on.

[…]

And I know I’m mad, and I know that my heart’s putrified from holding out, and here I am, soothed by the sound of his voice, by the sight of his arms moving.

BRIDE. I want to be your wife and be alone with you and not hear any other voice but yours.

BRIDEGROOM. That’s what I want!

BRIDE. And to see only your eyes. And to have you hold me so tight that, even if my mother were to call me, my dead mother, I couldn’t free myself from you.

It hurts to the ends of my veins. On the face of every one of them I can only see the hand that killed what was mine. Do you see me? Do I seem mad to you? Well I am mad from not being able to shout what my heart demands. There’s a scream here in my heart that’s always rising up, and I have to force it down again and hide it in these shawls. They’ve taken my dead ones from me and I have to be silent. And because of that people criticize.

FATHER. It can’t be her. Perhaps she’s thrown herself into the water-tank.

MOTHER. Only decent and clean girls throw themselves into the water. Not that one! But now she’s my son’s wife. Two sides. Now there are two sides here. […] My family and yours. All of you must go. Shake the dust from your shoes. Let’s go and help my son. (The people split into two groups.) He’s got plenty of family: his cousins from the coast and all those from inland. Go out from here! Search all the roads. The hour of blood has come again. Two sides. You on yours, me on mine. After them! Get after them!

Be quiet. I’m certain I’ll find them here. You see this arm? Well it’s not my arm. It’s my brother’s arm and my father’s and my whole dead family’s. And it’s got such strength, it could tear this tree from its roots if it wanted to. Let’s go quickly. I can feel the teeth of all my loved ones piercing me here so I can’t breathe.

Oh, I’m not the one at fault.
The fault belongs to the earth
And that scent that comes
From your breasts and your hair.

Won’t you be quiet? I don’t want weeping in this house. Your tears are tears that come from your eyes, that’s all. But mine will come, when I’m all alone, from the soles of my feet, from my roots, and they’ll burn hotter than blood.

Here. Here’s where I want to be. At peace. All of them are dead now. At midnight I’ll sleep, I’ll sleep and not be afraid of a gun or a knife. Other mothers will go to their windows, lashed by the rain, to see the face of their sons. Not me.

You would have gone too. I was a woman burning, full of pain inside and out, and your son was a tiny drop of water that I hoped would give me children, land, health; but the other one was a dark river, full of branches, that brought to me the sound of its reeds and its soft song. And I was going with your son, who was like a child of cold water, and the other one sent hundreds of birds that blocked my path and left frost on the wounds of this poor, withered woman, this girl caressed by fire. I didn’t want to, listen to me! I didn’t want to! Your son was my ambition and I haven’t deceived him, but the other one’s arm dragged me like a wave from the sea, like the butt of a mule, and would always have dragged me, always, always, even if I’d been an old woman and all the sons of your son had tried to hold me down by my hair!