THE PROMISE
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In The Promise, Jose Rivera gives us a story with both scientific and theosophical bases. On one level, it tells of Guzman, an old Puerto Rican immigrant working in an airplane factory and living next to a toxic-waste dump on Long Island. A superstitious man who still fertilizes his stunted garden with his own blood, he dreams of acquiring money to raise an army that will liberate his native country from U.S. sovereignty. He also broods over the death of his wife, and claims to converse with her ghost every night, though he’s never forgiven the woman her prenuptial lover. Guzman’s only pleasures are his champion fighting rooster, Malinche; his barely suppressed lust for Lolin, the widow next door; and his gold watch, which he claims keeps him forever young by running backwards. Frustrated by his humble life, he tyrannizes over his two children (his son, Milton, calls him “Stalin” ) and demands that his daughter, Lilia, marry a repulsive old bachelor instead of the young man she loves–ironically, the son of his wife’s first love.
On her wedding day, Lilia is still mourning her lover, who has been murdered, and falls into a psychosomatic trance, during which, she claims, the ghost of her lover takes possession of her. She remains in this helpless state, her father reaping the rewards of the publicity it brings, until Milton forces Guzman to recognize his responsibilities and takes steps to end the feud between the families.
The most noteworthy example of how Lifeline manages to accomplish so much with so little is the casting of a dancer, Monica Barrock, as Malinche (the name means “malicious one”). On Lifeline’s tiny stage, this one small woman, fringe-festooned arms and legs flailing, seems as monstrous as a griffin; and even her feet, in their high-heeled flamenco slippers, stamp with such fury as to leave no doubt in our minds that this is a creature capable of crippling, killing, and driving men mad. Other performances succeed in the same manner–we believe that Milton’s new boots are enchanted, as he says, because his whole appearance changes after he puts them on. And we believe that Carmelo’s ghost inhabits Lilia’s body because she suddenly moves and speaks like him rather than herself. By presenting us with the evidence of magic and forcing us to use our imaginations, Lifeline draws us into Rivera’s world, where the mundane and the fantastic are equally true; and our seeing the wires that drop a paper flower down into a tree make the flower no less supernatural in our eyes.
Art accompanying story in printed newspaper (not available in this archive): photo/Suzanne Plunkett.
