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Scripts Aloud brings drama right into your ears. By using text-to-speech software, theater scripts go from the page into drama, every week. Typically 10-minute scripts are presented in each episode. It's like having a Theater Festival - right on your phone!
Way of the Iguana
By Rick Regan
Characters:
Jose, Mexican laborer
Luis, son and helper
Tomas, Mexican laborer, friend of Jose
Mother, tamale maker
Pia, daughter and tamale seller
Marta, companion of older Luis
Notes:
This is a story of a Mexican family dealing with the challenges of the modern world, and using allegories
to make sense of the situation. The way of the iguana is to choose laziness and meaninglessness over
productive work and contribution to the family. The father and mother try to convey their spirit of
industriousness and decency to the son and the daughter. When the son is older he finds himself in
trapped in a world of poverty and despair so he must choose whether he will follow the advice of his
father or languish in indolence.The Way of the Iguana, by Rick Regan October 2020
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(Scene 1: Early morning, building site, Jose and Luis are
sitting on stacks of mortar and plaster, waiting to start
working)
LUIS:
Father, how are you this morning?
JOSE:
Son, I have eaten. You have eaten. Now we work.
LUIS:
Yes.
JOSE:
But first a smoke.
(Jose lights a cigarette)
LUIS:
Can I smoke?
JOSE:
No.
(Luis, he is probably 16, watches his father smoke)
LUIS:
Father, why do we work here? Why are we not at home?
JOSE:
We are at home.
LUIS:
You know what I mean. In Tabasco.
JOSE:
You mean Paraiso? With your mother. Yes, I know what you mean.
LUIS:
Why, papa?The Way of the Iguana, by Rick Regan October 2020
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JOSE:
My son, you are thinking too much. Learning too much. Today we
have eaten and today we work.
LUIS:
Could we not work at home?
JOSE:
This is home.
LUIS:
Papa…
JOSE:
In Tabasco we would get paid in pesos. For a day’s work, it is
nothing. The men are all poor. The women are in even more
poverty. The boss, he will find the man who will work for the
smallest money. It is no good. Here, el Norte, we make enough in
a week to send home for your sister and your mother. And you and
I, we keep enough so we may eat. Then we work.
LUIS:
Yes, father. We eat and we work. How long do we work?
JOSE:
Luis, do you know what it is to work?
LUIS:
Yes, papa. I carry the tile. I carry the grout. I wash the
tools. I sweep. I load. Yes, I know what it is to work. Why do
you ask me this? Do you think I do not work? I am here, with
you, everyday. We work together. Why do you ask me if I know
work?
JOSE:
Because you only know what you think is work. This is not work.
LUIS:
This is not work? Then why does the man give you the dollars?The Way of the Iguana, by Rick Regan October 2020
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JOSE:
My son, you are a mule. A donkey. Every step the donkey takes he
resents, and thinks the world is unfair to him, whether he
carries a heavy load or his bags are empty. And he is right,
this donkey. No one cares about how the donkey feels, walking
with a load. He is there to walk the load. Do you understand?
LUIS:
No. I do not understand. Why do call me a donkey?
JOSE:
Because I am a donkey. And you are donkey. No one cares if we
are happy to lay the tile. They only care that the tile is
smooth, straight and flat. You understand?
LUIS:
OK. So, we are here to be donkeys? No, I don’t understand.
JOSE:
We are here for labor. It could be you or me, or another donkey
waiting around the corner. They can always get another donkey.
LUIS:
Yes.
JOSE:
But that is not work.
LUIS:
No?
JOSE:
Work is the labor of your heart. When I have an idea and I
struggle to make the idea real. Make the idea true, that is
work.
LUIS:
It sounds like the same thing, papa. Work is work.The Way of the Iguana, by Rick Regan October 2020
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JOSE:
No, Luis. You and me, we labor as donkeys because the boss will
pay us more than we would make in Tabasco. But my work is to
send money back home. My work is to help you learn and grow, to
teach you how to make your own way in the world. My work is what
is in my heart. You are in my heart, my son.
LUIS:
Si.
JOSE:
Luis, if tomorrow in the morning when you wake up, you look and
see that I am dead, well, I will be dead, but you can still
labor. The boss will still pay you. You can still send money to
your mother and your sister. That is your work. That is my work.
As you say, we work together. You can be the donkey and that
will take you far.
LUIS:
I do not want to be a donkey.
JOSE:
Ah. Heh-heh! You want to know the way of the iguana.
LUIS:
What is that, papa? What is the way of the iguana?
JOSE:
Luis, when you woke up this morning, what did you think would
happen today? Where would we go?
LUIS:
That… we would come here. We would work on the tile until we
finished and then go home. Just as we have done.
JOSE:
Yes. We have come to lay tile. But when a man is facing the
morning sun, standing on his own two feet, he must decide where
he will go and what he will do that day. Most days we already
know. But a man can decide to change his plan. Make a new plan.
Go a different way. Perhaps, he thinks, there is a better way to
do the work of the heart. Maybe take a ship and go to Alaska, orThe Way of the Iguana, by Rick Regan October 2020
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Tierra del Fuego in Argentina. Maybe there is a better
opportunity in a new land, like here in California.
LUIS:
But we are already here, to lay the tile.
JOSE:
Yes, but there is also the way of the iguana.
LUIS:
What is that?
JOSE:
To lie in the sun and do nothing. That is a choice as well.
LUIS:
To lie in the sun?
JOSE:
Yes. A man may decide that he does not need to go to Alaska or
Argentina, or Glendale, California or Paraiso, Tabasco. The
iguana, if he has eaten, would like only a nice flat rock to
rest his belly and his fat tail, and to be warmed by the sun.
LUIS:
That sound nice.
JOSE:
Yes, it is nice. And when the iguana is hungry, then he moves to
find a meal. Not before. But even as he is resting his fat tail,
he is not thinking about the work in his heart. The only thing
he wants is a nice rat to chew and a warm rock. That is all. But
the iguana still makes his own choice about his day. The donkey,
he stands in his pen and waits for the man to come and put
baskets over his shoulders and load them with coffee beans. The
donkey does not get to choose his labor.
(Tomas enters)
LUIS:
Buenos Dias, Tomas.The Way of the Iguana, by Rick Regan October 2020
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TOMAS:
Luis, how are you? Jose.
JOSE:
Hello, Tomas.
TOMAS:
Why are you just sitting here? Has the boss not come yet? So,
you just sit and smoke?
LUIS:
Papa was telling me about the way of the iguana.
TOMAS:
Oh! Yes! Jose, do you speak of the donkey?
JOSE:
Yes, Tomas. The donkey and the iguana. And which are you today?
TOMAS:
Well it looks like you two are just sitting on warm rocks! Haha!
JOSE:
Oh, no. We are waiting, resting, for the boss to come and load
up our baskets, with coffee beans.
TOMAS:
Or stones and mud bricks.
JOSE:
Ha! Yes, that too. Tomas, are you well, my friend? How is your
wife?
TOMAS:
You know, my friend. She is beautiful but she is stupid. I
should not have married her. But I wake up in the night and
think how lucky I am to have this beautiful woman in my arms.
But she is stupid. She thinks only of the people on the soap
operas and the price of beans today.The Way of the Iguana, by Rick Regan October 2020
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JOSE:
Yes. My wife too. She makes tamales in Tabasco. She does not
read. She just gossips with the women of the village. But she
makes the tamales for my daughter to sell in her stand. She is
smart, my daughter, Pia. She makes me so proud!
LUIS:
(annoyed)
And me? What am I?
TOMAS:
Are you an iguana, Luis?
LUIS:
No, I am not an iguana. And I am not a donkey! I am a man. I
don’t want to work my whole life hauling grout and plaster.
TOMAS:
Then you must understand the story, more deeply understand.
Isn’t that right, Jose?
JOSE:
Son, the question of the iguana is to consider if he is free, or
even aware of his freedom. But this is just a story of animals
to think about truth and life.
LUIS:
I do not understand.
JOSE:
Tomas, maybe you can help him.
TOMAS:
Luis, think of the iguana, on a rock, a flat rock.
LUIS:
Yes.
TOMAS:
Think of the iguana. But think, this is not an iguana. He does
not think of himself as an iguana. He thinks I am me. To him, he
is himself. Do you see?The Way of the Iguana, by Rick Regan October 2020
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LUIS:
No, sir.
TOMAS:
You say, I am not a donkey, or I am not an iguana. But are you a
man? Are any of us? I do not wake up and think I am human. I
think, I am me. You are you.
LUIS:
Yes, sir.
TOMAS:
But who are you? Who will you be?
LUIS:
I don’t know, sir.
TOMAS:
That is true. But think, you are the son of Jose. That is true.
Jose is my friend. That is true, for now. But who are you,
yourself? Do you work hard, read books, learn about the world?
LUIS:
What do you mean?
JOSE:
Son, the iguana only eats for himself and suns himself on the
rock. Are you better than that?
LUIS:
Why do you ask me this? Every day I come and work with you.
TOMAS:
But Luis, you must also look into your heart and see what is
there.
LUIS:
That does not make any sense. Are we going to lay tile today, or
not?
TOMAS:
Look at the man! Take charge. Yes, let us lay the tile.The Way of the Iguana, by Rick Regan October 2020
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JOSE:
Yes, son. Pick up a bag. We will begin.The Way of the Iguana, by Rick Regan October 2020
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(Scene 2: Paraiso, Tabasco, Mexico)
(on a main street with a row of beat up shops, a
tortilleria has a garage-door open, and a small shop
is inside. At the back, Mother tends a corn grinding
machine while she is making tortillas. Pia, the
daughter runs the shop.)
PIA:
(walking to the back to check on Mother)
Mama. Mama?
MOTHER:
Yes, Pia?
(switches off noisy grinding machine)
PIA:
(She is probably 21 or 22. Pretty. Stylish. Capable.)
Mama, you should go home. Lie down for a while. We have enough
today.
MOTHER:
You know I see the doctor tomorrow. I want you to have enough.
PIA:
It is enough, mami. Go rest.
MOTHER:
I am fine, Pia.
PIA:
(she pulls up a stool and sits next to the woman)
I hate to send you away, to rest, when you look so happy making
tortillas. But you should rest. This heat is no good for you.
MOTHER:
I will rest when I am in heaven, bless Jesus.The Way of the Iguana, by Rick Regan October 2020
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PIA:
Mami, don’t talk like that. I don’t like it when you talk like
that. About being dead and in heaven.
(teasing her – exaggerating, dramatically)
What if, mama, God sees into your heart, and sees all of your
sins and all of your wickedness! All of your life of cruelty
will be repaid – with the whip of Satan!
MOTHER:
OOOHHH!! Pia! Do not say that. Ha-ha! You silly girl.
PIA:
I am sure that the red-masked devil has a special place, in the
fiery underworld, for women who have piled up so much immorality
and a life of scandal, so much scaring of children. You should
weep for your sins, mama!
MOTHER:
Hee-hee-hee!
PIA:
It will be like when Cortez came to Mexico and the Spaniards
killed the men and raped the women. But some women did not
resist, did you mama? You welcomed the conquistadors! A line of
flesh-starved men, with spears, would have been standing outside
your door to get at you.
MOTHER:
It was war time, dear one.
PIA:
Ha-ha! You are the devil-one, tiny woman.
MOTHER:
Oh, yes. My days of darkness. Oh well. Are you sure you have
enough for tomorrow?
PIA:
Yes, mama.The Way of the Iguana, by Rick Regan October 2020
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MOTHER:
OK. (wipes her hand, folds her apron)
PIA:
Mama, what will the doctor say tomorrow?
MOTHER:
He will say that I am healthy like a donkey and should go back
to work.
PIA:
No, mama. Please, what will he say?
MOTHER:
He will poke and prod, and say, there is nothing more to do,
Señora.
PIA:
But we can go to the hospital. We could see papa in California.
MOTHER:
I am old. When a woman is worn out, from working, from babies,
from life, that is what happens. I will live, until one day I do
not wake up. That will be that.
PIA:
But mama…
MOTHER:
Listen to me, Pia. You are my joy. You and Luis. I love you so
much. I am so proud of you. I am a simple woman who grinds corn
and makes tortillas. But you have done so much. You went from
our stand beside the road, to this store. You put a roof over my
head, Pia. Do not think that is a small thing. And when I am
gone, you will find another poor, old woman to make tortillas
for you, there are so many, and you will go on and on. You make
me so happy, Pia.
PIA:
Mama.The Way of the Iguana, by Rick Regan October 2020
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MOTHER:
I wish Jose were here to see you. He has been gone with Luis so
long. I worry about him, Luis. He is so young, to have to travel
and hide, and work so much. I hope he does not learn the cruelty
of the world.
PIA:
He is a good boy. He will stay with papa.
MOTHER:
Luis has a mind like Jose. He wants to think, and work. So many
of the men here lay around in the park. They drink beer and do
not work, do not help their families. I know many women who say
their husbands, who they once loved, come home and beat them.
They take the money she has earned, and he beats her. Many are
raped, again and again, by their drunken husbands. The state
should make beer against the law.
PIA:
Why do they stay?
MOTHER:
Where can they go? Back to their father’s house? He is dead and
she is over fifty.
PIA:
Mama, why did you not go with him, to California?
MOTHER:
What am I going to do in America? I do not speak the English. I
only know how to make tortillas.
PIA:
Maybe they need your tortillas in America.
MOTHER:
Ha! Maybe. I have heard that the tortillas in America are hard
and dry, and they break apart in your hands. A friend showed me
on her phone a video from a taqueria in Baltimore where they
push the meat out of a big hose, right into a stale tortilla. It
was called Taqueria Bella. Huh! Not so pretty as my tortillas
and your tamales!The Way of the Iguana, by Rick Regan October 2020
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PIA:
They just don’t know, mama. They don’t know what real food is in
America. You should go. You should show them.
MOTHER:
No, Pia. You should go. You should show them.
PIA:
I cannot leave you, mama.
MOTHER:
Maybe we see what the doctor says. Maybe you should go and set
up a restaurant in Nogales or El Paso. The people will come from
across the border to find your tamales, dear one. You can bring
Luis to make tortillas for you. He is a good boy.
PIA:
No one can make tortillas like you though. No one will come
across the river to get tortillas if they are not your
tortillas. Yours are the best. How could we make tortillas if
you are not there?
MOTHER:
Tortillas are a simple thing. So simple that a peasant woman
like me can make tortillas my whole life. You should go to
Arizona. Texas. Go to America. There is so little here that I do
not want you to stay. You have learned how to build a business.
You have learned how to make money. You should go. There is only
poverty here.
PIA:
Thank you, mama. Maybe I will go when I hear from Luis and papa.The Way of the Iguana, by Rick Regan October 2020
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(Scene 3: Six years have passed. Mexico.)
(Morning in a cheap apartment above a garage, sparsely furnished
with a mattress on the floor.)
(Luis and Marta are sprawled on the bed, tangled in sheets.)
MARTA:
Eh. A cigarette.
LUIS:
I am asleep. I am dreaming.
MARTA:
Give me a cigarette and you can tell me your dream.
LUIS:
(picks up the pack from the floor, hands it to Marta. She
fishes a lighter from the sheets.)
MARTA:
(she lights a cigarette, blows the smoke out grandly)
What are you dreaming of, Luis?
LUIS:
(pretending to sleep)
I am dreaming that I am with a woman.
MARTA:
You are with a woman.
LUIS:
No, a beautiful woman.
MARTA:
You dog!
LUIS:
We are in a beautiful room. She wears nothing but a towel around
her wet hair.The Way of the Iguana, by Rick Regan October 2020
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MARTA:
And does she love you, this woman?
LUIS:
She is only a dream. And I am here with you.
MARTA:
Do you love me, Luis?
LUIS:
No.
(pause)
Give me your smoke.
(He takes her cigarette, takes a long pull, then gives it
back to her)
MARTA:
Why are you here, Luis?
LUIS:
To fill your belly.
MARTA:
You are a pig. The last man who came here with me was a prince.
He loved me madly. But he wanted to do terrible things to me.
And then he was gone.
LUIS:
And now you want me to do terrible things to you?
MARTA:
Yes.
LUIS:
No, Marta. I will torture you in my own way, by denying you the
satisfaction of your pain.
MARTA:
Do whatever you want to me. I am your slave.The Way of the Iguana, by Rick Regan October 2020
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LUIS:
You are a lazy slave.
MARTA:
You are a cruel master! I will jump on you like a spider and
bite your neck!
LUIS:
Did you read that in a book? You do not even jump out of bed
until noon.
MARTA:
I jump when I am hungry.
(pause)
Give me some money.
LUIS:
No.
MARTA:
I will beat you.
LUIS:
Ha! And I will be beaten like a donkey? No, I will not give you
money.
MARTA:
Why do you come here? Why do you come in the middle of the
night, take me like a Congo ape, and bend me and bruise me? I
have marks all over my body when I am with you.
LUIS:
Those are only your tattoos. I put my fingertips softly upon
you.
MARTA:
Please. Tell me you love me. Tell me that you find me beautiful.The Way of the Iguana, by Rick Regan October 2020
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LUIS:
You are a painted hermit, hiding in your cave. You are a smelly
animal with your fur matted and greasy. You show your bottom to
the sky, but you are lucky that you do not get a bolt of
lightning that would set your teeth on fire.
MARTA:
Why do you abuse me, Luis? I love you.
LUIS:
You love only yourself. And you love to hear me say that you are
dirty. You want me to say that you have the power over me to
make me turn my face away, in shame.
MARTA:
Ha-ha! You are my cruel master! Kiss me!
LUIS:
I will not kiss the iguana. Your face is rough and covered in
poison spikes. You lie with your belly on the cool sheets, with
your dirty feet and fat bottom stinking in the sun.
MARTA:
My bottom is not fat!
LUIS:
(he takes her cigarette again, takes a puff and gives it
back)
Marta, you lure me to your foul den and chew on me like a rat in
your lizard mouth. You fill your belly with me and then rest
until it is time to swallow me again. I am your prisoner.
MARTA:
You are my pet.
LUIS:
I am not your donkey. I must stand on my feet and face the sun.
(He gets out of bed, puts on shirt and trousers. Looking
out the window)
Perhaps today I will go to Alaska, or Argentina.The Way of the Iguana, by Rick Regan October 2020
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MARTA:
Stay with me, Luis. Make me a cup of tea.
LUIS:
You are a lazy slave. Make me a cup of coffee.
MARTA:
(gets out of bed, pulls on a robe and goes to a counter to
make coffee)
LUIS:
When I was in California, I worked for my father. He was a
builder and I helped him. One morning he did not wake up. He was
dead and I knew I was alone. But I went and told the boss that
Jose would not be there that day. He found another man and we
continued the labor. When the job was done that day, I took a
roll of plastic and a carpet and I rolled up my father’s body to
bring him home, to be buried in Mexico. I drove a thousand miles
or two thousand, I don’t know. But when I got to Tabasco my
mother was very sick.
MARTA:
That’s so sad. Your poor mother.
(hands him a cup of coffee)
LUIS:
I told her that her husband, Jose, was dead. She cried and told
me that I should find her son, Luis. She did not recognize me.
My sister had left already. She left my mother to die in peace.
And soon she died, but there was no peace.
MARTA:
Why not?
LUIS:
This simple woman, who went to church every morning to say the
Rosary for our Lady of Guadalupe, and then made tortillas behind
a shop for her whole life, at the end she believed that her sins
were too great even for the forgiveness of Jesus. She thought
that the Lord would send her away, into the arms of the Devil,
who waited for her, with chains and a spiked bit for her mouth
because Satan was going to jump on her back and ride her throughThe Way of the Iguana, by Rick Regan October 2020
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the gates of hell, into his dungeon of suffering, with his claws
digging into the flesh of her thighs and shoulders. But, she
told me, if I would bring her son to her, me, that he could take
a prayer to the Blessed Virgin, saying that she would make a
deal with the devil.
MARTA:
What kind of deal?
LUIS:
This simple woman said she would outsmart Satan by telling the
Wicked One that she would spend eternity carrying the bones of
the saints to the fires of Hell, so that they could be roasted.
But the smoke, she knew, would go up, up into heaven, and maybe,
maybe the angels would smell the roasting bones and would know,
would remember that she still believed, in the Resurrection and
the Virgin of Guadalupe. This tiny old woman was ready to take
on the battle with the Devil for all eternity, because of her
so-many sins.
MARTA:
But what sins could she have?
LUIS:
None. She was a saint. But… She wanted to be a martyr. She
wanted to suffer, for God.
MARTA:
Oh God.
LUIS:
Her labor was a life of making tortillas to feed people. Her
work was her devotion to heaven.
(sips the coffee)
Now kiss me, because I am going away.
MARTA:
Don’t go.The Way of the Iguana, by Rick Regan October 2020
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LUIS:
I am going to Texas. My sister has written a letter. She said
she went to El Paso to open a small taqueria, but she didn’t
have enough money, so she now makes the tortillas for another
woman. She said this woman gave her a room in her house, in
Texas. But this woman fell in love with my sister and wanted to
be her lover. My sister refused but the woman threatened to
throw her into the street. So, my sister agreed to be her lover,
for a while. Then she met a man, Ramon, at the restaurant and he
said she could live with him. She said he is nice, and kind to
her and that he works hard. She said I could come and stay with
them in America.
MARTA:
You are leaving?
LUIS:
I cannot stay here. My mother is gone. My father is dead. There
is only poverty and ignorance here. I will not stay and drink
beer by the fountain all day, waiting for the sun to go down and
my misery to end.
MARTA:
Do not go now. Wait. Stay with me.
LUIS:
You are a vampire bat, sucking my blood, drinking my life. I am
going.
MARTA:
I think your sister is lying. There are no kind men. There is no
one who is nice to me. There are no men who work hard. It is
only the women who make the world, make the sun come up in the
morning. Make the tortillas.
LUIS:
Oh, and you will wait, here in your bed, like a fat iguana, for
the rain to water your fields, to watch them sprout and grow
into a bushel of lovers, with money and smiles for you? But I am
already ripe, rotten, my kernels spilling into the dry stones,
wasted. You have eaten me up and now I am only the naked husk. IThe Way of the Iguana, by Rick Regan October 2020
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must go, before you toss me onto the kindling, to burn me up in
the fire.
MARTA:
Forgive me, Luis. I am sorry I have abused you.
LUIS:
Go to church, Marta. Say your prayers every day.
MARTA:
Bless me, Luis, for I have sinned, against you.
LUIS:
Go, and sin no more.
MARTA:
But what will become of me? Why would you leave me, alone?
LUIS:
You are never alone, Marta, when you have yourself. And with
your fat bottom, you will not have to wait long. The lovers will
knock, and bang, and pound on your door! When the men can smell
that you are alone, steaming in desire, you have only to look
the poor dog in the eyes, and he will follow you into any dark
alley or closet.
MARTA:
My bottom is not fat!
LUIS:
Now, at this late hour, I have decided to go, and to seek the
fortune of the cunning and the lucky
MARTA:
Eh, Luis, there is more gold in wickedness.
LUIS:
But I want to live my life honestly, honestly enough for heaven
anyway. I must go away from your venomous tongue. Goodbye,
Marta.The Way of the Iguana, by Rick Regan October 2020
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MARTA:
Leave then, you sweating pig.
LUIS:
(exits)The Way of the Iguana, by Rick Regan October 2020
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(Scene 4: under a blazing sun in hot desert)
(Luis is alone, exhausted and near death. He kneels next to a
large rock and prays.)
LUIS:
Papa, I am at the end. Pray for my soul. Mama, leave the bones
of the saints for a moment and hear my words. I loved you, mama.
I am sorry we went away from you. I loved you, papa. I am sorry
that I disappointed you. I tried. I brought you back to your
home. I hope that is good enough because there is nothing more,
for you or me.
I will die here in this wasteland, alone. The world had crushed
me, defeated me. The coyote has abandoned me and I do not
understand. Did you know, how it would be for you, or for me?
Did you know and we went anyway? Why? What was the point of it
all? All the work, all the jobs, what have we left behind, but
my bones to bleach in this sand?
The hunger and poverty of our town haunts us all, like a black
ghoul who flies into the window and laughs at our suffering. And
the men at the river have guns and hate us and chase us like
rats. This is no world. This is no place to live. There is
nowhere to be in peace. There is nothing but my suffering.
Now here on a flat rock, I lay my head and I will rest.
(end)