Leroy Hebert’s THE LABORS OF SANTANOO; or, A HOUSE WELL-ORDERED. First performed at the N’awleens Carnival of 29XX, as an embellished history of events from the formative era of Caribbean civilization.
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ACT 2, SCENE 1: Northern Haiti. Within the gardens of the
Cacique’s Palace.
[SANTANOO, the Dougla conqueror, attended by his MARINES, imposes the terms of surrender on MARIE-CLAUDE, Cacica of Cap-Haitien, attended by her GUARDSMEN.]
[Alarum within, conches]
SANTANOO: Play more softly, brothers mine; the Lady’s
Guardsmen cannot bear such roars ferocious.
MARIE-CLAUDE: You brood of Trinidad have lately grasped
The rod of sovereignty; still I’ll keep such
Staff as I please.
SANTANOO: Then please, since we’re now friends,
Spare the cost of hiring thrice-whipped men, and
Drain not coffers I now claim. What shields you
From harm is my grace, and not your arms.
MARIE-CLAUDE: The country-filles are strange to your men’s grace.
MARINE: You’re madame, not fille, and have a matron’s frame.
[The MARINES laugh. SANTANOO shrugs.]
SANTANOO: Peace, my sons.
MARIE-CLAUDE: What peace from warriors? Why hold
Parley ‘mid such racket? Must we leaders
Strain to be heard o’er the noise of the Low?
[SANTANOO gestures to Marines]
SANTANOO: I trust them to wield oar and blade; they are
Citizens in commonweal, and know well
What I’ll get from every port I’ve stormed since
I sailed out like a squall from Borinquen.
I’ll have your harbors, eat of your harvest,
Tax your treasures and sell them to strangers,
Levy your troops and make slaves of masters.
The Dougla clans have made nations their subjects
From Guyana to Guadeloupe; but I,
Who all nations look to, will plant my flag
In the greatest isle. And we will become
The greatest sons of the Middle-Ocean!
[The MARINES whoop and cheer.]
MARIE-CLAUDE: So you say, but you know what mysteries
Masters of households do keep. I know what’s
Hidden in caves and locked up in cellars.
What you’d give to have them— you may have some
Inkling, which you keep concealed. I declare:
I will parley with you, and may give up much
But I’ll have much from you, so spare yourself
The hasty reproach of your citizens.
[A pause, as SANTANOO scratches his beard.]
SANTANOO: Out with your guards, though they threaten me not.
[gestures to MARINES]
Follow them out; make your meanest faces,
Not too mean, or they’ll spook and fly away.
[Exeunt the MARINES and GUARDS. A pause.]
MARIE-CLAUDE: Time to see what lies beyond the bluster.
You do not jest— you mean to take Cubao?
SANTANOO: The Boricua tell me the greatest
of isles is a tattered and sorry thing.
A king proclaiming blood-red brotherhood
Butchers his sons, and their blood mingles with
That of chickens in street-sacrifices.
Exiles of far Miami land daily
On the sands, come to avenge old insult;
Half return home after eating their fill.
MARIE-CLAUDE: No harder to you, than this island was.
SANTANOO: Strife cannot long last in this world; it will
Soon birth a man like me, to bring its end.
MARIE-CLAUDE: You might well do it; but what comes after?
SANTANOO: One night, on placid tide, I saw a star
Leap westward ‘cross the sky; the gazers say
Its seat will be a throne of wave and sand.
MARIE-CLAUDE: West of Cubao? You don’t mean New Orleans?
They cling to the coast with splayed finger-tips;
Their walls are weak, and they’ll soon be done in
By the barbarous centaurs upriver.
SANTANOO: Still, I’ll tear down their paltry foundations
And inherit their precious destiny.
MARIE-CLAUDE: Who are you, to go steal a prophecy?
SANTANOO: I am marked by fate.
MARIE-CLAUDE: Whence such baffling pride?
SANTANOO: Exiled to death, I came to revelation.
As I rested on the sand, a woman
Stepped out from the waves; and I understood.
She was Ganga, muse of my forebears’ poems
And the whole sea was the sacred river
Said to be her domain. I married her
On the beach which would have been my grave.
I took the name Santanoo, and just then
A ship came to my rescue. But I saved them:
When the clouds hid the stars, I set my way
By the direction of the Sea's whispers.
So came I to Borinquen.
MARIE-CLAUDE: You would say,
That your spirit gives you such contentment
You won’t take a wife of sound body?
SANTANOO: Your soldiers were the husbands of wives;
See how they’ve failed you.
MARIE-CLAUDE: Who will succeed you?
SANTANOO: That lucky man the Sea would marry.
MARIE-CLAUDE: Raving pontiff, savage bandit; don't you
Fear for anything?
SANTANOO: My ancestors believed,
That he who died in Ganga’s embrace,
Faced the hereafter with no trace of fear.
Such is the bliss of Kasimarana.
Sailing to me is quiet pilgrimage,
What care I, if this journey never ends?
MARIE-CLAUDE: A man must sit down to write his story!
SANTANOO: Haitian patience let my people emerge
From Trinidad to bedevil you; your
Fathers and mothers could have used my fire.
[A pause, as MARIE-CLAUDE ruffles her hair and growls.]
MARIE-CLAUDE: Puffed-up cock, too proud by far! I’d hoped to
Profit somehow from this pox on my realm,
But you’re madder than I feared. The point’s made.
I’ll work with you another day. Let us away,
And show we’ve not yet killed each other.
SANTANOO: An amusing game; I suppose I’ve won.
[Exeunt all. Alarum within, conches.]