Moratorium: a postponement of payment granted by a creditor to a debtor for the settlement of a debt.
According to a brilliant summary by Célia A. N. Passoni of Editora Núcleo, the professor comments that the play "A Moratória" consists of three acts, with the stage divided into two levels. On one level, a spacious room in an old, traditional coffee farm; on the other, a modest, furnished room where, in the foreground, a sewing machine is visible. It is through these two settings that the author manages to depict the present and the recent past. The spectator, in the same instant, through the change of levels, comes into contact with two distinct realities, connected only by the characters. For the purpose of the outcome, the story will be narrated linearly.
Quim [Joaquim] is a coffee farmer, deeply attached to the land, but he is brought to ruin by bad business dealings. He is seventy years old and represents the pride of a name that no longer holds sway among the citizens of a city transformed by the presence of elements foreign to the traditional caste. Joaquim says: 'I don't know how, my daughter, but suddenly, I felt as if I were alone in that city. It seemed like all the doors were closed to me. I didn't know anyone anymore. I perceived that behind the windows everyone was looking at me and... nobody... nobody...' Immersed in his solitude, sustained by the hope of recovery, he finds solace only in his family. His wife, Helena, is the bravest, having faced the situation better, and his daughter, Lucília, has become the family's support, now living off her sewing income, as her brother, Marcelo, cannot adapt to any job.
Outside the family are Olímpio, a lawyer, the son of Quim's political rival, but in love with Lucília. Elvira, Quim's sister, a wealthy and 'charitable' woman who delivers coffee and other items from the farm in exchange for her niece's 'free' sewing. She has no children and is involved in assisting an asylum. In this small universe, the characters are left at the mercy of a cruel destiny. Quim, around whom the story revolves, harbors a hope of returning to the farm, which went to auction, to settle his debts. The coffee crisis prevented its sale, the flowering was not good; the rain was late, the government did not set a minimum price for coffee, there is no money. All that remains is the hope of recovering the farm, the hope of a moratorium that everyone knows will not come.
Jorge Andrade's work constitutes an act of reflection on São Paulo's reality in its social, moral, and psychological aspects. The theme of the
decline of coffee plantations represents the end of an entire patriarchal and semi-feudal class of aristocrats succumbing to the economic crisis of 1929 and the new social order imposed by Vargas in 1930. At the same time, it focuses internally on the conflict of generations, the conflict of traditional values in a society experiencing rapid change brought about by rural exodus, the expansion of cities, and the shifts in elites. Marcelo is the despondent, maladjusted son, the one who lives in a different reality from his father's, the one who is capable of uttering harsh yet true words, pointing out the terrible reality: 'You pretend not to notice that we are no longer part of anything, that our world is irrecoverably destroyed... The rules for living are different, rules that we neither understand nor accept... everything is different now, everything has changed. Only we haven't.
We are dying slowly here...'
Lucília is the unmarried daughter whose marriage to Olímpio is frustrated by paternal authoritarianism. She does not indulge in her father's dreams and hopes of reclaiming the farm. It is she who, with strength and conviction, restores the family's dignity by sewing furiously. It is she who strives to fight for raw reality, protecting her father against the hardships:
'If you [Elvira] deserved respect, you would have had a little love for your brother, pity at least. I wish you had witnessed their arrival when they came from the farm. Only then could you understand to what extent they suffered! With the clock, the paintings, and this... this jabuticaba branch in their hands... they looked like two frightened children, afraid of being reprimanded. Through every gesture, every glance, there was a plea for forgiveness, as if I... I could criticize them for anything. Selfish! You are a wicked woman. Papa is truly well-intentioned, he has a good heart, otherwise he would have thrown you out. What they suffered, you and Uncle Augusto will pay for.'
With simplicity, Jorge Andrade reaches the climax of the play, the moment of revelation and, consequently, the moment when Joaquim confronts the truth/reality, which we, the spectators, have known from the very beginning. The man's pain is powerful, and we are united with it through the indescribable capacity of art to make time/space identify with the spectator's other space/time.
[Joaquim returns to the room on the Second Level and picks up the jabuticaba branch he had forgotten on the table. He leaves again, trying not to look at anything. After Joaquim leaves, the lights on the Second Level gradually dim until the room is dark.]
FIRST LEVEL
Lucília: [First Level] Surely, we missed each other.
Helena: I looked for Quim and couldn't find him.
Lucília: He must be with Olímpio.
Helena: I went to the store where he used to go, to church, everywhere!
Lucília: You shouldn't be walking around like this.
Helena: If only he weren't so violent.
Lucília: We need to let Papa protest as much as he wants, and stay quiet. It's his right. Don't think about it anymore.
Helena: [Distressed] You know what father is like, Lucília! How can I not think about it?
Lucília: Nothing will happen, Mother. Calm down.
Helena: He's too old to face these things.
Lucília: All the more reason for us to remain calm. [Impatient] We can't lose control. That way, he won't suffer as much.
[Returns to censorship]
Helena: [Looking at the objects on the table] Wouldn't it be better to put all
of this away?
Lucília: Why? Didn't he put it there himself?
Helena: Yes, but now... perhaps...
Lucília: He'll have to see it one day; it's better if he sees it all at once. [Pause]
Helena: My God! Why are they taking so long?!
Lucília: Mother! Be calm.
Helena: [Giving in to despair] I can't take it anymore. I can't take it anymore,
my daughter.
Lucília: [Hugs Helena] Don't worry. Olímpio will know how to deliver the news.
Helena: [Distressed] I'd prefer... I'd prefer...
Lucília: What? Tell me, Mother.
Helena: I wish Olímpio would lie.
Lucília: No! Enough! Let's face reality once and for all.
Helena: I'm afraid, Lucília!
Lucília: We need to accept it and stop thinking about it.
Helena: Someone like your father cannot live without hope. And it was the only thing
he had left.
Lucília: [Loses patience] Mother! Don't keep thinking about it, for God's sake!
Helena: I can't.
Lucília: Father is a strong man.
Helena: He always wanted to die in the fields, like the late Martiniano, and now...!
Lucília: Where could he have gone? Did you go to the bus station? He goes there every
day.
Helena: You're afraid too, my daughter?
Lucília: [Controls herself] No. He likes to watch the gardeners arriving and
leaving for the farms.
Helena: He was there, but... [Stops and becomes very agitated]
Lucília: [Fearful] What is it, Mother?
Helena: They've arrived!
Lucília: Please, calm down.
Helena: Mother of God, pray for us!
Marcelo: [Voice] Sit down, Father. I'll call Mother.
Joaquim: [Voice] No.
[The sound of some things falling to the floor is heard. Lucília stands still, stiff, looking at the corridor. It is apparent that Helena continues to pray. Joaquim appears in the corridor, stops, and his eyes are fixed on Helena. He makes a gesture as if asking for forgiveness; there is an inexpressible anguish in it.]
Lucília: [Bitterly] Papa!
Helena: Quim!
[Joaquim walks to the table and leans against it.]
Lucília: Sit down, Papa.
Helena: Quim, my old man! What did they do to you?
Lucília: [Trying to hold back] Papa! [Marcelo and Olímpio appear in the
corridor]
Helena: Sit down, Quim. Don't you want to sit down?
Joaquim: [Trying to be forceful] Why does everyone want me to sit down?
Helena: For nothing, nothing!
[Joaquim, after picking up a rag from the table, sits down slowly. Long pause. Joaquim begins to unravel the rag.]
Lucília: [Advances towards her father] No! Not this! Papa! Protest, shout, say something. Don't be like this! Don't be like this,
for God's sake!
Helena: Lucília!
Lucília: That's right. Protest. Protest, Papa. You have the right, we have this right. The lands are ours, they have always been ours. No one can take them from us. Papa! There is still hope, we will find a
way; you must not accept it, we
cannot accept it.
Olímpio: [Tries to hold Lucília back] Lucília!
Lucília: [Pushes Olímpio away] Leave me alone.
Helena: My daughter, respect your father's suffering.
Lucília: No! I don't want to see my father like this. I don't want to, I don't want to. There must
be a way. Olímpio! Say there is. Lie. You must lie!
Olímpio: Lie how, Lucília?
Lucília: I don't want my father to lose hope. I don't want to. [Hits Olímpio's chest with her hands] I don't want to! I don't...
[Lucília sinks into the sewing machine, still repeating 'NO'. Little by little, she begins
to sob.]
Joaquim: [Looks at Lucília] I... I don't suffer anymore, I don't suffer anymore, my
daughter. You don't need to be afraid. I... I...
[Lucília can no longer resist and begins to sob violently. Her whole body is shaken by the outburst of despair, and she clings to Olímpio. Olímpio leads her out of the room. Helena walks slowly and stands behind Joaquim's chair; she places her hand on his shoulder. Marcelo sits on the bench.]
Joaquim: [Suddenly distressed] Helena! And my jabuticaba trees?
Helena: Don't think, Quim, don't think about it anymore. There will be no lack of rain.
Joaquim: [Pause] What month is it?
Marcelo: April.
Joaquim: April! [Pause] The coffee is being ruined!
[The lights slowly dim]
Marcelo: The cicadas are no longer heard!
Joaquim: The dry-season beans are starting to pod!
Helena: Those who planted... will start to harvest!
[The voices fade into a murmur, and the lights go out completely.]
Moratorium: a postponement of payment granted by a creditor to a debtor for the settlement of a debt.
According to a brilliant summary by Célia A. N. Passoni of Editora Núcleo, the professor comments that the play "A Moratória" consists of three acts, with the stage divided into two levels. On one level, a spacious room in an old, traditional coffee farm; on the other, a modest, furnished room where, in the foreground, a sewing machine is visible. It is through these two settings that the author manages to depict the present and the recent past. The spectator, in the same instant, through the change of levels, comes into contact with two distinct realities, connected only by the characters. For the purpose of the outcome, the story will be narrated linearly.
Quim [Joaquim] is a coffee farmer, deeply attached to the land, but he is brought to ruin by bad business dealings. He is seventy years old and represents the pride of a name that no longer holds sway among the citizens of a city transformed by the presence of elements foreign to the traditional caste. Joaquim says: 'I don't know how, my daughter, but suddenly, I felt as if I were alone in that city. It seemed like all the doors were closed to me. I didn't know anyone anymore. I perceived that behind the windows everyone was looking at me and... nobody... nobody...' Immersed in his solitude, sustained by the hope of recovery, he finds solace only in his family. His wife, Helena, is the bravest, having faced the situation better, and his daughter, Lucília, has become the family's support, now living off her sewing income, as her brother, Marcelo, cannot adapt to any job.
Outside the family are Olímpio, a lawyer, the son of Quim's political rival, but in love with Lucília. Elvira, Quim's sister, a wealthy and 'charitable' woman who delivers coffee and other items from the farm in exchange for her niece's 'free' sewing. She has no children and is involved in assisting an asylum. In this small universe, the characters are left at the mercy of a cruel destiny. Quim, around whom the story revolves, harbors a hope of returning to the farm, which went to auction, to settle his debts. The coffee crisis prevented its sale, the flowering was not good; the rain was late, the government did not set a minimum price for coffee, there is no money. All that remains is the hope of recovering the farm, the hope of a moratorium that everyone knows will not come.
Jorge Andrade's work constitutes an act of reflection on São Paulo's reality in its social, moral, and psychological aspects. The theme of the
decline of coffee plantations represents the end of an entire patriarchal and semi-feudal class of aristocrats succumbing to the economic crisis of 1929 and the new social order imposed by Vargas in 1930. At the same time, it focuses internally on the conflict of generations, the conflict of traditional values in a society experiencing rapid change brought about by rural exodus, the expansion of cities, and the shifts in elites. Marcelo is the despondent, maladjusted son, the one who lives in a different reality from his father's, the one who is capable of uttering harsh yet true words, pointing out the terrible reality: 'You pretend not to notice that we are no longer part of anything, that our world is irrecoverably destroyed... The rules for living are different, rules that we neither understand nor accept... everything is different now, everything has changed. Only we haven't.
We are dying slowly here...'
Lucília is the unmarried daughter whose marriage to Olímpio is frustrated by paternal authoritarianism. She does not indulge in her father's dreams and hopes of reclaiming the farm. It is she who, with strength and conviction, restores the family's dignity by sewing furiously. It is she who strives to fight for raw reality, protecting her father against the hardships:
'If you [Elvira] deserved respect, you would have had a little love for your brother, pity at least. I wish you had witnessed their arrival when they came from the farm. Only then could you understand to what extent they suffered! With the clock, the paintings, and this... this jabuticaba branch in their hands... they looked like two frightened children, afraid of being reprimanded. Through every gesture, every glance, there was a plea for forgiveness, as if I... I could criticize them for anything. Selfish! You are a wicked woman. Papa is truly well-intentioned, he has a good heart, otherwise he would have thrown you out. What they suffered, you and Uncle Augusto will pay for.'
With simplicity, Jorge Andrade reaches the climax of the play, the moment of revelation and, consequently, the moment when Joaquim confronts the truth/reality, which we, the spectators, have known from the very beginning. The man's pain is powerful, and we are united with it through the indescribable capacity of art to make time/space identify with the spectator's other space/time.
[Joaquim returns to the room on the Second Level and picks up the jabuticaba branch he had forgotten on the table. He leaves again, trying not to look at anything. After Joaquim leaves, the lights on the Second Level gradually dim until the room is dark.]
FIRST LEVEL
Lucília: [First Level] Surely, we missed each other.
Helena: I looked for Quim and couldn't find him.
Lucília: He must be with Olímpio.
Helena: I went to the store where he used to go, to church, everywhere!
Lucília: You shouldn't be walking around like this.
Helena: If only he weren't so violent.
Lucília: We need to let Papa protest as much as he wants, and stay quiet. It's his right. Don't think about it anymore.
Helena: [Distressed] You know what father is like, Lucília! How can I not think about it?
Lucília: Nothing will happen, Mother. Calm down.
Helena: He's too old to face these things.
Lucília: All the more reason for us to remain calm. [Impatient] We can't lose control. That way, he won't suffer as much.
[Returns to censorship]
Helena: [Looking at the objects on the table] Wouldn't it be better to put all
of this away?
Lucília: Why? Didn't he put it there himself?
Helena: Yes, but now... perhaps...
Lucília: He'll have to see it one day; it's better if he sees it all at once. [Pause]
Helena: My God! Why are they taking so long?!
Lucília: Mother! Be calm.
Helena: [Giving in to despair] I can't take it anymore. I can't take it anymore,
my daughter.
Lucília: [Hugs Helena] Don't worry. Olímpio will know how to deliver the news.
Helena: [Distressed] I'd prefer... I'd prefer...
Lucília: What? Tell me, Mother.
Helena: I wish Olímpio would lie.
Lucília: No! Enough! Let's face reality once and for all.
Helena: I'm afraid, Lucília!
Lucília: We need to accept it and stop thinking about it.
Helena: Someone like your father cannot live without hope. And it was the only thing
he had left.
Lucília: [Loses patience] Mother! Don't keep thinking about it, for God's sake!
Helena: I can't.
Lucília: Father is a strong man.
Helena: He always wanted to die in the fields, like the late Martiniano, and now...!
Lucília: Where could he have gone? Did you go to the bus station? He goes there every
day.
Helena: You're afraid too, my daughter?
Lucília: [Controls herself] No. He likes to watch the gardeners arriving and
leaving for the farms.
Helena: He was there, but... [Stops and becomes very agitated]
Lucília: [Fearful] What is it, Mother?
Helena: They've arrived!
Lucília: Please, calm down.
Helena: Mother of God, pray for us!
Marcelo: [Voice] Sit down, Father. I'll call Mother.
Joaquim: [Voice] No.
[The sound of some things falling to the floor is heard. Lucília stands still, stiff, looking at the corridor. It is apparent that Helena continues to pray. Joaquim appears in the corridor, stops, and his eyes are fixed on Helena. He makes a gesture as if asking for forgiveness; there is an inexpressible anguish in it.]
Lucília: [Bitterly] Papa!
Helena: Quim!
[Joaquim walks to the table and leans against it.]
Lucília: Sit down, Papa.
Helena: Quim, my old man! What did they do to you?
Lucília: [Trying to hold back] Papa! [Marcelo and Olímpio appear in the
corridor]
Helena: Sit down, Quim. Don't you want to sit down?
Joaquim: [Trying to be forceful] Why does everyone want me to sit down?
Helena: For nothing, nothing!
[Joaquim, after picking up a rag from the table, sits down slowly. Long pause. Joaquim begins to unravel the rag.]
Lucília: [Advances towards her father] No! Not this! Papa! Protest, shout, say something. Don't be like this! Don't be like this,
for God's sake!
Helena: Lucília!
Lucília: That's right. Protest. Protest, Papa. You have the right, we have this right. The lands are ours, they have always been ours. No one can take them from us. Papa! There is still hope, we will find a
way; you must not accept it, we
cannot accept it.
Olímpio: [Tries to hold Lucília back] Lucília!
Lucília: [Pushes Olímpio away] Leave me alone.
Helena: My daughter, respect your father's suffering.
Lucília: No! I don't want to see my father like this. I don't want to, I don't want to. There must
be a way. Olímpio! Say there is. Lie. You must lie!
Olímpio: Lie how, Lucília?
Lucília: I don't want my father to lose hope. I don't want to. [Hits Olímpio's chest with her hands] I don't want to! I don't...
[Lucília sinks into the sewing machine, still repeating 'NO'. Little by little, she begins
to sob.]
Joaquim: [Looks at Lucília] I... I don't suffer anymore, I don't suffer anymore, my
daughter. You don't need to be afraid. I... I...
[Lucília can no longer resist and begins to sob violently. Her whole body is shaken by the outburst of despair, and she clings to Olímpio. Olímpio leads her out of the room. Helena walks slowly and stands behind Joaquim's chair; she places her hand on his shoulder. Marcelo sits on the bench.]
Joaquim: [Suddenly distressed] Helena! And my jabuticaba trees?
Helena: Don't think, Quim, don't think about it anymore. There will be no lack of rain.
Joaquim: [Pause] What month is it?
Marcelo: April.
Joaquim: April! [Pause] The coffee is being ruined!
[The lights slowly dim]
Marcelo: The cicadas are no longer heard!
Joaquim: The dry-season beans are starting to pod!
Helena: Those who planted... will start to harvest!
[The voices fade into a murmur, and the lights go out completely.]
