THE ADVENTURES OF AUNT AGATHA AND HER SISTER CONSTANCE
A Comedy
By Benjamín Gavarre.
®© BENJAMÍN GAVARRE SILVA
Scene 1
Setting: The hallway of a high-end apartment building. An elevator door stands center stage. To the side, the interior of the penthouse apartment: a chic but eccentric consulting room.
(Mrs. Gertrude Montgomery, an old woman over 70, dramatically rings the doorbell of Aunt Agatha and Aunt Constance’s penthouse. Frau Helga, the domestic helper and executive assistant, answers through the intercom with a sharp, bitter voice).
Frau Helga: (Sharp) What is it?
Gertrude: (Mysterious) Excuse me, sir. Please don’t take this the wrong way…
Frau Helga: I am not a sir. I am a miss.
Gertrude: (Resigned) Yes, yes, of course… anything is possible these days. Anyway, excuse me. Is this the consulting room of Aunt Agatha and her sister Constance?
Frau Helga: (Furious) What did you just say? What do you mean "anything is possible"?
Gertrude: (Abruptly) I said what I said! Look, I know nothing in this miserable life has a solution. But what can one do? I heard from a friend that this is the Agony Aunt Consulting Room. They say the sisters know everything about "crises of the heart," no matter how severe. And I desperately need—
Frau Helga: (Booming over intercom) Come up! Penthouse floor. And if you have trouble with the elevator… well, I wish you luck.
(Frau Helga lets out a loud, robotic laugh, stops abruptly, and stares at the intercom with an enigmatic smile. In the hallway, Gertrude tries to make the elevator work. She presses the buttons repeatedly. It doesn't budge. She bangs on the door with her fists).
Gertrude: Please, sweet elevator, be good to a poor, harmless old woman. (Contradicting her sweet tone, she violently kicks the elevator doors three times) Come on, you metal piece of junk! You can see I’m tormented! (The elevator suddenly dings and the doors slide open) Oh, thank you, my darling elevator! Heaven bless you! (The doors abruptly slam shut, trapping her arm) Savage!
(The elevator doors open again and Gertrude climbs inside, trembling. As the elevator ascends, a digital sign outside changes to indicate each of the ten floors).
(Third floor: The doors open briefly. A sign reads: "Better a slow pace that lasts, than a trot that brings a heart attack." The doors slam shut).
(Inside the penthouse: Aunt Constance is watering her twelve sunflowers, which are managed like puppets. Curiously, they are all facing strictly to the left).
Constance: Boys, please. All well-bred sunflowers direct their attention to the sun. The sun rises in the West and, poor thing, dies in the East. Or is it the other way around? Never mind. Listen to your Aunt Constance. Look to the right! The sun is out there—we just can't see it through this permanent wall of smog. But I swear it exists. January, February, March… you three are the smartest. Convince your little brothers to turn around.
(The sunflowers abruptly whip their heads to the right, then immediately turn to the center, staring fixedly at Constance).
Constance: What are you staring at, you silly-flowers? I am not the sun! As far as I know. Stop looking at me like that. Inconsiderate, rude things! I give you a solid, fertilized education, and this is how you repay me? You should learn from Primrose. (She picks up Primrose, a stuffed Chihuahua dressed in a ballet tutu) My little sugar cube, my northern treasure! Your mommy has your organic treats ready. Let's leave these spinning, rotten weeds alone. Yes, I’m talking about you, June! Keep looking at me like that and I’ll pluck your petals. Come, Primrose, let's go to the consulting room. We have another broken heart to fix. Attack, Primrose!
(Constance exits. The sunflowers begin spinning wildly in all directions, completely disoriented).
(The elevator dings. Fifth floor. The doors open. Gertrude is breathing heavily inside. The sign reads: "The fifth floor is never entirely bad.")
Gertrude: No, it’s not bad—it’s horrific. But I’ll get to the top eventually.
(The doors slam shut with violent metallic screeches).
(Inside the apartment: Aunt Agatha enters and waves gracefully at the twelve sunflowers, which obediently track her every movement).
Aunt Agatha: Good morning, beautiful boys! Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Monday, Saturday, and Sunday. Oh, who am I missing? Never mind. Good morning, darlings. Don't get sunstroke.
(The elevator finally dings at the Penthouse. The doors open. The final sign reads: "We will meet again." Gertrude reads it aloud, stifles a sob, and runs out crying, "No, no, please!" She crosses the stage, reaches the apartment door, and collapses against it, knocking desperately).
(Frau Helga opens the door, aggressively grabs the old woman by the shoulders, hauls her over to a divan, and pulls out a stenography notebook).
Frau Helga: (Implacable) Name!
Gertrude: (Gasping for air) Gertrude Montgomery.
Frau Helga: Marital status?
Gertrude: Married, by my sins, married! Listen—
Frau Helga: Credit score? Banking history? Vaccination records? Public and domestic habits? Do you enjoy Sundays, or not so much?
Gertrude: Oh, Sundays… You see, my husband used to take me to the park—
Frau Helga: (Abruptly) Enough.
(Helga violently checks Gertrude’s pulse, shoves a blood pressure cuff onto her arm, and pulls out a wooden tongue depressor, brandishing it like a weapon).
Frau Helga: Open. Say yes.
Gertrude: (Smiling nervously) Oh, no, I'm perfectly fine! Healthier than a spring chicken, I swear!
(Frau Helga forces Gertrude’s mouth open with the tongue depressor).
Frau Helga: Say, Ah.
Gertrude: (Muffled and distorted) Gauuu… Gugu… Gokuuuu…
Frau Helga: Have you suffered any serious illnesses?
Gertrude: (Suddenly melodramatic) Oh, I have suffered immensely! My husband—you have no idea—he is so jealous!
Frau Helga: Cancer, ulcers, acute hysteria? Do you regularly suffer heart attacks?
Gertrude: (Confused) Regularly? Well, once I had a sharp pain right here… (Points to her right shoulder) Or actually, it was more over here… (Points to her left shoulder).
Frau Helga: How old are you?
Gertrude: (Uncomfortable) Excuse me?
Frau Helga: Your age!
Gertrude: (Terrified) I don't understand the question.
Frau Helga: (Bellowing) Year of birth!
Gertrude: (Distraught) Let me think… In 1940… No, wait, 1930… No, no, no.
Frau Helga: Be brief.
Gertrude: Yes, yes… In 1980… and then 1991…
Frau Helga: Ninety-what?
Gertrude: No, please, not that many! (Stuttering) I am ex-ac-t-t-tly…
Frau Helga: (Hysterical) How old are you, woman?!
Gertrude: Thirty-two… fifty-five… forty-four… I am exactly… (Eyes rolling back) Oh, heavens!
(Gertrude faints flat on the divan. Aunt Agatha and Aunt Constance enter simultaneously through different doors. Agatha rushes to Gertrude’s aid; Constance casually sits on the sofa, cradling Primrose).
Scene 2
Aunt Agatha: Goodness gracious! Olga, what did you do to this poor woman?
Frau Helga: Helga. My name is Helga, Aunt Agatha. Do not forget it. (Glaring at the unconscious woman) As for the patient, she is clearly deaf. She couldn't comprehend a basic chronological inquiry.
Constance: (Stirring the pot) I wouldn't be surprised, dear Frau, if you threatened her with the crematorium just to get her to answer your "sweet" questionnaire.
Frau Helga: (Offended) Miss Constance, I merely fulfill—
Constance: (Mocking her in a mechanical singsong voice) "…my obligations with maximum efficiency, discretion, and discipline. And if you don't like my methods, I shall pack my bags." Yes, we know, dear Olga. You are efficient. Horrifically efficient.
Frau Helga: It's Helga!
Constance: Alright, calm down. Look, the old bird is waking up.
(Gertrude flutters her eyes open, looks around in terror. Agatha smiles sweetly; Constance checks her makeup in a hand mirror; Helga glares like a hawk).
Gertrude: (Screaming at the sight of Helga) Help! She’s back! Call the police! She wants to torture me!
Aunt Agatha: Hush now, standard procedure. Helga is harmless. A bit… Prussian, but harmless. Now, let’s see. You’ve lost your husband, haven't you? He’s a lazy, quarrelsome gambler who doesn't provide a dime for the household. Tell us, sweet granny. But calmly! At your advanced age, nerves are a luxury you cannot afford.
Frau Helga: She still hasn't confessed her age.
Aunt Agatha: Sins are confessed, Olga, not age. I, for example—
Constance: Oh, a miracle! Are you finally going to confess your age, sister?
Aunt Agatha: (Ignoring Constance, turning to Gertrude) So, your husband is a lazy, quarrelsome gambler?
Gertrude: I never said any such thing!
Constance: Scandalous.
Gertrude: Oh, Aunts, you don't understand… My husband…
(A spotlight illuminates a corner of the stage: Gertrude’s house. Her husband, Herbert Montgomery, is a very old, hunched-over man. He is frantically turning triple-locks on the door, padlocking the windows, and checking under the bed with a flashlight. As he does this, the women's voices echo from the consulting room).
Gertrude’s Voice: He is terribly, unbearably, psychotically jealous. He’s jealous of the mailman, the milkman, the Amazon delivery guy, the garbage collector, the news anchor on the TV, the ground I walk on, the very oxygen I breathe!
Constance’s Voice: Slower, dear, you're going to hyperventilate.
Gertrude’s Voice: He is a vile, repulsive, suffocating monster! And worst of all…
Aunt Agatha’s Voice: Worst of all, he’s a lazy, quarrelsome gambler!
(The spotlight switches back to full brightness on the consulting room. Gertrude is sitting next to Constance, who barely looks at her. Helga and Agatha lean in attentively).
Gertrude: No! Worst of all is that he hasn't kissed me in decades! Not a peck on the cheek, no affection, nothing! Oh, Aunts, what should I do?
Aunt Agatha: Don't worry, my dear. If your husband is a lazy, quarrelsome gambler, it’s likely your fault. Just look at you. Why don't you spice things up? Put on some perfume, bake a pie, say something naughty. You'll see how fast his gambling and laziness disappear.
Constance: He’s jealous, Agatha. The man is jealous. Tell her, Helga.
Frau Helga: (Coldly) The subject displays classic pathologically green symptoms.
Constance: He's the type who checks your phone logs.
Gertrude: (Excited) Yes!
Constance: The type who tracks your grocery receipts.
Gertrude: (Exalted) Exactly!
Constance: And he probably listens to depressing, bitter old records about unfaithful women.
Gertrude: (Euphoric) Spot on! That's him!
(Aunt Agatha claps enthusiastically).
Aunt Agatha: Bravo! Death to jealousy, long live vintage drama!
Gertrude: (Suddenly snapping back, guilty) Oh, but deep down… I don't know if I should be criticizing him. I’m nobody to judge, right?
Constance: What do you mean, "nobody"? Then who?
Frau Helga: Yes, then who?
Aunt Agatha: A judge, a priest, a railway station master. (The others stare at her in blank silence; Agatha clears her throat) Right… yes… gossip is a terrible sin.
Gertrude: But I do need your help. And I am willing to pay whatever it takes.
Frau Helga: (Sinister) Whatever it takes…
Gertrude: Yes, of course. (Opens her purse, starts counting pennies, then freezes) Actually, I must go. Herbert thinks I’m taking a bath right now. (She shoves the coins back into her purse and stuffs it down her cleavage).
Constance: Must be a very deep tub, because you've been here an hour. Helga, show the lady out.
Frau Helga: That will be two hundred thousand dollars for the consultation.
Aunt Agatha: (Shocked) Helga!
Gertrude: (Alarmed) Two hundred what?!
Frau Helga: Cash or wire transfer. Now.
Aunt Agatha: Ignore her, Mrs. Montgomery. Helga has a very dry sense of humor.
Frau Helga: If she does not pay, I resign.
Constance: Oh, stop threatening and just leave for once, Helga.
Aunt Agatha: (Conciliatory) You will pay us whatever you can spare, dear, once you are satisfied with our services. Helga, control your greed or you are fired.
Frau Helga: I need a vacation. Make her pay. (Looming over Gertrude) Two hundred thousand! Now!
Gertrude: But… you haven't told me… what should I do?!
Aunt Agatha: Helga, that’s enough! You are officially on paid vacation. But first, see the lady out. And don't worry, Mrs. Montgomery, we will cure your husband of his gambling and laziness!
Gertrude: But he's not a— Oh, never mind!
Constance: Goodbye, fully loaded wallet! I mean, madam. Good luck. Helga, eject her.
Frau Helga: (Frantic, chasing Gertrude) Wire transfer! Crypto! Anything!
(Gertrude shrieks and flees in terror, with Frau Helga hot on her heels).
(Left alone, Aunt Agatha walks over to a bizarre portrait of the two sisters hanging on the wall. She swings it open to reveal a wall safe, pulling out a small, elegant box of chocolates. Constance approaches, examining them).
Constance: (Pointing to the chocolates) Let's see… remedies for stingy husbands, pathological liars, unbearable mothers-in-law, talkative wives… Oh dear. We are completely out of chocolates for jealous husbands. Did you get that, sister? Jealous.
Aunt Agatha: Oh, Constance. Do you think I’m an idiot? I knew it was a rabid husband all along.
Constance: Right… Come on, let’s go visit Malachi.
(Blackout).
Scene 3
Setting: The chaotic laboratory of Dr. Malachi Featherstone. Beakers, test tubes, and strange sci-fi equipment fill the room.
(Dr. Malachi is enthusiastically mixing glowing liquids. Constance watches him, completely mesmerized. His assistant, Barnaby Finch, scrambles around him, barely catching the mortars and test tubes Malachi clumsily drops).
Malachi: Jealousy! Oh, the heavens weep! We must eradicate the green-eyed monster that mocks the meat it feeds on! Shakespearean prose aside, Barnaby, I could swear I prepared a fresh batch of anti-jealousy truffles this morning.
Barnaby: We’re completely out, Doctor.
Malachi: Behold, Constance! This ordinary cocoa powder is nothing but dust… but through the miracle of science, we shall transform it into an antidote capable of curing the most psychotic of Othellos!
Constance: (Flirtatiously) Oh, Dr. Featherstone, you speak so beautifully. So deliciously scientific.
Malachi: So I've been told.
Constance: And far be it from me to question your vast intellect… but don't you think it needs more sugar?
Malachi: The cocoa blend is already perfectly sweetened.
Constance: In my expert opinion, a little more wouldn't hurt.
Malachi: You think? Won't it be sickly sweet?
Constance: Sugar is essential for a sweet disposition, Doctor. Trust me.
Malachi: Barnaby, listen to the lady. Fetch the sugar.
Constance: Just a touch?
Malachi: Barnaby, fetch two kilograms of sugar!
Barnaby: But, Doctor—
Constance: Make it four.
Barnaby: Doctor, really—
Malachi: Do as the Aunt says, Barnaby!
Barnaby: Fine, fine…
Malachi: Now! We submerge the cocoa and the four kilos of sugar into a solution of liquid sodium bicarbonate, ten milliliters of distilled mercury bromide, a dash of desert cactus extract… and finally, we irradiate the entire molecular structure with Uranium-223!
(A loud explosion effect: strobe lights, smoke, and a comical bang. When the smoke clears, Dr. Malachi is standing proudly, holding a glass tray filled with glowing, glittering chocolates).
Malachi: Voilà! Jealousy is no more. We place them in a box, and the patient consumes them.
Constance: (Leaning in, batting her eyelashes) Oh, Doctor, you’re an absolute genius. When will you finally accept my dinner invitation? You promised to come meet my highly educated sunflowers.
Malachi: (Suddenly nervous, drops his glasses. Speaks in a completely garbled, high-pitched voice) My glasses! I’ve dropped them, I’m legally blind, I can't see a thing!
Constance: Oh dear, Dr. Featherstone seems to be having a mild seizure. What did he say, Barnaby?
Barnaby: The Doctor said you look exceptionally breathtaking today, Miss Constance.
Malachi: (Viciously pinches Barnaby’s arm to shut him up) A crucial warning regarding the antidote! The subject must never consume more than one chocolate. Excess, in this case, could lead to extreme, highly volatile side effects!
Constance: Yes, yes, science. But Doctor, about dinner—
Malachi: I have an urgent gastrointestinal emergency! Barnaby, assist the lady! (He runs offstage).
Barnaby: Very well, Aunt Constance. Has anyone ever told you that you are a magnificent specimen of a woman?
Constance: Oh, frequently. But please, keep going.
(Blackout).
Scene 4
Setting: The living room of the Montgomery residence. Gertrude is crying dramatically while dusting a table. Herbert stands over her, pacing furiously. A loud, casual whistling is heard from the street outside).
Herbert: Who are you thinking about, Gertrude?! You’re communicating with the whistler outside, aren't you? Sending him coded signals with your tears! (The whistling grows louder) Ha! He answered you! What is his message?! (Gertrude stops crying, annoyed) Oh, silent now? Why aren't you answering your lover?!
(The doorbell rings. Aunt Agatha is standing outside, absurdly disguised as a door-to-door candy saleswoman).
Herbert: Gertrude, lock yourself in the bedroom! Your street-whistler has arrived in disguise! Let’s see what lies you've concocted to see him. Romance at your age, you should be thoroughly ashamed! Into the bedroom!
(Herbert cracks the door open, keeping the security chain locked).
Herbert: (Snapping) What do you want?
Aunt Agatha: Good afternoon, sir! I represent the La Ilusión Luxury Chocolate Company!
Herbert: Don't play dumb with me. The man whistling on the street corner sent you, didn't he? Swear to me he didn't!
Aunt Agatha: I never swear in vain, my good sir.
Herbert: Well, you tell that good-for-nothing degenerate that neither alive, dead, nor buried will I allow my wife to cheat on me!
(The whistling outside continues cheerfully. Gertrude peeks her head out of the bedroom).
Herbert: Do you hear that?! (He peeks through the crack of the door, glaring outside) Look at him, still whistling! Tell him I won't fall into his trap! I’ve cracked his secret code! He can save his breath!
Aunt Agatha: I have no idea what you're talking about, sir, but I’d be delighted if you tried one… no, better make it two… actually, three complimentary chocolates from our latest selection. They’re entirely free.
Herbert: Get lost!
Aunt Agatha: It's a special promotion! If you sample three, you get a whole box of twenty for free!
Herbert: Don't waste your breath, woman. You have no way of knowing, but I am highly diabetic.
Aunt Agatha: Oh, that doesn't matter at all! These are specialty diabetic chocolates. Sugar-free!
Herbert: Sugar-free?
Aunt Agatha: (Nervous, realizing she’s losing him) Uh… yes! No real sugar. It's… artificial sweetener. Zero calorie. Organic plant extract. It's practically air! Listen, if you just try one… (She winces, forcing herself to say it) …I promise I’ll give you a lovely kiss as a reward.
Herbert: (Instantly unlocking the chain, shifting into a suave, wannabe seducer. Gertrude peeks out, gasping) Are you serious? A passionate kiss from a mysterious maiden?
Aunt Agatha: (With infinite, rigid dignity) A polite kiss on the cheek, sir. I am a lady.
Herbert: And which fine confection will lead me to the joy of your lips, fair mistress of my desires?
Aunt Agatha: (Playing along, nauseated) Try this one, sir… and this one… and take a third, because your condition is far more severe than I anticipated.
Herbert: My condition? What condition?
Aunt Agatha: Never mind that. How do they taste?
Herbert: (Shoving all three chocolates into his mouth at once) Magnificent! As sweet as your gaze, as intoxicating as your presence… Now, what about those kisses?
Aunt Agatha: Kisses are for your wife, you miserable old tyrant! Goodbye!
(Aunt Agatha vanishes like a ghost. Gertrude ducks back into her room, locking the door).
(Suddenly, the sugar and chemical reaction hits Herbert. He undergoes a violent physical transformation: his posture straightens, his face breaks into a manic smile. He walks over to the mirror, fixes his hair, and starts cheerfully singing a romantic pop ballad. He walks to Gertrude’s door and knocks softly).
Herbert: Gertrude! Gertrude, my sweet angel! Blossom of my soul, come out, my little doll! Come give your devoted husband a kiss!
(Gertrude opens the door just an inch, horrified).
Gertrude: Herbert? What is wrong with you? Have you lost your mind?
Herbert: Let me into our love nest, my princess! Let me shower you with my eternal, profound, intoxicating affection! Come to me, my heart!
Gertrude: (Stepping out, pushing him away) You should be thoroughly ashamed, Herbert! At your age! Leave me alone! Go back to your room and stop touching me! Stop grabbing my waist! Help! Police!
(He sweeps her into his arms and spins her onto the sofa).
Herbert: (Like an overly sweet, manic courtier) Let's see, my queen. What would you like for dinner? Triple-chocolate cake? Glazed donuts? Strawberries dipped in thick caramel? Just say the word and I shall conquer the bakery for you!
Gertrude: Herbert, you lunatic, we are both diabetic!
Herbert: Splendid! Then put on your finest gown, we are dining out! French? Italian? All-you-can-eat buffet? Decide quickly, my treasure, for my love burns like a thousand suns! Kiss me, my darling! I am entirely yours! Don't leave me, my life, my everything!
Gertrude: Someone help me! He's gone mad!
(Gertrude tears herself away and runs out of the apartment, pursued closely by a aggressively affectionate Herbert).
(Blackout).
Scene 5
Setting: The sisters' consulting room. Constance is hugging Primrose. Aunt Agatha is watching the twelve sunflowers, which are now spinning violently in all directions, looking dizzy).
Aunt Agatha: It’s utterly barbaric, Constance. If I tell you that I simply do not understand human beings, you must believe me. Can you imagine Mrs. Montgomery? Shouting like a lost soul in the middle of the street: "I want a divorce! I want a divorce!" I mean, really! Her husband is a changed man. He brings her breakfast in bed, feeds her grapes by hand, bakes her pastries, takes her to five-star restaurants every evening… He kisses her good morning, good afternoon, good night, and every time he returns from the bathroom! I genuinely do not understand people.
Constance: (Dissatisfied) And do you blame her? His jealousy is gone, yes, but would you put up with a husband who behaves like a golden retriever soaked in maple syrup?
Aunt Agatha: Me? A husband? Absolutely not. Clingy, jealous, or otherwise. I am perfectly content as I am.
Constance: (Sighs) Yes… we are fine as we are.
Aunt Agatha: You're thinking about Malachi again. I told you, he's not for you. He's far too old.
Constance: Yes… (Pause, looking guilty) You know… perhaps I shouldn't have insisted on adding so much sugar to that recipe. It was too much. Far too much sugar.
Aunt Agatha: Oh, sister… what have you done?
(Blackout).
Epilogue
Setting: A ring light illuminates the sisters. They are holding a smartphone on a tripod, recording a video for social media).
Aunt Agatha: (To the camera, smiling) Welcome back to the Agony Aunt Mailbox with Aunt Agatha and Aunt Constance. We know everything. Interestingly, before filming today, we received millions of inquiries from bewildered hearts across the globe.
Constance: So, without further ado, let us dive into today’s desperate pleas.
Aunt Agatha: (Reading from a tablet) "Dear Aunts. For some time now, I have wished to become invisible… just to see what my husband does at night. He swears he’s working late on corporate restructuring."
Constance: Oh, please. Classic line.
Aunt Agatha: (Resuming) "…but he’s been corporate restructuring for five years now. Tell me, what should I do?" (Answering the camera) Well, my highly transparent friend, do not despair. We will do everything in our power to—
Constance: (Interrupting) No, no, absolutely not. Look here, Lady Invisible: don't you know it is in terribly poor taste to spy on people?
Aunt Agatha: But it's her husband!
Constance: I don't care if it's her dog! Would you like to be spied on?
Aunt Agatha: Well, no. Imagine someone watching you first thing in the morning. Staring at yourself in the bathroom mirror, making horrific faces, checking your tongue…
Constance: Sister, we are talking about the invisible viewer, not your morning routine.
Aunt Agatha: (Quickly turning back to the camera) Do not worry, madam! Becoming invisible is quite simple. Step one: kidnap your husband's secretary. Step two: disguise yourself as her. Step three: engage in a night of wild, passionate romance with your husband, and then you will see if he is truly cheating or not so much!
Constance: Breathtaking, Agatha. Sometimes you borders on intelligent.
Aunt Agatha: Thank you, sister.
Constance: And don't forget, dear viewers—any matter of the heart will be solved right here at the Agony Aunt Mailbox.
Both: Because we know everything!
THE END
