The Three Wise Men: MELCHOR, GASPAR Y BALTHAZAR 2026 Version

 

The Three Wise Men: 

MELCHOR, GASPAR Y BALTHAZAR VS THE ORANGE EMPIRE

2026 Version

GAVARRE B 

DRAMATIS PERSONAE:

• MELCHOR: The academic. Attempts to speak in Old Spanish verse but is constantly distracted by modern geopolitics. Carries frankincense (and ibuprofen).

• GASPAR: The complaining logistician. Carries the gold and has a ruined back. Hates modern infrastructure.

• BALTASAR: The techno-mystic. Carries the myrrh and is the only one who understands messages in "the cloud" (literally, balloons).

• HEROD: The puppet Viceroy of Rome’s "Blonde Emperor." Wears an orange toupée, overuses self-tanner, and is obsessed with oil.

• THE CHILD GOD: In the manger. He's very big and smiles. He's in a privileged spot next to her birth parents. Does not speak, but has celestial aim when throwing balloons containing messages and sentences.

• OLAF & BJORN: Two very lost Vikings who were looking for an "All-Inclusive" beach resort and ended up in the middle of the desert.

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SCENE I: THE MULTIVERSE OF THE ROAD

(An absurd desert landscape. There are nopales (prickly pears), snow on the ground, a bison grazing in the background, and a Viking longship stranded on a dune. The Magi enter, exhausted.)

MELCHOR:

O Creator Lord, what marvel here!

Is that a star, or a lightbulb’s sphere?

Brief is the time since its holy birth,

But the road is the worst on this middle-earth!

GASPAR:

For Heaven's sake, Melchor! Drop the verse already, the camels are practically smoking. Crossing New Spain during the holidays is a nightmare: to the left, we’ve got Native Americans in tipis smoking peace pipes, and to the right, some Vikings who got lost looking for Puerto Vallarta. And those bison won't stop giving my luggage the evil eye!

BALTASAR:

(Looking at the sky, skillfully catching a red balloon as it drifts down.)

Quiet, gentlemen! Another urgent dispatch from the Boy. This balloon comes straight from the heights of Bethlehem-Tenochtitlan. (Reading the note tied to the string.) The lad says to hurry up. Maximum alert: "Old Man Clausure"—that Santa Claus fellow who dresses in Coca-Cola red—is already trying to cross the northern border wall with his doped-up reindeer.

MELCHOR:

By my oath! This Santa is a usurper! He only gives gifts if there's a chimney and central heating. We are all-terrain: we go to the slums, the colonies, where the shoes are broken but the heart is large. In Mexico, the Spains, and Venezuela, we are the true bosses of wonder! Quicken the pace!

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SCENE II: THE VICEROY OF THE BLONDE EMPIRE

(Herod's Palace. A mix of Roman style and a Miami luxury tower. HEROD is sitting on an oil barrel, combing his orange toupée.)

HEROD:

Listen well, you rhetoricians and star-gazers! The Blonde Emperor—he of Rome’s great golden wig—has given me supreme command. He says New Spain and the south have plenty of "black juice" under the soil. We want Venezuela's oil and the lithium of the deserts! Make Judea Great Again! And if any child is born saying the world belongs to everyone or that we should share... immediate deportation!

(The Magi enter, sweaty and burdened.)

GASPAR:

Creator save you, Herod! We come in peace. We bring frankincense, gold, myrrh, and some Barbies we were asked to deliver to some girls in Caracas.

HEROD:

(Looking at them with disgust.)

Toys? Who wants toys? I want barrels! And this child you seek...? My spies say he looks Palestinian, with dangerous ideas about "peace" and "love." That’s not good business for the Empire! I’ll eat him for lunch in a stew before he organizes a Shepherds' Union. To the pot with the diapered subversive!

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SCENE III: THE CELESTIAL DISPATCH AND THE "PAMBA"

(The Manger. Humble, but the Child glows intensely. HEROD bursts in violently with a giant fork and an embargo contract.)

HEROD:

The fairy tale is over! I’m expropriating this manger for public utility to build a luxury hotel with a golf course! And I’m eating the kid with habanero salsa!

(The Child opens one eye, lifts a chubby hand, and launches a white balloon directly into Herod's face. POFF! Herod goes mute instantly. He opens his mouth to scream, but only streamers and confetti come out.)

BALTASAR:

(Quickly grabbing the letter from the white balloon.)

Hear the sentence of the Creator! (Reads): "The Boy says Herod is fusty. That his wig smells of mothballs and lies. That the oil doesn't belong to the Blonde One, but to the Earth, and he is to shut his mouth permanently or be turned into a statue of table salt."

GASPAR:

Hallelujah! He’s been muzzled by the divine! No more propaganda!

MELCHOR:

Brother Kings, let us proceed with the ancestral protocol of justice! The National Pamba! Have at him!

(The three Kings surround Herod, who tries to crawl away, his knees trembling. They begin to give him rhythmic slaps on the head and back in a "Pamba" beat.)

MELCHOR: Take a pamba for wanting to invade brother nations! (Whack!)

GASPAR: Take a pamba for being Rome’s puppet and trying to steal the oil! (Thump!)

BALTASAR: Take a pamba for not respecting the rights of others, which is peace! (Slap, slap!)

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SCENE IV: THE NORDIC INTERVENTION

(In the middle of the pamba, OLAF and BJORN enter, overheated, dragging shields and horned helmets.)

OLAF:

By Thor’s hammer and Odin’s beard! We’ve been walking in circles for three moons! Where the hell are the Puerto Vallarta beaches with the "All-Inclusive" wristbands? The Google Maps oracle told us it was straight after the iceberg, but here there's only sand, cactus, and weird people hitting each other!

BJORN:

My throat is as dry as the Gobi Desert! Look, Olaf! What is that orange beast crawling on the floor spitting confetti?

(They point to Herod, who is trying to hide under a mule.)

OLAF:

Heavens! It looks like a dying seal with a golden bird's nest on its head! Could this be the guardian of the Blonde Emperor’s treasure?

MELCHOR:

(Stopping the pamba for a moment.)

Peace, noble barbarians of the north! He is no beast, though he looks it. It is Viceroy Herod, silenced by the Child God for being a loudmouth and a tyrant.

GASPAR:

Exactly! And if you’re looking for Vallarta, you’ve overshot your mark by a few thousand nautical miles to the south, güeros.

BJORN:

(Approaching Herod and sniffing his toupée suspiciously.)

Ugh... smells like fear, cheap sunblock, and hairspray. This one isn't even fit for a sacrifice to Odin! Let’s go, Olaf!

OLAF:

Yes, let’s go! This kingdom is too strange! Children launch balloons that strike you mute, kings ride camels instead of longships, and there’s no cold beer! Let’s keep looking for the Beach Valhalla!

(The Vikings run off, "accidentally" stepping on Herod's cape as they leave.)

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SCENE V: THE TREATY AND THE NIGHT OF THE SHOES

(Nighttime. A humble rooftop in Mexico City. Clothes are hanging on a line, and several pairs of old little shoes sit by a window. A full moon shines.)

BALTASAR:

(Landing softly from his camel.)

Shhh! Quiet, Gaspar! Your knees creak louder than an enchanted castle door. We’ve reached the first stop of the Great Night.

GASPAR:

(Panting, lowering a heavy sack.)

Oh, my sciatica! Melchor, pass me the tablet with the list. What did little Pepito from this neighborhood ask for?

MELCHOR:

(Checking a long parchment with a magnifying glass.)

Let’s see... Pepito, son of Doña Lupe the quesadilla lady. He asks for "world peace, lower gas prices, and... a Lightning McQueen scooter!"

GASPAR:

Lord! The peace and gas prices we’ll leave to the Child God; he’s negotiating the treaty with the world powers. I’ll handle the scooter. (Pulls a shiny scooter from the sack.) Look at this beauty! Made with heavy-duty materials, none of that Chinese plastic "Santa Clausure" uses!

BALTASAR:

Speaking of the fat man! Look over there, on the rich neighbor’s chimney!

(He points into the distance: a red boot and a Santa hat are seen ridiculously stuck on a satellite dish.)

MELCHOR:

Ha ha ha! The North Pole usurper tried to land and got snagged! His reindeer aren't built for New Spain’s overhead wiring!

GASPAR:

Let him go back to his igloo! Here, we are the tradition. We enter through the window, with permission from the parents and the guard dog—who already knows us and wags his tail.

BALTASAR:

(Leaving wooden cars and a rag doll next to some broken shoes that magically belong to a girl in Venezuela.)

And this gift for the girl in the south! Let her know that the gold we bring isn't for empires, but so that she can play.

MELCHOR:

(Sprinkling a bit of glowing magic that smells of frankincense over the shoes.)

And a bit of stardust so they dream sweet dreams and have no fear! Mission accomplished in this house! To the next rooftop!

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SCENE VI: FINAL EPILOGUE

(The three Kings return to their camels, who are waiting on the roof chewing on a sock.)

BALTASAR:

Listen! The Child’s last balloon before closing shop! (Catches it.) It says: "Thanks, colleagues. The world is a little less fusty tonight. Herod is still mute and crawling, and the Vikings found a 'tacos al pastor' stand and say it’s better than Valhalla. Good job!"

GASPAR:

Hallelujah! Well now, let’s run—in Spain they’re already setting out the Roscón cake, and if we’re late, we’ll get the bean and have to pay for it!

MELCHOR:

Let us go, companions! Long live the wonder, down with tyranny, and may the camels hold their gallop until next year!

ALL:

(Looking directly at the audience, winking mischievously.)

And you, children and not-so-children, behave yourselves... because even if there's no GPS signal, we see everything... even your incognito browsing history!

(They fly away on their camels, leaving a trail of stars and candy.)

FAST CURTAIN

(BEFORE THE ELECTRIC BILL ARRIVES)

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**English Glossary*

Here is the English Glossary to help a foreign reader (or audience) navigate the cultural and historical "multiverse" of this play.

Cultural & Historical Glossary for the Play

The Magi / Three Kings (Los Reyes Magos): In most Spanish-speaking countries, the Three Kings (Melchior, Caspar, and Balthazar) are the primary figures who bring gifts to children on the night of January 5th. While Santa Claus has gained popularity, the Kings remain the cultural "bosses" of the holiday season.

New Spain (Nueva España): Historically, this was the name of the Spanish viceroyalty that included present-day Mexico. In this play, it is treated as a farcical multiverse where historical periods collide—allowing Vikings, bisons, and oil tycoons to coexist in the same desert.

Pamba: A specific Mexican tradition (often found in schools or among friends) where a group of people gives rhythmic, light-hearted slaps or "pats" to someone's head. In the play, it is used as a form of "community justice" against the tyrant Herod.

Letters in Balloons (Cartitas en globos): A traditional Mexican custom where children tie their wish lists to helium balloons and release them into the sky so the Three Kings can "catch" them in the clouds. In the play, the Child uses them to send "divine memos."

The "Golden Emperor" (El Emperador Güero): A satirical reference to modern populist leaders (specifically referencing Donald Trump's aesthetic and policies). "Güero" is a common Mexican term for someone who is fair-skinned or blonde.

Santa Clausura: A play on words. "Clausura" means closure or shutting down in Spanish. It’s a derogatory nickname the Kings use for Santa Claus to emphasize that he is an outsider representing "commercial closure" rather than local tradition.

Rosca de Reyes: Mentioned at the end of the script. It is a traditional ring-shaped cake eaten on January 6th. It contains a small plastic figurine representing the Child; whoever finds it in their slice must host a party with tamales in February.

Oil & Lithium Satire: The play uses the "black juice" (oil) and lithium as modern equivalents to the gold and spices sought by ancient empires, mocking current geopolitical interests in Latin America.

A SOUL LIKE MY OWN (A monologue for a man "falling into the abyss"). By GAVARRE BENJAMIN.

 

 

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A SOUL LIKE MY OWN

(A monologue for a man "falling into the abyss")

By GAVARRE BENJAMIN

® Benjamín Gavarre Silva

Contact:

gavarreunam@gmail.com

or

benjamingavarre@filos.unam.mx 

 

CHARACTER:

THE CLIMBER: Dressed in technical gear in various shades of blue and a mountain beanie. He looks like someone defeated by nature but possessing an enviable lucidity.

SETTING:

Total void. In the background, the silhouette of the Volcano surrounded by impassive clouds. The sound design is a constant whistling wind that rises and falls in pitch, marking the emotional pulse of the story.

 

(The CLIMBER appears in a horizontal position, floating as if the air were an invisible pool. He does a slow somersault and ends up face up, looking toward where the sky should be.)

CLIMBER

(In a slow, almost amused voice)

It’s funny... I always thought gravity was a severe law, relentlessly fast... Like a judge in a wig screaming: "Down!". But no. Gravity is... polite. It invites you in. It’s escorting me to the world’s ground floor in a free elevator where time stretches out like melted cheese.

(He changes position. Tucks his legs in and hugs his knees in a fetal position. The light becomes warm, amber-toned.)

Fifteen thousand feet. Or thirteen. Thirteen thousand one hundred to be exact... the total, total height of the whole volcano. My fall was spectacular, I know... and I don’t say it out of vanity, but because for the first and last time in my life, I’m going to be front-page news. Yeah, I was a trending topic for two and a half days. Plenty of color photos... Tremendous. Although my actual fall was only about six hundred feet and it took me six point three seconds to hit the ground. Six seconds. Enough time to watch the premiere of my own life's movie, with no interruptions and no popcorn. My final experience is, literally, unforgettable... even if I won't have anyone to tell it to later.

(Pause)

Do you know what the first thing you remember is when you slip off the edge of the Volcano? Yeah, you already know... "Did I leave the stove on?". "The toilet flapper didn't close right and the whole building's water just went down the drain." Literally... like me right now? Or more serious things: the insurance policy, my will, the redemption of my many sins... and boy, have I sinned. But what’s popping into my head right now is the lavender scent of "COLOSSAL" floor cleaner. The best cleaner that cleans, cleans... and that I used to wash my gross socks and the boxers I’d already worn five times. I put them on smelling clean, clean... A round of applause for that fake lavender scent!

(He stretches out suddenly. A diver’s position with arms crossed.)

Boom! I’m five years old and I’m on my red tricycle. I’m enjoying the taste of metal as I suck on the handlebars. Rich, rich taste of rusty handlebars! (He laughs). And then... totally unrelated, but I’m reliving my first kiss. She tastes like mint gum and like a pro. She’s like forty and I’m nineteen... what a total cradle-robber. It was a kiss with a lot of lip; her mouth was flexible, like those gummy bears that stretch. Ah, I seem to be thinking a lot about things that stretch today.

(A look of wonder)

My first time was with a massager that vibrated... mind you, it had other uses I couldn't have imagined at eleven years old. Something stretched and something exploded to my enormous shock and my abysmal ignorance of what my body could do. Speaking of abysses... now my first real relationship pops up, my first time without the intervention of indifferent gadgets. And there I go in my first car... I learned to drive at the same time I learned to fuck... Ejem, excuse my "French," but that’s how you say it.

(His face lights up)

Ah, I remember my red Beetle! I loved it as much as my first girlfriend. In these moments, I can’t tell lies. I always had red cars, compacts, and stick shifts. You can do a lot of things with a floor shifter, or have them done to you if you’re lucky...

(He starts moving his hands as if shifting gears and hitting the clutch. He drives in the air and enjoys it intensely.)

Watch out, I’m coming in with no brakes! And my pleasure will be a pure, white explosion... A few seconds transform into an endless apotheosis. I have all the time in the world and the world's time dilates into six point three seconds of free fall!

(The wind roars. The CLIMBER turns upside down like a skilled acrobat. His legs pedal the void.)

I knew love for the first time with you... Everything was like that song: "If I had a soul like my own". No more, no less. I’m sending you a message, soulmate... (Screams into the void) I’m falling, I’m going to die and you know it! Can you feel my death? Right now, no matter where you are, you feel an unbearable pit in your stomach. Can you feel my death?

(He crouches and touches his nose tenderly)

We used to make the same gestures, say the same phrases at the same time... Jinx... but this time I’m asking a favor: don't touch your nose. I don't want us both to bleed even though we’re apart. I don't want you to feel the pain of what I’ve already forgotten.

(Changes to a lateral position, leaning his head on his hand as if lying on an invisible sofa.)

Attention passengers: "Calculating impact speed: seventy-five miles per hour. Time remaining: four point two seconds." But those four point two seconds are about three and a half decades; they’re a man's whole life... it’s a very short life, frankly, are you fucking kidding me?! I’m flying above everyone! No hands! No net! I’m done with everything and everyone...

(The light turns a blinding white. The sound of the wind disappears. Absolute silence. The CLIMBER remains in a vertical position, walking in the air with an Oneiric slowness.)

They say you see a light at the end. I see... a highway rising to the sky, to the giant. I see the clouds covering the summit... a cloud, more clouds, which are the Volcano breath. And I fall into this slow abyss, but I’m not afraid. Because falling isn't the opposite of flying. Falling is just flying toward a different destination. We’re all going to die, we already know that, but my inevitable death... I am living it intensely.

(He stops completely in mid-air. He looks at the audience with a serene smile. He touches the bridge of his nose as a final wink.)

Get ready, love. The impact is going to be soft. Like when we fall asleep watching a movie on a random Sunday. Only this time... I’m the star of the movie. And I know exactly how it ends. Goodbye, my life. I really do have a soul like my own... we’ll catch up later. It’s coming... it’s close... that’s it.

(The CLIMBER closes his eyes and lets himself drift backward, disappearing into total whiteness.)

BLACKOUT.

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UN ALMA COMO LA MÍA. Monólogo para un hombre que "vuela hacia el abismo". Por Gavarre Benjamin.

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UN ALMA COMO LA MÍA

Monólogo para un hombre que "vuela hacia el abismo"

 

Por Gavarre Benjamin

® Benjamín Gavarre Silva

Contacto:

gavarreunam@gmail.com

o

benjamingavarre@filos.unam.mx 

 

PERSONAJE:

EL ALPINISTA: Viste un traje técnico en varios tonos de azul y un gorro de cazador de montaña. Su aspecto es el de alguien que ha sido derrotado por la naturaleza, pero que conserva una lucidez envidiable.

ESCENARIO:

Un vacío total. Al fondo, la silueta de un volcán rodeado de nubes impasibles. El diseño sonoro es un silbido constante de viento que sube y baja de tono, marcando el pulso emocional del relato.

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(El ALPINISTA aparece en posición horizontal, flotando como si el aire fuera una piscina invisible. Da una voltereta lenta y queda boca arriba, mirando hacia donde debería estar el cielo.)

ALPINISTA

(Con voz pausada, casi divertida)

Es curioso... Siempre pensé que la gravedad era una ley severa, implacablemente rápida... Como un juez con peluca gritando: "¡Abajo!". Pero no. La gravedad es... educada. Te invita a pasar. Me está escoltando a la planta baja del mundo en un elevador gratuito en el que el tiempo se estira como queso derretido.

(Cambia de posición. Encoge las piernas y abraza sus rodillas en posición fetal. La luz se vuelve cálida, color ámbar.)

Cinco mil metros. O cuatro mil. Cuatro mil trescientos para ser exactos... la altura total, total de todo el volcán. Mi caída fue espectacular, lo sé... y no lo digo por vanidad, sino porque por primera y última vez en mi vida voy a ser noticia de primera plana. Sí, fui trending topic por dos días y medio. Muchas fotos a color... Tremendo. Aunque mi caída real fue de unos dos ciento metros solamente y tardé seis punto tres segundos en llegar al suelo. Seis segundos. Tiempo suficiente para ver el estreno de mi propia película, sin interrupciones ni palomitas. Mi última experiencia es, literalmente, inolvidable... aunque no tenga a quién contársela después.

(Pausa)

¿Saben qué es lo primero que uno recuerda cuando se resbala de cara norte del Volcán? Sí, ya lo saben... "¿Dejé prendida la estufa?". "El sapito del WC no se cerró bien y toda el agua del edificio se fue por el caño". Literal... ¿como yo ahora? O cosas más serias: la póliza del seguro, mi testamento, la redención de mis múltiples pecados... Y vaya que he pecado. Pero lo que me viene ahora a la cabeza es el olor a lavanda del limpiador de pisos COLOSAL. El mejor limpiador que limpia, limpia... y que me sirvió para lavar mis calcetines mugrosos y mis calzones que ya llevaban cinco puestas. Me los puse con olor a limpio, limpio... ¡Un aplauso para el falso olor a lavanda!

(Se estira de golpe. Posición de clavadista olímpico con los brazos en cruz.)

¡Zas! Tengo cinco años y voy en mi triciclo rojo. Disfruto del sabor del metal cuando chupo el manubrio. ¡Rico, rico sabor a manubrio oxidado! (Se ríe). Y luego... nada que ver, pero estoy reviviendo mi primer beso. Ella sabe a chicle de menta y a besadora experta. Ella tiene como cuarenta y yo diecinueve... qué desgraciada asaltacunas. Fue un beso con mucho labio; tenía la boca flexible, como si fuera de esas gomitas que se estiran. Ah, parece que hoy pienso mucho en cosas que se estiran.

(Mueca de asombro)

Mi primera vez fue con un vibrador que daba masajes... eso sí, tenía otros usos que no me imaginaba a mis once añitos. Algo se estiró y algo estalló para mi enorme asombro y mi abismal desconocimiento de lo que podía hacer mi cuerpo. Hablando de abismos... ahora aparece en mi mente mi primer noviazgo, mi primera vez ya sin la intervención de artilugios indiferentes. Y ahí voy en mi primer coche... Aprendí a manejar al mismo tiempo que aprendí a coger... Ejem, perdón por el "francés", pero así se dice.

(Su rostro se ilumina)

¡Ah, me acuerdo de mi Vochito rojo! Lo quería yo tanto como a mi primera novia. En estos momentos no puedo decir mentiras. Siempre tuve coches rojos, compactos y de palanca al piso. Se pueden hacer muchas cosas con esa palanca al piso, o te las hacen si tienes suerte...

(Empieza a mover las manos como si metiera las velocidades y pisara el clutch. Maneja en el aire y lo disfruta intensamente.)

¡Cuidado, que voy sin frenos! Y mi placer será todo un estallido blanco y puro... Unos segundos se transforman en una apoteosis sin fin. ¡Tengo todo el tiempo del mundo y el tiempo del mundo se dilata en seis punto tres segundos de caída libre!

(El viento ruge. El ALPINISTA se pone de cabeza como un acróbata diestro. Sus piernas pedalean el vacío.)

Conocí el amor por primera vez contigo... Todo fue como la canción: "Si yo tuviera un alma como la mía". Ni más, ni menos. Te estoy mandando un mensaje, alma gemela... (Grita al vacío) ¡Estoy cayendo, voy a morir y tú lo sabes! ¿Sentirás mi muerte? Ahora mismo, no importa dónde estés, sientes un insoportable vacío en el estómago. ¿Sentirás mi muerte?

(Se pone en cuclillas y se toca la nariz con ternura)

Hacíamos los mismos gestos, decíamos las mismas frases al mismo tiempo... Bis-bis... pero esta vez te pido un favor: no te toques la nariz. No quiero que a los dos nos sangre aunque estemos separados. No quiero que te duela a ti lo que ya se me olvidó a mí.

(Cambia a una posición lateral, apoyando la cabeza en su mano como si estuviera acostado en un sofá invisible.)

Señores pasajeros: "Calculando velocidad de impacto: ciento veinte kilómetros por hora. Tiempo restante: cuatro punto dos segundos". Pero esos cuatro punto dos segundos son unas tres décadas y media; son toda la vida de uno... son una vida muy corta, francamente, ¡no me chingues! ¡Estoy volando por encima de todos! ¡Sin manos! ¡Sin red! Paso de todo y de todos...

(La luz se vuelve un blanco cegador. El sonido del viento desaparece. Silencio absoluto. El ALPINISTA queda en posición vertical, caminando en el aire con una lentitud onírica.)

Dicen que al final ves una luz. Yo veo... una carretera que se eleva al cielo, al Gigante. Veo las nubes que cubren la cima... una nube, más nubes, que son la respiración del volcán. Y caigo en este lento abismo, pero no tengo miedo. Porque caerse no es lo contrario de volar. Caerse es solo volar hacia un destino diferente. Todos vamos a morir, ya se sabe, pero mi muerte inevitable yo la estoy viviendo intensamente.

(Se detiene por completo en el aire. Mira al público con una sonrisa serena. Se toca el puente de la nariz como un último guiño.)

Prepárate, amor. El impacto va a ser suave. Como cuando nos quedamos dormidos viendo una película un domingo cualquiera. Solo que esta vez... yo soy el protagonista de la película. Y sé muy bien cómo termina. Adiós, mi vida. Yo sí que tengo un alma como la mía... ya nos pondremos al día. Ya viene... se acerca... ya estuvo.

(El ALPINISTA cierra los ojos y se deja ir hacia atrás, desapareciendo en la blancura total.)

APAGÓN.

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