—Not to mention other things.
—Now that I’m serious, you’re the one who’s making jokes, see how it is, you too?
—Go ahead, O voice of wisdom.
—That’s all. Go on with the panther woman.
—Okay, the problem is how’s he going to convince her she’s got to have faith and go back and see the doctor again.
—Me, you mean.
—Right, but then she tells him there’s something about the doctor she doesn’t like.
—Sure, because if he cures her, she’ll have to give in to marital life, to sex.
—But her husband convinces her to go back. And she does, even though she’s afraid to.
—Know what scares her most of all?
—What?
—Doctor’s the sensual type—you said so yourself.
—Mmm-hmm.
—And that’s just the problem, because he turns her on, and on account of that she won’t give in to any treatment.
—Fine, so she goes to the doctor’s office. And she confides to him in all sincerity, tells him her greatest fear is of kissing a man and turning into a panther. And here’s where the doctor makes a mistake and tries to remove her fear by showing how unafraid he is himself, how sure he is she’s an enchanting woman, an adorable woman and that’s all. I mean the guy chooses a somewhat dubious treatment, letting his desires get the best of him because he’s actually looking for some way to kiss her, that’s what he’s looking for. But she doesn’t fall for it; she has just the opposite response, that yes, the doctor’s right and she’s normal and so she leaves his office right then and goes away satisfied, goes straight to the architect’s studio, as if with the intention, the decision already made, of giving herself to her husband that very night. She’s happy, and runs all the way, and gets there almost out of breath. But in the doorway she’s suddenly paralyzed. It’s late already and everyone’s gone home, except her husband and the assistant, and they seem to be talking, holding hands, but you can’t tell if it’s a friendly gesture or what. He’s talking, with his eyes lowered, while the assistant listens to him knowingly. They have no idea someone’s walked in. And here my memory’s foggy.
—Wait a second, it’ll come back to you.
—I remember there’s a scene in a swimming pool, and another right there in the architect’s studio, and still another, the last, with the psychiatrist.
—Don’t tell me that at the end the panther woman winds up with me.
—No. Don’t rush. Anyway, I can tell you this whole last part in a very sketchy way if you want, as much as I remember of it.
—Sure.
—So, he and the other one are busy talking there in the studio, and they stop talking because they hear a door creak. They look up and nobody’s there; it’s dark in the studio, there’s no other light than the table they’re at, with that slightly sinister glare coming from below. And you hear an animal’s footsteps, rustling papers underfoot and, yes, now I remember, there’s a wastepaper basket in a dark corner and the basket tumbles over and the footsteps crumple some papers. The assistant screams out and hides behind him. He yells, “Who’s there? Who is it?” and now, for the first time, you hear an animal’s heavy breathing, like a snarl with the teeth clenched, you see? The architect has no idea what to defend himself with and grabs one of those big rulers. And you realize that unconsciously or whatever, he remembers what Irena’s told him, how the sign of the cross can frighten both the Devil and the panther woman, and the light from under the table casts gigantic shadows on the wall, of him with the assistant hanging onto him, and a few feet away the shadow of a beast with a long tail, and it looks like the architect’s holding up a cross in his hands—which is nothing but two drafting rulers he’s put together like a cross. But suddenly you hear a horrible growl and footsteps of a frightened animal escaping into the darkness. Anyway, I don’t remember if what happens now is that same night, I think so, the other one goes home again, which is like a very big hotel for women, some kind of women’s club, where they live, with a big swimming pool in the basement. The assistant’s so nervous, on account of everything that’s happened, and returning to her hotel tonight, where they don’t allow male visitors, she thinks the best thing might be to go down and take a swim for a little while to calm her nerves, because she’s so on edge. It’s already very late at night and there’s absolutely no one in the pool. They have changing rooms down there and she’s got her own locker where she hangs her clothes and puts on her bathing suit and bathrobe. Meanwhile, upstairs in the hotel the front door opens and in comes Irena! She asks the woman at the desk about the other one, and, without suspecting anything, the woman tells her the other one just went down to the pool. And because she’s a woman, Irena has no problem getting in, they just let her by and that’s that. Down below the pool’s totally dark; the other one comes out of the changing room and switches on some lights inside the pool, below the surface of the water. She’s fixing her hair to fit inside her bathing cap when she hears footsteps. She asks, kind of alarmed, if it’s the attendant. No answer. Then she gets really terrified, throws off her bathrobe and dives in. From the middle of the water she peers toward the sides of the pool, still in darkness, and now you hear the snarling of some wild black beast pacing furiously, you can barely make it out, but a shadow’s moving, sort of slipping along the edges of the pool. The snarls can hardly be heard, they’re always snarls like with the teeth clenched, and those green eyes glitter watching the other one in the pool who now really starts screaming like crazy. At this the attendant comes running downstairs and turns on all the lights, asking her what’s the matter. No one else is there, why all the screaming? The other one’s completely embarrassed, doesn’t know how to explain why she’s so frightened; imagine what’ll happen if she says some panther woman got in down there. And so she says she thought somebody was there, an animal prowling around. And the woman on duty looks at her as if to say listen to this dope talking, some friend comes to see her so she’s shaking all over, just because she hears some footsteps, and there the two of them are when they notice the bathrobe on the floor, ripped to shreds, and the tracks of an animal, from having stepped in the puddles . . . Are you listening to me?
—Yeah, but I don’t know why I can’t get something out of my head tonight.
—What?
—Nothing, I can’t concentrate . . .
—But come on, open up a little.
—I’m just thinking about my girl.
—What’s her name?
—That’s not the point. Look, I never talk to you about her, but I’m always thinking about her.
—How come she doesn’t write to you?
—How do you know if she writes or not! I could say I’m getting letters from somebody else and they’re hers. Or are you going through my stuff when I’m taking a shower?
—You’re crazy, Valentin. But you never showed me a letter from her.
—Well, I don’t like to talk about this ever, but, I don’t know, just now I felt like discussing something with you . . . When you started talking about the panther woman’s following the assistant around, I got scared.
—What scared you?
—I wasn’t afraid for myself but for my girl.
—Ah . . .
—I must be nuts, bringing this subject up.
—Why? Talk if you feel like it . . .
—When you started telling how the girl was being followed by the panther woman, I pictured that it was my girl who was in danger. And I feel so helpless here, about warning her to be careful, about not taking too many risks.
—I understand.
—Well, you can imagine, if she’s my woman, it’s because she’s in the struggle too. Although I shouldn’t be telling you, Molina.
—Don’t worry.
—It’s just that I don’t want to saddle you with any information you’re better off not having. It’s a burden, and you’ve already got enough of your own.
—Me
too, you know, I have that sensation, from being in here, of not being able to do anything; but in my case it’s not a woman—not a girl I mean, it’s my mother.
—Your mother’s not all alone, or is she?
—Well, she’s with an aunt of mine, my father’s sister. But it’s just that she’s so sick. She’s got high blood pressure and her heart’s weak.
—But, you know, with that kind of thing you can still go on, sometimes for years and years . . .
—But you still have to avoid upsetting them, Valentin.
—Why do you say that?
—Imagine, the shame of having a son in prison. And the reason.
—Don’t think about it. The worst’s over, right? Now she’s got to accept it, that’s all.
—But she misses me so much. We’ve always been very close.
—Try not to think about it. Or if not . . . accept the fact that she’s not in any danger, like the person I love.
—But she’s got the danger inside, she carries the enemy around inside, it’s that weak heart of hers.
—She’s waiting for you, she knows you’re going to get out of here, eight years do go by, and there’s always the hope of time off for good conduct and all. That will give her the strength to wait for you, think of it that way.
—Mmm-hmm, you’re right.
—Otherwise, you’ll go crazy.
—Tell me more about your girlfriend, if you feel like it . . .
—What can I tell you? Nothing in common with the assistant; I don’t know why I put the two together.
—Is she pretty?
—Yeah, sure.
—She could be ugly—what are you laughing at, Valentin?
—Nothing, I don’t know why I’m laughing.
—But what strikes you so funny?
—I don’t know . . .
—Must be something . . . something to laugh at.
—At you, and me.
—Why?
—I don’t know; let me think about it, because I couldn’t explain it to you anyway.
—Okay, just stop laughing.
—Better I tell you when I really know why I was laughing.
—How about if I finish the film?
—Yes, please.
—Where were we?
—Where the girl saves herself in the swimming pool.
—Right, so how did it go? . . . Now comes the confrontation between the psychiatrist and the panther woman.
—Can I interrupt? . . . You won’t get annoyed?
—What’s the matter?
—Better if we go on tomorrow, Molina.
—Not much left to finish.
—I can’t concentrate on what you’re saying. Sorry.
—Bored?
—No, not that. My head’s a mess. I want to just keep quiet and see if the hysterics will pass. Because that’s what my laughing’s all about, a fit of hysterics, nothing else.
—Whatever you want.
—I want to think about my woman, there’s something I’m not understanding, and I want to think about it. I don’t know if that’s happened to you, you feel like you’re about to understand something, you’re on the point of untangling the knot and if you don’t begin pulling the right thread . . . you’ll lose it.
—Fine, tomorrow then.
—Okay, tomorrow.
—Tomorrow we’ll be all finished with the film.
—You don’t know how sorry that makes me.
—You too?
—Yes, I’d like it to last a little longer. And the worst thing’s that it’s going to end sadly, Molina.
—But did you really like it?
—Well, it made our time go by faster, right?
—But you didn’t really really like it then.
—Yes I did, and it’s a shame to see it ending.
—But don’t be silly, I can tell you another one.
—Honestly?
—Sure, I remember lots of lovely, lovely films.
—Then great, you start thinking about one you liked a lot, and meanwhile I’ll think about what I have to think about, it’s a deal?
—Don’t lose that thread.
—Right.
—But if you drop the ball of yarn, I’ll give you zero in housekeeping, Miss Valentina.
—You just don’t worry yourself about me.
—All right, I won’t meddle anymore.
—And don’t call me Valentina, I’m no woman.
—How can I tell?
—Sorry, Molina, but I don’t give demonstrations.
—Don’t worry, I’m not asking for any.
—Good night, have a good sleep.
—Night, you too.
—I’m listening.
—Well, as I was telling you yesterday, I don’t remember this last part so well. That very night the husband calls her psychiatrist to get him to come to the house. They’re there waiting for her, for Irena, who hasn’t arrived yet.
—At whose house?
—The architect’s. But then the assistant calls up the architect to get him to go to the women’s hotel and from there to the police station, because the incident in the pool just happened, so the architect leaves the psychiatrist by himself for just a little while, no more, and, zap! Irena comes home, and finds herself face to face with the psychiatrist. It’s nighttime, obviously; the room’s lit with only a table lamp. The psychiatrist, who’s been reading, takes off his glasses, looks at her. Irena feels that same mixture of repulsion and desire for him, because he’s good-looking, like I told you, a sexy guy. And here something strange happens. She throws herself into his arms, because she feels so abandoned, nobody wants her, her husband’s forsaken her. And the psychiatrist interprets this as a sign that she’s interested in him sexually, and to top it off he thinks if he kisses her and even manages to go all the way, he’ll be able to rid her of those strange ideas about being a panther woman. And he kisses her, and they press up against each other, embracing and kissing, until all of a sudden she . . . she kind of slips out of his arms, looking at him through half-closed eyes, green eyes glittering with something like desire and hatred at the same time. And she breaks away from him and goes to the other end of that room filled with lovely turn-of-the-century furniture, all beautiful velvet armchairs and tables with crochet doilies on them. But she goes into that corner because the light from the table lamp doesn’t reach there. And she drops down to the floor, and the psychiatrist tries to defend himself, but it’s too late, because now over in that dark corner everything turns blurry for an instant, and before you know it she’s transformed into a panther, and he just manages to grab the poker from the fireplace to defend himself, but the panther’s already pounced on him, and he tries to strike with the poker, but she’s already ripped his throat open with her claws and the man’s already fallen to the floor with his blood gushing out. The panther snarls and bares a set of perfect white fangs and sinks her claws in again, this time into his face, to tear it to pieces, those cheeks and mouth she’d kissed a few moments ago. By then the assistant’s already with Irena’s husband who’d gone to meet her at the hotel and there at the front desk they try to call the psychiatrist to warn him he’s in danger, because now there’s no way around it, it’s not just Irena’s imagination, she really is a panther woman.
—No, she’s a psychopathic killer.
—Okay, but the telephone rings and rings and no one answers; the psychiatrist is lying dead, all his blood drained. Then the husband, the assistant and the police who’d already been called to the house, climb the stairs slowly, find the door open and inside the guy’s dead. Irena, she’s not there.
—And then?
—The husband knows where to find her, it’s the only place she’d go, and even though it’s midnight already, they go over to the park . . . more specifically, to the zoo. Oh, but I forgot to tell you something!
—What?
—That afternoon Irena went to the zoo the same as every afternoon to see the panther that had
her hypnotized. And she was right there when the keeper came along with his keys to give the meat to the beasts. The keeper’s that absent-minded old guy I told you about. Irena kept at a distance but watched everything. The keeper came up with the keys, opened the lock on the cage, slid back the bolt, opened the door and tossed in a couple of gigantic chunks of meat, and afterwards shot the bolt back through the latch on the door again, but forgot the key in the lock. When he wasn’t looking, Irena approached the cage and took the key. Anyway, all that was in the afternoon but now it’s night already and the psychiatrist’s dead already, when the husband with the other one and the police rush toward the zoo, just a few blocks away. But Irena’s just getting there, at the very cage the panther’s in. Walking like a sleepwalker. Holding the keys in her hand. The panther’s asleep, but Irena’s odor wakes him up. Irena looks at him through the bars. Slowly she goes up to the door, puts the key in the lock, opens it. Meantime, the others are arriving; you hear police cars approaching with sirens going to clear a way through the traffic, even though at that hour the place is almost deserted. Irena slides back the bolt and opens the door, setting the panther free. Irena’s almost transported into another world; her expression’s strange, tragic and yet excited sort of, her eyes misty. The panther escapes from the cage in a single leap; for a split second he looks suspended in midair, with nothing in front of him but Irena. Only the force of his leap and Irena’s knocked down. Cars are pulling up. The panther runs through the park and across the road, just as a police car races by at full speed. The car hits him. They get out and find the dead panther. The architect goes toward the cages and finds Irena stretched out on the cobblestone, right where they met for the first time. Irena’s face is disfigured from the swipe of the claw. She’s dead. The young assistant comes over to where he’s standing and they walk off together arm in arm, trying to forget the terrible spectacle they’ve just seen, and, The End.
— . . .
—Did you like it?
—Yes . . .
—A lot or a little?
—I’m sorry it’s over.