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СЕМЬЯ
ГОНСАЛЕС. Представьте
себе улицу, не слишком красивую, но и не
особенно запущенную - одну из этих
центральных улиц, переполненных
невысокими зданиями, на нижних этажах
которых располагаются разнообразные
мелкие бизнесы. Улицу, которая может
выходить на площадь с её статуей,
деревьями и церковью посредине. Одну из
тех улиц, где, несмотря на положение
посреди шумного и непрерывно спешащего
города, тем, кто ее часто посещает, кто
там живет и работает, все еще говорят
при встрече «доброе утро», называют по
имени и фамилии, предлагают чашечку
кофе, интересуются как дела, позволяют
покупать в кредит, пользоваться
телефоном и даже могут позаботиться о
детях, пока идет обслуживание клиента.
Знаете ли Вы такую улицу?
Итак,
именно там, на этой улице
разворачивается наша история. На
тротуаре, у киоска, в парикмахерской, в
церкви, в банке, в механической
мастерской, в ресторане на углу, в
мясной лавке, в маленьком ателье
высокой моды или в скромной зубной
консультации... да, и главное - в
цветочном магазине. Мы выделяем
последнее заведение, так как Лас
Гонсалес - это, ясное дело, женщины по
фамилии Гонсалес, но также это
цветочный магазин «Las Gonzalez, S.R.L.», где,
конечно же, находится много цветов и
несколько женщин, носящих эту фамилию.
Мы говорим «женщин», потому что в этом
цветочном магазине, в этой семье, как и
во многих других семьях этого города,
этой страны и, прежде всего, нашей
истории, нет мужчин. Они или умерли, или
ушли, или их выгнали, или их просто не
было.
Мы
знакомимся с Гонсалес в обычный
воскресный день, когда после
утомительной вечерней прогулки они
начинают обсуждать, каким чудесным и
совершенным должен быть человек,
которого они приняли бы в своем уютном
гнездышке. Каждая в своем стиле и со
своих позиций описывает то, каким она
представляет идеального мужчину.
Посмеявшись над своими фантазиями, они
ложатся спать, не подозревая, что на
следующий день странный вихрь исполнит
их желания... в этот понедельник
появятся они: Мужчины.
LAS
GONZALEZ. Before
we tell you the story we’re about to reveal, we want to ask you for a
favor. For moment think of a street, not too pretty, not too ugly, one
of those streets full of small buildings that have businesses on the
ground floor. A street that could run into the plaza, with a big statute
and trees and the church across the street. One of those streets that in
spite of being located in the middle of the chaotic and fast city we
live in, has people that walk through it, live and work there, they
still say good morning every day and call you by your first and last
name, where they also have time to have a cup of coffee with one another
while having a nice chat, where things are sold on credit and they even
lend each other the phone and watch each others’ children while you go
out on an errand. Do you know a street like that one? Well, precisely
there, in that street is where our story takes place. Right on the
sidewalk, or across from the kiosk, or in the beauty parlor, the church,
the bank, the mechanical shop, the small restaurant on the corner, the
meat market, even in a small atelier of high fashion or a modest dental
office… oh, and in a flower shop. We make mention of this last place
because Las Gonzalez are a group of women with that last name, but it is
also a flower shop: Las Gonzalez Ltd., where of course they have lots of
flowers and a group of women – Gonzalez. We say women because in this
flower shop, in this family, as in many families in this city, this
country and especially our story, there are no men. Either they died, or
left, or were kicked out or have not arrived yet. Let me tell you the
story of who these Gonzalez are - very important characters of this
story - and of course who their neighbors are, in other words, the rest
of the characters of the story.
Gonzala
is the oldest of the Gonzalez, yes, Gonzala Gonzalez, the widow of Mr.
Gonzalez, who according to her was the last good man on earth. Gonzalez
is a mother, an aunt, a grandmother, and even a great-grandmother of a
bunch of other Gonzalez. Her daughters are Orquidea and Violeta Gonzalez,
both divorced. Orquidea is the type of woman who doesn’t believe in
fairy tales, much less romantic ones, the type that if you come all
happy and excited to tell her that you just met the man of your life,
she will say…”Uh-huh… give it six months and we’ll talk then.”
Orquidea was not always like this; her personality turned sour the day
she found out that her husband Cayetano Mora was with another woman,
Lirio, who was pregnant with Cayetano Junior. Violeta, her sister, is
completely the opposite. Even though one day she also kicked out her
husband, Otto de Jesus Pino, with whom she is always fighting because he
doesn’t send her money for her two daughters, Margarita and Petunia,
this hasn’t taken away her smile, nor her eternal optimism, nor the
desire of falling in love again. She doesn’t want to remarry, no way,
husbands are too much trouble, but she would love to get involve with a
man, even if it’s just for a little while. Uh-huh, we already told you
about Gonzala, Orquidea, Violeta, Margarita and Petunia. Now we have to
tell you about two very important little flowers: Aleli and Rosita.
Aleli
is the only daughter Cayetano and Orquidea had and more or less around
the same time Orquidea was too busy hating Cayateno and throwing him out
of the house and wishing a nice painful and long death, Aleli got
pregnant from the young man she swore was her boyfriend and her greatest
love. Afraid and in love she nervously went to notify the young man
without imagining that he would come out with the classic “And how am
I suppose to know the baby is mine?” Therefore Aleli is a single
mother and today Rosita, her daughter, is seven years old.
Those
are the Gonzala’s daughters, granddaughters, and great-granddaughters.
But there are more Gonzalez. There’s also Camelia, Gladiola and
Amapola, daughters of Ubaldo Gonzalez, widower, Gonzala’s
brother-in-law, brother of her late husband and owner of the only
restaurant on that same street. Camelia, his oldest daughter, is the
beautician on that same street. She is the girlfriend of Americo, the
butcher, who in spite of being a good man and adores him and everybody
considers him to be a great catch for her, she doesn’t want to get
married, for Camelia feels she carries a damnation of some sort. Anyway,
Gladiola, is the middle sister and as she says, the only ugly woman in
the Gonzalez family.
Paradoxically
she is the only one married, maybe because looks don’t bring luck, but
anybody who knows Walter Piсa cannot consider that good luck. Amapola
is the youngest. She is the same age as her cousin Aleli, in fact they
grew up together and they could be the best of friends if it weren’t
for the fact that behind their apparent solidarity she considers herself
eternally better than Aleli in everything and is willing to prove it.
Okay,
so these are the Gonzalez women, who on any given Sunday, after a tiring
afternoon festival, they begin a conversation about how a wonderful and
perfect man would have to be to be accepted in this nest of snakes that
they know they are. Each one in their own style and perspective begins
to tell what ideal men would be. Laughing at that, they go to sleep
without knowing that the next day, a Monday like all the rest, a strange
blizzard would make their wishes come true… that Monday The Men will
arrive.
In
case you didn’t quiet understood, Las Gonzalez is a story of love, of
falling out of love, of encounters and evasions, of getting involved
with the wrong person only to discover it was the right person after all,
of common people that struggle for their pay checks every months, that
live on a street where we might pass by every day and where if we
stopped for a little while to talk you would find out the gossips that
we are about to tell you in one hundred chapters.
We
will use the same type of humor that was used with Guerra de Mujeres
that went so well, with a little bit more tenderness because we think
the country needs it. We again have the brilliance work of Mr. Roman
Chalbaud and Mrs. Consuelo Delgado, with a fantastic cast.
LAS GONZALEZ. Piensen
por unos instantes en una calle, ni muy bonita, ni particularmente fea,
de esas calles céntricas, abarrotadas de edificios bajitos en
cuyas plantas bajas funcionan negocios pequeños. Una calle que
puede desembocar en una plaza, con su estatua, sus árboles y su
iglesia enfrente. Una calle de esas en la cual, a pesar de quedar en
medio de la caótica y acelerada ciudad donde vivimos, los que la
frecuentan, los que allí viven y trabajan, todavía se dan
los buenos días con nombre y apellido, se toman el tiempo de un
cafecito para saber cómo está la cosa, se puede comprar
fiado y hasta se prestan el teléfono o se cuidan los muchachitos
mientras se hace una diligencia. ¿Conocen alguna calle así?.
Bueno, pues precisamente ahí, en esa calle ocurre nuestra
historia. En plena acera, o frente al kiosco, o en la peluquería,
en la Iglesia, en el Banco, el taller mecánico, el restaurante de
la esquina, la carnicería, inclusive en un pequeño atelier
de alta costura o en un modesto consultorio dental... ah, y muy
especialmente en una floristería. Destacamos este último
local porque Las González, son claro, unas mujeres de apellido
González, pero también son una floristería: Las
González, S.R.L., donde, por supuesto hay muchas flores y un
grupo de mujeres González. Decimos mujeres porque en esta
floristería, en esta familia, como en muchas otras familias de
esta ciudad, de este país y sobre todo de nuestra historia, no
hay hombres. O se murieron, o se fueron, o los botaron o no han llegado
aún.
Las
González a quienes conoceremos un domingo cualquiera en el cual,
después de una agotadora tarde de verbena, se ponen a conversar
de cómo tendría que ser un hombre de maravilloso y
perfecto para que lo aceptaran en ese dulce nido de cuaimas, que saben
que son. Cada una en su estilo y desde su perspectiva se pone a definir
lo que sería el hombre ideal. Riéndose de eso se van a
dormir sin sospechar que al día siguiente, un lunes como
cualquier otro una extraña ventisca les cumpliría el deseo...
ese lunes llegarán: Los Hombres.
Por
si no quedó claro, Las González es una historia de amores
y desamores, de encuentros y desencuentros, de enredarse con el que no
es para terminar descubriendo que como que sí era, de gente común
y corriente que lucha por su quince y último, que vive en una
calle por la que quizás pasamos todos los días y donde si
nos detuviéramos un rato a conversar, nos enteraríamos del
chisme que nosotros les vamos a echar en esta historia.
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