Tim. But you must tell it seriously, solemnly, dramatically. The awaking of Don Juan—after a night of orgies.
Juan. Then here goes.
Nem. and Tim. take convenient positions for listening to him.
It was a grand night—a grand supper. There were eight of us—each with a partner. Everybody was drunk—even the Guadalquivir. Aniceta appeared on the gallery and began to cry out, “Stupid, insipid, waterish river, drink wine for once!” and she threw a bottle of Manzanilla into it.
Tim. She was very lively, Aniceta. She once threw a bottle of wine at my head—but it was empty.
Nem. Your head?
Tim. The bottle. Continue, continue—but, seriously—eh?
Juan. Well, I was lying asleep along the floor, upon the carpet, close to a divan. And on the divan there had fallen by one of the usual accidents, the Tarifeña—Paca, the Tarifeña. Nobody noticed it, and on the divan she lay asleep. Amidst her tossings to and fro, her hair had become loose—a huge mass! and it fell over me in silky waves—a great quantity.
Nem. Not like Timoteo’s. (Timoteo is bald.)
Juan. Not like Timoteo’s. But if you interrupt me I shall lose the inspiration.