Game`s Not Over

GAME’S NOT OVER
© Institut umění – Divadelní ústav, Aura-Pont, DILIA
ISBN 978-80-7008-265-2 (pdf)
ISBN 978-80-7008-278-2 (epub)
ISBN 978-80-7008-279-9 (mobi)
SCORE 2011
LIVES 12
GAME’S NOT OVER
New Czech Plays (not only) for Your Tablet / E-Reader
Special Bonus: Two Brand New Plays from Slovakia
Radmila Adamová
David Drábek
Vladislava Fekete
Magdaléna Frydrych Gregorová
Arnošt Goldflam
Václav Havel
Viliam Klimáček
Petr Kolečko
Kateřina Rudčenková
Roman Sikora
Milan Uhde
Petr Zelenka
Content
Martina Černá
New Czech (and Slovak) Plays:
The Game is not over
7
Radmila Adamová
Profile
The Elle Girls
10
11
David Drábek
Profile
The Coast of Bohemia
55
58
Magdaléna Frydrych Gregorová
Profile
Dorotka
132
133
Arnošt Goldflam
Profile
Dolls and Dollies
179
181
Václav Havel
Profile
Leaving
217
220
Petr Kolečko:
Profile
Gods Don’t Play Ice Hockey
284
286
Kateřina Rudčenková:
Profile
A Time of Cherry Smoke
332
334
Roman Sikora:
Profile
The Confession of a Masochist
372
375
Milan Uhde:
Profile
The Miracle at the Black House
434
437
Petr Zelenka:
Profile
Coming Clean
502
504
BONUS:
Vladislava Fekete:
Profile
Brief Connections
578
579
Viliam Klimáček:
Profile
I am the Kraftwerk
617
621
About Arts and Theatre Institute
About Aura-Pont
About DILIA
694
698
700
New Czech (and Slovak) Plays:
The Game is not over
The electronic book GAME’S NOT OVER – New Czech Plays (not
only) for Your Tablet / E-Reader brings you recent plays by Czech
authors. Though the publication includes a broad spectrum of
playwrights – beginning with the youngest generation up to 35
years of age (Radmila Adamová, Magdaléna Frydrych Gregorová,
Petr Kolečko, Kateřina Rudčenková), middle-aged authors (David
Drábek, Roman Sikora, Petr Zelenka), and also mature doyens of the
Czech cultural scene (Arnošt Goldflam, Václav Havel, Milan Uhde)
– all authors included are currently active personalities who have
participated in contemporary Czech theatre not only in the roles of
playwrights and authors but also as literary managers, directors and
/ or artistic directors.
Two Slovak authors – Vladislava Fekete and Viliam Klimáček
– are included as a special bonus in the publication. Despite 20
years having passed since the division of Czechoslovakia, the
understanding of Slovak theatre as a foreign element has still not
entirely taken place. This is not merely because of the language
similarity, but also because of the persistent interconnection of the
Czech and Slovak theatre worlds. Proof of this can be found at the
most prestigious dramatic competition in the field of contemporary
drama in the Czech Republic, which is awarded by the Alfréd Radok
Foundation – here, both Czech and Slovak authors can participate
annually with new original plays.
The dates of creation of the individual titles in the e-book
GAME’S NOT OVER – New Czech Plays (not only) for Your Tablet
/ E-Reader, begin with 2004, and end with brand new Czech and
Slovak plays from 2010. Even so, all of these published plays have
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already found their way to Czech stages, and many of them have also
found top places at the Alfréd Radok Awards.
The Arts and Theatre Institute has recorded in its databases
between 600 and 700 premieres from all theatre genres in both
official and independent Czech professional and semi-professional
theatres each year. In the year 2010, over 80 contemporary dramatic
texts which had been written in the previous decade were staged.
About one half of them were plays by Czech playwrights. The most
frequently staged texts of plays by contemporary foreign authors
were from the German, French, English and Slovak languages. These
brief statistics show that contemporary drama forms an essential
part of Czech drama theatre as well as Czech contemporary theatre
culture in general.
The e-book GAME’S NOT OVER – New Czech Plays (not only)
for Your Tablet / E-Reader includes a wide variety of topics which
reflects not only the diversity of their authors but also the discourses
in the societies the texts were produced for. Václav Havel in Leaving
and Milan Uhde in The Miracle at the Black House in particular deal
with topics which connect autobiographic elements and experience
from the political sphere. Roman Sikora’s play The Confession of
a Masochist deals with a sharp criticism of consumer society and
current political situation; topics of social criticism appear in
Radmila Adamová’s play The Elle Girls about the world of modelling
or in Petr Zelenka’s text Coming Clean which reflects the disruption
of values of media-manipulated reality. Intergeneration issues and
family life are explored in the plays Dolls and Dollies and A Time
of Cherry Smoke by Arnošt Goldflam and Kateřina Rudčenková.
Magdaléna Frydrych Gregorová’s Dorotka, David Drábek’s The
Coast of Bohemia and Petr Kolečko’s Gods Don’t Play Ice Hockey
offer portrayals of picturesque details of Czech village, urban or pub
realities. Slovak authors join this company with their own original
topics. Viliam Klimáček paraphrases Chekhov’s The Seagull in his
play I am the Kraftwerk that takes place in contemporary theatre
environment, and Vladislava Fekete was inspired in her writing of
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Brief Connections by her childhood spent in the Slovak minority in
Vojvodina, Serbia.
The publication GAME’S NOT OVER – New Czech Plays (not
only) for your Tablet / E-Reader is available as a CD-ROM and
as an electronic book which can be downloaded for free on the
informational website about Czech Theatre www.theatre.cz operated
by the Arts and Theatre Institute (ATI). The mission of the ATI is to
provide the Czech and international public with a comprehensive
range of services in the field of theatre and individual services
connected to other branches of the arts (music, literature, dance
and visual arts). The ATI is also one of the most important publishing
houses in the Czech Republic, publishing books in the field of
theatre, arts and research. This e-book was published in cooperation
with the agencies Aura-Pont and DILIA, which are the two biggest
Czech agencies arranging licences for using artworks (not only) in
the field of theatre. We believe that the book will be as successful as
previous projects realized in cooperation between ATI and the AuraPont and DILIA agencies, such as the two issues of the catalogue of
contemporary Czech drama, Let’s Play Czechs.
You are welcome to make now your own game with contemporary
Czech (and Slovak) plays. We believe that it will be a source of
information about Czech (and Slovak) reality, as well as a dialogue
about global problems in our common contemporary world.
Martina Černá
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Radmila Adamová
(1975)
Radmila Adamová graduated from
the College for Vocational Studies
in Information and Library Sciences and currently she is studying
Theory and History of Theatre at the Faculty of Arts of Masaryk
University in Brno. Between 1998 and 2003 she worked as an author,
director and set designer for the company M+M, where she was
staging her own experimental texts, such as One Day of Josephine,
Gloria and the monodrama Mr. Bu. In her work she reflects on the
rather peculiar position of a woman in the context of contemporary
media culture. Her plays were produced by National MoravianSilesian Theatre in Ostrava, Slovácké divadlo in Uherské Hradiště and
Theatre LETÍ. For her play The Elle Girls (Holky Elky, 2005) which
had two productions as well as a staged reading at the Immigrants
Theatre in New York, she received the Evald Schorm Award for 2005.
LIST OF PLAYS:
•
•
•
•
Holky Elky, 2005; première 28. 5. 2006, Theatre Na zábradlí,
Prague
Little Sister, 2005; première 27. 10. 2008, Slovácké divadlo,
Uherské Hradiště
(Come On) Let’s Play (Everybody), 2006
České kuchty super buchty, 2010; première of the radio version
in Český rozhlas Brno, 2010
TRANSLATED PLAYS:
•
Holky Elky: English – The Elle Girls, German – Elle Girls,
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Radmila Adamová
THE ELLE GIRLS
Translated by Michaela Pňačeková
This play is fully protected under the copyright law of Czech Republic and is
subject to royalty. It cannot be nor used nor changed without an appropriate
written permission given by the DILIA Agency. The providing of this play
to a third party for uses other than production due is also subjected to
DILIA permission.
A violation of this restriction and using this play without the permission will
be interpreted as an infringement of copyright law and will underlie to the civil
and criminal liability.
All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the DILIA Agency
Krátkého 1, Praha 9, 190 03, Czech Republic, www.dilia.cz
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Characters:
Model E1
Model E2
Model E3
Photographer
Mother
Nurse
Agent
(All characters are female.)
Part 1: Morning
Part 2: Evening
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PART 1: MORNING
(On stage – white wall, 2 chairs, metal bucket, door on the right.
Characters in scene: Model E1, Model E2, Model E3 , Photographer.
E1 enters, puts her rain hat away, looks around, sits down on one
chair, puts her purse on another chair. Pause. She puts on her perfume.
Pause. E2 enters, carrying an umbrella. E1 looks at E2. E2 does not
see E1.)
E2: Damn weather, I can’t do this anymore …the fucking umbrella.
(She tosses the umbrella aside, because she wants to powder herself,
she notices E1. E1 smiles at E2. E2 turns around. E1 is offended. E2
powders herself, turns towards a vacant chair. E1 puts her purse on
the chair, looks for something in it. E2 looks at E1. E2 hisses, goes to
the bucket, where she lights on a cigarette.)
E1: I think it’s forbidden to smoke here.
E2: And why?
E1: I don’t know why, but there was a small sign, sort of a placard,
at the entrance door.
E2: Really? (She smokes faster.)
E1: Something like a non-smoking area, no smoking in all areas.
E2: That’s weird.
E1: Not really.
E2: It seems weird to me, really.
E1: It doesn’t seem weird to me, really.
E2: I have enough experience in the scene. It’s weird.
E1: I’ve done modeling for about a year. All the places were no
smoking areas.
E2: Only for a year, really?
E1: It does really depend on the people you work with. The ones at
the top don’t smoke. Smoking is definitely out.
E2: That’s bullshit. Who have you worked with? I’ve seen those
people smoking, the people at the top, I’ve already seen them
smoking. I am not afraid…not afraid.
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(P enters. E2 quickly puts out her cigarette, straightens, fixes a smile
on her face. E1 jumps from her chair, fixes a smile on her face.)
P: So you two that are here already are… (She stops.) What’s this
now? Cigarette smoke?….You’ve been smoking?
(E1 looks at E2.)
E2: No.
P: I really…as if I smelled…
E2: It …smelled of smoke before we…here.
P: Okay…You are the only two here yet, so we’re going to start late.
Is that a problem?
E1: No.
E2: No.
P: OK. (P exits.)
E2: That’s really great. I’m in a bit of a hurry. This is not a very
professional attitude.
E1: Professionals reserve at least half a day for one job. I don’t mind
the delay, actually, I count on it.
E2: Just because someone can’t manage to get here on time, we’re
stuck here. I’ve got something else today. It makes me nervous
that I have no idea what we’re going to do, how long it’s going
to take…stupid business!
E1: We’ll have the money for sure – so who cares? Besides, I don’t
mind as long as I know that I’m working for a prestigious
brand. It’s OK for me to wait here for a little while.
E2: This won’t be a little while. This will be quite a long wait,
I guess. Seeing as I have something important in the
afternoon, something that I really have to do, nothing will go
smoothly here; there’ll be a delay…for sure. There’ll be some
complication…gosh.
E1: Please! Someone is a bit late and you immediately succumb to
depression and skepticism., Perhaps this person in reality is
already here; she is entering the building, she is pushing the
lift call button…
E2: To no effect, the lift doesn’t work…
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E1: The lift doesn’t work?
E2: No.
E1: It worked when I arrived. I took it up.
E2: So, right now, she is possibly marching up the emergency
staircase, to the 13th floor, in this weather, with an umbrella
in her hand. She’s worn out, angry, exhausted and nervous,
because she’s late. Possibly, she’s got something in the
afternoon, something she can’t cancel…something very,
tremendously important…It’ll be a great atmosphere here,
when she arrives…and we’ll be annoyed, because of the
waiting. A great atmosphere…really!
E1: If she is worn out, angry, exhausted and nervous, she is utterly
unprofessional.
E2: We are people in the end. (She takes out a cigarette nervously
and wants to light it.)
(P enters. E2 hides the cigarette behind her back, straightens herself,
and fixes a smile. E1 jumps up from the chair, fixes a smile.)
P: Everything’s OK?
E1: Ok.
E2: Ok too.
P: Ok. Ten, twenty minutes. And don’t leave. OK?
E1: (Enthusiastically.) OK.
E2: OK.
(P exits.)
E2: Did I mishear her…twenty minutes? Did she say twenty minutes?
E1: Ten to twenty minutes.
E2: Waiting here for half an hour just because some bitch does
something god knows what.
E1: Ten to twenty minutes is not half an hour. Ten plus twenty
minutes is half an hour. It’s half an hour altogether, but I don’t
think she meant that.
E2: I know this. If they say twenty minutes, it’s at least half an hour.
If she said half an hour, it could be an hour in reality. They say
less, so that people are not annoyed, so that the atmosphere
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doesn’t ‘get negative’. Because if the atmosphere gets negative,
it can be seen, and nobody can afford that, nobody would pay
for it.
E1: They say more in advance, so that people are pleasantly surprised
when everything actually goes faster than it seemed at first.
Then the atmosphere is pleasant, which naturally influences
the working results. And that’s what matters. A typical
psychological trick. A calculated waiting, that’s the point.
E2: A naive, an absolutely naive concept.
E1: It isn’t by any means naive. I have a certain amount of concrete
experience. By the way, I have encountered such strategies
more than once…very professionally designed to the
tiniest detail. A professional reacts calmly, an experienced
professional actually counts on it. Calculated waiting is a part
of the thing; it is entirely common on exclusive orders.
E2: I’ve worked with such elite personalities…I’ve never seen any
calculated waiting.
E1: Who have you worked with? Give me an example, be specific.
E2: It doesn’t matter with whom. It was the elite – personalities,
celebrities – and there was no calculated waiting there. The
point is…there was no calculated waiting…
E1: I would be very interested to know where there was no calculated
waiting, since nowadays you have to calculatedly wait
everywhere.
E2: Do you want names?
E1: Yes, I want to hear specific names.
E2: Don’t you also want addresses?
E1: Why addresses?
E2: So that you could walk around to them afterwards and get better
jobs without calculated waiting? You’d earn your money very
quickly and easily… Do you think you can trick me like that
and that I will end my career? Do you think I am totally stupid
or what?
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E1: I think you talk bullshit. Always the elite, elite, personalities,
personalities, and when it comes to the calculated waiting,
you know nothing about it. Totally unprofessional.
E2: Well, the unprofessional one here is you. From the first moment
I saw you, I didn’t believe you’d been a model for a year already.
E1: I am a professional.
E2: You are not. I am the professional one, you’re not.
E1: I am a professional; I was on time here. You arrived after me.
E2: Because every experienced professional can afford to come a few
minutes late. Moreover, the lift wasn’t working.
E1: I am a professional, a perfect professional.…
E2: Certainly you are.
E1: … and this creates envy…among the unprofessional
unprofessionals.
E2: (Points her finger at E1.) You say that one more time and…
E1: (Points her finger at E2.) Now you’ve given yourself away. You point
your finger at people. Hidden aggression. That’s completely…
(E1 looks at her finger.)
E2: That’s completely what? Say it. Come on, say it. You point your
finger at people too.
E1: You…you…‘gorgeous you’!
E2: You are the ‘gorgeous you’! Look at you…you, ‘gorgeous’!
(E3 enters, smiling, talking on the phone.)
E3: Oui, oui, …non, oh, oui…
(E1, E2 look surprised at E3. E3 waves to E1 and E2. E1 a E2 smile
and wave back to E3. E3 turns away.)
E3: Non,…bien, bien, bien….
(E1 a E2 are looking at E3, annoyed. Then they exchange significant
looks.)
E3: Au revoir. (Puts her mobile phone back into her purse, turns in
E1’s and E2’s direction.) Hi, I had a feeling that I was a bit late,
but I can see that everything’s all right. OK…
E1: (Fixes a smile.) No, everything’s all right.
E2: (Fixes a smile.) Everything’s 100 per cent all right.
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E3: (Shakes hands with E1, fixes a smile.) Ela.
E1: (Shakes hands with E3, fixes a smile.) Ela.
E3: (Shakes hands with E2, smile.) Ela.
E2: (Shakes hands with E3, smile.) Ela.
E2: Are you called the same?
E1: No, they don’t call me the same. We have only the same first
name. I’m sure we have different surnames, and that means
we are not called the same.
E3: All three of us are called Ela, isn’t that great, magnificent,
fabulous? (She doesn’t know what to do, she picks up the phone
even though it didn’t ring.)
Hi mum, yes I arrived…OK…yeah, Jarda called, I know
that he was upset…yeah, broken pinkie, I did speak to
him…I have, I have everything on me, high heels, bikini, yes,
I have water…a snack? Yes, two cereal bars, of course…I don’t
know what it’s looks like yet, I only got here a little while ago,
two girls…well, they are… (Looks at E1and E2). …so…(She
realizes E1and E2 can hear her.)…very nice…Dominic called?..
No…I didn’t have any missed calls…Upset?….But you said that
Jarda was upset…Mum, you were talking about Dominic…
yes, I was talking about Jarda, because you said before that
he’d called and been upset. Oh yes, you were saying that…
mum, you’re calling because of that…yes my mobile rang,
I picked it up, you were there and you were asking me whether
Jarda had called because he’d called you because he couldn’t
reach me and that he was upset…mum, I’m calm…no, you’re
upset…you’re not focusing on our conversation…Mum, you
called me because of Jarda, then you started talking about
Dominic. You asked me whether he’d called me. I said he
hadn’t…you said then that Dominic had called you and that
he’d been upset…mum, calm down, I’m not criticizing you,
I’m only asking whether Jarda or Dominic was upset or both…
so Dominic hasn’t called you. I’ve already talked to Jarda, so
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everything’s OK. Do you hear me? Everything’s OK…yes…do
you hear me? Everything’s OK…
E2: Nothing’s OK.
E3: Pardon me?
E2: I’m talking to myself, nothing’s OK. Stupid job!
(E1 laughs.)
E2: I’m in a bit of a hurry.
(P enters. E1,2,3 smile.)
P: So we are complete! Great!
E2: We can start. We’re ready.
P: Everything’s OK?
E2: Oh yeah, yeah. We can start right away. Now.
P: The atmosphere?
E2: Great!
P: Great! We’ll start in ten minutes, please don’t leave this room.
(P exits.)
E2: Fuck, this is just going on and on. Fuck, fuck…What shall I do,
what shall I do…? (Telephoning.) Good afternoon, this is …
yes, I know, but I had to stay longer urgently…could I come
a little bit later? And a little bit later still? Could you tell me
the latest possible time when I could…oh…tomorrow…no…
OK, I’ll try today…thanks.
E1: Actually…we don’t’ really have the same name at all.
E2: Pardon?
E1: Do you really want to get acquainted? Do you?
E3: I do, I really want to get acquainted with you. It’s a normal thing.
What’s wrong with it?
E1: OK. (She reaches her hand out provocatively.) My name’s Naomi.
E2: She’s talking shit.
E3: Naomi? Is it really Naomi?
E2: Bullshit.
E1: My name’s Naomi.
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E2: If your name’s Naomi, my name’s Kate then. Kate, do you
understand? Kate with everything that it goes with…Kate with
every meaning it has.
E3: Is your name really Kate? Kate for real? And you’re Naomi? Naomi,
really? But that’s so fantastic, this really is a great coincidence.
My name is…that is to say…my name is….Karolina.
E2: Who is Karolina?
E3: Karolina is the best. Karolina is the future. Karolina is desired.
Karolina…you don’t know who Karolina is? Karolina is the
new generation.
E1: Karolína is blond.
E2: Where am I? One is Naomi, the other Karolina… I am so tired
of you.
E1: A totally unprofessional attitude.
E2: Dear Naomi, be so kind as to try and not piss me off!
E3: I think the atmosphere here is getting worse and worse.
E2: Dear Karolina…
E3: Why don’t we try and start from the beginning…maybe we really
could have a nice talk…
E2: Dear Karolina…
E3: OK, we don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I respect that. Can
you hear me? I respect that you don’t want to talk…
(E1 laughs.)
E3: …I’m very sorry that you are so uncommunicative, because if
we…whatever. Still, I will begin and maybe you’ll join me.
Maybe I’ll unblock you, maybe you’ll relax thanks to my free
attitude…you’ll see, how wonderful I am, you’ll like me right
away; you’ll join me…you’ll have a chit-chat with me. So…my
name’s Karolina. I’ve been a model for the whole of my life, you
know. As a toddler, I won an audition for a Pampers campaign
in Central Europe. My home agency has represented me since
I was three. All the sweets commercials; I don’t want to be
specific, we would need several days to name them all, so I’ll
name only the greatest. Nestlé employed me for five years for
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their main campaign. Germany, Switzerland. I earned a house
for my parents when I was only six. Winning a national junior
miss competition was simply expected in my family, so we
didn’t even celebrate. I was twelve then. I got a film offer. The
Cat in the Hat. You’ve probably seen it. Maybe India doesn’t
sound that great but, trust me, it’s got a gigantic market
which has certain charm…I’ve learnt to cry on demand …
an interesting experience, but posing is much better. I turned
down Cat in the Hat II….Oooh, I can show you. Do you want
to see my tears?
E2: Yes. Have a go.
E1: Can you do that? Seriously?
(E3 cries and smilies at the same time.)
E1: I have never seen anybody who could consciously…
E3: Do you like it?
E1: Interesting. Really…
E3: I’m good.
E1: I always thought actors in movies had fake tears.
E3: If you are a star, you have fake ones. But if you’re just a newcomer,
you can destroy your rivals that way. The producer will take
you on for financial reasons. Your authentic tears are cheaper.
They have to save on everything nowadays.
E1: How did you realize that you were able do it?
E3: I couldn’t cry on demand from birth, of course. My mum taught
me.
E1: How did she teach you?
E3: (Puzzled.) I…actually…don’t know…I don’t remember anymore.
E1: Pity…I would love to know how to learn to cry on demand. You
really don’t remember?
E2: How? Try to use your brain, OK? Her mommy beat her.
E3: You’re wrong, my mom would never…
E2: Don’t try to act as if you didn’t know how they drill animals in the
circus. The carrot and stick method. And the stick. And the
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stick. It’s forbidden almost everywhere nowadays. Greenpeace
is against it…
E3: Don’t talk about something you know nothing about! My
parents loved me, I…I had a beautiful childhood…they were
delighted…I won everything…everything…Model Look when
I was fifteen, Elite Model and Idol Model, I posed for the best
campaigns; Chanel No 5, for instance. I catwalked for the best
ones; Chanel, for instance; I got prestigious contracts; I shot
for Prestige Vogue, Sport Magazine, Chanel
E2: Do you know that ‘Chanel’ means ‘sewer’?
E3: Pardon?
E1: Of course, we do.
E3: I never think about it like that. For me, it’s always been the most
luxurious brand…well paid jobs…isn’t it Chanel like a TV
channel?
E2: It’s ‘canalization’ which means ‘a gutter.’
E1: It’s a bad translation, you’re not giving us enough exact or
important information. And what’s more, Chanel is absolutely
out.
E3: OK, it’s your turn now. I think we’re finally having a nice
discussion. The atmosphere’s got much better and it will
get even better, if you two join me…you’ll see…I don’t know
anything better than meeting new interesting people; every
new encounter charges me up with positive energy…with
sun…with love
(E2 coughs loudly.)
E3: …would you be so kind as not to cough into my speech? I can’t
concentrate on what I’m going to say then…
E1: She is so unprofessional! I wonder how we could have met her
here…Is this the top? Are we the top?
E3: What do you mean? Are we really the top??
E1: Of course. If you have an audition and you get it, then you’re at
the top, aren’t you?
E3: But we haven’t been to the audition yet…it’s supposed to be now.
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E1: So that was only a pre-audition? Hmmm…I hate…
E3: I was counting on it. I took high heeled shoes, a bikini…
fortunately…nothing can jeopardize my career…
E1: Actually, we didn’t get any preliminary information, did we?
E3: I didn’t, but you know…I want to be one hundred per cent ready.
E1: My god! I have nothing with me. I thought we’d be provided with
everything!
E3: I’m really sorry for you. If I went on an audition without high
heels…I’d probably get up and go home. On the one hand, it
partially handicaps you; your feet are much more beautiful in
high heels, the legs are longer, the walking more elegant, and
on the other, it testifies to your attitude…your professionalism;
in fact, your unprofessionalism.
E1: Are you implying that I am not professional?
E2: (Laughing). She is not implying, she is saying it explicitly.
E1: And what about you? Since you’re laughing so hard, do you have
high heels? Do you have a bikini? Do you have your portfolio?
E2: That’s none of your business.
E1: Evidently, you’re in the same boat as me, so could you lend me
your mobile phone for a while?
E2: Do you come from Mars or what?
E1: Please, try to be a little collegial!
E2: What’s that?
E1: Collegiality is…when you lend your colleague your mobile phone.
E2: Seriously, you mean that seriously? Forget it!
E1: I need to make a phone call urgently…believe me, it must be
urgent, if I have to lower myself to ask YOU for help!
E2: Tough.
E1: You should lend me the mobile phone. It’s impolite not to help
somebody, if they ask you nicely…
E2: Really tough. Tough, tough.
E1: You really have guts!
23
E2: I’m destroying the competition. Am I unprofessional? No, no.
Somebody wanted to talk me into that – to fool me; but this
is the evidence, that actually I am the professional one.
E1: (Starts crying.) You’ve got some nerve!
E2: (Laughing.) Stop making a scene, darling!
E3: I can’t lend you my shoes; I only have one pair…nor the bikini,
it’s the only one I have on me too… But you know what? I can
give you a muesli bar… you’ll eat it, cry yourself out…
E1: I don’t want to eat to forget my problems…I never want to eat
to feel better…it’s the road to hell…I’d lose my figure…if I was
used to eating to get rid of my problems. Do you know where
I’d be…what I’d look like?
E3: Just this once…I’ve got a very good nut and chocolate one…
E1: I like the strawberry yoghurt ones.
E3: I’ve got one of those too. Have it. Enjoy.
E1: I’d rather have a mobile phone.
E3: I haven’t got one.
(E2 laughs.)
E1: I really need to make a phone call. A quick one.
E3: Honestly, I haven’t got one.
E2: Bullshit…she was already phoning right after she came in!
E3: That’s a lie!
E2: Come on, show some collegiality to your colleague…here!
E3: Yes, I was telephoning, but my battery’s flat…and also the
reception is pretty bad …you know, it’s like not having a mobile
at all…If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t exist.
E1: Bon appetite. Hopefully, it helps me to forget this.
E3: Enjoy, have them both, if you want. I’m with you. You’re in
a terrible situation…not having high heeled shoes, or a mobile
phone…
E1: One was enough, thank you. I’m much much better now, with
a full stomach…I see the world…more optimistically… Do you
think I should go home?
24
E3: I’ll advise you as a friend …just go home…it’s better than creating
a bad image…than being remembered as unprofessional…
it gets around between the people in this business…your
reputation, your name is at stake…the risk is high, trust me.
Go home!
E:1 Actually, I’m not going to take your advice.
E3: No?
E1: No. And do you know why?
E3: I have no idea.
E1: I am the definition of professional. Totally professional. A small
hesitation…a minor momentary wavering doesn’t mean
anything in a career. But running away without fighting
back usually signifies the end. A professional’s distinguishing
feature in a difficult situation is persistence. I don’t have any
high heeled shoes with me? OK. Your legs maybe will be longer
and more elegant, but I’m the one who’s got the charisma!
(E2 laughs.) Keep laughing! This is not going to break me! You
are not going to chase me out! That’s the way it is…I have my
charisma and sex appeal…glowing eyes and a slender waist…
E3: Charisma, sex appeal, glowing eyes, slender waist! I’ve got all
that, plus a great bikini, shoes and new size C breasts, to boot!
E1: Size C breasts are a few seasons too late…a waste of space!
E2: You’d be just right for porno movies…they’d appreciate them…
the beasts there…maybe…because nowadays here it’s girlie
time…look ala Lolita…
E3: I’m not listening to you. You’re jealous! Is that my reward for
trying to create a pleasant atmosphere?
P: (Entering.) OK?
E1,2,3: OK. OK.
E1: Of course everything’s OK, is there any other way than OK?
E2: I guess there’s no other way than OK, is there?
E3: Seriously only OK.
P: Five minutes and then we’re starting!
E2: Could I ask a small question?
25
P: Oh, are there any problems?
E2: No, not at all…Everything’s totally laid back…as we said, OK…
but all three of us are going to shoot, right? Or are you going
to chose only some of us?
P: Naturally it’s all three of you shooting…it would be very
unprofessional of us to leave you here waiting for an audition
for such a long time. This time is already a part of your salaries.
It’s being paid by the company. Anything else?
E2: Okay, that’s what I was thinking…kind of…
E1: As we’re already asking questions, I’d like to ask one too…We
won’t need any high heeled shoes or a bikinis, will we?
P: You’re not shooting for the first time, are you? You won’t need
anything…except your own body.
E1,2,3: Ok. Ok.
P: Just a second, OK?
E1,2,3: OK.
(P exits.)
E2: Just a second? I’m in hurry!
E1: Did you hear? No audition whatsoever…we’re all shooting.
So everybody calm down…it’s nonsense snapping at each
other competitively. Shoes, bikinis and size C breasts aren’t
important after all.
E2: So you dragged it all along with you for nothing.
E3: So what? My agency cast me directly for the shoot…they didn’t
give me exact information…but I was ready for anything…
that’s the important thing in our business…to be ready for
everything.
E1: Wait a minute…now I …finally…understand… The both of us
went through the audition, that’s why we don’t have any bikini
or high heel shoes today. So you are just shooting straight
away, without an audition!
E3: I’m saying that my agency has probably assigned me straight
away. They didn’t inform me in time. Try to understand,
26
there was no time…I just arrived from a shoot at the airport
at midnight…
E1: Definitely, I will complain to my agency about your agency.
How is it possible to send one person to an audition when
somebody else has already been chosen without going to an
audition at all? There should be equal conditions.
E2: I wouldn’t bother…I’m here…I’m shooting…I’m getting paid…
so what the hell?
E3: What equal conditions? Are you off your trolley or what? If
you’re a star in the scene, a star…Do you understand? Then
you get hired straight away. And that star here is me, evidently,
unambiguously, un-beatably!
E2: Does a star take high heels and a bikini with her as if she were
going to an audition?
E3: A star is on alert all the time. A star is always ready. A star is
perfect!
E1: I feel sick! I feel very… sick. Help…I think I’m going to throw up.
Star, could you hand me that bucket!
E3: I’m not your servant!
E1: Its in your best interest to hand me that bucket, somebody!
E3: I hope you’re not going to vomit here! Go to the toilet, would you!
E1: Don’t try and fool me! I’ll go to throw up and you’ll do the shoot
yourselves, and moreover, you’ll discuss my unprofessionalism,
that I was stupid enough to leave!
E2: If you’re sick, you’d better go!
E1: It’s her fault! She! She gave me that muesli bar! I’m sure it was
poisoned!
E2: Don’t be paranoid!
E1: Star, you have poisoned me…I know…I feel it…I’ve been
poisoned! God, I’m dying!
E2: Don’t be a fool! Go throw up and maybe then you’ll be fine…
E1: I’m not going anywhere, I don’t want to miss the shoot! I need
that money! Urgently! I’m sick, help me…
27
E2: If you won’t listen, OK! That’s your business…but try and shut
up, would you? No one wants to listen to you.
E3: And don’t blame me, will you?
E1: Is this the way you eliminate the competition? Is this the way you
force your way forward? Is this the way you build your career?
Are you wading through corpses? And are you going to look at
me with a smile while I am dying in agony and crying?
E3: I split my last food with you…I give you good advice….
E1: It wasn’t the last. You still have another muesli bar…we’ll see…
You’ll eat it, if it isn’t poisoned with something. We all know
that…to give out muesli bars…have one…enjoy it…
E3: I’m not going to eat anything, I’m not hungry!
E1: That’s evident…You, remember this. You’re a witness. The star
forced the muesli bar on me. Luckily, I took…luckily…only
one…so maybe I won’t die completely…the bar was spoiled or
something…she knew it, because she refused to eat the other
one! Listen, you star…maybe I will die, but I have a witness
and you…you won’t escape justice!
E2: I might forget everything that has happened here in this room,
the muesli bar, everything. But it won’t be for free.
E1: You…you really have the guts to ask for money?!
E2: My guts are definitely better off than yours!
E3: I can see right through you to your stomach. You want to tangle
me up in something horrible! You want to jeopardize my
career! But you’re not going to succeed! Do you really think
I’m so stupid as to eat the last piece of evidence? If I have the
second bar tested, I can prove that it’s all right. Moreover,
if I remember correctly, I offered you the nut-chocolate one
first. And do you know why? Because I considered it better
than the strawberry-yoghurt one! And this unambiguously
proves that I am a good person! And you are a bad one!
E1: Good person, could you lend me your mobile phone? I’ll call
a doctor!
28
E3: Just now you were accusing me of attempting to murder you!
Yes, I’m a good person, that’s true, but I’m not completely
stupid! Kick the bucket, I don’t care, but I’m not going to move
a single finger to help you!
E1: A refusal to administer first aid is a criminal act!
E3: 200 hours of public service maximum…my agency will somehow
arrange it…I’ll shoot a campaign for UNICEF for free!
E1: So you’ll lend me your mobile phone…or you know what, just
call the ER, I can’t anymore, talking exhausts me.
E2: (Phoning.) Hullo, Doctor Miller’s office? Good morning…yes,
it’s me…unfortunately, I won’t make it today…I would like
to make an appointment for tomorrow…I’m not asking you
whether there’s a space in your schedule tomorrow…I’m
telling you…no, it won’t be too late…my god, it’s 24 hours
later, that’s nothing…look, I don’t care about the law, you’ll
execute the surgery tomorrow because today, I have to work
to pay you…I need to undergo that surgery to earn good
money…and you need my money so you can earn good money
too…is it clear now? If I am without money, then you’ll be
in the proverbial shit too. So that’s it, you’ll be expecting me
tomorrow and we’ll put today’s date on the papers…I’ll put
my signature on the papers! Shit, you’re so fucking helpless!
Doctor Miller has a half hour lunch break! I’m sure, there’s no
patient on the schedule between 12 o’clock and 12.30…you
still don’t get it? Pardon? There won’t be the anesthesiologist
on duty then? Then I’ll have to have a local anesthetic! Pardon?
So I won’t have any anesthetic! Yes, completely without
anesthesia…of course, it can work…they do it all the time in
China! I saw it in a movie once! Yes, it’s butchery but I can
handle it!…But the doctor won’t? My god, how can she work
as a doctor and not be able to handle such things? So? Look,
if you piss me off, I’ll fly to China tomorrow and they’ll do
it regardless of how late it is! It’ll be half price including the
flight. So? Do you want to do it or shall I go somewhere else?
29
I’m very glad that we’ve managed to reach an understanding.
So see you tomorrow at 10 a.m.
E1: Tell them to send somebody here!
E2: Of course, I’ll pay the extra charge, that’s not a problem for me
at all.
E1: Help me, I’ve been poisoned, send me a doctor!
E2: Ignore that, I’m shooting a commercial at the moment…it’s for
a funeral home… Have a nice day and see you tomorrow!
E1: Murderers! You’re murderers, both of you!
E3: Just stand up and leave if you’re so sick. You can’t shoot in such
a state anyway!
E1: I can’t move!
E3: Hmmm…it must be very painful, if you can’t move a single step
forward…
E2: You can’t shoot if you feel like that….
E1: I’m not going anywhere…I need that money…have some mercy…
you’ll get yours anyway…
E3: Yes, yes, you’re nothing without your money. Shoes, bikini,
mobile phone…breasts…everything has its price. Fortunately,
I have always invested in the right things…I’ve had good jobs…
I have intuition…years of experience. I’ve learned so much
since my childhood…to find your way…I definitely wouldn’t
take anything to eat from a stranger…
E1: So you really have poisoned me? Will I die soon? I don’t want
to suffer!
E3: Over and over again. I haven’t poisoned you…not consciously
that’s for sure. If that bar was poisoned that means somebody
probably wanted to get rid of ME!
E1: My god!
E2: The only thing I can do for you, taking into consideration that
you’re suffering so much, is call the photographer and tell her
that you feel…that you don’t feel OK.
E1: Try it and I’ll strangle you with these hands using my last
ounce of strength! Call me a doctor, discreetly, discreetly,
30
do you understand? Discreetly….so that she’ll come here
very discreetly…You know what, ask her right away whether
she’s wearing a green smock…they usually wear green
smocks. If she’s wearing it to visit her patients, tell her, I insist,
uncompromisingly – you get it? – that she must wear a twopiece suit…a skirt and a blouse… Moreover if anybody asks,
she’s from The Best Models Agency. I won’t keep her long,
I’ll pay her well! She has to give me a pain-killer, so that I can
shoot…and then – are you listening to me? – then, when
my job here is done and I’ll get the money, only then – if
it’s necessary – I’ll go to hospital! My god!
E3: Are you dying? What’s happening? Wait, I might have
a camera with me…hopefully I’ll find it in a second …such
a coincidence…a bit paparazzi like, but why not…I hope
you’re well known in the media…
E1: Impossible…it’s…completely…stopped. I feel better…the
pain’s going away…much better…I don’t feel bad at all…On the
contrary…ooohhh… What a relief! It’s a miracle! A Miracle!
A miracle’s happened!
E2: I don’t know but I think the pain might have been a better option.
E1: What do you mean…a better option?
E3: OK, you can look at yourself but don’t touch the mirror. I don’t
want to catch anything. I’ll hold it for you.
E1: (Looks at herself in the mirror.) My god! What is it?
E2: Pimples.
E3: Some kind of allergy, I guess. You should know better yourself,
don’t ask us! We won’t give you any advice.
E1: I’d rather have died of those cramps!
(E2 laughs.)
E3: Definitely. Look at yourself. You’re no good here now. When
you had stomach-ache, you could have done the shoot if
you’d tried…we can smile under any conditions…not really
a problem. But like this…having it on your face, something
totally impossible to disguise… Wow, that’s really something!
31
Go home. Just go. Its better to listen to us rather than getting
sent home.
E1: Maybe the pimples will disappear in a little while…
E3: We’re going to shoot in a few minutes!
E2: Get out…I don’t want to get infected. God knows what you’ve
really got.
E3: Yuck, get lost! And take the mirror too! I don’t want it! And don’t
come near me! (She throws the mirror on E1’s lap.)
E2: She probably slept with somebody to get this job…
E3: You mean, she’s got a sexually transmitted disease? But we
haven’t slept with her, so we don’t have to worry, do we?
It’s not transmitted through the air, is it?
E2: Or maybe you went somewhere exotic on a shoot? It’s not a very
good souvenir.
E3: You really are a walking biological weapon…a secret agent…
sent by a rival agency to destroy me…of course, the least
conspicuous plan they could dream up, but I’m a clever
person! I am a clever and good person! Admit it immediately!
Clear your conscience, who do you work for? Or I’ll kill you!
I’ll shoot you, you ugly cow! I have it somewhere in my purse…
ha-ha, you hadn’t counted on me being armed…as soon as
I find it…
E1: I have never slept with anybody suspicious, haven’t shot in an
exotic country, and am certainly not, in any way shape or
form, a secret agent! I’m a model! I was a beautiful model.
Beautiful, get it? I got it from your muesli bar…I’ll sue you –
revolver or not…You’ll be ruined paying for all my damages…
you bet…you’ll be sending me money till the end of your life!
Or I’ll kill you, strangle you…you blond bitch with C breasts!
E2: Suing is better. You’ll profit from it. Obviously there’s nothing
else you can do.
E1: I’ll give you half of the money if you call me a dermatologist.
Call the central office, then dermatology and tell them
to take a skin grinder or something like that…tell them to
32
come as civilians…in a suit…they should say they are from
Best Models…I’ll pay them very well! And I’ll pay you too of
course….quick!
E2: How much?
E1: Thirty.
E2: Too little.
E1: Forty. Be quick!
E2: We shouldn’t lose time…do I hear one hundred?
E1: You…OK. One hundred thousand. Call ‘em!
E3: In that case, my mobile phone is finally working! I’m calling!
It’s ringing! Look, I’m going to get the one hundred right here,
in cash!
(P enters.)
P: Let’s do it! Everything’s OK?
E2: Not really, she…let me put it delicately… she is out. Out of order.
P: Who?
E1: Nothing happened.
E3: She’s got a rash on her face. She can’t shoot.
P: Who?
(E2,3 point at E1. P is looking at E1 more closely.)
P: You’re not OK?
E1: I don’t know, probably some kind of allergy. I don’t look perfect,
OK, but I feel nearly OK.
P: Do you have it all over your body or just on your face?
E1: (Looks under her T-shirt…) Just on my face, but it’s disappearing.
Maybe…if we could wait for a while…I really don’t understand
what’s happening…everyone’s always been satisfied with me…
no problems ever…my references are great…and suddenly…
P: Do you need to leave?
E1: No, definitely not! I want to shoot…maybe we could use makeup…there’s a pancake make-up by Max Factor, that’d work…
moreover, most of the photos’ll be retouched…
33
P: So I don’t see any problem; it’s OK with me…for the camera
it’s OK…everything’s OK. Can we start? Or is there anything
else? You’re ready?
E1,2,3: Ok, ok.
P: Ok. First step. You’ll change clothes. And stand with your back
to the wall, OK?
(P exits.)
E1,2,3: Ok, ok.
(Puzzled, they undress, put their clothes on chairs, put on white
overalls. P enters, sets up lights.)
E3: Who’ doing the styling?
P: There’s no need for styling. (P exits.)
E3: A little bit too weird…no make-up, no stylist…
E2: And they don’t mind pimples…
E1: Every cloud has a silver lining.
E2: You don’t find it weird?
E3: Hm, yes, I’m scared.
E1: You’re right. I hope we don’t end up like the royal family in
Russia…during the revolution…the tzar and his family…
E2: How?
E3: I didn’t have much time to study the lives of noble families but
I have a feeling that they didn’t end up well. Please, just stop
speaking aloud…and stop thinking like that!
(P enters.)
P: Could you stand closer to the wall?
(E1,2,3 stand with their backs to wall.)
E2: If there’s no stylist or hairdresser, I have a very good idea. Let’s do
the make-up ourselves. What do you say?
P: Put your hoods up, please.
(E1,2,3 look at one another, then put their hoods up.)
E3: How do I look? Wouldn’t you rather I put some make-up on? At
least some eye-liner? And the lips? What if we all had our lips
rouged? That could be a great picture! I have some magnificent
transparent hypoallergenic lipstick on me…I have to find it…
34
P: You, could you stand in the middle?
(E3 stands between E1 a E2.)
P: Ok! You’re great! The hoods a bit more up…more….more…don’t
be afraid…put them all the way over your faces!
(E1,2,3 puzzled, look at one another, put the hoods up so their faces
are not visible.)
P: Ok, great! Now hold hands, spread your legs…OK.
(E1,2,3 can’t see through the hoods, they are searching for the hands of
the others in confusion. P manipulates them into the correct position.)
P: OK, you’re perfect, totally perfect! Great! (Shoots.)
(Onstage next to the wall, there are three anonymous figures,
convulsively holding each others’ hands, their legs are spread. Each
of them has a big black letter on their overall. Together, they create
a word ELLE.)
END OF PART 1
Part 2: EVENING
(The stage is E3’s flat, a one-room flat. There is a table, 2 chairs, 1
built-in wardrobe, 2 doors: the main door & the bathroom door. E3 is
the model from Part I. E3’s inconsistencies and the differences in the
characters from Part I. and II. are intentional.)
Characters: E3, Mother, Nurse, Agent
(E3 is sniffing cocaine, putting a sexy SM suit on, high heels;
she’s wearing thick make-up, a black wig. There’s a knocking at the
door.)
E3: The door is open!
35
(E3 turns up the volume of the music and stands with her back to the
door. N and M enter. M is in a wheelchair. E3 dances and undresses,
her back to N and M. N is trying to say something but the music is
too loud. She stands in front of E3. E3 sees N, stops, and switches the
music off.)
E3: Who the fuck are you?
N: My name’s Agatha.
E3: Agatha? I don’t know any Agatha. Why are you here?
N: I’m nursing your mother.
E3: Oh yes…Agatha. I remember now. We talked on the phone…
twice…at Christmas. Is she dead?
N: No, she’s fine.
E3: So why did you come? You need some money?
N: No.
E3: You’re the first person I’ve met in my life who doesn’t say that
she need’s money. Or perhaps you’re not telling the truth…
but…you’re a nun, a believer…so you have to live truthfully,
is that right? Or you’re trying at least…I’m sorry if I have…
or scared you…I’m a bit out of it…but to the point. What do
you want here?
N: She came to see you.
E3: Who?
N: Your mother.
(E3 turns around, sees her mother in the wheelchair. Silence. She pulls
off her wig, throws it on the floor, runs toward her, kneels at her feet,
holds her hands, smiles at her.)
E3: Hi mum. How are you? Mum, can you hear me? How are you?
What’s up with her?
N: She got worse. There hasn’t been any reaction for half a year. We
informed you.
E3: Yes, I remember. (Stands up) You should have let me know in
advance that you were coming! To gatecrash me like this…she
shouldn’t have to witness such an embarrassing scene…Did
she see me? Does she notice anything?
36
N: We don’t know. Nobody knows whether or what she hears and
sees…she doesn’t communicate…or react. She only expressed
a wish to visit you.
E3: How?
N: On paper, she wrote it, look. Your address.
E3: But I might not have been home! You drag her halfway across the
whole country, and you even don’t know whether you’ll find
me or not…you don’t ask or call…
N: I apologize, we’re actually only passing by. If you weren’t at home,
we would have continued on.
E3: Passing by?
N: The rest home has moved…we informed you.
E3: Yes, I remember.
N: Also I’ve been trying to reach you on the phone for a week to ask
you for permission to visit you. I understand you’re upset that
we arrived without any notice. I apologize…I didn’t realize it
would cause you such problems. We have different lifestyles,
and that’s where the misunderstandings arise from.
E3: Are you referring to my suit? I was expecting a close friend. It
was supposed to be a joke.
N: I wouldn’t dare intimate anything. I know you from your letters
to your mother.
E3: She lets strangers read them?
N: I read them to her. She is not able to read them herself. Don’t
worry; I’m not a stranger to her. We’re very close. I’m her
personal nurse after all; I’ve taken care of her for five years
now.
E3: Yes. Sorry. Certainly.
N: We couldn’t find your flat according to the address. Actually we
didn’t even know you were living in a flat. You were writing
about a huge detached house.
E3: We had to sell the house, unfortunately. This house was built
in its place. They compensated me by giving me this flat…
37
One cannot halt city government plans, you know…I don’t
understand politics.
N: So you live here with your husband, four children, two dogs, a cat,
a rabbit and a parrot?
E3: Sure.
N: Where are they? Your mother would like to meet her grandchildren.
E3: They are coming back later, all of them. My husband’s at work, the
children at school, all animals go to the pet’s home during the
day…I want to have some peace…I’m working all the time…
N: When do they come home usually?
E3: In the evening. Probably, you won’t meet them.
N: It’s evening now, isn’t it?
E3: Oh…actually they…my husband’s attending a conference… the
children are at a camp…the animals at my friend’s place…she
loves them so much.
N: Your mother was sorry you didn’t send her any pictures. I asked
you several times, on the phone as well as on paper…
E3: We don’t have any pictures – a professional warp – I’m
a model…I have photos of me taken everyday, I hate it.
N: Why are you lying?
E3: Pardon?
N: Why are you lying to your mother?
E3: It’s none of your business.
N: You wrote about your husband and children, a family house…why
are you lying to her?
E3: It’s none of your business.
N: I will leave you alone for a while.
E3: No way.
N: Have some fun. You haven’t seen each other for such a long time.
She is really very happy that we found you. She looks satisfied,
don’t you think?
E3: It doesn’t suit me today.
N: How…doesn’t suit you?
38
E3: It doesn’t. I’m expecting somebody. I’ll have someone visiting
me…if you didn’t understand the dancing introduction…
it’s a very private visitor. I don’t normally welcome my mother
like this…sorry, I forgot, you’re a nun, so probably there’s no
one visiting you…
N: Your mother wouldn’t really be a problem for that private visitor,
would she?
E3: I haven’t made myself clear. I was too polite…let me put it
straight. It will be an intimate visitor, OK?
N: Couldn’t you cancel the meeting?
E3: Pardon?
N: Or at least postpone it?
E3: I’m having a very intimate, very important, urgent visit, which
cannot be either canceled or postponed.
N: You haven’t seen your mother for several years.
E3: Now I’ve seen her and she doesn’t even recognize me.
N: Your mother feels strongly about it. Her wish is to be alone with
you for a while. Please, couldn’t you fulfill her modest wish?
E3: No time.
N: Not having any time for one’s own mother is a sin! You owe her
so much; she brought you into this world…
E3: Stop attacking me with your Christian spirit and stop smiling
so lovingly, or I’ll slap you across the face. You’re not going
to have control over me and you won’t manipulate me into
this. I’m sick of you. I’m paying you, so do what I want you to
do. Holy Spirit! Your saintly home costs me ungodly money,
earned the hard way.
N: So you’re not going to fulfill her wish?
E3: No.
N: Your last word? You can think about it…
E3: No!
N: So I’m going to fulfill her wish, on my own head. Good bye.
(N leaves.)
39
E3: Stop! Where are you going? Come back! I’ll pay you extra money!
I’ll complain! Cow! You silly cow! What are you doing to me?
…Mum…I…don’t have anything to offer you…mum, you want
anything? I don’t have time, you know….you understand? I do
only the best…campaigns…campaigns I do…yes, campaigns…
they pay me good money…remember how I won the audition
for the gummy bears commercial? I didn’t have my front
teeth and in spite of that they chose me…because I was the
best…the most beautiful…so those are the memories…when
do you think she’ll be back? I’d say pretty soon, she looked
a conscientious person, she wouldn’t leave you here…in
a strange environment, in a strange flat…she is definitely
crazy but…if I were someone else, if she had mistaken the flat
for someone else’s or I don’t know what, she would have left
you, you so defenseless, with a woman who has nothing in
common with you… Did she ask to see my ID card? She didn’t.
What if someone claimed to be me but wasn’t really me…she
would have left you there…good afternoon, we’ve come for
visit, your mum wants to be alone with you for a while and
I’m going away…bitch…mummy, I’m so tired.
(E3 behind M, sniffing cocaine.)
I have a cold, you know…a terrible cold…there’s been a flu
epidemic…a real catastrophe…
(E3 stands in front of M.)
You’re staring like this all the time? You’re making me
nervous…you’re making me really nervous with this, with your
staring and being silent…you stare and say nothing…well, you
shouldn’t have come! Why did you come? Please, tell me…To
check up on me? Now you see it, no house, no man at all…no
vermin are allowed to walk through my door…satisfied? You
know what, mum; we are not going to fight, OK? You come
to visit once in a blue moon; yes, I didn’t expect you but now
you’re here, and we won’t bring up memories, no explanations,
no plans…simply you’re here…And now what? What am I to do
40
with you? You suddenly pop up…unreasonably…Do you think
I can read your mind or what? Even doctors can’t do that; even
that stupid bitchy nurse can’t understand you…don’t look at
me like that, she spilled it out herself when she was here….So
how am I supposed to understand you if you don’t talk and if
I haven’t seen you for years? You see, I really don’t know what
you expected…I don’t know whether you believe in telepathy,
or how you want to communicate…I don’t, don’t believe in it…
so we’ve got a problem…ha…no, we don’t…I know you don’t
believe in it either…I haven’t met such an unbeliever in my
whole life and I have met a lot of them…or you’ve converted?
They say people do that when they age, wouldn’t wonder…but
not you, certainly not you…I would be willing to swear on my
mother’s grave that you wouldn’t…I will arrange a new nurse
for you, okay? Somebody normal…all her Christian mercy
must be really annoying for you…you…who are annoyed
merely by the very presence of such a person…it must be
annoying. It naturally must be annoy…Mum, I’m so tired…
Why have you come? What do you want from me? Do you
hear me? What do you want?
(E3 is sniffing cocaine in front of M.)
You know what? We’ll have a real blow-out…ha. Ha. A blowout…a blow-out for my nose…ha! No. Didn’t mean it like
that…once again: we’ll have something good… You want?
Not a blow-up, a blow-out, like having something good…how
could you even think of that? We’ll have something good to
eat! Eat! Eat! Yummy! You want? Say, I can hear you…I can
totally hear you – what you’re saying: think about your future
and don’t stuff yourself! Don’t stuff yourself! I adored that
sentence, “don’t stuff yourself!” I miss it so much…you think
there’s nobody to say it to me, you know what? There is! I have
a secret…a big secret…there is…somebody says to me “don’t
stuff yourself ” too but it’s not the same as from my mummy…
no…nobody can say it like you…”don’t stuff yourself ”…OK, so
41
I’ll get something. You’ll be alone here for a while, I hope you
won’t open the door to a stranger or break something, stay in
your nice little room and be a good girl who doesn’t pig out
like a little piggy! If she wanted to be a bad piggy girl regardless
of the warning, too bad because…ha…there’s nothing in here!
And I hope you won’t chew on my violet like last time, I had
a lot of work watering that flower…What’s more, it wouldn’t
taste good, it’s actually totally rotten…you know, maybe too
much water…I wanted to indulge it, the little bitch…You will
thank me one day for this…Ha!
(E3 leaves. Silence.)
(E3 enters, carrying a full shopping bag with a black logo of ELLE,
which she places on the table.)
E3: I’m back! Were you a bad girl? Look who I’ve brought…Mr. Norbert
who will decide on something very important…a gummy bears
campaign…come and show yourself to him…well, you do your
best, I can see that, if you’re a good girl …I do!…Ha. I enter the
shop and ask myself, what the fuck one normally buys, what
one normally buys…so I bought you this T-shirt…I normally
buy T-shirts…Ha!
(E3 throws M a white T-shirt with a black ELLE logo on it.)
Nice, what do you think? I really don’t know you anymore,
mum. I even don’t know your size. I had to guess really hard,
so I’m curious whether it’ll fit you. Put it on. Come on, don’t
be shy. It’s a present. What’s up with you? Pissed off? Don’t like
the colour? Come on, it’s in now. You don’t follow the trends
or what? I don’t know you anymore! OK, I’ll help you.
(E3 dresses M.)
Head…hey, we won’t put the arms through the sleeves
because then I’d have to take it off again. I’ll just pull it down
like this, you don’t use your hands either, so…well…Great,
a looker, really! Ha…a bit of a straightjacket. You’ll enjoy
it…ha! I thought about something special to eat…but what?
Searching, searching, looking at people what do they buy…
42
they buy everything. So I bought the gummy bears, the ones
I did a commercial for when I was six and I had no front teeth.
Mr. Norbert knocked them out, but still I was smiling and
my posters were hanging on every corner, on the highway, at
the cinema, a gummy bear princess, even though I never had
a gummy bear in my mouth. Look!
(E3 pours the contents of one bag into her mouth.)
You want some? Yummy, great!
(She opens one bag after the other, pours the gummy bears into her
mouth, but they drop all around her.)
E3: It’s special – you have to admit that – a special occasion. Have
some, come on…hope you’re not on a diet…OK, I’ll help you.
Open your mouth…yourself…mum, open your mouth, I’ll
pour the gummy bears in…you hear? Come on, tilt your head
back…upsy-daisy…your head back…OK, I’ll help you…where
is that bitch Agatha? This is her job. She’ll get hers when she
comes back, she’ll really get it! Leaving me to suffer with my
mother like this. So your head back, open your mouth…mum,
you don’t have any teeth! Why don’t they give you dentures…
well, I’ll have to complain…they get enough money to inform
me! Or did they? No, I would remember. So mum, how many
of them will you probably eat? Show it on your fingers, if you
don’t want to talk! How many? You hear me? I don’t have time
to fiddle with you, would you kindly let me know how many
you want?! You know what? I’ll give you a few and we’ll see…
isn’t it too much for your mouth? They somehow spilled out of
the bag, flew like…close your mouth, straighten your back…
suck, I think…or you know what, chew them, there’ll be less
of them…I’ll have some too…look how I’m chewing them! Do
what you want with it…a special blow-out we’re having…
(A sound behind the door.)
E3: Who’s there?
A: Guess who, guess who, but open the door.
43
(E3 pulls M around the room to hide her somewhere. She finally puts
her in the wardrobe.)
A: Hey, how long am I supposed to wait here?
E3: Ok, ok! Now….
A :You don’t have to move your furniture just because of me or
whatever you’re doing at the moment…I know the interior of
your flat, and what’s more, I’m not interested in that.
(E3 unlocks but doesn’t open the door. She takes a few steps back,
waits.)
(A slowly puts a bouquet of lilies through the doorway, then his head.)
A: Hi there pussy.
E3: Don’t call me that. (She takes the flowers.)
A: What are you doing? (Enters.)
E3: Oh, just…a holiday party…actually…
A :There’s a mess on the floor.
E3: Ha. (Kneels eating the gummy bears.) Piggie is eating her gummy
bears. Ha. Come on, say it, say it…say what you want to say…
the sentence on the tip of your tongue…
A: Don’t stuff yourself, pussy…
E3: Oh, finally.
A: You’re high again!
E3: I’m not.
A: Yes you are! Really, you don’t have to lie. I know you too well
to trust you! I traveled through the whole town to get here,
hunting for flowers to buy for you. Lilies, even, you get it? Do
you actually realize how much these cost in this season? Do
you deserve them? Answer me, please!
E3: Of course, I don’t deserve anything.
A: Exactly, love. I’m taking the flowers and clearing off. Have a nice
evening! Bye (Her mobile phone rings.)
E3: Don’t leave! (E3 grabs A by the leg.)
A: (On the phone.) Yes? Oh. One moment. (To E3.) Shut up! Don’t
wail, I can’t hear, it’s an important phone call!
44
(On the phone again.) OK, I’m back. Yes, yes, yes, yes. I’m
nearby, I could stop by. Could you give me her address? OK.
If she is in good shape, I’ll take her there. You have anyone
else as a reserve? Only her? A specific choice… Oh…For the
whole night…I understand. OK. She’ll be in good shape, she’ll
be there, and I guarantee that! (A frees her leg from E3’s clasp.)
I’ll send you a report, OK, see you then. (To E3.) Stand up! You
understand? Stand up…spit it out!
E3: For the whole night? I’m not standing up or spitting anything
out! Give me back my flowers!
A: (Throws them at E3.) Hurry up!
E3: The agency called? They want me?
A: With you, it’s always a great party…go and get all that crap out of
you! Do as I tell you – nicely!
E3: Will you have something nice too? Ha.
A: You want to piss me off or what? That many sweets could kill you,
you are not used to them at all; you’ll be sick, you don’t eat
sweets. You’ll die. Hope you won’t.
E3: Hurray.
A: What’s happened to you now? Pussy, could you tell me
what’s happened to you? Because, again, I don’t understand
you. You get it? I expected a different welcome and not finding
you sitting in gummy bears and being high…totally high.
E3: Yummy.
A: Come, I’ll help you, OK? OK? I’ll help you. Let’s go to the bathroom
and sort everything out, OK?
E3: No.
A: Fuck, you’re coming with me, get it?
E3: Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!
A: So stand up, I’m telling you stand up…go!
E3: Mummy, help! Mummy, help!
A: We’ll play a game. I’ll be your mummy who’ll help you. You will
listen to me now, OK? I’ll give you my hand; you’ll grab it and
stand up, OK?
45
E3: You’re not my mummy. Kids and the wolf. Knock. Knock. Ha.
A: Stop provoking me…I’m trying to help you. Say, am I helping you?
E3: No.
A: Oh yes, I am. Look, I’m giving you my hand; help you on your feet.
Hold on to me, come, come with me.
E3: Where are you taking me?
A: To the bathroom.
E3: What are we going to do there? I know what you want, I’m sick
of it already. Let me go, please, let me go.
A: I can’t. You know yourself that I really can’t.
E3: I’ll give you everything back.
A: Yes, I know you owe me a lot. I also know you want to return it
to me, all of it. You absolutely need money. Where do you
want to get it? Will you be sitting here and waiting for it to
fall from the sky?
E3: Yes.
A: You’re a good person, right?
E3: I am a good person.
A: Yes. You want to return everything to me, you’re a good person.
E3: Exactly.
A: For a start, do me a little insignificant favor: just go to the
bathroom.
E3: No.
A: Fuck, you’ll either go to the bathroom or I’ll beat you up.
E3: Like an old dog?
A: What am I saying? You’re making me crazy. See what you’re
forcing me to say? Have I ever hit you? Would I ever be able
to do that?
E3: I’m wearing the collar just for you.
A: Well, OK, but that’s something completely different. You have
a collar so what? It suits you, so what am I to do if I like you like
that. But that’s it, you hear me? That’s all…I like you…I only
want the best for you…one day you’ll understand, one day,
you’ll be grateful to me.
46
E3: Yes, I have a collar. Yes, I’ll be grateful. Ha.
A: I’ve never hit you.
(E3 eats the gummy bears on the floor.)
A: (Starts hitting her.) Stop stuffing yourself with those fucking
gummy bears! Stop gulping! You hear me? Don’t gulp!
E3: You don’t have the right to…!
A: I don’t have the right? I don’t have the right? Look, I’ll be frank with
you now, I’m always walking on tiptoe around you. Waiting
for the princess to get it. But she’s obviously not gonna get it.
Look, I have the right…the power to…the greatest power of
anyone. Who gave you the new teeth? Who got you your new
tits? What have I…in you? Well? In..ves..
E3: ted.
A: Correct. Invested. Don’t look at me like that. We’ll put our mutual
affection aside for now; it’s got nothing to do with it here. You
yourself are always telling me you’ll return everything…my
invested money…so now I’m asking you, where is my money?
You know where it is? It’s high lying around in gummy bears!
If I kick you now, I’ll only be defending my own interests!
E3: No…Yes.
A: If I kick you now…do you hear what I’m saying, what I’m thinking
about…what you are forcing me to do? What you are leading
me to? I’m so overwhelmed by all this…kick you…if I hadn’t
controlled myself, I’d have destroyed everything expensive on
you! All the beauty…teeth…beautiful…tits…beautiful…it cost
me so much! Time! And money! If you have just a little bit of
mercy for me, I’m begging you; on my knees I’m begging you:
go to the bathroom and get everything out of yourself.
E3: I feel sick.
A: OK, it’s coming now.
E3: April fool!
A: Actually, I do have a strong urge to kill you, now I don’t care about
anything, so watch out! I don’t care if I loose the money or
47
go bankrupt! All I have is you! You realize this? You’re all, all,
I have…and you’re doing this, torturing me like this…
E3: You still have the new blonde one with the big botox lips, the
elderly ginger-haired one, another freckled one, one with
a beauty spot on her nose who is supposed to outdo Cindy
and then you have this curly brown haired anorectic who you
kissed in your office. A Christmas party surprise…yes, I like
that one a lot…how many black haired do you have…five? Or
more? They’re in now…ha…that was a very nice scandal; you
were doing it with the fourteen year old in the lift and then the
boss came in! She was her favorite…hmmm…shame, she had
a future, a shame it turned out so badly…and you have more
and more…the entire agency.
A: I see, now it comes out! So this is what we’re dealing with now.
The princess is jealous? And that’s why she is stuffing herself
with gummy bears?
E3: I want to say that…
A: Okay, maybe some other time, baby. This isn’t the right time for
your private bullshit. The centre called and the client wants,
unfortunately, only you.
E3: No.
A: Go tidy yourself. I’ll help you, OK?
E3: No.
A: Okay, do it yourself. Hop!
E3: No.
A: You know what? At this moment, I’ve lost patience with you!
I’m calling the agency to report everything. Not only that
I’ve found you totally high lying in gummy bears but also
that from the competition point of view you’re doing pretty
bad. Well, this news will be interesting for them…that other
than a few exceptions no client wants you…that all of last
year commissions were arranged exclusively by me…that you
had your new teeth done on credit, whiter and shinier, new
tits, bigger because they’re your last chance…but what they’ll
48
mainly be interested in is that you run away from the events
accompanying the campaign, that you are not nice enough to
the clients, that you don’t fulfill their wishes unquestioningly…
and this is something that cannot be forgiven! You not only
harm your own reputation but also the company’s! You’ll be
dead in the business, my love.
E3: No…don’t call the agency…I’m going to the bathroom…now…
I’m so tired…I’m going to the bathroom…see? I’m going now.
A: You’re good girl now, I like you like that…I knew what would
work…no Blair witch. Just the pure power of our company.
(E3 crawls slowly into the bathroom.)
A: There exist certain rules which we all accepted. Voluntarily. You,
me, everybody. And we have to follow them also in times
when they’re not to our advantage, but this is the only way
to survive. I’d love to be with you the whole night. But I don’t
decide about my time…I guess nobody does…you think the
call-centre attendants have fun sitting there?
(E3 vomits in the bathroom.)
A: This is your own fault, baby.
(E3 takes a shower.)
(A is on the phone.)
A: I’ve contacted her, I’ve informed her about her task, and she is
in the preparation stage. I have an optimistic outlook on this
mission. Yes, yes. OK. She seemed a little bit out of shape
but she’s getting better and better, no problem. I see. Yes,
understand. Contact with the client, a shoot two weeks from
now, an opportunity to do the whole campaign…OK. She’ll
be kind, she’ll be beautiful, she’ll be energetic. OK. Bye then.
(A shouts towards the bathroom.)
Yes, you know what I want to tell you? I think it’s time
you started to take a different attitude towards your career! It
can put you forward! You’ve been stagnating for a pretty long
time now, and there’s a good chance that your new image will
49
attract new markets! Moreover, you’ve been asked to make
a certain concrete gesture! You are to appear naked!
(E3 comes out from the bathroom naked, standing and looks at A.)
A: I didn’t mean here, pussy. I mean from a professional point of
view, get it? One must repeat things to you over and over
again; thank goodness at least you’re so beautiful. But the
contents of your head are not making you money, so we won’t
bother with that, right? Smile.
(E3 is smiling.)
A: You’re so unbelievably beautiful…if you want to be…you have to
be tonight. The client wants to meet you, personally of course.
If he’s satisfied, you’ll obviously get the whole campaign.
It’s a prestigious opportunity considering your age. You’ll do
what he says; don’t look at me like that. My duty is to report to
you the wishes of the agency. This is your last chance, get it?
From the point of view of long-term profits, it’d be best if he fell
in love with you. The least you’re expected to do is to stimulate
great affection. I’ll take you there but you’ll have to get a taxi
back…you have to understand that it’s not very comfortable to
sit in the hotel bar the whole night…put the flowers in water,
so they won’t wither, they were very expensive!
E3: Evening dress?
A: Yes. The red one. I’ll help you to choose the right one.
E3: There’s no need. I’d like to get ready by myself. Could you wait
for me in the car, please?
A: Fine, but I’m warning you, don’t get too high, you’ll get aggression
attacks after that. The agency said explicitly how they want
you to behave. You should not only be beautiful but also kind.
There was no mention of exhilaration. I’ll put the flowers in
water myself.
E3: No, I’m taking them with me.
A: Pardon?
E3: I want to take them there…so they shouldn’t be dripping wet.
I’m taking my silken evening gown, it’d be completely soaked.
50
A: OK. I’ll wait downstairs. Three cigarettes maximum, then I’ll get
you myself.
E3: I’ll come down myself. I know what my work means to me!
A: I’m glad you’re reasonable now. I’ll take you to dinner sometime.
I’ll make tonight up to you. Don’t worry!
(A kisses E3, leaves. E3 opens the wardrobe, takes M in the bathroom,
and closes the door. Steps towards the wardrobe, puts her underwear
on, then the dress, shoes, takes a purse. M makes some noise behind
the bathroom door. E3 goes to the bathroom, opens the door. M falls
out, wheezing.)
E3: Mum, what’s up with you? Can you hear me? Shit.
(E3 tries to seat M on a chair. She gives up after a while. She desperately
looks around the room. She puts M on the table.)
M: A….Aga…Agatha.
E3: Mum, can you hear me? Agatha isn’t here, she’s gone somewhere.
M: Agatha.
E3: Stop calling her, she’s not here.
M: Agatha, don’t…don’t trust anyone!
E3: Fuck, I don’t have time to deal with this, mum! What shall I do?
Where is that bitch Agatha? Mum, do you have her number?
(M wheezes.)
E3: Can you hear me? I need Agatha’s phone number! You have
a mobile phone? Mum, do you have a mobile phone?
(M wheezes. E3 searches M.)
You don’t, shit. I told her, the silly cow, buy mummy a mobile phone,
I’d pay for it. She’d have her number stored there and I’d be
able to call her.
M: Agatha, don’t trust anyone… not even me!
E3: Mum, Agatha has left you! You’ll have to talk about it later!
M: Not even me!
E3: I’m your daughter! I’m not Agatha, can you hear me? I’m your
daughter!
M: Ma…Maria!
E3: My name’s not Maria, mum.
51
M: My dear child, my Maria.
E3: Mum, is that you at all?
(M wheezes.)
E3: What’s your name? Your name, tell me your name, do you hear?
(M wheezes.)
E3: I don’t even have time to talk to my own mother, so why would
I want to sacrifice my career for a strange old woman?
(N knocks on the door. E3 gets scared, she grabs a paper bag which she
has brought from the shop and puts it on M’s head. N knocks again. E3
takes M to the bathroom; E3 is not able to put M into the wheelchair,
so she lays her on the ground. E3 closes the bathroom door.)
E3: I’m nearly almost practically close to being ready!
(E3 goes to the door; opens it with a shiny smile. She stares in surprise
at the nurse, and then she grabs her by the neck and draws her inside.
She presses her back to the wall, closes the door with her leg.)
E3: You bitch, where the fuck have you been?
(M Wheezes.)
E3: (Frees her clasp.) Did you go through the main entrance?
N: Yes.
E3: Was there somebody in the hall?
N: The porter.
E3: A woman? Was there a woman?
N: Yes.
E3: What was she doing?
N: She was sitting on a sofa, she lit a cigarette.
E3: What did she look like?
N: Nice…
E3: I want to know whether she was nervous or calm or…
N: I don’t know. Where is your mother?
E3: You bitch, you nearly destroyed my life! (She lets the nurse go.)
N: Where is your mother?
E3: She wants me to give you a message that you mustn’t trust
anyone, not even her. She was calling for Agatha or Maria all
the time. Who is Maria?
52
N: She’s talking? She really talked? That’s amazing. The visit was
a little therapy for her. I’m so happy that you can see for
yourself the beneficial effects of your care. Your presence
might have helped her a lot.
E3: (Opens the bathroom door.) Is this woman my mother at all?
(N is standing, looking at the mother on the ground.)
E3: I think that you deceived me.
N: But…
E3: Take her with you and go – at once! If you leave through the
back exit in one minute and promise on your lives, your god
or whatever you respect that none of you will ever show up
here again, I won’t mention this incident to the police. Decide
now, you won’t get a better offer.
N: (Runs to M, tears the bag off, takes her in her arms.) She nearly
stopped breathing!
(Silence.)
A: (Behind the door.) It’s time! We have to go! (A enters, stares in
surprise for a while.) I’ve been waiting there like a fool and
you have a visit?
E3: Can you imagine this? Two strange women off the street just
showed up in my flat, I don’t even know how. One probably
has some health problems or something. That’s why the other
doesn’t want to leave with her.
A: (Laughing.) Just now, when we’re in a hurry, all the local beggars
suddenly appear. OK, I’m in good mood, here you are, some
change. But now you have to go. We have a life-or-death
matter to attend to.
N: But…
E3: Either we’ll ask the porter for help or we’ll throw her out
ourselves. Do you hear me? Take your things, her too and
leave my flat!
(N is crying, unable to say anything.)
53
A: Ok, we’ll handle it. (A Pushes N and M and the chair out.) Good
bye! (Closes the door, to E3.) Next time, just call if someone
threatens you. You know you can count on me.
(E3 puts her clothes on.)
A: Are you ready to launch a proper career? Smile please!
(E3 takes the flowers, smiles. A opens the door. N is standing behind
the door, the dead mother in her arms, looking at E3.)
THE END
54
David Drábek
(1970)
David Drábek is playwright, director
and artistic head of the Klicperovo
Theatre in Hradec Králové. He is graduate of the Arts Faculty of
the Palacký University in Olomouc in the field of film and theatre
studies. At university he co-founded with Darek Král the Studio of
the Burning Giraffe (Studio hořící žirafy), which was specialized
in modern cabaret. In 1996-2001 he worked as dramaturge for the
drama company of the Moravské divadlo in Olomouc. 2001-2003
he led the new alternative stage Burning House (Hořící dům). In
1995 he received the Alfréd Radok Award for best play with Joan
of the Park (Jana z parku, 1994), and the same prize for Aquabelles
(Akvabely, 2003), his play that was later also awarded as the Best
Czech Play of 2005. The same year, the publishing house Větrné
mlýny published a collection of seven of his plays. His play The Coast
of Bohemia (Náměstí bratří Mašínů, 2007) won second place in the
Alfréd Radok Playwriting Competition 2007. This play was later also
awarded as the Best Czech Play of 2009.
As author, director and dramaturge he cooperates with the with
the theatres Klicperovo divadlo in Hradec Králové and the Divadlo
Petra Bezruče in Ostrava. Drábek’s texts are marked by an anecdotal
and epigrammatic quality. A major source of inspiration is film and
television, whose styles he enjoys imitating and parodying in his
grotesque and cabaret texts. Other key themes in his drama are
kitsch, the media world, mass and commercial culture.
55
LIST OF PLAYS (selection):
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
Malá žranice, 1992 (in cooperation with Darek Král)
Hořící žirafy, 1993; première 6. 1. 1995, Divadlo Petra Bezruče,
Ostrava
Jana z parku, 1994; première 21. 4. 1995, Moravské divadlo,
Olomouc
Vařila myšička myšičku, 1995
Kosmická snídaně, 1997
Švédský stůl, 1998; première 23. 2. 1999, Klicperovo divadlo,
Hradec Kralové
Kostlivec v silonkách, 1999; première 13. 12. 1999, Moravské
divadlo, Olomouc
Kuřáci opia, 2000
Kostlivec: Vzkříšení, 2002
Embryo čili Silicon Baby, 2002; première 19. 3. 2004, Divadlo
Petra Bezruče, Ostrava
Akvabely, 2003; première 30. 4. 2005, Klicperovo divadlo,
Hradec Králové
Žabikuch, 2004; première 21. 2. 2005, Studio Citadela, Prague
Sněhurka – Nová generace, 2004; première 26. 2. 2006, Divadlo
Minor, Prague
Čtyřlístek!, 2004 (in cooperation with Petra Zámečníková)
Děvčátko s mozkem, 2005; première 6. 6. 2005, Malé Vinohradské
divadlo, Prague
Planeta opic, 2006; première 19. 11. 2006, Divadlo Minor,
Prague
Ještěři, 2006; première 23.5. 2009, Klicperovo divadlo, Hradec
Kralové
Náměstí bratří Mašínů, 2007; première 10. 10. 2009, Klicperovo
divadlo, Hradec Kralové
Berta (Od soumraku do úsvitu), 2008; première 27. 3. 2008,
Malé Vinohradské divadlo, Prague
Unisex, 2009
56
•
•
•
•
Noc oživlých mrtvol, 2010; première 20. 2. 2010, Klicperovo
divadlo, Hradec Kralové
Sherlock Holmes: Vraždy vousatých žen, 2010; première 18. 12.
2010, Klicperovo divadlo, Hradec Kralové
Koule, 2010; 21. 1. 2011 Český rozhlas
Jedlíci čokolády, 2011; première 21. 5. 2011, Klicperovo divadlo,
Hradec Kralové
TRANSLATED PLAYS:
•
•
•
Akvabely: English – Aquabelles, German – Kunstschwimmer,
Polish – Plywanie synchroniczne, Romanian – Balerinele
acvatice, Spanish – El club de natacion sincronizada
Švédský stůl: Polish – Szwedsky stol
Náměstí bratří Mašínů: English – The Coast of Bohemia
57
David Drábek
THE COAST
OF BOHEMIA
A Play About Immobility
Translated by Štěpán S. Šimek
This play is fully protected under the copyright law of Czech Republic and is
subject to royalty. It cannot be nor used nor changed without an appropriate
written permission given by the DILIA Agency. The providing of this play
to a third party for uses other than production due is also subjected to
DILIA permission.
A violation of this restriction and using this play without the permission will
be interpreted as an infringement of copyright law and will underlie to the civil
and criminal liability.
All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the DILIA Agency
Krátkého 1, Praha 9, 190 03, Czech Republic, www.dilia.cz
58
Characters:
PART 1 – THE GHOSTS OF BOHEMIA:
Wendelin
Petra
Rita
Jerome
Henry
Mikey
Rickie
Radka
Mr. Zabriski
Roo
The Zapper
The Woodpecker
The Cactus
The Shrimp
The Bunny
THE SWAN Woman
The Man Under a Pile of Dung
The Security Guard
PART 2 – THE COASTS OF BOHEMIA
Rita
A Doctor
Wendelin
The Tram Conductor (Elizabeth)
The Suit
The Crutches (Martha)
The Track Suit
The Shortsighted
59
The Young Man
The Girlfriend
The Chinese Tourist
The Giant (Robert)
The Grandmother
The Little Girl
The Bomber
The Swan Woman
Petra
60
PART ONE: THE GHOSTS OF BOHEMIA
1. THE TRAMPLING OFFSPRING
WENDELIN: (From the darkness.) If I were you, I wouldn’t even
turn up the lights on me… You may be expecting something
special, something colossal, but… that’s not what you’ll see.
There’s nothing to applaud. My life isn’t sexy… Well, maybe it
is, that’s if you consider frozen turkey innards something to
get excited about… (Shouting in a different direction) Kids,
can’t you go and run around somewhere else? (Back to us) As
I said, if I were you, I wouldn’t turn on the lights at all, because
I can assure you that I’ll tick you off by my resemblance to you
right from the get go. Just, you know… quietly get up and,
please, leave…
(Lights up on the stage. Wendelin sits on a bulging sofa in the middle
of a living room. He looks like a deer caught in headlights. His wife,
Petra, is basking in the light of a television screen. In the back, two
slightly obese boys with militant expressions on their oily faces are
horsing around.)
WENDELIN: (To the audience.) Alright, if that’s what you want… But
we haven’t even aired the place today, and the grandchildren
are filthy. Their fat wrinkles are full of ketchup and pieces of
spaghetti from dinner.
PETRA: Their parents didn’t teach them how to eat with a knife
and fork.
WENDELIN: You’re right, Petra. Petra. My wife. The name has been
mucked up by the popular Czech cigarette brand. It made it
into some crumpled up piece of dirty cardboard in the back
pocket of trailer trash overalls.
PETRA: Wendelin, on the other hand, is a great name.
WENDELIN: You’re right. Wendelin isn’t that great either. It sounds
like a name of a shortsighted cartoon mouse.
PETRA: From East Germany.
61
WENDELIN: Right, an East German cartoon mouse. It’s a name
suggesting a stupid undertone of merrymaking, or of “having
fun.” Whereas, I’m of course a tedious, morose old bore.
Retired. On disability.
(The boys tip over a table.)
WENDELIN:(To Petra.) What are you watching, anyhow?
PETRA: I don’t know. Some comedy show or something.
WENDELIN: Liz, the girl from the drugstore, says that she heard
about some man who actually laughed watching a comedy
show on TV.
PETRA: You’re kidding.
WENDELIN: No really. He apparently laughed out loud. Liz said
that she could even find out his name if needed. That’s pretty
unique isn’t it? Come on, this isn’t really funny at all. You’re
wasting your time.
PETRA: I may not be laughing out loud, but it gives me joy inside.
So, why don’t you just stop nagging me, mister clever.
(Despite the open space in the back, the obese boys collide. They
pummel each other with their bellies, grunt, fall back onto the floor,
and lay there immobile. Grandpa and Grandma jump up from their
shabby sofa and run towards them.)
PETRA: Boys, what is this? What do you think you’re doing!?
WENDELIN: They just ran into each other in the middle of the
living room for no good reason.
PETRA: They’re not moving.
WENDELIN: They’ve knocked each other out.
(Petra slaps the boys in the face repeatedly, maybe a bit harder than
necessary. )
WENDELIN: Every Boy Scout would spit on them. Look how fat
they are.
PETRA: Oh stop it… They have good appetites, so what?
WENDELIN: Even as babies you couldn’t tie a bib around their
necks, because you couldn’t find a gap between their chin and
chest. They looked like lobsters, with their bulging ribcages.
62
PETRA: Don’t be disgusting, and call Henry. They’re supposed to
be home by four anyhow.
WENDELIN: Look, Mickey just moved a bit.
PETRA: Rickie just moved. Mickey’s the other one.
WENDELIN: I can’t tell them apart without my glasses. It’s just like
when I was trying to choose some pork chops at the store the
other day, I couldn’t tell which one…
PETRA: You’re awful – just go away. You’ve got that job interview
today, so please leave now before you drive me completely
mad. Henry, did you fall asleep in there? Can you hear me?
HENRY: (From under the restroom door.) What?
PETRA: It’s time for you and the boys to mosey on home so that Jane
won’t get mad again. Can you hear me?
HENRY: Sure thing. We’re leaving in a jiff y.
WENDELIN: Son, do you realize that I haven’t seen you for years.
I don’t even know what you look like any more. And when you
visit, all you do is sit in the bathroom.
HENRY: Yep.
WENDELIN: You think that’s normal? Not to mention those stupid
magazines we’ve got in there. Since when do you read “Good
Housekeeping,” son? “National Enquirer?” Since when, son?
PETRA: Just leave. Please. Go to your interview, please. Get going.
Otherwise we’ll start fighting, and he’ll stop visiting with the
kids altogether…
WENDELIN: Right. I’d really miss all those wise things he’s got to
say: Yep… sure thing…no problem… chill… you know… I’m,
like, whatever…, …
PETRA: Please, just be gone. You’re a real pain in the a…
WENDELIN: Not in front of the boys, OK? Look, now
Mickey’s moving too…
(Wendelin grabs his raincoat and his briefcase, and disappears
behind the front door. Lights out.)
63
2. THE AVENUE
(City center. Jerome and Rita, standing on opposite sides of a busy
street, are stealing glances at each other. Rita, her right arm raised,
holds a magazine entitled ‘National Awakening’. Jerome, his left arm
raised, holds a magazine called ‘Street Roots’.)
RITA: (To herself.) Is he winking at me, or what was that? I can’t
believe it. Yes he’s definitely winking. Now he did it again.
Yeah, sure. Its’ like I’m going to wink back at you, right, you
dirty bum. Some hobo.
JEROME: (To himself, but in the end quite audibly.) Wow, look how
she chatters. With her teeth. Not her real teeth any longer
I guess, but still… its so graceful. She’s a lady alright. Poor
thing, underestimated the cold.
RITA: I better move somewhere else.
JEROME: (Calling after her and waving.) Hello, young lady there,
‘afternoon!
RITA: Young lady, you bet… (She notices that against her will she
has waved back at him.) And then you go and wave at him,
that’s great, just great. (She turns around fixing her clothes
and hair.)
Sure, now fix yourself too, check if you look sharp… You’ve
really hit the bottom, my dear… (To Jerome.) What?
JEROME: I beg your pardon?
RITA:You actually replied to him! It must be the cold… I guess I feel
sorry for him, poor thing. Come on RITA:, you shouldn’t deny
that little cripple a bit of kindness. Besides, I’m sure he lives
on cheap wine from a plastic bottle and has purple feet with
long yellow toenails – haha!
(Rita startles, because Jeroma is now standing next to her.)
JEROME: Almost banged your head into the shop window, right?
I’m sorry, I didn’t want to scare you.
RITA: Do you need something?
JEROME: No.
64
RITA: You’re … homeless, aren’t you? (Aside, whispering.) No,
he’s a pilot, right? What a stupid question!
JEROME: It’s very theatrical, the way you talk to yourself…
sideways…
RITA: Well, I do love the theatre, you know? (Again, she looks
“sideways” with a horrified expression.)
JEROME: Do you think I smell bad?
RITA: What? No. Yes. I mean no. What do I care. It’s your business.
(She hands him the magazine.) Here, take one.
JEROME: Thanks. I can’t give you one of mine. I’m sorry. Cash only,
you know? (Indicating a medallion pinned to his coat.) I’ve got
a license, see. (In a singing voice to Wendelin, who is passing
by.) Street Roots – latest edition, interesting stories, only a few
pennies…
WENDELIN: No thank you – I’m a Fascist. (He passes, but returns
immediately.)
That wasn’t funny. I’m sorry. I’ll take one. (Wendelin pays, and
hurries on to his job interview.)
JEROME: Some character, eh?
RITA: Do you always sing it?
JEROME: I’m trying to make the sales a bit more interesting, you
know…
RITA: Are you an alto?
JEROME: No, I’m Jerome:. What’s your name?
RITA: I don’t say it out loud. My name doesn’t suit me. It’s too worldly
and… kind of cabaret-like. My parents were too ambitious.
JEROME: OK, I get it.
RITA: RITA. My name is Rita. (Aside.) You never cease to surprise
me!
JEROME: Rita… Yeah, you’re right, it kind of reminds me of some
broad with one of those feather thingies round her neck…
RITA: Boa. With a boa. I should be going.
JEROME: Hey listen. Since you gave me the “National Awakening”,
how ‘bout I pay you back with a cup of coffee. Sort of a poor
65
people’s awakening. I’ve made more than enough today for
two from a vending machine.
RITA: Mister! I’m a married woman, and I have strong moral
convictions. I’m… I’m… a total clean freak… good bye!
3. THE INTERVIEW
(A tastelessly appointed office of the Metropolitan Public Transit
Office. Wendelin is being interviewed by a colorless bureaucrat
named Benjamin Zabriski.)
ZABRISKI: (Putting down a file he just finished reading.) You’re
disabled.
WENDELIN: Among other things, yes, if I may say so.
ZABRISKI: I beg your pardon?
WENDELIN: What I mean to say is that I don’t want “disabled” to
be the only thing written on my gravestone.
ZABRISKI: Your grave’s your business, OK. So, what’s wrong with
you?
WENDELIN: Compulsion to repeat sounds. (Zabriski raises his
eyebrows in anticipation.)
I can’t resist repeating certain sounds – theme songs, jingles,
different car and truck horns, animal sounds, and stuff like
that. (Zabriski’s phone rings. He looks at Wendelin probingly.)
WENDELIN: I don’t necessarily repeat everything.
ZABRISKI: Ever been in a funny farm because of that?
WENDELIN: You’re very direct… no, it’s not like I’m a psychopath.
But it did make teaching high school very difficult.
ZABRISKI: You seriously got on disability because you repeat
cat’s meowing?
WENDELIN: There’s also something wrong with my heart.
ZABRISKI: Why do you want to be a fare inspector?
WENDELIN: Adrenalin. I need adrenalin. Fare inspector is an
embarrassing profession, and…
66
ZABRISKI: What do you mean embarrassing? They shouldn’t be
riding for free – those assholes!
WENDELIN: … and it is mutually degrading. And… and I need
a more flexible work schedule, and… I need to get out of the
house.
ZABRISKI: You may need to deal with some pretty gnarly characters
sometimes, you know that?
WENDELIN: I’m not afraid
(A pasty-faced female clerk in squeaky shoes enters. Wendelin
immediately, and completely accurately, recreates the squeaky sound
with his mouth. Zabriski and the pasty-faced clerk stare at him in
amazement. Lights out.)
4. THE TRAIN STATION
(This time Rita is standing in the arrival hall of the Prague main train
station. She is again selling her magazine, ‘National Awakening’. Next
to her stands a tall boney woman. Jerome stealthily approaches from
the ticket counter. He is trying to slick back his dirty, tangled, and
unmanageable hair.)
JEROME: ‘s me again… Don’t be scared, don’t run away. (A little
packet wrapped in a fat-stained paper falls out his coat pocket.)
Shoot… the bologna! I’m sorry, my dinner, you know. (Rita
doesn’t react, the tall boney woman next to her even less so.)
Obviously, I’m not trying to mess with your marriage, really
I’m not. And voilà. (He pulls some coins from his pocket and
puts them into the cash box hanging round his neck.) I have
just purchased for you a copy of the latest ‘Street Roots’. On
the page before last is a story about me.
RITA: (Pointing towards the tall woman.) That’s Radka.
(Radka appears to be either made of stone or to be a yogi-like creature;
she doesn’t flinch.)
JEROME: Hi Radka. I’m…
67
(Roo, a little man with an extremely bushy beard and hair creeps up
behind Jerome.)
ROO: This is my spot.
JEROME: I’m not working, Roo.
ROO: This is my spot. This is my spot! My spot!!!
JEROME: And I’m telling you that I’m not here to work today. I’m
here on a private matter.
ROO: This is my sales spot!
JEROME: You deaf or what? I’m telling you that…
RITA: Let’s go…
JEROME: What would you expect – Roo’s an old junkie. Only a year
ago he was stumbling about, sniffing glue from a paper bag,
and now he’s thinks he’s mister hotshot.
RITA: The coffee’s on me. (She looks around, pointing to a little coffee
bar in the middle of the main train station arrival hall.) Lets
go over there – it’s called Dallmeier… Sounds sort of Viennese,
don’t you think? Only the barista is wearing a turban.
(Rita and Jerome walk towards the coffee bar, leaving the statue-like
Radka behind.)
JEROME: (Referring to Radka.) Is she always so pissed?
RITA: She’s waiting for the end of the world.
JEROME: When’s that coming?
RITA: It was supposed to be on May 28th. This being September
already, she’s a bit annoyed.
JEROME: Can I cheer her up somehow?
RITA: No. Not unless you have a nuclear bomb handy. Plus, she’
s rented out her apartment since June for a dollar a year, and
she’s been living with us since then.
JEROME: Your husband’s fine with that?
RITA: My husband doesn’t move.
JEROME: Is that so?
RITA: He sleeps. Jerome.
Oh, is he in that artificial, you know…
68
RITA: In a coma you mean? No. He’s perfectly healthy. (To the
turbaned barista.) I’ll have … this… Mocaccino. No sugar.
(Back to Jerome.) He comes home from work and goes to
sleep. He used to go to sleep at eleven at night. Then at ten, at
nine, eight, half-past-seven, at six, half-past four, and now he
usually goes to bed somewhere between half-past three and
four in the afternoon.
JEROME: Wow.
RITA: And now he ‘s arranged to work part-time so that he can go
to sleep by noon.
JEROME: Is he narcoleptic?
RITA: No. He tells me not to take it personally, and says that sleeping
simply makes him feel wonderful. That those dreams are his
world, and that they allow him to be himself. We have no
children, so I let him sleep. We’ve been together for thirty
years; he’s got the right to want a change in the relationship.
JEROME: I really admire the way you deal with it.
RITA: You do stink today, I do have to say. Lets buy Radka a sandwich
and a body wash for you…
(She is leaving.)
JEROME: And will you read the story about me?
(He finishes his coffee in a paper cup, and follows her. Lights out.)
5. NIGHT WATCH
(Petra and Wendelin are reading in bed. Wendelin reads a newspaper,
Petra a library book wrapped in a protective plastic cover.
Wendelin’s pyjama top is buttoned all the way up, which is unusual
for him. The book in Petra’s hands begins to sag – she’s falling asleep.)
PETRA: I think I’m ready to turn in…
WENDELIN: Wait, I want to read you something, OK?
PETRA: Is it long?
WENDELIN: No.
69
PETRA: OK. Instead of a good night kiss… (She quickly glances at
him.)
WENDELIN: A tragic accident occurred yesterday in the village
of Nova Ves. Fifty-eight-year-old Richard W. was caught
under an overturned trailer filled with pig dung… the trapped
man had evidently suffocated under the pressure of the
dung. The accident was reported by a regional government
spokeswoman… she added that …. according to preliminary
information… etc, etc… Now that’s something isn’t it?
PETRA: Very appetizing, thank you. Instead of a good night kiss…
WENDELIN: No wait, I think that this adds insult to injury.
PETRA: That he suffocated under a heap of dung? Isn’t it worse if
you freeze to death?
WENDELIN: No, no, no, that’s not what it’s about. Just imagine how
he ended up, this…
(Wendelin’s vision seems to have stunned him for a moment. Lit by
the bedside lamp and in his buttoned-up pyjama top, he looks like
a suffering martyr.)
WENDELIN: (Continuing.) …maybe he was a decent, honorable,
principled human being. Maybe he didn’t steal, didn’t cheat,
didn’t abuse his wife, didn’t drink, was helping others in need,
and didn’t care about politics. He never lied, he read poetry,
continued educating himself, and searched for the meaning of
life, and… today, if he becomes a topic of conversation, people
will say: yeah, that’s that guy who got buried under a heap of
dung. And then they’ll either try hard not to crack up, or – and
this is more likely – they’ll split their sides laughing.
PETRA: That will never happen to you, darling.
WENDELIN: Because nobody will ever remember me. They’ll go
like: Wait, Wendelin, WENDELIN… Which one was he? Was
he the guy that… you know… the one with that…? No, no,
I think maybe he was… Or was he the other one with the…
you know what…? I really don’t remember exactly… Oh well…
whatever…
70
PETRA: You’re anxious, aren’t you? You need to take it easy on your
weak heart, you know that, don’t you? By the way, how did the
interview go today? Did they want you? And if not, don’t let
it get you d…
WENDELIN: They did. I’m going to be a fare inspector.
(There is a relatively long silence, then…)
PETRA: Lets discuss that over breakfast tomorrow, OK? I’m beat.
Just after you left, Mickey broke the shoe shelf.
WENDELIN: If you think it’s a stupid idea you can say so. It’s fine
with me.
PETRA: Let’s not talk about it now, OK…
WENDELIN: You can say it, it’s fine.
PETRA: Well… It has a bit of a secret police feel to it. It’s a little
STASI-like.
WENDELIN: What do you mean? That’s completely absurd!
PETRA: It’s just the feeling I have.
WENDELIN: I’m going to fix that shoe shelf.
PETRA: But don’t overdo it, else you won’t be able to fall asleep
again.
(Lights out.)
6. THE WAIT
(Rita is pacing back and forth on a sidewalk.)
RITA: Nice job, girl. Here you are waiting for a hobo on a street
corner, and he’s thirty-seven minutes late, and you’re waiting
around like a leghorn, which, as we know from crossword
puzzles, is a breed of white chicken… so here you are, loafing
about the street like a piece of stale bread, while mister
homeless is taking his time. (Aside.) Leave me in peace will
you!? Maybe he had an accident… (Back to her normal voice)
Yeah, sure. Somebody stole the urine-soaked sleeping mat
that he keeps under a bridge somewhere. A terrible crime…
71
(Aside again.) What if he got beaten up by skinheads, I don’t
know… (Back to her normal voice) One bum more or less, who
cares… (Aside.) Now, that would be a bit too theatrical, don’t
you think, sweetie…?
(An hour later. It begins to drizzle.)
Oh for god’s sake… Ninety-two minutes late. That’s it. I’m
done! I can’t believe that I even put on lipstick… for some
stinkpot! (She quickly looks around, afraid that someone has
overheard her.) Oh my god, those two tramps over there are
checking me out. I’m sure they think I do quickies for food
stamps… What am I doing here…? I mean who else should
be on time if not the homeless…? I’m cold. I’m going. I was
actually looking forward to it.
(Lights out.)
7. A MANATEE UNDER THE SHADOW OF A DAISY
(Wendelin paces up and down. He walks in straight, narrow lines
towards the back and the front of his living room, and than back and
front again. His arm repeatedly shoots away from his body revealing
an open palm. It reminds us of a morning Tai Chi exercise in front of
a Chinese factory. Alternatively it could also be a dance of ibises, if
you think about it. Or, with some imagination, it could be like one of
those alternative movement theatre troupes of Russian vegetarians
who convulse naked on the floor, and during the whole performance
you worry whether they have a magnesium deficiency, and try to
figure out who is male and who’s female. Every so often Wendelin
mumbles something.)
WENDELIN: What? Aha? And why not? You don’t have one? Wait
a moment! No problem. (Petra stands by the door, and watches
him with rapt attention.) Whatever you want, feel free to hit
me, if that’s what you want… (He screams, falls over onto the
carpet, and holds his belly.)
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PETRA: Wendelin? Did you join a community theatre behind my
back? (Wendelin, laying immobile on his side, stares ahead.)
You don’t love me any longer, is that it?
(Wendelin doesn’t move.)
WENDELIN: I’m rehearsing for possible occurrences in fare control
situations.
PETRA: Are you planning to get beaten up?
WENDELIN: Anything’s possible. This young boy for example had
no idea what’d gotten into him when he attacked me.
PETRA: I see…
WENDELIN: He had screws, rivets and rings sunk into his face so
that somebody would notice him. He just gulped down eight
cans of RedBull, and he had his skateboard that he’d saved up
for two years tucked under the seat. He had a termite hill of
hair and gel piled on top his head, but still, nobody noticed
him,. Not his parents, not his buddies, not the girls. Until
I did. The fare inspector.
(Short silence.)
PETRA: Maybe you should see somebody?
(Wendelin quietly lies on the floor.)
WENDELIN:(Barely audible.) What for?
PETRA: You’re inventing kids that beat you up.
(Wendelin doesn’t say a word.)
PETRA: You are not happy, are you?
(Silence. Then from the street below the sound of a streetcar bell.
Wendelin imitates the sound faithfully.)
PETRA: Look, your slipper flew all the way behind the armchair.
(She pulls something from behind the armchair.) Look, I found
a Sudoku book. (Pause.) Henry brought the costumes for the ball.
WENDELIN: Why didn’t he stay a while…
PETRA: He’s here. In the restroom. Aren’t you Hank?
HENRY Yep.
PETRA: I’m telling your father that you brought us the funny
costumes.
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HENRY: Yep.
WENDELIN: You let him have the new “Good Housekeeping,”
didn’t you? The one with Christmas cookies recipes.
PETRA: There are no magazines in the bathroom! I moved them
into this stand over here. Just don’t start fighting again. I’ll get
the costumes.
(Petra leaves. Wendelin sits down, and absentmindedly pulls an
especially colorful magazine from the aforementioned stand.)
WENDELIN: (Squints and reads.) We’ll give you the body of
a twenty-five-year-old, but let you keep your wisdom… (His
eyes grow wide in alarm, and he magazine falls from his hands
onto the carpet. To the Audience.) You want to know when I got
old? When I suddenly became an old man, even though up until
that moment, getting old never even crossed my mind? It had
nothing to do with the heart episode or my disability, no sir. It
happened the first time someone offered me a seat in a crowded
streetcar. When that young lady saw in me the pallid, shriveled
up creature that I’ve become. That was the breaking point. Ever
since that moment I have become a figure of a man encased in
wax. Nothing from the outside penetrates the casing. I don’t feel
anything. But since I always rinse my coffee cup after myself,
and since I’m what people consider witty, nobody, except that
young lady, has noticed yet. Therefore, I will attempt to enter
the arena of a streetcar, and by inspecting fares, come back
to life again. And if I don’t wake up then, I’ll join a chicken
farm where a crowd of large broilers desperately crow over each
other, and I will compulsively repeat their crows until I become
one of them, and in the end the good people will eat me up…
(He again aimlessly fingers through the magazine, squints and
starts reading anew.) The story of a girl who escaped unscathed
after a rhinoceros stood on her earlobe for half-an-hour…
(Enters Petra with a big pile of costumes in her arms.)
PETRA: This will crack you up.
WENDELIN: I’m sure it will.
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PETRA: Here, this is yours, and I’ll be the flower.
(Wendelin crows.)
PETRA: What was it? Nobody’s keeping chickens around here…
WENDELIN: I’m sorry.
PETRA: (Examining her costume.) This is some stretch fabric or
something… I’ll have to put it on naked, so I’m going to the
bathroom to change and then I’ll come show you how I look,
OK? Isn’t this fun?
WENDELIN: (Trying to untangle a grayish ball of material.) And
I’m going to be what?
PETRA: (Helping him.) Not like this. This is how it goes. See, this is
the head with the snout.
WENDELIN: I’ll be a pig?
PETRA: No, not a pig. You’ll be a… what is it… like mannequin of
something… it lives in the ocean… you know… (Towards the
restroom door.) Hankie, what’s the animal dad’s going to be?
HENRY: A manatee.
PETRA: (Trying to dress Wendelin in the costume by pulling the
grayish material over his suit.) And now he swims underwater,
and his little eyes are… (She starts laughing. Her laughter
sounds genuinely nice.) You look absolutely adorable, dad!
Hankie, come and look at your daddy, he’s a riot.
HENRY: Hmm…
WENDELIN: Trying to breathe in this thing is gonna be fun…
(Petra runs off to the bathroom. Wendelin finishes putting on his
costume. The ball of the manatee’s snout bonces against his nose. He
is almost disappearing in the grayish mass of the material. Suddenly
the wall of the apartment starts dissolving, and a vision appears. It
is as if the wall starts to bulge and bend, and the plaster liquifies. An
enormous manatee, or – as this particular kind of a sea creature is
also called – sea cow slowly swims into the newly formed depressions
among the wavy peelings of paint and plaster on the wall. The
creature almost deliberately ploughs through the space between the
armoire and the framed oil painting of an autumn harvest scene. Tied
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to the end of its tail by strings, the manatee is pulling several tin cans.
Colorful strips of fabric, various beads, rice, photographs, confetti,
little plastic stars, etc… are streaming out of the cans. The creature
lingers for a while and then slowly swims away, as the vision fades.
At that point, Petra enters the room. She is now fully costumed as
a gigantic daisy. Her face is lined with daisy petals, her trunk, tightly
packed in a green elastic suit, represents the stem of the flower, and
green leaves are fastened to her wrists.)
PETRA: (Singing and dancing to the tune of Frank Sinatra’s song.)
Sunflower good mornin.’ You sure do make it like a sunny day.
Sunflower fair warnin.” I’m gonna love you if you come my way
– well daddy, what do you think?
WENDELIN: Sunflower?
PETRA: Daisy.
(Wendelin watches Petra’s sprightly dance. Her costume allows her to
move wildly, bordering on a break dance, which surprises her as much
as it surprises Wendelin.)
WENDELIN: We are a fine pair of misfits, aren’t we? A sea monster
and a flower. Something tells me we’re going to win a crystal
chandelier in the raffle.
PETRA: (In the direction of the restroom.) Hankie, it’ time to flush
and mosey on home. Your dad and I are leaving for the ball
now. And don’t forget to tell Jane that we’re taking the kids
right after lunch tomorrow, OK? (She bends over to pick up
something by the wall.) What are those old photos doing here?
And an empty spam can?
(Lights out.)
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8. THE GATE KEEPERS
(In front of the grand entrance to a large ballroom on an island on the
Moldau. A crowd of masked ball-goers are streaming up the marble
staircase toward the entrance. Since it is dusk and there is a fine
drizzle, the whole scene creates an illusion that there are no human
beings under the masks and costumes. The creatures look real. This
is especially true of the various animal and plant costumes. There
is an elephant calf here, a tulip there, Clifford the Big Red Dog over
here, etc…
The only distinctly human beings are Rita, Radka, and a nervouslooking Security Guard. Rita holds a magazine in her right hand
raised above her head, and Radka clutches the wooden stick of a sign
with the words “THE END IS COMING!” The oversized animals and
plants pass by them without showing any interest. Jerome appears.)
JEROME: Good evening, Rita. You too, Radka.
(Rita doesn’t react. Neither does Radka, but nobody expects her to
anyhow…)
JEROME: You’re angry with me aren’t you? I mean because I didn’t
show up the other day. Can I explain?
RITA: I don’t care.
JEROME: You don’t?
RITA: No I don’t. I really couldn’t care less. (With her left hand, she
makes a gesture as if throwing something over her head.)
JEROME: I see. So… you’re selling TV Guides now?
(Rita glances at what it is that she’s actually holding in her hand, and
quickly hides the TV Guide in her handbag. Than she looks away and
freezes.)
JEROME: Rita, please, please talk to me. (He kneels.)
I beg you.
(The nervous Security Guard approaches.)
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SECURITY GUARD: (To Jerome.) Hey, mister, what’s going on here?
You going to the ball? Or are you bumming money or what?
(To Rita.) Is he bothering you?
JEROME: Leave me in peace.
SECURITY GUARD: Do you have a ticket to the ball or something?
RITA: The gentlemen is helping me to find my mask.
SECURITY GUARD: Oh, in that case …
RITA: I’m supposed to be a chinchilla, but must have dropped the
headband with the ears… and the fangs.
SECURITY GUARD: Yeah… My boss wanted me to be decked up
too, so I’m supposed to wear this thing … (He pulls a beaver
snout with large protruding fangs over his face.) I mean, look at
it! How the hell am I supposed to do my job in a thing like that?
I can’t even eat my sandwich with it on! I mean, everybody
would laugh at me if I tried to enforce anything. (He thinks
for a while.) I mean, would you respect anything I said if I was
wearing that thing?
(He leaves.)
JEROME: You handled it terrifically.
RITA: We’d better go somewhere else. Let’s have some tea on the
riverside walk.
SECURITY GUARD: (Returning.) By the way, what’s this thing
actually supposed to be – a beaver or a nutria, or what?
RITA: A beaver.
JEROME: Beaver, definitely.
SECURITY GUARD: OK. Thanks. And for god’s sake, take a shower
man!
(He leaves.)
RITA: You really do smell terribly today.
JEROME: I know. Listen Rita, I’d rather go down to the park and
sit under the trees. I have some punch in the thermos, that’ll
warm you up.
RITA: We could watch the river go by.
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(They are slowly walking away from the illuminated entrance leaving
Radka behind. Standing perfectly still among the steady flow of
arriving creatures, with her sign held high above their heads, she looks
like a pole of a sinking sailboat.
The next two scenes will be played simultaneously in two different
settings: the ballroom, where the costume ball is in full swing, and the
park ,where Rita and Jeroma are drinking punch.)
9. SHRIMP COCKTAIL
(Wendelin, the manatee, and Petra, the daisy, are sitting at a table.
Their table mates are a Woodpecker and a Cactus. The Woodpecker
nibbles on peanuts, the Cactus yawns. Petra, the daisy, sways back
and forth to imaginary music, and Wendelin, the manatee, sweats
profusely.)
PETRA: (Excited and cheery.) I bet you don’t know who’s the
headliner tonight. You don’t, do you?
WENDELIN: No. You tell me.
PETRA: He was that idol of our youth, the one who looked like
Garry Glitter. He called himself The Zapper, sang in English,
and did all this crazy dancing, and used to bang the amps with
his guitar. You know him.
WENDELIN: Oh yeah, that one. But he must be way over sixty by
now, surely?
PETRA: Way over… and as little as he is, he’s also put on few pounds
lately. I see him eating lunches in our cafeteria every day. And
he still colors his hair, and wears, like, ten gold chains round
his neck.
WENDELIN: I can hardly wait…
WOODPECKER: Peanuts?
WENDELIN: No thank you. Peck on.
WOODPECKER: I’m Willie, and this prickly pear here is Eddie. (To
Petra.) Watch out, he’s got some nasty pricks.
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(The Woodpecker bursts out laughing at his own joke.)
WENDELIN (To Petra.): Lets dance…
PETRA: The band’s not playing…
(Wendelin drags her by the leaf on her wrist into the middle of the
ballroom.)
WENDELIN: Why do we have to sit with those morons?
WOODPECKER: (Calling after them.) Hey, watch you don’t get
deflowered young lady! Haha!
(The Cactus stops yawning and waves his prickly hand for a waiter,
to order more alcohol.)
PETRA: Why are you so morose?
WENDELIN: Did you really want to watch me strangle a woodpecker,
the dentist of the woods? No seriously, I’m boiling in this
manatee suit. Look… over there. There’s a woman dressed
as a shrimp.
PETRA: I know her. She works in accounting. But she’s a slut.
A nymphomaniac., and she’s already three sheets to the wind.
(The Shrimp twirls her purse, and with her wobbly thin legs practices
different dance steps. She sees Wendelin.)
THE SHRIMP: Hello, Mr. Whale.
WENDELIN: Manatee.
THE SHRIMP: Who cares… you’re just like me… we are both gifts
of the sea; frutti di mare…
PETRA: (To Wendelin.) You’d better go and buy some raffle tickets.
I’ll be right back. (Referring to her costume) This is tight as
a drum too, just to let you know.
(They are leaving. The Shrimp bumps into a grizzly bear carrying two
plastic cups of beer.)
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10. A DRINK
(Rita and Jerome are picnicking under a tree. It is night.)
RITA: (Holding a thermos in her hand.) The lid’s pretty mucky, but
the tea is excellent.
JEROME: Let me wipe it off…
RITA: No, no, it would make it even muckier… why didn’t you come
the other day?
JEROME: I couldn’t move.
RITA: Great. You remind me of someone I know too well… Rita, the
woman who immobilizes men.
JEROME: Some mornings I wake up, and I can’t do anything at all.
(Rita extracts something from her mouth.)
RITA: I found a…
JEROME: Clove. Just throw it overhead. Oh, you threw it into your
hair. You have very nice hair.
RITA: It’s colored., and it’s horribly… nappy. Some days it gets
so thick that I lose a pencil in it, and I can’t find it for days.
Sometimes for two weeks. Mostly it only comes out when
I sneeze really hard… Is there rum in this?
JEROME: A little bit. Rita, did you read about me in Street Roots?
RITA: Of course. I even clipped you out. I could barely recognize
you on that picture though.
JEROME: That’s because I don’t know how to look into the camera…
Did you also read how my life turned upside down?
RITA: I did. That you were locked up, for eight years.
JEROME: And?
RITA: I bought pepper spray.
JEROME: I’m a murderer, Rita. I killed a fellow man.
(A moment of silence.)
JEROME: My own brother.
(Silence.)
RITA: Why?
JEROME: Because.
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RITA: I see.
(Silence.)
JEROME: That’s the worst thing about it. I killed my brother and
I was neither drunk nor very upset when I did it. It was just
some dormant fire inside me that suddenly flared up and
I really wanted to punch him in the face because he was
emotionally blackmailing our mother, and I thought that the
punch in the face would be like in the movies where such
things always make a difference. So I did it, and he fell back
and stopped moving. They say he burst some little vein in his
head, or something.
RITA: That’s…
JEROME: And then everything fell apart. My family, my work, then
prison… I loved my brother, I loved him terribly. We never
ever fought before, not even as kids. And then, suddenly my
knuckles are burning, and he’s lying there lifeless, one of his
arms hanging over the side of the sofa… He looked like an
overturned cardboard figure…
RITA: It sounds to me more like an unfortunate accident than
a murder.
JEROME: Who cares. Because of that one punch I lost everything.
My mother died of grief a few months later, my wife left me
and took my child, my friends tried, but they really couldn’t
because I made them nervous, so they would avoid me
whenever they could, and then in the slammer, I got this
depression, which I still haven’t gotten out of, and everything
I ever owned went down the drain…
(Silence.)
JEROME: (Continues.) And when I got out, the idiot that I am, I also
hit the bottle, and that black hole in my head, that tunnel of my
anxiety grew wider and wider, and there was nothing I could
do to make it stop growing, there was no lid to cover it with,
no nothing..
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RITA: But you do keep some hope, do you?
(Jerome stares at his boots for a while, and then rubs his face with
both hands.)
11. HOMO ZAPPER
(The plant and animal life in the ballroom comes to attention; the
MC announces the entrance of The Zapper. An older, small, roundish
gentleman all decked up with heavy gold and silver chains gallops
onto the stage. Fake leather pants. His long thinning hair which is
augmented by a wavy perm is absurdly tied back with a bandana.
His tight, colorful, and partially unbuttoned shirt and a sequined vest
reveal excessive amounts of gray chest hair.)
THE ZAPPER: (Trying to work the crowd.) Far out! You’re an
awesome audience! I mean, I haven’t been on stage for almost
fifteen years, but let me tell ya I haven’t seen a crowd like
that, ever (Pointing to the audience) Hi there – what are you…
a wolverine?! Nice piece of flesh you brought with you. What
is she – an antelope? OK, do we want to get some groove
going? Do you want to rock’n’roll?! Are you on the bus or
off the bus?! You know what I mean. Lets hit it! (He tries to
make a leg split, bumps into the mike stand which falls off the
stage, and he hits his tailbone on an amp.) I’m getting hot, I’m
feeling like dynamite. I’m The Zapper, but they used to call me
Nick Jugger, haha! (As he attempts to make a hand stand, his
numerous chains rip out fistfuls of chest hair, and the buttons
of his tight shirt snap, allowing his fat stomach to spill out in
all its porky majesty.)
PETRA: Wendelin, stay here, don’t run away. He’s just a little
nervous, that’s all.
THE ZAPPER: Well, boys and girls, the world today doesn’t
look kindly at music that comes straight from the heart.
Everything’s computer-like, everything’s “virtual.” All feelings
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are fake nowadays. Hey you girls there, stop shaving your arm
pits, fuck’em, fuck’em all. And to all of you guys out there: go
on and smell of sweat; it’s OK to grab your crotch! Because
that’s who your are. The first song, I’m going to dedicate to
that little Bambi over there. (He blows her a kiss.)
THE WOODPECKER: (From his table.) Hit it, Zappster! (To the
Cactus.) Wake up, dick, this is like history in the making!
THE CACTUS: Did you eat all the peanuts?
(The Zapper “hits it,” and no words can express the disaster that
follows. He sings in sixties “English,” but it is not English, it’s some
incoherent pseudo-English. But no wonder. His idea of what English
is supposed to sound like is the direct outcome of the isolation brought
about by the proverbial Iron Curtain. It is a rambling mixture of
sounds that are supposed to resemble English words, a gibberish that
should have disappeared along with the aforementioned curtain. But
thanks to The Zapper, it has survived…)
WENDELIN: Help…
(The Zapper is now in the “groove,” which is evidenced by the showers
of sweat making puddles on the stage. After he finishes his song, he
freezes in a heroic posture, eagerly expecting audience reaction –
which, when it eventually comes, is less then stormy. A pair of Bunnies
stops at Wendelin’s and Petra’s table.)
A BUNNY: Well hello there. If it isn’t the Weleks
PETRA: And who might you be, Mr. Ears?
A BUNNY: Pete Banasek, who else!
PETRA: Oh, Hellooooo! Amazing costume, I totally didn’t recognize
you! Jenny darling, that bunny suit makes you look slim as
a rake.
A BUNNY: It’s not…
PETRA: Maybe I should have chosen a thinner flower too…
haha!… But seriously Jenny, we should talk about that Sudoku
competition, so that we …
A BUNNY: (Indicates “time out” with his bunny paws.) Hey, hey,
ehm, wait, it’s not Jenny, it’s… eh…
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(The Bunnies are quickly moving on.)
PETRA: What does he mean its not Jenny?
WENDELIN: He got himself a younger one.
PETRA: What…
WENDELIN: What I’m saying is that he’s got himself some younger
rabbit meat… one that makes fresher droppings and can jump
much higher … that’s what I’m saying.
PETRA: That bastard… But then again, it’s true that Jenny would
never fit into a bunny like that.
WENDELIN: Well, then she could go for a rabbit hutch, makes no
difference.
PETRA: That’s not funny, you know…
THE ZAPPER: What’s up kids? Did you dig my first tune?
(The Shrimp appears from the crowd.)
THE SHRIMP: (To The Zapper.) Are you serious or what? What was
that all about?
THE ZAPPER: What was what?
THE SHRIMP: Are you like a retard or something?
THE ZAPPER: (Wiping his face and the back of his neck with
a towel.) Chill out, baby…
THE SHRIMP: Do you even know any English whatsoever?
(The Zapper stops dead and suddenly ages by fifty lightyears. Then
he slowly walks away.)
PETRA: You didn’t need to do that. He’s old school that’s all. There
wasn’t much English around under the Communists. So what?
The Zapper has never been the sharpest knife in the drawer,
that’s true, but he did have the moves…
THE SHRIMP: You… you… old geranium bitch, why don’t you go
back to your compost heap too?
(Suddenly The Zapper runs back, and slaps The Shrimp in the face
with such force that she keels over to the floor.)
THE ZAPPER: What do you know about life? What the fuck do
you know about how night after night we worked our asses
off in extra jobs so that we could buy some crappy second-
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hand guitars? How happy we were with our first combo amp?
How we wanted to be the Zeppelins, and how we made music
almost for free, but from the heart? What do you people today
know about how little we needed to be happy then? How
I used to go to Hungary to buy vinyl on the black market, and
how I would open a bottle of cheap wine when I got my hands
on a new Iron Maiden album? Who do you think you are to
write us off over and over again, as if everything on this blue
planet had begun only with you?
(The Zapper kicks The Shrimp on the floor, and is half taken off, and
half leaving of his own volition. The Shrimp is dragged to safety by
the Security Guard. The beaver snout keeps pushing up over his eyes,
and he almost trips over The Shrimp. He angrily tears the mask off
and tosses it over to the balcony.
Petra is crying, and Wendelin: leads her to the table, where The
Cactus continues drinking one beer after another.)
PETRA: He didn’t deserve such an awful humiliation. He was always
broke, and because of his love for music his wife kicked him
out of the apartment, and he had to live in a hostel somewhere,
and he used to wear the same fake jeans jacket every day,
and he had this shabby orange comb sticking out of the back
pocket of his washed out Wranglers…
WENDELIN: That must have been years ago, wasn’t it?
PETRA: (Wailing.) And he was so horribly lonely, always trying to
bribe girls with a glass of wine to get laid. And I was one of
the girls! Because I felt sorry for him! But still, the sex wasn’t
that bad; I don’t care what others say!
THE WOODPECKER: Holy-moly matrimony!
WENDELIN: (To The Woodpecker.) Mind your own business would
you? (To Petra.) Did we already know each other then?
PETRA: (Blowing her nose.) Not yet. I mean… yes, but at that time
you still felt kind of unapproachable. Just like now.
CACTUS: I’m off to the little boys room.
(He leaves.)
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WENDELIN: I’m suffocating.
PETRA: (Sniffling.) Why would you want to be a fare inspector
anyhow? You’ll mess up your whole life, don’t you see? You’ve
always been such a proud and lovely person… And now you
want to pester people, put them under stress, and be despised
by everybody. Yes, they’ll despise you! You’ll be no better than
a dog-catcher, chasing after some poor little mongrels, netting
terrified runaway mutts, and…
(She cries. Wendelin stares ahead, watching two orchids dancing
wildly.)
WENDELIN: I don’t know why. I just… Something has to change.
I’ll get some drinks.
(Wendelin leaves for the bar. The convulsing orchids are now joined
by an equally passionate lizard; Petra, the daisy, is drying her eyes
with a handkerchief, and The Woodpecker taps out the beat of the
music on the table.)
12. A BATH
(Rita a Jerome sit silently under the trees and drink their punch. They
each seem to be to themselves, in their own individual “bubble.” )
JEROME: (After a while.) Your forehead’s sweating from the tea. It
looks nice how your curls stick to it.
RITA: Oh yes, of course, my beautiful curls. I’ve got so much hair
that in the summer it feels like running around in a fur hat.
My little oven head. I’ll have another sip.
JEROME: Tell me some more about you, Rita. What did your parents
call you? Princess Rita, maybe?
RITA: No nothing like that. Just Rita. My brother called me Ritalin.
And in school, as you can guess, Retard., but I’ve never tried
to be RITA Hayworth to anybody. I’ve got no need to play
a “cover girl” for anybody; been there, done that, and no thank
you! … I’m sorry.
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JEROME: OK. So I’ll call you… Rita.
(Jerome suddenly freezes, and becomes completely still. Rita doesn’t
notice.)
RITA: There’s really nothing special about my life either. I don’t have
children; for thirty years I’ve worked as a hospital clerk, and
… Well, I guess you’re probably more interested in why I’m
hawking the ‘National Awakening’, right? I mean, it makes
sense that you, as a homeless person would be peddling Street
Roots, but frankly, there’s really no good reason for me to sell
this publication. I’m not even a bigot. I don’t know… maybe
I should have joined some sect instead, chanting and banging
my head in shame against a floor… What am I doing…?
I guess I’m not all there… it’s not like I’m drinking too much,
or anything… I hate it at home because my husband sleeps all
the time. I had this one best friend, but last year she died of
throat cancer. So now I’m even grateful for pacing the streets
with that nutty Radka. I mean, when I’m with her I’m really
not scared. If she should die… I don’t know…
JEROME: Oh stop it… What’s that sign of hers all about?
RITA: Apparently she dug out the guaranteed new date for the end
of the world somewhere.
JEROME: And when’s that?
RITA: Soon, evidently. Don’t make any plans for summer vacation.
JEROME: Damn, I already had my eye on a trash box in Italy.
RITA: I’m sorry…
JEROME: That’s OK. What really got me was this other hobo the
other day. He was yelling at his dog: Where’s your spot? Come
on, where do you belong? Where’s your spot!? Your spot!!!
(The drizzle is turning into rain.)
JEROME: I like how you laugh. Do I still smell bad to you?
RITA: Want me to lie?
JEROME: No.
RITA: Like a goat.
JEROME: I’ll undress and jump into the river, OK?
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RITA: Are you drunk?
JEROME: No, don’t worry. I just want to shed my reeking skin like
a snake, and then, in front of you, my best friend, I want to
wash all that mud and grime off of me. Like the Indians in that
river of theirs….
RITA: Listen to me, I only met a flasher once before, and you should
know that I did scream quite hysterically, and…
JEROME: I’ll keep my briefs on.
RITA: What if you start drowning?
JEROME: You’ll pull me out. Well, wanna jump in with me?
RITA: Not in your dreams. I don’t live out my romantic fantasies on
principle. And a late night skinny dip is one of ’em.
(Jerome is undressing.)
RITA: (Aside.) For someone who fell through the social net, he’s got
a decent body.
JEROME: I bet it will be freezing. Wow, the briefs are even uglier
than what they’re hiding.
RITA: I worry about you.
JEROME: (Climbing over a low embankment wall.) Grab
a paddleboat, so that you can spot me. There’s one over there
that looks like a swan.
RITA: That would be like a scene in some second-rate German
opera, wouldn’t it? (Checking the paddleboat.) I don’t think so,
it’s chained up and locked. Well, I’ll at least climb in, and stand
there so that I can see you in the water. Let me make sure
I have my ID on me… for the inevitable arrival of the police.
(Jerome’s head pops out behind the embankment wall once again.)
JEROME: This is the most beautiful night I’ve had in the last ten
years. Thank you.
(He lowers himself into the river.)
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13. THE SWAN
(Wendelin, the manatee is crossing the dance floor towards the bar.
He’s sweating profusely and breathing heavily. A water lily with
a cigarette in her mouth passes by, and in a tired voice Wendelin
makes a passing remark to her. Something like, ‘Smoking’s outside
only.’ The water lilly mockingly snaps back at him, and Wendelin
imitates the sound of the retort.
Suddenly he shields his eyes with the back of his hand. He’s blinded
by radiantly bright light emanating from an enormous swan, which
is slowly gliding towards him through the middle of the dance floor.
It creates a wholly unexpected effect in the midst of an already
pretty bizarre masked ball. It is as if everything else in the scene had
disappeared into a shadow.)
THE SWAN: Hello, darling.
WENDELIN: I beg your pardon?
THE SWAN: Don’t look so surprised. I came specifically for you.
WENDELIN: I guess you’re mistaking me for someone else. There
must be more manatees here tonight.
THE SWAN: I don’t want to belong to anybody else. Will you allow
me to bow my s-shaped neck all the way to your patent leather
shoes.
WENDELIN: (Now completely dumbfounded by the language and
the appearance of The Swan.): No, no… Please don’t bow to
me, that’s absurd. This must be some sort of a mistake.
THE SWAN: No, no mistake…
(The creature opens up by flipping over its swan head. The head of
a beautiful woman with hair that is even more luminous that The
Swan itself emerges from the depths of the brilliantly white feathers.
Her face looks like a Botticelli, painted on one of his good days.)
THE SWAN: Getting warmer?
WENDELIN: (Trying to focus in the bright light.) I’m sorry, I don’t…
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THE SWAN: I’m the “Beautiful Woman” of your imagination. The
one that appears when you hear the words – “beautiful” and
“woman.”
WENDELIN: (Wiping of his sweat from beneath his manatee mask.)
I’m sorry, but I don’t really understand what it is that you …
THE SWAN: Who knows? I may be a magic swan. For example, how
old do you feel tonight?
WENDELIN: About thirty-nine.
THE SWAN: Well, you look about hundred.
WENDELIN: Thanks. I need a drink.
THE SWAN: Move apart my feathers here and listen to my heartbeat.
The rhythm is the same as yours…
(Wendelin doesn’t protest, and begins to slowly lay the side of his head
onto The Swan’s breast. With every inch of his approach the enormous
wings on The Swan’s back are spreading wider and wider…)
THE SWAN: You’re really tired, my dove… Rockaby baby in the
treetop, When the wind blows, the cradle will rock, etc… (The
little teeth in her half-opened mouth begin to clatter, faster
and faster. As Wendelin is closing his eyes, he is attempting to
imitate the sound.)
What’s that smell?
(Wendelin opens his eyes again and looks at the disgusted expression
on The Swan woman’s face. Behind them, something/someone is
approaching. It is a festering brownish pile. It stops next to Wendelin
and from its inside we hear a man’s voice.)
THE PILE: I’m the man from under the dung. Yes, the suffocation
was painful, but mercifully death came quickly. You were so
worried about my reputation, Wendelin. But speculations like
that are pointless. Forget about it. Compared to the grand
chess game of the universe, and the never-ending smile of the
oceans, the concern about reputation is a trifle. I know a bunch
of souls that aren’t mentioned in even the most obscure books,
millions of souls that disappeared completely. Yet, they are all
incredible dancers. The important thing is that even under all
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that shit I still look sharp. I reek therefore I am. And I will be.
If they had an interview with me on television, I’m sure that
that’s the one sentence they’d leave in : “I reek therefore I am,”
and they’d cut everything else out.
(He leaves.)
THE SWAN: Wendelin?
WENDELIN: Yes?
THE SWAN: Where were we? Oh yes… Now, look into my eyes.
More, don’t cheat. How old do you feel today?
WENDELIN: Fifty-nine, exactly.
THE SWAN: You look sixty-two.
WENDELIN: That’s better.
THE SWAN: If you took me somewhere, people would look at us
funny. If we made porno together, they’d label the box as
“geezer sex,” and shelve it in the special section for perverts,
behind a heavy curtain.
WENDELIN: I’ve gotten old, but you didn’t. One morning I woke
up and found myself filed in the section for deviants. What
can I do?
THE SWAN: Unbutton your shirt. I have something for you.
(The Swan pulls out two freshly hatched cygnets from her feathers
and lays each of them gently onto Wendelin’s open palms… Then
she slowly, almost ritually tips her swan mask back over head and
disappears. Wendelin blacks out momentarily, and the stage goes
dark as well.
The lights come back on. Wendelin stands with his back to the
audience trying to catch his breath. Then he turns around holding
two objects wrapped in plastic.)
WENDELIN: (To Petra.) We won two frozen chickens in the raffle.
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14. WINDMILLS
(We are back under the trees. However, rather than Rita and Jerome,
we see The Zapper and The Shrimp sitting on a park bench.)
THE ZAPPER: So what? So I lose my shit sometimes and get
screwed up, doll, but you were pretty fucked up too…
THE SHRIMP: W…What?
THE ZAPPER: You’re pretty hammered already, aren’t you, peach?
Wouldn’t be cool if I caught some yucky shrimp cocktail from
you, if you know what I mean…
THE SHRIMP: You’re much smaller up close. Sort of pocket-sized.
And stop trying to tuck in your gut.
THE ZAPPER:Yeah. As if I would tuck it in because of you. Get
a grip, you fucking hag. You look like fish bait in that outfit.
Take it off, sunshine.
THE SHRIMP: Not in a million years. If you want to see what’s under
this, you’ll have to use your imagination.
THE ZAPPER: The tits and pussies that I make up wouldn’t fit in
there anyhow… Haha!
THE SHRIMP: You’re a bit of a ding-dong aren’t you? So simple you
don’t even come with instructions.
(Pause.)
THE ZAPPER: Dyke.
(Pause.)
THE SHRIMP: Douche bag.
(Pause.)
THE ZAPPER: Double-Dyke.
(Pause.)
THE SHRIMP: Retard.
(Pause.)
THE ZAPPER: Whore.
(Pause.)
THE SHRIMP: Fun, fun, fun…
(Nothing…)
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THE ZAPPER: Wanna hear a joke?
THE SHRIMP: Hmm…
THE ZAPPER: OK. So this headcase is writing a letter, right? What
are you writing, they ask. A letter, he says. And to whom? To
myself. And what does it say? I don’t know, haven’t got it yet.
(Silence.)
THE SHRIMP: That’s an old one. (Silence.) As old as you. You
could’ve been my father.
THE ZAPPER: I’d rather shit bricks than that… coulda been, yeah….
I could have screwed your mother. Actually, I bet you I did.
THE SHRIMP: It’s possible. Considering she let my dad do her,
everything’s possible… Let’s make out or something. I’m horny
like twenty-two hours a day, and I have a bad reputation. What
about you?
THE ZAPPER: I just had a dream last night that I died doing it.
(Silence.)
THE SHRIMP: That’s fucked up.
THE ZAPPER: I heard that in Hawaii,they stick little windmills into
the graves to cool off the dead.
THE SHRIMP: Awesome… so now we’ll yak about death. I really
hit the jackpot today.
(Silence.)
THE ZAPPER: I love music. I love it. But I just can’t get into it the
way I used to. Not even the chicks smell the way they used to,
to me. Why not?
THE SHRIMP: I’m gonna pee by the tree over there. Don’t turn
around.
(She squats behind the tree. The Zapper takes of his bandana, and
stuffs it into his pocket.)
THE ZAPPER: So I don’t know English, big deal.
(The Shrimp comes back and sits down.)
THE SHRIMP: Wanna do it, Elvis? But I’m staying in the shrimp.
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THE ZAPPER: It’s a chill offer, it’s not that, but I don’t think that
I have it in me any longer to roll in the hay in the middle of
Prague with some seafood delicacy.
THE SHRIMP: Ah, screw you. You have a smoke?
THE ZAPPER: Only the cheap ones. (He offers her one.)
THE SHRIMP: The cheap ones, eh. The old days must have been
pretty crummy for you, no shit.
THE ZAPPER: Yeah, I could never shop in the hard currency stores
for American cigarettes, that’s all, clear as day. (He stops to
ponder something, while The Shrimp falls asleep holding her
cigarette ready to be lit stiffly in her outstretched hand.)
Oh yeah, I was a beautiful child with golden hair. Oh, the curls
I had when they were taking my picture in some posh studio
sitting on a wooden hobby horse! How I proudly held the reins
in my little hands, with some smart-looking knitted cap on
my head, and how my parents were thinking: This little boy
of ours will change the world; he’ll make it into a beautiful
fairytale place. And now I’m sitting here like some washed out
old stripper, those guys from the band over there didn’t even
look back when they kicked me out just now… Oh fuck… And
I’ve got a wedgie. (Pause. He notices The Shrimp is sleeping.)
Now that she has fallen asleep, I should at least look under the
mask to check her face so that I know what I’m missing. (He
carefully lifts her mask a little. And its the same for me with
everything…)
(Silence.)
What if I did Italo-disco?
(He sings in a raspy voice.)
Spagetti Carbonara, et una CocaCola, naaaaaaaaa naaaaaaa,
naaaaaaa….
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15. WATER LILY
(This is a scene that doesn’t need to be here. Really. It is a severed
tailend of the first half of our story. A load of empty tin cans is pulled
by the manatee from the previous vision in Wendelin’s living room.
It is as if the content of one of the cans tied to the manatee’s tail had
spilled out, and became the following dumbshow in a streetcar.
We find ourselves in the belly of a streetcar. Since our vantage point
is the back of the tram, the silhouette of the female conductor is the
farthest from us. Wendelin slowly walks up the aisle between the
seats towards us. Little beads of sweat shimmer above his half-closed,
drowsy eyes. He looks as if he were about to faint. However, he goes
on. He thrusts his arm away from his body with the much-rehearsed
idiosyncratic, tai-chi-like motion, and opens the water lilly of his
palm revealing the fare inspector badge. There is a collective shrug in
the shoulders of all passengers. Some calmly offer their fare tickets to
be examined. Others are frantically going through all their pockets,
purses, briefcases, etc… Nonetheless, even they manage to find the
proof of their legality as law abiding users of public transportation.
Wendelin is left with only two more rows of seats. And it is only now
that he stops dead in his tracks. He is staring into the face of a young
man with a termite hill of hair and gel piled on top his head, and
a skateboard tucked under his seat. The Young Man’s eyes are two
empty black holes, his mouth twisted in an unpredictable grimace.
Wendelin palm with the badge shakes, and The Young Man slowly gets
up… They are standing face to face, breathing heavily. The Young Man
pulls up the back of his T-shirt and with a lanky arm scratches his
naked back. Wendelin puts down his arm, the water lilly of his palm
closes, the doors of the streetcar make a hissing sound, The Young
Man takes one long jump through the door, and disappears into the
crowded street.
The doors hiss again and close. It is as if the sound was a signal for
the pair in the last row of seats. The man and the woman stand up
and approach each other leaving the width of a swan’s neck between
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them. Jerome takes off his newspaper bag, pulling the leather strap
over his head. He removes the baseball hat from his head,and unpins
the medallion from his breast. He hands it all to Rita. Subsequently he
removes the fare inspector badge from Wendelin s open palm, holds
it up high in a ritual fashion, and finally puts it in his mouth and
swallows. Lights out.)
PART TWO: THE COASTS OF BOHEMIA
16. RITA AND RITA AGAIN
(Rita is sitting on a bench in a radiology office, clutching her purse
on her lap.)
DOCTOR: This is highly irregular, Rita.
RITA: I know, I know.
DOCTOR: To be completely honest, I find your request somewhat…
eccentric.
RITA: Sure, sure, I know.
DOCTOR: (Handing her an apple.) Here, you can have it back.
RITA: Thank you. (She puts the apple in her purse.)
DOCTOR: Would you care to inform me, Rita, why I just X-rayed
an …
(The light boxes on the wall of the radiology office light up, revealing
X-ray pictures of an apple.)
RITA: Well, whenever something significant happens in my life,
when something shakes me up, something goes down, or
I don’t know what… I get this attack of awful superstition.
The last time that happened… actually… it’s been a long time.
Well, and now it’s back, and… (She makes sure the apple is still
in her purse.) … every Christmas Eve I’d cut an apple in half
by the tree – it’s an old custom – and I’d see if the cut in the
core forms a star or a cross… if I’ll live or die the following
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year… normally I consider it a more or less harmless tradition,
but this year… I just couldn’t stand the pressure of waiting till
Christmas, and I simply… I brought the apple here.
(The radiologist stares at her for a moment, and then he pulls a pencil
out of the pocket of his lab coat, and points to the illuminated X-rays.)
DOCTOR: As you can clearly see here… and over here it’s even
more noticeable, the core is definitely a star, and…
RITA: (Getting up quickly.) Thank you. Good bye.
(Lights out. Lights on. We see Rita again, as if several minutes later,
standing on a city street. It is windy. We notice a change in her. It
is difficult to say exactly how she has changed, but let us try: Rita
seems to be “sharper,” more focused. Her facial features became more
pronounced, more defined. And, considering her normally elegant
taste in clothes, she is also dressed more frumpily, looks somewhat
disheveled. But then again, that may only be because of the wind.)
RITA: Jerome swam in the river for about forty-five minutes. At
first he was sort of ritually wading about, dabbing himself
with the cold water, and under the moonlight he looked quite
extraordinary. Then he tried breast stroke, but the way he
comically craned his neck above the water made him look
decidedly less dignified. I was standing in the gigantic, swanshaped paddleboat and all of a sudden I was struck with an
enormous sense of dread. I was terrified that the dark surface
of the water would close over Jerome’s head, I sensed that
there was some sort of icy logic in this whole situation, and
I was asking myself why I hadn’t heeded the warning signs.
I was convinced that the black water would swallow him and
return him – all bloated, lifeless – only several days later,
somewhere twenty miles downstream. My legs shook in
terror, and I wanted to cry out to him, but my voice got stuck
in my throat and died there like the engine of an old lawn
mower. I slid down The Swan’s neck and cried in despair, but
then he surfaced a few feet further down, climbed ashore in
those awful briefs of his, and I couldn’t catch my breath, and
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stared at the appendix scar on his belly that reminded me of
a mouth of a gigantic newt. He didn’t show up for our next
two dates. But when he finally came for the third one, he was
cheerful, couldn’t stop telling jokes, and even tried to make
Radka dance with him, which of course was a completely crazy
idea. Later he found a Lego piece in my frizzy hair, which
I have no idea how it got there, but I guess my neighbors’
boys must have thrown it in. Later in the evening we went
for a beer in the Old Town, he non-alcoholic and me with
alcohol, of course…, and I went on and on … (Aside.) Well,
lassie, you were pretty tanked that evening. (As if to reply to
herself.) So what? Mind your own business, you… (Back to
normal.)…and I was telling him how we had this old family
legend about a treasure chest hidden in some secret chamber
in our old house, and how I managed to find that chest behind
the chimney, and how excited I was to open it, and how all
that I found in it were seven sets of fake teeth. Only seven old,
used up dentures, and nothing else, and Jerome laughed and
laughed, and the next day he hung himself in the city park.
(Rita barely dodges a streetcar racing down the tracks.)
RITA: The trams seem to be going faster today, don’t you think? As if
someone stole them and needed to get away. I’m going home.
I’ll strip naked and look at myself in the mirror. That’s what
I’ll do. (Aside.) And shut up, won’ t you?
17. THE TRAM
(We are again inside a streetcar. The stage version of it, however, seems
to suggest that we are in an old, grimy airplane. The plastic partition of
the conductor’s cabin allows us to see that the conductor is a woman.
Most of the seats are occupied; nobody is standing. Wendelin enters
the tram. He is about to announce his presence to the conductor, but
suddenly he stops dead.)
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WENDELIN (Recovering his bearing.) Elizabeth? Is that you?
THE CONDUCTOR: Wendelin…?
WENDELIN: Are you… what are you doing here?
THE CONDUCTOR: Well, it looks like I’m driving this tank – or
what do you think?
WENDELIN: You’re driving a tram – you?
THE CONDUCTOR: I always liked to drive, you remember, don’t
you? But driving a car feels so lonely. So when Rob died, and
I retired, I took this job, part-time.
WENDELIN: I had no idea that Robert…
THE CONDUCTOR: Relax, he was eighty-one, there’s nothing
tragic about it. But if you’re gaping at me because you can’t
get over how old I’ve got, then… Where are you going?
WENDELIN: I’m actually… I’m working here.
(The Conductor, Elizabeth bursts out laughing. To Wendelin, her
laughter “still sounds like a glockenspiel.”)
ELIZABETH: In which hand do you have it? Let me guess… the
right. Far from the heart.
WENDELIN: In the right one.
(Moment of silence.)
WENDELIN: Betty, I…
ELIZABETH: Don’t worry, it’s just this revolting uniform, my boobs
look better without it… Now, run along.
(Wendelin, with slight Tai-Chi motion, stiffly spreads out his arms,
and the water lily of his palm slowly opens, revealing his fare inspector
badge.)
WENDELIN: Fare control. Please have your tickets ready.
(A shiver of chill runs down everybody’s spine. Even of those who paid
the fare. Surprisingly even The Chinese Tourist feels it.
While Wendelin walks up the aisle, let us introduce the individual
passengers. The Chinese Tourist has already been mentioned.
Additionally there is an obese woman on crutches; a man in a suit;
a young man and his girlfriend with an excessive layer of makeup,
bordering on the grotesque; another man with his face buried in
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a turtleneck and under a baseball hat; a very decrepit old grandmother
a young man in a track suit an old, delicate, shortsighed man of about
fifty; an enormous bearded giant of a man, and … and Radka, with
her sign leaned against an empty seat. Furthermore, there are several
other passengers, who – apart from the occasional vocal contribution
to the general atmosphere – have no bearing on our story.)
WENDELIN: In order… thank you…
(The man in The Suitt is frantically patting himself down, and going
through his numerous pockets.)
THE SUIT: Come on, I remember, I KNOW I put it in here…
WENDELIN: No problem, I can wait…
THE SUIT: (Triumphantly and with tremendous relief pulls out his
ticket.) Here! Here it is! I, like, totally started sweating.
WENDELIN: In order. Thank you.
THE GRANDMOTHER: I don’t need one anymore, mister
inspector.
WENDELIN: In order. It’s pretty stifling here…
THE CHINESE TOURIST: (Says something in Chinese. Neither we
nor Wendelin can understand him.)
WENDELIN: Thank you, in order.
THE CHINESE TOURIST: (Says something in Chinese. Neither we
nor Wendelin can understand him.)
WENDELIN: Yes of course. Welcome to Prague. Enjoy your stay…
THE SHORTSIGHTED: I’ve got a yearly pass. Look at it, isn’t it
lovely.
WENDELIN: I beg your pardon? What is, the pass?
THE SHORTSIGHTED: No, no. I mean the picture of the little girl
in the magazine here. The one that survived the rhinoceros
standing on her ear. (Trying to show a picture in the magazine.)
Look, here she is discussing it with students in a school. You
see. I always wanted to have a daughter. But all I have is a son,
and he’s growing for the gallows. My wife has psoriasis, so we
never really get to go out. I sleep on the sofa in the living room
because I snore.
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THE YOUNG MAN: What a retard…
THE SHORTSIGHTED: I’m sorry, young man?
THE YOUNG MAN: He’s, like, gaping at me! (To The Shortsighted.)
Stop gaping, gapefuck.
(The young man’s girlfriend laughs.)
THE SHORTSIGHTED: (To Wendelin.) What can you do?
He’s stronger than me. But I’m sure that The Little Girl here
with the rhino would be able to talk some sense of shame in
him.
(Wendelin quickly moves on towards the man under the baseball hat.
He has no idea that this is only the beginning. He gently pokes the
slumped figure in the shoulder. The sound of the moving tram almost
obscures the man in the suit’s cell phone conversation.)
THE SUIT:…so, I, like, totally know that I have the damn ticket
somewhere, but I was this close to blacking out when that
inspector showed up… Why?… because my car conked out…
Yeah, the last time I took the tram was, like, ten years ago.
Twelve maybe… And the Czechs still reek like hell, I mean,
that’s a fact… Haha… yeah, perfume, well, moth balls maybe…
(Pause.) Really? Well maybe it was the Gypsies… right … and
let me tell you…
(At that very moment, the man under the baseball hat jumps up,
pulls a scarf over his face, and removes something wrapped in plastic
from under his coat.)
THE BOMBER: Everybody sit down facing front, hands on the
backs of the seats in front of you. This is a kidnapping! And
this is a bomb, and if you do anything stupid, I’m gonna set
it off! OK!?
(There is pandemonium of different sounds and reactions. The
confused and jerky physical movements alternate with moments
of complete stiffness, screams and various other vocal expressions
mix with deadly silences, etc… Many passengers are automatically
grabbing their cell phones.)
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THE BOMBER: No phone calls! If I see anybody with a phone I’ll
cut their throat!
ELIZABETH: (Trying to call the central dispatch.)This is number
6601, it seems that we have…
THE BOMBER: (Putting a knife to her neck.) Don’t even try! Turn
it off!
ELIZABETH: OK.
THE BOMBER: Are we clear about it?
ELIZABETH: Clear as day. No, actually it’s not clear to me. What
are you trying to accomplish?
THE BOMBER: That’s none of your business. This is a kidnaping,
and that’s it. You go where I tell you to go. Straight through
the stops, and don’t even think about opening the doors. (To
the passengers.) Quiet everybody!!!
ELIZABETH: This is a street car, you are aware of that? I can’t just
willy nilly go off the tracks.
THE BOMBER: You think I’m stupid?! You go where I tell you to go.
ELIZABETH: And where’s that?
THE BOMBER: To the Heroes’ Square, and further on.
ELIZABETH: What Square?
THE BOMBER: The Heroes’ Square.
ELIZABETH: And where’s that supposed to be?
THE BOMBER: I’ll let you know soon enough. Right now, just go
your usual route.
THE SUIT: (In a half whisper.) Dude, what the fuck…?
THE CRUTCHES: Are you going to kill us?
THE BOMBER: That’s up to you.
THE CHINESE TOURIST: (Says something in Chinese. Nobody can
understand him.)
THE TRACK SUIT: (Whispers to Wendelin.) You going to disarm
him? You’re the inspector, right?
WENDELIN: Me…?
(The young man starts vigorously towards the kidnapper.)
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THE YOUNG MAN: Listen asshole, fuck off, OK. You may be
psyched out from watching too much American crap on TV,
but nobody here gives a shit for your war games, so piss off,
OK? Somebody open the door so that I can kick him out…
(The bomber punches the young man in the face. he falls down on the
floor, and holds his bleeding face in his hands.)
THE BOMBER: I’m not in the mood, so don’t even try to talk to
me anymore…
(The young man’s girlfriend squeals, but she doesn’t have the courage
to approach her boyfriend.)
THE SUIT: What the fuck, what the fucking fuck?! What do you
want, you want money or what?
THE CRUTCHES: Are you going to kill us?
THE BOMBER: Shut up! Everybody shut up! I’ve had it up to here
with everything…
THE TRACK SUIT: There’s a fare inspector here, and he’ll negotiate
with you. (He pushes Wendelin forward.) Go, and make it
quick, Chelsea’s on at four.
WENDELIN: I’m very sorry, but… what is it that you are trying to
achieve here… Are we to consider ourselves your hostages?
Do you want to trade us for money, or…
THE BOMBER: (His eyes, visible between the scarf and the pulleddown baseball hat, stare at Wendelin for a little while, sizing
him.) I want to get out of here. Just to get out.
THE SHORTSIGHTED: Where to?
THE BOMBER: (After a short pause.) To the coast.
THE SUIT: Jesus Christ…
THE YOUNG MAN: You knocked out my teeth, you asshole…
THE BOMBER: Get lost, and stop talking to me, didn’t you hear
me the first time?
THE SHORTSIGHTED: Are you an Arab?
THE BOMBER: What?
THE SHORTSIGHTED: Are you an Arab terrorist?
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THE BOMBER: Why should I be? I’m from here. You think the
Arabs are the only people who have the right to be pissed off
nowadays, or what?
THE SHORTSIGHTED: (Whispering to Wendelin.) If only that little
girl that got trampled on by the rhino were here… she’d talk to
him, tears would start rolling down his cheeks, and he’d would
realize that what he’s doing here is evil…
THE CRUTCHES: (Whimpering.) I have to babysit my grandchildren
this afternoon, and… and…
THE CHINESE TOURIST: (Says something in Chinese. This time
something much longer. But still, nobody can understand.)
THE BOMBER: If anybody else tries to interfere with me, the bomb
here is gonna go off and blow us all to smithereens.
(All women, with the exception of Elizabeth scream. Actually there is
one more woman who doesn’t screech. The lanky and boney Radka.
She holds up her sign as high as the ceiling allows, and for the first
time, she speaks. In a booming voice.)
RADKA: For all your sins will ye suffer on this day! Your eyeballs from
your sockets into the dust will pop, and your lips drenched in
frothy blood will for mercy beg… alas, all in vain!
(A moment of thick silence.)
THE CRUTCHES: (Wailing loudly.) I will never again see my
grandchildreeeeeeeeeeen….
THE GRANDMOTHER: What is happening? Is there some trouble?
Did we already pass…?
THE SUIT: Where the fuck am I, like, seriously? Is this, like, some
freak convention or something? A loony fucking bin right?
THE TRACK SUIT: Awesome… so Chelsea just kicked off, v Bolton.
I should have left earlier, idiot. Why didn’t I at least set up TIVO? Shit.
ELIZABETH: The people waiting at the stops are yelling after us
pretty angrily. It’s only a question of time before someone calls
it in.
THE BOMBER: Everything’s just a question of time…
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ELIZABETH: I’ve never heard of Heroes’ Square.
THE BOMBER: It’s in…
(The Bomber seems confused.)
ELIZABETH: Aha. Well, who would have known.
THE BOMBER: Stop blabbering. Just get me to the Heroes’ Square,
and I’ll take it from there.
ELIZABETH: We should open the windows to get some fresh air.
THE BOMBER: Don’t even think about it.
THE GIRLFRIEND: (To The Bomber.) You disfigured him! (To The
Young Man.) He, like, totally disfigured you. Watch out, the
blood’s dripping on my shoes. They’ll be ruined, you can’t like
wash off blood.
THE YOUNG MAN: Take a picture of my face. Take my picture…
THE GIRLFRIEND: But the camera’s in the phone, and I’m not
allowed…
THE BOMBER: Don’t even try.
THE YOUNG MAN: Ask if somebody has a camera, hurry up. As
long as its fresh…
THE GIRLFRIEND: (To the passengers.) Does anybody have… (To
The Young Man.) You need it, like, rightaway?
THE YOUNG MAN: (To himself.): Dude, that’s gonna be sick when
I post it on Youtube, a real bloody porthole, no special effects,
nothing… (To The Girlfriend.) Nobody? Look, that Chink over
there he’s… Get a move on… He’s got one, go! Get it, scramble!
(The Girlfriend is asking the Tourist for the camera in English, and he
somewhat reluctantly gives it to her. She gives it to The Young Man,
who immediately eagerly begins to film himself.)
THE YOUNG MAN: (Puts on a considerably disgusting theatrical
performance.) I have tried to free the hostages by myself,
but with nothing but my bare hands, I just couldn’t get any
traction…
THE SHORTSIGHTED: (Quietly to himself.) How would you say it,
my little girl trampled on by a rhinoceros …? (To The Bomber.)
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Mister, why oh why did you kidnap us? And how much money
will you want for us?
(Some tiny little valve in The Bomber’s head, somewhere back in
the right hemisphere, opens up. and all his pain and anguish starts
pouring out.)
THE BOMBER: Because I’ve had it up to here! Up to here! I want to
be free, do you get it? I want to have the freedom to be poor!
THE SUIT: And who’s like keeping you from it, dude? Sorry, but
like who?
THE GRANDMOTHER: Are we not stopping at… ?
THE BOMBER: Everything’s keeping me from it! Even the people
who promised… my friends… my best buddies… everybody
promised me that they won’t get off on expensive boutiques,
outfits, cars… cars, and vacations, and everything. “Goodness
cannot be measured in goods,” one of the more spiritual ones
told me… But it’s all bull! Everybody’s raking in money, and
parading around decked up in this and that brand, and ogling
each other to no end! Yes sir, they ogle each other, that’s a fact,
and they spy on each other to see what the other one’s wearing,
and they look at me, at me, with whom they swore that they’d
never get turned on by that stuff, and they look at me like
I’m some sort of a prole, with sympathy, because I’m always
dressed in no more that a couple of cheap outfits, which I wear
on alternative days, and which are already pretty washed out,
because I can’t afford any new ones, because I’m bleeding, and
I don’t want to go into debt like all of you, because then the
bankers, the bastard bankers would hold a whip over my back,
and they’d force me to slave for them to pay off the interest and
stuff, and if I don’t want to end up in the slammer, then, while
I’m perfectly free to have a big mouth in the tavern, I still have
to schlep that pile of debt, and… and I even let them send my
kids to war – fuck – because I have to earn money, and I don’t
even have time to think whether I’m actually living a decent
life, and…
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WENDELIN: Do I know you from somewhere…?
THE BOMBER: (Screaming.) That’s none of your business!
(He lights a cigarette with trembling fingers, and each time he inhales
he turns his back to the passengers, in order to quickly pull down the
scarf from over his mouth.)
THE TRACK SUIT: It’s half time. I hope Chelsea’s holding up.
THE SUIT: (Quietly to Wendelin.) Total mental case. He’s got
nothing to lose. All he wants is to be in the news. It’s one of
those psychos who’d, like, think nothing of eating their own
mother’s earwax just to get on TV. We need to do something,
there’s no other way.
THE CHINESE TOURIST: (Says something in Chinese. Still,
nobody can understand him, and frankly, nobody except for
The Shortsighted cares.)
THE SHORTSIGHTED: (Slowly, to The Chinese Tourist.) We don’t
understand you, you know?
(The Suit taps on the shoulder of a bearded large man, The Giant.)
THE SUIT: ‘scuse me, you’re a big guy, I meant you’re like a total
giant, and you may be able to like, you know… you could
neutralize him, right? Hey… you’re sleeping, like sleeping?
He’s seriously, like, snoozing!
THE GIANT: (Half opens his eyes.) Wh…What, what is it…?
THE CRUTCHES: (Completely hysterically.) They’ll film it. They
will come with their cameras. They always do when something
happens, and when there’s a shot of me dead, I’m sure that my
skirt will be pushed all the way up here, and everybody will
see my horribly hairy leeeeegs, and my runny stockings and
my patched-up underwear… and even my grandchildren will
seeeeeeeeeeeee it….
HE BOMBER: (To Elizabeth.) You! Be quiet over there! Where are
we?
ELIZABETH: The Charles Bridge.
THE BOMBER: We’re almost there.
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ELIZABETH: I find it really stupid – kidnapping a streetcar. Are you
planning to kill yourself?
THE BOMBER: (It’s the valve again.) I want to run away! That’s all
I want to do! I’m sick and tired of smiling at everybody and
pretending that everything is fine, when everywhere I go
I see traitors, I see them even in my home, where my wife
and my two boys are seriously stressing me out and sucking
me dry, and they constantly lay into me, and they whine to
me, complaining that, because of me, people look at them as
paupers and as hicks and as all those have-nots, who’ve got no
i-pods and all those things, and they keep pressing me to at
least milk my parents for some money… and I’ve had enough,
I can’t take it anymore. So I’ll just screw it all, and simply ride
past the Heroes’ Square all the way to the coast, and there
I will feel good, because to get to the coast of Bohemia, for
that I don’t need no airport fees, I don’t need no “last-minute
all inclusive,” and I never made any trouble, but now I will,
yes, sir. I will make big trouble, because my life is rotten from
top to bottom, and I want to start smashing some heads with
a sledgehammer, like the warriors of old, and I want to scream
in freedom, I want to yell and holler, but all the screaming
makes me so sick that I don’t even know what I should scream
for or about, but still I will scream, and I do scream, scream,
scream!!! (He turns around to take a puff, but his cigarette falls
from his fingers and rolls somewhere under the seats.)
Everybody, please leave me in peace. I’m, like, fuck, forty years
old but I’m a total nobody, I’m nothing. Feel free to keep paying
off your own fucking mortgages and leases and stuff, but let
me burrow myself into the sand at my coast of Bohemia, and…
(To Elizabeth.) Leave, I’ll take over from now on.
ELIZABETH: You know how to drive it?
THE BOMBER: Yeah.
(The Bomber takes over the console. Elizabeth walks up the aisle to
Wendelin.)
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ELIZABETH: You’re white as a corpse. Do you remember how we
used to tease you – Wendelin the white, always gets it right…
WENDELIN: That was ages ago. I’m not feeling too well right now.
(After a while.) I never stopped loving you, Elizabeth, you
know?
ELIZABETH: Oh, stop it.
WENDELIN: I’m not coming on to you. I’m just telling you.
ELIZABETH: What I think is that you need some “lovin” before that
madman blows us all up… that’s all.
WENDELIN: He looks incredibly familiar, I just can’t…
ELIZABETH: It was the right thing to do…then. We are too similar,
you and I.
WENDELIN: So what?
ELIZABETH: Just think a moment. Do you remember how bad the
sex was, and no wonder: it was like sleeping with your twin.
WENDELIN: We were bound together by fate, and at the same time
afraid. That was It.
ELIZABETH: The “It” and the Ego.
WENDELIN: Funny. Funny.
ELIZABETH: As the wise man said: If the guy doesn’t recognize
the bitch in his woman, and if she doesn’t see the stud in him,
they’ll never mate.
WENDELIN: I found you very attractive.
ELIZABETH: Same here. But that alone doesn’t make for good sex.
As I always say, only during sex do you recognize a true friend.
WENDELIN: That’s what I liked about you – your quick wit.
ELIZABETH:
WENDELIN: listen, everything is the way it was supposed to be,
don’t worry.
WENDELIN: Are you sure?
ELIZABETH: Absolutely. I couldn’t have given you children, you
know? You’d have died of grief.
(The Grandmother tugs at Elizabeth’s sleeve.)
THE GRANDMOTHER: Miss conductor, look, it’s that big swan!!!
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ELIZABETH: It is a paddleboat, miss. You can rent them, you know.
THE GRANDMOTHER: Won’t it take off in the air and fly away?
ELIZABETH: No it won’t. But our tram might, granny. (To
Wendelin.) Well, now you see, we haven’t lived together, but
we will die together.
RADKA: Ha! Desist from your wretched scheming and senseless
contrivances, ye loathsome fools! Let only the tiniest of
rivulets of the righteous follow my lead, but all ye others,
shooo! Shoooooo!!! Ye will be dismembered by slimy, barbed
and putrid beasts, with their fangs will they flay ye alive, and
your intestines will they rip out of your living bodies and wrap
them around a dirty pole while your offspring will watch and
lament in vain, ye venal sonsofbitches, ye’ll suffer for your
sins today!!!
(You may not believe it, but Radka actually briefly smiles.)
18. RITA, JUST BRIEFLY.
(We are behind a mirror in RITA’s room. All we see is Rita’s face above
the top of the mirror. Later we also see her hand tossing away the last
piece of clothing. The naked Rita looks at her reflection. That’s all.)
19. PAINTING ON GLASS.
(It looks as if Rita’s mirror has transformed into one of the windows
of the tram. A sound of police sirens from close by.)
THE GRANDMOTHER: The police…
THE SUIT: Just what we needed, a swarm of cops! (To The Bomber.)
So are you, like, going to negotiate with ‘em?
(The Bomber doesn’t react.)
THE SHORTSIGHTED: Friends, this doesn’t look good. For
example, nobody’s going to pay ransom for me. Therefore,
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let me at least dream a little: I wouldn’t mind some toast with
a salmon spread.
THE SUIT: Did you hear me? I’m asking whether you’re going to
negotiate.
THE BOMBER: I’m not. Either they let me pass through to the
coast, or I’ll kill us all.
(Another burst of hysteria. The obese woman with The Crutches keels
over from her seat. She’s gagging and choking, and she convulses on
the floor.)
ELIZABETH: Hurry up. Wendelin, come and help.
WENDELIN: jumps to her and together they try to revive the poor
woman on the floor.
WENDELIN: Keep her tongue out… Let’s pick her up.
ELIZABETH: I’m going to slap her a few times, then she’ll come to…
She’s just hysterical, that’s what I think… What’s that look? I’m
not going to beat her up, just few little smacks, don’t worry.
WENDELIN: N..no, it’s not that, it’s only… she has this peculiar
smell. I almost forgot that I have a sense of smell, and then
suddenly this… this… familiar smell…
ELIZABETH: Well if you need to sniff her, sniff on…
WENDELIN: I’m sorry…
ELIZABETH: She’s coming to.
THE CRUTCHES: (Her face close to Wendelin’s.) Wendelin?
(At first, Wendelin frowns suspiciously, but then his whole face opens
with a sense of clear recognition.)
WENDELIN: Martha?
THE CRUTCHES: I didn’t recognize you at first.
WENDELIN: Neither did I…
THE CRUTCHES: It’s been… how long…forty-two years since we
broke off? And about thirty-six since we had our last coffee
together… I mean wine.
WENDELIN: You were my first girlfriend…
THE CRUTCHES: And look at me now. Not a pretty picture, right?
I can barely walk, I’m diabetic, and I live alone, and now they
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found some cyst under my belly here, and every four hours
I have to put this foul-smelling ointment on it, and each tube
costs twenty dollars, imagine twenty dollars!, and I have…
WENDELIN: Ugh.
THE CRUTCHES: Yes?
WENDELIN: No, nothing… Hey… sorry…, but I… I have to deal
with this kidnapping now. (He leaves.)
ELIZABETH: (Going after him.) What was that?
WENDELIN: I shouldn’t have met her. She completely ruined my
memory of that beautiful girl that she used to be…
(A brief projection of several of Martha’s black and white photographs
from forty years ago is seen on one of the tram windows. Only the
most observant viewer can discern the briefest of glimpses of the
images of a young Wendelin. His pictures show his profile, and we
see him scooping something with a big ladle from a large pot. In the
background, a scene from a youth camp.)
ELIZABETH: Would you rather have me or that little hottie with
the Chinese guy’s camera over there?
(Wendelin doesn’t reply.)
ELIZABETH: There you go. As yet another wise man has said: What
great mystery did happen to us?
THE SUIT: Hey listen, we’ve got to do something. If the bomb goes
off, we’re fucked; fucked beyond all recognition, and I seriously
don’t want to end up being scraped off the walls, claro?
THE YOUNG MAN: Somebody has to disarm him. I’m, like,
wounded. I can’t do that. (To The Girlfriend.) Turn it off, will
ya?
THE CHINESE TOURIST: (Says something in Chinese, this time
with an exclamation mark.)
THE SUIT: (To The Chinese Tourist in very bad English.) Doo yoo
can Kung-fu, or sometzink?
THE CHINESE TOURIST: (In equally bad English.) I not Enlish
speek…
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THE TRACK SUIT: (With a dismissive gesture.) Is he like some
Mongoloid, or what?
THE CHINESE TOURIST: I am soui, soui… (Sorry, sorry.)
THE TRACK SUIT: Fucking rice gobbler.
THE SUIT: (Irritated, to The Track Suit.) Yeah sure, but you, on the
other hand, look like you’re fit. I’m sure you could take him
down, right?
THE TRACK SUIT: My left knee is shot, not me.
THE GRANDMOTHER: Is something wrong?
ELIZABETH: Nothing special, miss. It’s just the usual: the willing
coalition of Czech warriors trading their epaulets…
(Wendelin laughs out loud and sits down heavily.)
THE SHORTSIGHTED: I don’t mind taking him down myself…
haha… I’m sorry, but that idea actually made me laugh. He’d
squash me like a cockroach. (After a while) But if it would
make you happy, I can do it.
THE TRACK SUIT: (To the sleeping Giant.) As far as I’m concerned,
you’re the strongest of us all.
THE GIRLFRIEND: I can’t believe it, he’s sleeping! He must have,
like, nerves of like steel or something.
THE YOUNG MAN: Or he’s totally wasted.
WENDELIN: Excuse me, are you OK? Mister?
THE GIANT: I beg your pardon? I’ve already shown my ticket.
WENDELIN: Our tram has been kidnapped by a terrorist.
THE GIANT: That’s… disconcerting.
THE SUIT: You’re the biggest dude here… I mean that you could
like disarm him. The main thing is the bomb. He’s got it in
the plastic bag, and if he chucks it on the floor we are toast…
THE SHORTSIGHTED (To the Giant): I’ll go with you!
THE YOUNG MAN: (About The Shortsighted.) What a freak.
THE GIANT: I’m going.
(And without any further ado, the Giant rises in all his humongous
majesty form his seat and starts towards the conductor’s compartment
114
in the front. However, he doesn’t make it all the way there. Radka
forcefully hits his head with her sign.)
RADKA: Ye will not escape! Ye will not escape the punishment!!!
(The Giant turns around and walks back to his seat. He doesn’t seem
to be affected by the bloody slash on his head.)
THE SUIT: (To Radka.) Are you, like, in cahoots with him or what,
you stupid twat? Do you, like, seriously wanna croak here or
what?
(Radka’s answer is a loud screeching laughter coming in quick bursts.
Few answers ever have sounded more hopeless.)
ELIZABETH: I still don’t know what he meant by Heroes’ Square.
THE SHORTSIGHTED: (Peering out of the window.) This is Lazarus
street isn’t it? I bought my orthopedic sandals over there –
look, look over there… that store there!
(Wendelin kneels down by the Giant. His head wound is bleeding
profusely, and is trying to wipe it off with paper napkins.)
THE SUIT: (Hysterically.) Am I, like, going to fucking bite it here
today, or, like, what? I work every fucking day. Day in, day out,
all I do is grind, and I finally bought a condo and some decent
wheels, and now all I fucking get is kicking the bucket in some
filthy public tram.
WENDELIN: It’s bleeding quite a lot… Try to hold it here… Robert?
(The Giant, Robert, looks at Wendelin, and briefly examines his face.)
THE GIANT: Wendelin? Hi.
WENDELIN: I barely recognized you. With that beard…
ROBERT: Don’t worry. Plus, I’m fat.
WENDELIN: Every year I plan to write to you, but… you know. In
College we were basically joined at the hip, and… well, you
kind of disappeared….
ROBERT: I lived abroad for a while. Then I got married and we
moved up North.
WENDELIN: How ‘bout basketball? Did you play some more?
ROBERT: No. Because of my knees.
WENDELIN: Were you teaching?
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ROBERT: For two years only. I went into business. Then we tried to
have kids, but it didn’t work, and… you know.
(A projection of a College Basketball team appears on one of the
windows. The long-legged, tall and trim young man in the second
row on the right is Robert. Wendelin kneels at the bottom in the front.)
THE GRANDMOTHER: Is this going to the bus terminal?
(Wendelin imitates her high-pitched voice.)
WENDELIN: I’m sorry.
ELIZABETH: I noticed it earlier. You’ve got a tic?
WENDELIN: (To Robert.) Yeah. How can you be so calm in the face
of death, as it were.
(This is the first time that the actual word “DEATH” has occurred in
the play, isn’t it? It’s peculiar.)
ROBERT: It doesn’t faze me. Don’t hold it against me.
WENDELIN: You don’t ever get flustered?
ROBERT: Not really. I don’t believe in experiences any longer. Say
you experience something special, something extraordinary.
Time passes, and you lose contact with that experience, and
all that remains is a sort of a foggy memory, a murky record.
In short, nothing that would have the capacity to fill you again.
It’s as if it never happened. So you need more and more new
experiences, but they die like mayflies too, and then, very
laboriously, you start making them up, because the real ones
are dead, but it’s all really good for absolutely nothing. It’s like
trying to make fire with wet wood, and all you do is hold all
those long hungry monologues about it, which nobody except
for you is interested in …
WENDELIN: But here, there’s a real threat of death, Robert, and
death is a relatively satiating experience, don’t you think?
ROBERT: We simply slumber into that eternal sleep few days earlier
than planned. So what?
THE SUIT: I wouldn’t even try to talk to him if I were you. He’s got
whacked in the noodle. Plus, he obviously popped a handful of
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Xanax or something for lunch; he’s not gonna help us. What
should we do?
ELIZABETH: Somebody should try to talk to him again.
THE SHORTSIGHTED: If anybody thinks it should be me, raise
you hand…now.
ELIZABETH: I think it should be you Wendelin.
WENDELIN: Me?
THE SHORTSIGHTED: Try to trade the bomb for your inspector
badge. He may be a collector, who knows? It wasn’t funny,
I know. Humor makes people come together, but not my
humor. Now that I think about it, I only got a laugh once.
My wife and I were having lunch at a restaurant, and some
youngsters actually rolled up a drug and began smoking it
right then and there. Of course it vexed me greatly, so I got
up and said loudly: You see, it begins with weed and ends up
with marihuana!
THE YOUNG MAN: I think I’m going mental, like, seriously.
THE GIRLRIEND: Can you kiss me with that broken mouth.
THE YOUNG MAN: No.
THE GRANDMOTHER: Are we not stopping on Steel Street?
THE BOMBER: (Communicating with the central dispatch over
a mike.) No, I repeat, I’m now in control of number six.
I demand free passage to Heroes’ Square, and then to the
coast.
DISPATCHER: Hold off with your demands for now, yes? Stop the
tram at Peace Square, and let all passengers exit, yes? We are
sending the police and the ambulance in your direction.
THE BOMBER: There is no such thing as Peace Square, don’t you
understand? It’s a lie! A name like that is a mockery! If you
even try to block my passage in any way, shape or form, I’m
going to detonate the bomb. Is that clear?
DISPATCHER: Wait, that…
THE BOMBER: (To the passengers.) No more talking. It looks pretty
bad for us. You can use your phones.
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20. THE ICEBOX
(Another brief look into Rita’s life. Rita is visiting the morgue.
The attendant is opening one of the cooling boxes, wheeling out
Jerome’s dead body. Rita nods, confirming Jerome’s identity. Then she
stares at the body, motionless. Music. When the attendant indicates
by shifting his feet on the floor and coughing discreetly that it’s time
to close the box, Rita bends over Jerome and says:)
RITA: After you died I started to have dreams again. For example, last
night I dreamt about a bluejay in a forest made of pink plastic
bottles. Also, today on television there was a documentary
about Rafael Kubelik, the conductor. When I looked at his face
as he conducted the orchestra, I realized that beauty does exist
after all. See you later.
21. PHONE CALLS
(The passengers have formed several private bubbles for themselves.
Some are sitting, others are standing, others yet are squatting. They are
all talking on their phones. The only exceptions are The Grandmother
and Robert. She is looking out of the window, and he is sleeping. In the
windows we see projections of X-rays of various apple cores.)
THE CRUTCHES: (Haltingly.) I… I think I will die in here… he
wants to kill us… yes, yes… Please kiss little Pete and little
Miriam for me… this is terrible…
THE SHORTSIGHTED: (Exceedingly carefully dialing a number,
and listening to the receiver.) It’s ringing… nobody’s picking
up… (Singing.) Hear, hear, hear, your daddy’s here…. they must
have both forgotten their phone again.
THE SUIT: Hi there, yeah what’s up… Yes, I know I haven’t been
in touch for a while… Listen… yeah right, it’s been more that
a year, yeah… sure… hey listen… oh, you’re in the middle of
something, sure thing, OK, so yeah, bye.
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THE TRACK SUIT: Yeah. It’s me. Listen, I’m calling because, you
know – they, like, kidnapped us in this tram… what? No, no,
no… that’s not the issue… no… listen, what’s really important
right now is that you make sure that at half-past-seven you
record Manchester with Aston Villa at Eurosport, What?
…at eight? OK, at eight…. and then at ten, there’s Detroit
v Montreal on C-Span, OK ? and right after that the highlights
from all the other games, OK? Oh, and also, after midnight,
car racing on twenty-four… the Japanese Grand Prix, you got
it? OK.
(Radka starts singing some battle chants. If the Israelites had the same
power of voice as she has, they would have brought down the walls of
Jericho with half the people.)
THE YOUNG MAN: We are basically… I don’t want to… I’m really
scared that… (He begins to cry loudly, and his voice turns into
a series of incomprehensible wails, sniffles, and brays.)
THE GIRLFRIEND: Fuck, I’m out of minutes! That’s, like, totally…
like, whatever…! (To The Young Man.) Hey, listen, hey,
what’s the…? Can I have your phone?
(The Young Man dismisses her with a rude gesture and crawls under
the seat with his phone and all.)
THE GIRLFRIEND: Great. That’s frickin’ great!
THE SHORTSIGHTED: (Listening to another unanswered ringing.)
Let’s see if my dear little wife picks up… Hallo, hallo, darling,
little darling, where are you hiding…? Why aren’t we picking
up the phone when hubbie hub’s calling…?
THE SUIT: Dude, I like seriously don’t know whom to call at such
short notice…
THE CRUTCHES: And don’t forget to kiss my little Irene for me,
and tell her to keep that sewing kit of mine, she always liked to
play with it… (She cries and turns to Elizabeth.) Should I call
the gas company to cancel my service, and the water?
(Elizabeth shrugs, and watches Wendelin who’s getting ready to call
Petra.)
119
WENDELIN: Hi. Not very good. The tram I’m in has been kidnapped,
can you believe it? No wait, I’m not kidding… it’s not a joke…
(Whispering to Elizabeth, who is listening in very closely.)
What?
ELIZABETH: (Also whispers.) I want to hear your wife’s laugh.
WENDELIN: (Into the phone.) I really mean it. We’ve been snatched
by some maniac, and it’s looking pretty bad. Listen Petra….
What …? I forgot the pills?… Under the coat hanger? Well…
anyhow, Petra… In case the police don’t get us out of this…
he’s got a bomb, you know… Can you wait a minute, I have
to sit down, I’m a bit wobbly… Yeah, you tell me… Sounds
ridiculous doesn’t it? … Close to Peace Square… No, no,
it’s OK, it’s OK… no, no, don’t even try to come here… because
then you’d forever have this image in your head, if we were
to… anyhow, I’ll call you later, OK? (He puts the phone in his
pocket and breathes heavily.)
(Elizabeth is about to stroke Wendelin, but she pulls back midway.)
ELIZABETH: I don’t have a cell phone any more. Never used it
anyhow. You’re completely drenched in sweat.
THE SUIT: So, who should I call? Let me think, let’s call, let’s call…
fucking who?! (He thinks for a while.) My folks, maybe? (He
dials, and listens.) The number you’ve dialed is no longer in
service. OK… (He thinks for a while.) All right, my brother.
(He’s going through his contacts.) Yeah, but I don’t have his
number stored…
THE TRACK SUIT: Yeah, it’s me again. Hey, listen, let’s do this,
actually… why don’t you tape… (Reading from the papers.)
…at eight Bayern Munich against Stuttgart on the German
channel, OK? Soccer, not ice hockey for Christ sake! Yeah,
and write it down, OK.
THE CHINESE TOURIST: (Says something in Chinese, but nobody
can understand.)
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(At this point, Radka begins to supplement her “war chants” with
stripping down to her underwear, and with a sort of self-flagellation
with the sign pole.)
THE SHORTSIGHTED: (To Elizabeth.) They’re not picking up. You
know, I have bit of an inkling, that they don’t want to talk to
me. They always kind of roll their eyes, when I say something…
like this. (He demonstrates.) Do you think that I’m senile?
ELIZABETH: I wouldn’t know.
THE SHORTSIGHTED: Personally, I think that being senile is
kinda funny. But they don’t let me. They, meaning my son
and his girlfriend.
ELIZABETH: You know, I heard somewhere that relatives are like
mountains: It’s far more interesting and pleasant to observe
them at a distance. I’ve lived by myself for quite some time
now. It helps me to focus, you know? I don’t need to keep
explaining myself any more, I don’t need to fight with him
over dirty socks or dinner plans… Been there, done that. I’ve
already said everything I needed to say; I’m quarreled-out,
fought-out, partnered-out, thank you very much, and if, for
example I want to spend the entire afternoon watching my
tea seeping into the tea cup, I’m perfectly free to do so. Like
a quince, I’m just peacefully drying out and shrinking on that
little branch of mine. I may be completely selfish, but who
gives a damn. I don’t know…
(She strokes the little bespectacled man on his bald head.)
THE SHORTSIGHTED: Thank you.
THE GIRLFRIEND: (Addressing the two.) That’s why nature’s getting
rid of you. That’s why you’ve got all those, like, diseases killing
you like flies. You’ve got no immunity and stuff because you
can’t have kids any longer, and you’re completely superfluous.
You’re, like, “out.” That’s, you know, evolution.
ELIZABETH: No, that’s eugenics my dear, but at least we have had
a life, which is something you won’t be able to say once your
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not-yet-used womb filled with shards flies out of the tram
and splatters all over the pavement in front of the National
Theatre over there.
(The Girlfriend starts screaming and hysterically attempts to stuff the
i-Pod headphones into her ears.)
22. IT’S NEVER TOO LATE TO HAVE A HAPPY CHILDHOOD
(Wendelin wipes off sweat. He gets up and walks towards the
conductor’s cabin. Radka is kneeling, all exhausted from her selfflagellation. She doesn’t even react when Wendelin almost trips over
her; all she does is mumble raspy litanies through her clenched teeth.
The Bomber stops the tram, emerges from the conductor’s cabin, and
walks up the aisle towards Wendelin.)
(The two men meet in the middle and stand facing each other,
motionless and silent. A projection of The Little Girl, her face
surrounded by countless microphones, appears in one of the tram
windows.)
THE SHORTSIGHTED: Look! Look, there she is! The Little Girl
with the ear that got stepped on by the rhinoceros! Oh,
that’s so beautiful. I’d die for a hotdog now…
(The Shortsighted throws his arms around The Chinese
Tourist’s shoulders and begins to explain his admiration for The Little
Girl: with the ear and the rhino to him. Wendelin gets weak in the
knees, and for a brief moment he staggers, looking as if he were going
to faint.)
(On the right tram window, we see a film projection of a TV anchor
reporting on a terrorist attack in a Prague tram. A subscreen inserted
above his shoulder shows scenes of the mayhem. However, the entire
projection is mute.)
WENDELIN: (Swallows dryly.) You have to do it, do you?
THE BOMBER: Yes. There are times where one needs to screw it
all. I’m not a slave, am I? I have my rights, don’t I? (He takes
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off his baseball hat and combs through his sweaty hair with
his fingers.)
WENDELIN: You very much remind me of… Henry?!
THE BOMBER: What is it, dad?
WENDELIN: Henry…
THE BOMBER: What?
WENDELIN: Are you out of your mind?!
THE BOMBER: You look horrible.
WENDELIN: What’s all of this?! Why? Is that a real bomb, that thing
under your jacket?
THE BOMBER: It is.
WENDELIN: I hardly recognized you… We, we haven’t seen each
other for such a long time… I mean, I don’t even remember
when I saw you last. All I do is hear you muttering from behind
the restroom door.
THE BOMBER: I feel good there.
WENDELIN: Where’s that?
THE BOMBER: In our restroom. I mean your restroom now. I liked
it ever since I was a child. I would sit there hidden from the
whole world, and I’d imagine that on the outside there were
all sorts of monsters or Nazis looking for people but they
could never find me, because I, I was safe there. And I’d enjoy
looking at all sorts of little things in that restroom. The thin
tin wire for hanging the little window curtain for example,
or that little portrait of mom’s from that street artist in Paris
where she doesn’t look like herself at all… and, just for your
information, I never read magazines in there like you keep
saying; all I do there is imagine things. Or that doll in some
traditional dress from…
WENDELIN: The Baltic.
THE BOMBER: …in that Baltic dress. Grandma hung it there,
still wrapped in the protective plastic so that it wouldn’t get
ruined… that one is gone though.
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WENDELIN: Somebody knocked it down by mistake and it broke.
Probably with their shoulder, while flushing.
THE BOMBER: Aha. By the way, that old lady over there reminded
me of grandma, and you know why? Because she died at least
half-an-hour ago, and nobody noticed.
(Wendelin, with grieving expression in his face, turns around and
looks at the motionless grandmother in her seat. We hear muffled
sounds from the outside.)
WENDELIN: They’re shouting something outside.
THE BOMBER: It’s the police. They say I should give up.
WENDELIN: Something’s stinging (Points to his chest.) in here. Are
you angry with us?
THE BOMBER: That’s exactly the question I was waiting for.
WENDELIN: So are you?
THE BOMBER: Yeah. I’m angry with you, because ever since I was
a child, I’ve felt that you’re not with us; that you’ve never been
with us any of the way. That we didn’t “fulfil” you. You were so
incredibly restless all the time. I’m not very good at talking,
so, I… I… Well, your mind was simply somewhere else. I don’t
know where, but…
WENDELIN: In Hell.
THE BOMBER: That’s your business. I just didn’t like that you never
really saw me. That you were never really with me. Not even
when I proudly recited kindergarten nursery rhymes for you,
or was telling you what happened in school on that day… and
you were home a lot, but still… Do you understand what I…
WENDELIN: (Nods in agreement.) What now?
THE BOMBER: We’re going to the coast.
WENDELIN: They’ve put up roadblocks all over. They can see in
through the windows. What if they shoot you?
THE BOMBER: Like in the movies, right? No, no, don’t worry,
we’re almost there. We’ve arrived on Heroes Square, and from
here… it’s a mere throw of this thing here…
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(He triggers the bomb, throws it in the middle of the aisle, and we hear
a deafening explosion. Blackout.)
23. DARKNESS
(As opposed to the usual theatrical blackout, there is something else
added to this particular darkness: several visions playing out on the
very border between reality and dream, dream and hallucination.
The shattered windows of the tram are filled with fleeting reflections of
scenes from Wendelin’s life. Of special note is a scene of that traditional
Communist ritual of “welcoming new citizens.” We see Wendelin in an
ill-suiting shirt from East Germany, holding a little bundle, the baby
Henry, in his arms, and Petra, who is wearing a Hong Kong-made
synthetic wig that used to be oh so stylish in those days.
In between the pieces of shattered glass we get the occasional glimpse
of Radka’s body flying around, supported by wings black as night. We
can also make out the figure of The Shortsighted little man kneeling
in the middle of a flowerbed among gigantic snowdrops. It all looks as
if it were drawn by William Blake, on one of his good days.)
24. MOVEMENT
“Right now, the time is coming. It’s just about time, and that’s it, and
nothing more.” (Josef Čapek: The Limping Pilgrim)
25. THE COAST OF BOHEMIA
(Sound of waves. It is dusk, and we are on a sandy beach. By the Czech
ocean, on the coast of Bohemia. Should we decide to run on the sand
for few miles to our right, we’d run into the equestrian statue of Saint
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Wenceslas, the Czech Patron Saint, halfway buried in the sand, like
the Statue of Liberty in the original “Planet of the Apes…”
Wendelin is sitting on a sand dune. Next to him a little girl. It’s the one
we saw on TV surrounded by microphones. She is carefully studying
Wendelin.)
THE LITTLE GIRL: Do you like the sea?
WENDELIN: I do, and the sand is still warm from the sun. It warms
your feet when you walk on it, and… Why are you looking at
me like that?
THE LITTLE GIRL: Just so.
WENDELIN: I know you from somewhere.
THE LITTLE GIRL: (Reciting from memory.) The rhinoceros stood
on my earlobe for half-an-hour, yet I escaped unscathed.
WENDELIN: I see. The darling of our entire nation. Did it hurt?
THE LITTLE GIRL: I don’t really remember. I only know that my
belly was rumbling, and then my hair tickled my nose, and
that he smelled a little bit.
WENDELIN: The rhino?
THE LITTLE GIRL: (She nods.) And you, did it hurt?
WENDELIN: A lot. Here in my chest.
(The Little Girl lays her palm, as big as a freshly opened water lily,
on his chest.)
THE LITTLE GIRL: Is it better now?
WENDELIN: Yes, much better.
THE LITTLE GIRL: Wendelin, will you collect some shells for me?
WENDELIN: (Nods in agreement.) Are you here in order to give me
some message, some revelation?
THE LITTLE GIRL: No. I just want those little shells.
WENDELIN: (Gets up and inhales deeply.) I’ll collect as many as you
want, but first, I’d like to take a little swim.
THE LITTLE GIRL: I’ll build a sandcastle in the meantime.
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(Wendelin takes off his shirt and goes into the sea. Just before he
disappears in the waves, he spies The Swan. The Swan slowly and
quietly glides across the water towards him, and when it is about four
or five lengths of a swan neck away from him, its beaked head flips
back, revealing the same swan woman we saw earlier.)
THE SWAN: Hi.
WENDELIN: I’ve never seen a swan in the ocean before.
THE SWAN: Well, sooner or later it was bound to happen. Come
closer.
WENDELIN: You look beautiful.
THE SWAN: You don’t look too bad either. Don’t worry,
there’s nobody here who’d frown at you for “getting yourself
a young one.” Even closer.
(Wendelin approaches her. He is only about two lengths of swan
feather away from her.)
WENDELIN: You’ve got a faint ring of dried salt around your lips…
and your eyebrows are made of tiny little fine black feathers…
I never noticed that before.
THE SWAN: Well, you’ve never been that close to me. You know
what’s really marvellous?
WENDELIN: No. Tell me.
THE SWAN: It’s marvellous to dive all the way to the bottom of
the sea, blindly pick up a stone, put it to your ear, and in that
bubbly underwater voice to say, “Hallo?” Wanna try it?
WENDELIN: All the way to the bottom, stone to the ear, and
“Hallo?”?
THE SWAN: “Halloooooooo?”! Yep. Go, try it.
(So Wendelin dives underwater, periodically coming up to get more
air. Each time his body disappears, The Swan-woman lets out
a “Hallooooo?” from behind her tiny little teeth, while the wings on
her back continue to open up wider and wider, until we get the feeling
that she has spanned them across the two hemispheres that make up
our world.
127
Each time Wendelin emerges to the surface, he grows increasingly
drowsy, and when the span of The Swan’s wings has reached the
maximum width imaginable to men, when Wendelin lays his head
on The Swan’s graceful, fine-feathered chest, then and only then do we
hear The Little Girl screaming from her spot on the beach:)
THE LITTLE GIRL: Hallo! Halloo! Hallooo!! Halloooo!!!
Hallooooo!!!!
(Wendelin turns towards the voice and opens his eyes wide. The
Swan’s wings slowly begin to fold up, until they disappear on The
Swan’s back.)
(Blackout.)
26. TWO BEDS, TWO CHAIRS
(Rita sitting on a chair. With a pair of scissors, she is cutting out
various shapes into a very large sheet of thin wrapping paper. She is
cutting out stars, butterflies, etc… When finished, she uses the cut-offs
to fold origami. She manages to make an ibis with moving wings. The
ibis in her hands flies around the room for a little while. Then Rita
takes a sip of wine from a glass and throws the cut-out sheet over her
head like a veil.)
(On the other side of the stage, we see the first of the two beds. One
is an IC unit hospital bed. On it, Wendelin is connected by different
tubes and wires to various machines. He has already regained his
consciousness, and noticed Petra sitting on a chair nearby.)
PETRA: Oh, Finally… Wendelin, it’s me…
WENDELIN: (Swallows.) Petra.
PETRA: I was so worried I’d lose you… It was awful.
WENDELIN: Did I drown?
PETRA: What do you mean? No, you had a huge heart attack.
WENDELIN: When?
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PETRA: Well, apparently right when you walked into the tram and
took out your Inspector badge. You collapsed and fell over
backwards. That’s why you have that cut on your temple here.
WENDELIN: I see…
PETRA: The ambulance brought you to the hospital. When they
called me I jumped into a cab, and then I got here and I tried
to talk to you, and… and you died!
WENDELIN: Really?
PETRA: Yes! Clinically, I mean no… I maen yes… but really for about
ten minutes you were completely dead… They tried to get me
away from you, but I was so completely out of it, and I didn’t
know what to do, so I just screamed at you “Hallo! Hallo! Hello!
like into the phone, because as I said, I was really completely
out of it, but then, thank God, they somehow managed to
jumpstart you again…
WENDELIN: What’s with Henry?
PETRA: With Henry? Why, he got here right after me. He was
horribly scared, he was shaking like a leaf. He’ll be so happy
to hear that you came to.
WENDELIN: When’s he coming back?
PETRA: He’s here. He’s been here the whole time. He just went to
the restroom right now.
WENDELIN: Listen, we should get him that Baltic doll back in
there. (He laughs.)
PETRA: (Happily.) You really are something, you Mister joker, you,
and to think that I nearly croaked here for all that worrying!
Anyhow, you shouldn’t strain yourself. Here – I brought you
some pops and some magazines.
WENDELIN: “Allure?” “More?” Am I a woman over forty?
PETRA: So I was stressed out.. all right? But I got you the papers
too, here. They say that they’ll make a movie based on that girl
with the rhinoceros.
WENDELIN: I’ll take a little nap now.
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(We now see bed number two on the opposite side of the stage. Rita
slowly, almost stealthily approaches. She has the earlier mentioned
cut-out sheet of paper over her head like a veil, and she holds a copy
of ‘National Awakening’ above her head. She turns on the light. She
bends over an “object” hidden under the thick and fluff y blanket, and
pokes it three times. Nothing happens. Rita repeats the set of three
pokes, and the object moves. Robert’s bearded face emerges from
under the blanket. His little eyes squint at his wife.)
ROBERT: What are you doing…?
RITA: (Very theatrically.) I’m waking you up. Wake up!!! Live!!!!
ROBERT: What time is it?
RITA: It’s just about time. The time is coming. And I came to get
you!!! Get up!!!!
ROBERT: What’s that magazine?
RITA: What’s that magazine? What do you think it is? Now let me tell
you how sad it is to be buying magazines. I come to the kiosk
and say: give me Newsweek, give me Good Housekeeping,
give me Glamour, give me the TV Guide, give me People, give
me the Atlantic, give me Elle, give me… give me Rita.
ROBERT: I’ll take a little nap now.
RITA: No. Either you get up now and give me Life, or I’ll leave you.
(Rita decides to walk down towards the lip of the stage. At the same
moment, Petra too leaves Wendelin’s bedside, and walks down
towards the audience. Both woman stop front center, and bow to the
audience.)
(Blackout.)
27. CURTAIN CALL
(Allow me to somewhat pedantically but nonetheless strongly suggest
the curtain call for this here play. I find it of utmost importance that
the curtain call be created and delineated by The Zapper. I want the
curtain call to be The Zapper’s final musical creation. I want it to be
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filled with the mishmash of his pseudo-English and pseudo-Italian
singing. I want the curtain call to resemble the climax of a late night
TV show, or the final collective bow of all the artists involved in a huge
benefit concert. It doesn’t need to be funny.)
THE END
131
Magdaléna Frydrych
Gregorová
(1982)
Magdaléna Frydrych Gregorová was born in Třinec. After finishing
her studies at a Polish grammar school in Český Těšín, she
studied theatre dramaturgy at the Drama Faculty of the Academy
of Performing Arts in Prague. During her studies, she wrote and
published her first larger dramatic work Porcelain Doll (Panenka
z porcelánu, 2004), which was broadcast as a radio play on the Czech
Radio. In the season 2005/2006, she was a resident playwright at the
Theatre LETÍ, for which she wrote the play In Ages (Na věky, 2005). In
2007 she was awarded the Evald Schorm Prize for young playwrights
for her play Dorotka (2006), which had its Czech premiere in March
2008 by Švandovo Theatre in Prague. Her play Vltavínky (2009) was
staged by Klicperovo divadlo Hradec Králové in December of 2009.
For the radio show Tearoom (Čajovna) broadcast on Vltava Radio,
she wrote a radio drama Playground, which was directed by Lukáš
Trpišovský. Magdaléna Frydrych Gregorová ranks among the most
talented Czech contemporary playwrights. The main characteristics
of her work are softly cruel poetics, minimalist expression and
tragicomic topics.
LIST OF PLAYS:
•
•
•
Panenka z porcelánu, 2004; première 25. 1. 2007, Divadlo Letí,
Prague (rehearsed reading)
Na věky, 2005; première 12. 12. 2007, Divadlo LETÍ, Prague
(rehearsed reading)
Dorotka, 2006; première 1. 3. 2008, Švandovo Theatre, Prague
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•
•
Život je sen, 2009
Vltavínky, 2009; première 5.12. 2009 Klicperovo divadlo, Hradec
Králové (Studio Beseda)
TRANSLATED PLAYS:
•
Dorotka: English – Dorotka
133
Magdalena Frydrychová
DOROTKA
A play
Translated by Michaela Pňačeková
This play is fully protected under the copyright law of Czech Republic and is
subject to royalty. It cannot be nor used nor changed without an appropriate
written permission given by the DILIA Agency. The providing of this play
to a third party for uses other than production due is also subjected to
DILIA permission.
A violation of this restriction and using this play without the permission will
be interpreted as an infringement of copyright law and will underlie to the civil
and criminal liability.
All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the DILIA Agency
Krátkého 1, Praha 9, 190 03, Czech Republic, www.dilia.cz
134
Characters:
Adéla, 30 years old
Dorotka, her sister, 16 years old
Kryštof, a singer, about 30 years old
Marek, a neighbor, 17 years old
The Vicar
The play takes place in a village far from town. Adéla and Dorotka
own a pub there. They rent the room upstairs to Kryštof. Marek lives
in a house nearby. There is a pond behind his house. There is sky above
their heads.
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SCENE 1
(In the pub. Kitchen. Dorotka and Adéla are coming from their
father’s funeral.)
ADÉLA: That was beautiful. The flowers. The candles. The vicar
talking. Hence, we said our goodbyes to our father. He talked
so nicely. Dorotka?
DOROTKA: I don’t know.
ADÉLA: The vicar…talking. About heaven. That life is just a path
we walk on, and that at the end there is heaven, and that life
is eternal.
DOROTKA: He said the same thing when our mother died. Also
when our aunt died. He also said it at our grandparents’
funeral too. He is always saying it.
ADÉLA: So maybe it’s true. And Kryštof, how he sang…He sang
beautifully. He was standing there and singing like an angel.
I haven’t cried like that in a long time.
DOROTKA: You’re always crying. There weren’t many people.
ADÉLA: There were. And they brought flowers and garlands.
Everyone was so sad. You could see that they really liked our
dad. The vicar was sad too. That’s why he gave such a speech.
DOROTKA: The vicar had a hangover. Because he sat here yesterday
till midnight.
ADÉLA: Our dad died. Shame on you. We are lucky that the vicar
is our regular guest.
DOROTKA: That’s true. He spends so much money here that he
nearly supports us.
ADÉLA: And what else should he do? People die. They don’t go to
church anymore.
DOROTKA: They don’t go to church because they die. That’s logical.
You don’t know what you’re saying anymore.
ADÉLA: I know very well what I’m saying. People neither go to the
pub nor the church. There are very few of them. Simply, there
are no people anymore.
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DOROTKA: There are people, but sometimes I think they are not
here. It’s a dump. Everyone is dying and crying here.
ADÉLA: It’s no wonder. He drinks because he is unhappy.
DOROTKA: Everyone just cries here. Even the vicar!
ADÉLA: Being a vicar doesn’t have to mean that he has to be happy
all the time.
DOROTKA: Our vicar doesn’t believe in anything. That’s why he
drinks.
ADÉLA: He is unhappy because people don’t go to church. Because
people don’t believe in anything! Not even God.
DOROTKA: He doesn’t believe in God himself. That’s the way it
is. Otherwise he wouldn’t drink. Otherwise he wouldn’t have
had a hangover at our dad’s funeral. His being a vicar doesn’t
necessarily mean that he has to believe in God.
ADÉLA: Dorota!
DOROTKA: What?
ADÉLA: You know what? You yourself believe in nothing. Look at the
sour face you are making. Even at your own father’s funeral,
you make a sour face. Sour as a lemon. Not for one second
did I see you cry. You don’t like anything. Nothing touches
you. Not the flowers. Not the candles. Not the vicar. Nothing.
DOROTKA: Nothing.
ADÉLA: You will go to confession tomorrow. You have sinned.
DOROTKA: How?
ADÉLA: You know very well.
DOROTKA: I don’t know how I have sinned. I don’t know, Adéla.
ADÉLA: You will go to confession and tell the vicar that you have
sinned. That you said he doesn’t believe in God.
DOROTKA: Whenever you don’t like something, you send me to
confession.
ADÉLA: Because I’m worried about you. You aren’t interested
in anything. You don’t believe in anything. You don’t enjoy
anything.
DOROTKA: You are scaring me again.
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ADÉLA: I’ve never scared you.
DOROTKA: Everybody has always scared us. Our mother, aunt,
grandmother. If we are naughty, we sin and will end up in
hell. Because God will get angry. And now you are scaring me.
ADÉLA: I’m not scaring you. You are scaring yourself. You are
sixteen and don’t know anything except how to make a sour
face. At your age I also didn’t believe in anything. You will
learn in the course of time. Experience. That will teach you.
DOROTKA: You’re scaring me again.
ADÉLA: Really? How?
DOROTKA: By using experience.
ADÉLA: You can’t avoid that. You’ve got everything ahead of
you. Eventually, you’ll understand that one must believe in
something in the end. Sometimes there are things that happen
in life, and one has nothing left in the end but to start to
believe.
DOROTKA: Don’t scare me.
ADÉLA: I’m not. That’s the way it is.
DOROTKA: So you wish that something would happen to me?
ADÉLA: I don’t. I’m warning you.
DOROTKA: To warn and to scare are the same thing.
ADÉLA: You know what? I won’t argue with you today. We buried
our father. (Pause.) Do you think it’s OK to argue after we’ve
just buried our father?
DOROTKA: To argue is never OK. Never.
ADÉLA: You see?
DOROTKA: There is nobody else. Nobody else is left. We are all
alone.
(Adéla brings a plate with a piece of cake.)
ADÉLA: Cake. Here you are.
DOROTKA: We’ve ended up alone in a pub. A pub that nobody
goes to.
ADÉLA: Did you say something?
(Adéla leaves to get another plate. Dorotka doesn’t notice.)
138
DOROTKA: I said we’ve ended up all alone in this pub. That the only
person who comes here is the vicar and he gets drunk because
he doesn’t believe in God. This place is a dump! That’s what
I said. And I won’t eat cake I hate just because every time
someone dies we eat it. I hate cake, you get it? I hate this pub.
And I hate God because he took our dad from us.
(Dorotka is crying very quietly. Adéla comes back with a plate.)
ADÉLA: Come on. Don’t cry. We won’t argue anymore. OK?
DOROTKA: Hmm.
ADÉLA: Have your cake.
DOROTKA: Hmm.
ADÉLA: Come on. It’ll be fine.
DOROTKA: No, it won’t.
ADÉLA: What?
DOROTKA: It won’t be fine.
ADÉLA: What?
DOROTKA: Nothing will be fine.
ADÉLA: It will be fine. Don’t cry.
DOROTKA: I will.
ADÉLA: What?
DOROTKA: Cry. I will cry whenever I want to. I will look sour
whenever I want to. So stop it. Stop telling me what to do.
Stop scaring me. Stop!
ADÉLA: I’ve played your mother for ten years. You don’t see that!
DOROTKA: On the contrary. I do.
ADÉLA: You don’t see anything. Only yourself. You see only yourself
all the time.
DOROTKA: And stop telling me what I should see.
ADÉLA: I play your mother. You were seven when she died. You
cried all the time. And then you suddenly stopped. Out of the
blue. You stopped crying. I put you in a crib. Since then your
face has looked sour. You aren’t even able to cry. Nothing. I’ve
taken care of you.
DOROTKA: You are not my mother. So stop taking care of me.
139
ADÉLA: You’ve got nobody else.
DOROTKA: And I’m not going to confession.
ADÉLA: Why not.
DOROTKA: Just ask.
ADÉLA: Don’t make me angry.
DOROTKA: Just ask me.
ADÉLA: I’m asking. Why won’t you go?
DOROTKA: You’re not asking. You’re not asking me about anything.
You’re just saying it. ‘Why won’t you go?’ That’s not a question.
That means ‘you’re going’. It’s an order.
ADÉLA: Don’t make me angry.
DOROTKA: I won’t confess when I actually didn’t do anything.
ADÉLA: You’re arguing all the time. That’s a sin.
DOROTKA: You’re arguing too. That’s not a sin?
ADÉLA: I go to confession. I am not the one who doesn’t believe. I’m
not the one who condemns the whole world. Eat your cake.
DOROTKA: Besides, there’s another person for me here.
ADÉLA: Marek?
DOROTKA: And?
ADÉLA: He doesn’t go to church.
DOROTKA: He came to the funeral. Our dad’s funeral. So many
people didn’t come. He did.
ADÉLA: Marek and Dorotka. You’re not children anymore.
DOROTKA: He’s my friend. The only person who’s there for me.
ADÉLA: Did you invite him for cake?
DOROTKA: No.
ADÉLA: You see? Your friend. And you didn’t even invite him for
cake.
DOROTKA: You’d ask him again why he doesn’t go to church. You
would talk too much as always.
ADÉLA: You do me wrong again. Have your cake.
DOROTKA: Aren’t we going to wait for Kryštof?
(Pause.)
ADÉLA: God! How he sang.
140
DOROTKA: Like an angel.
ADÉLA: He’ll make good someday. He’ll be the only one of us to
succeed. He’s been here for two years, but I’ll never get used
to it. He sings more beautifully every day.
DOROTKA: Like an angel.
ADÉLA: And you’re going to confession tomorrow.
DOROTKA: If he stays here, he won’t succeed.
SCENE 2
(Kryštof enters. He sits down.)
KRYŠTOF: I simply can’t handle funerals.
ADÉLA: You sang so beautifully.
DOROTKA: Like…
ADÉLA: Like a professional. Actually not ‘like’.
KRYŠTOF: I mean psychologically. Simply depressing.
ADÉLA: Yes. It was very sad. So many flowers.
KRYŠTOF: Not many people though.
ADÉLA: Not many. Enough.
KRYŠTOF: I sang. What else is there left to do? My voice was
trembling with emotion. You were standing there, so lonely.
I’m getting depressed.
ADÉLA: We didn’t notice. I mean that your voice trembled. Have
a piece of cake. Coffee?
KRYŠTOF: Yeah. And a shot of alcohol. I have to wash it down it.
The vicar had a hangover, didn’t he?
ADÉLA: But he spoke beautifully. About eternal life. About heaven
and that…
DOROTKA: That life is just a path we walk on and that heaven is at
the end and that life is eternal.
KRYŠTOF: He hasn’t drunk that much the entire time I’ve known
him.
141
ADÉLA: It’s the times we live in. People don’t believe in anything,
and they are worried because of it.
KRYŠTOF: Mostly, people don’t believe in love. In nativity. There
is death everywhere. Depression. You’re young, you’re pretty.
You must believe in love. What else should one sing about?
When one’s healthy and in love. My condolences.
DOROTKA: Are you going to sing tonight?
KRYŠTOF: I don’t know whether it would be suitable.
DOROTKA: You sing every Tuesday.
ADÉLA: Our dad would have liked it that way. We’ll set up the stage
as usual. Come on.
KRYŠTOF: I don’t know.
ADÉLA: Yes you do. We’ll invite guests. There should be an afterthe-funeral party – to celebrate our father’s life.
KRYŠTOF: Alright. I will sing. But no getting depressed. (Pause. He
drinks.) I wanted to tell you something.
ADÉLA: Good news?
KRYŠTOF: Yes. Well, I don’t know. I just got an offer. It’s sining.
ADÉLA: Oh.
KRYŠTOF: It isn’t anything big.
ADÉLA: You have to start somewhere. Then me and Dorotka will
that you were our tenant. That we’ve known you. An artist.
A career. And us still here.
DOROTKA: In this dump.
KRYŠTOF: As I say, it’s not a big thing. It’s just an offer.
DOROTKA: Where will you sing?
KRYŠTOF: It’s more of a job position. But it’s still better than singing
here in church.
ADÉLA: In the city?
KRYŠTOF: Yes. If I accept it, I’ll have to leave. Accepting that offer.
Singing master. At a primary school. But OK, it’s a position.
ADÉLA: That’s good.
DOROTKA: When will you leave?
142
KRYŠTOF: If I accept it, in two months. If I accept that offer. I’ll
have to leave in two months. We’ll find somebody to rent your
room to. Somebody instead of me. If I accept it, of course.
ADÉLA: That’s logical. Don’t look back. Such an opportunity might
not come around again.
KRYŠTOF: I’m still considering it. I don’t want to regret it later,
you know.
ADÉLA: But you never know that. In advance. Just simply don’t
worry about us. We will manage somehow by ourselves here.
What do you say, Dorotka? Opportunities don’t wait.
DOROTKA: Like an angel. Like an angel. Like an angel.
SCENE 3
(At the pond. Dorotka and Marek.)
DOROTKA: When I was little, my mum used to sing a song to
me. About Dorothy. That Dorothy only had a white camisole
because she was poor. An orphan. She didn’t even have shoes.
And she was blind too. But she had her guardian angel.
MAREK: I’ve never believed in those.
DOROTKA: In guardian angels?
MAREK: My dear guardian angel… But there is none. Where?
DOROTKA: But Dorothy could see him even though she was blind.
Everywhere she went, the angel followed her and protected
her. The first verse was about how she wanted to cross the
river on a footbridge. The second was about how she was on
some rocks with a chasm all around. He guarded her. Dorothy
in a white camisole. My heart stopped every time my mum
sang. Just the thought that there was someone so unlucky.
Afterwards, I cried the whole night. I was so sorry for her.
MAREK: But she had her angel, didn’t she?
143
DOROTKA: I pretty much doubted that. I suspected that my mum
made the angel up so that the song wouldn’t be so sad. Dorothy
was always alone for me.
MAREK: But, nothing ever happened to her. She neither fell in the
river, nor in the chasm, right?
DOROTKA: She didn’t. She went further and further. Barefoot
in white camisole. I had to think of that all the time. How
horrible it was. But I never thought of the angel. As if he never
existed. I only thought of Dorothy.
MAREK: People shouldn’t sing that. After all, it’s rubbish. Why
would a blind girl climb up somewhere. Onto some rocks. Or
through a river.
DOROTKA: I don’t know; it’s just a song. Maybe she was looking for
something. I don’t know why I thought of it. I haven’t thought
of it in years. Have a piece of cake. Actually, I’m also an orphan
now.
MAREK: You don’t look like an orphan.
DOROTKA: Because I’m not blind or in a white camisole?
MAREK: You look normal. I have both parents, both grandmas,
both grandpas. Nobody has died yet. Only our hamster. Sorry.
DOROTKA: If they died, you would still look the same.
MAREK: I don’t think so. Something would definitely change.
DOROTKA: I have only you now.
MAREK: You’ve got Adéla too.
DOROTKA:To torment me. She sends me to confession. And to
the doctor’s as soon as I sneeze. That’s not a life. That’s not
having someone.
MAREK: And what about that singer of yours?
DOROTKA: I haven’t got that one either. He doesn’t care. He thinks
I’m a little girl.
MAREK: Do you remember sometimes how we used to sit here and
look up at the sky at night?
DOROTKA: You wanted to kiss me a few times.
MAREK: It was always in a friendly way.
144
DOROTKA: I didn’t want to.
MAREK: You slapped me. Once.
DOROTKA: Twice. In a friendly way.
MAREK: But we’re not kids anymore.
DOROTKA: We are. We still are. When mum died, I never thought
about Dorothy. She stopped existing. Blind in a white camisole.
I could never cry at night anymore. I look sour now. Adéla says
so. Look at me. How do I look? That’s not sour. That’s nothing.
MAREK: We’ll watch the stars together again. I want to. I’ve decided
that I want to be an astronomer.
DOROTKA: Dad used to say that all people were waiting for
a miracle. From heaven. Just waiting for a sign. For rebirth.
Waiting for life to become different. To make sense sometime.
MAREK: No miracle is going to come from heaven. It’s improbable,
from the astronomic point of view.
DOROTKA: He kept repeating that to me before he died. He
whispered it in my ear. But I have no idea what he meant by
it. I didn’t manage to ask him.
MAREK: Your dad wasn’t normal.
DOROTKA: He went to therapy. But he was normal. More normal
than you might think.
MAREK: You can’t wait for a sign all the time. Nothing is coming.
You remember when we used to sit here at night and watch
the stars? They were close enough to touch because they were
reflected in the pond. All the stars were reflected.
DOROTKA: Yeah. We couldn’t tell what was above and what was
below.
MAREK: I’m so interested in the sky. I’m interested in everything
that’s happening there. All the processes, the stars, the Milky
Way. All those constellations. Someday I will understand it all.
DOROTKA: You don’t believe in heaven.
MAREK: I believe in a heaven full of stars. Because I can see them.
DOROTKA: You don’t go to church. Heaven is God. At least I think
so. I said I hated God. That’s a terrible thing to say.
145
(Marek wants to kiss Dorotka.)
DOROTKA: Stop it.
MAREK: Don’t make such a face.
DOROTKA: I have to go. Kryštof is singing tonight.
MAREK: I wanted us to watch the stars together.
DOROTKA: Not tonight.
MAREK: Forget Adéla. She only talks rubbish. Don’t let her keep you
down. Don’t always wait for everything. Be yourself.
DOROTKA: I’m empty. Is that being myself? The vicar doesn’t
believe in God. He drinks vodka. Adela restrains me. What
shall I do? I’m sitting in this dump and you want to kiss me.
You’re the only person I’ve got. And you’re saying I should be
myself. Bye.
MAREK: I really don’t get you sometimes. I don’t know what your
point is.
DOROTKA: Nobody gets me. Nobody knows what my point is.
Nobody believes in anything, you astronomer.
(Dorotka leaves. The sky darkens. The pond too. Marek is watching it.)
SCENE 4
(The pub. Kryštof is singing on a small stage. It is a long and sad song.
Adéla, Dorotka and the Vicar are listening. The Vicar is drinking
vodka.)
VICAR: You sing divinely. We’re lucky to have you.
ADÉLA: I invited a few guests. Friends of the family. No one came.
DOROTKA: Because there is no family.
VICAR: There is a family if there are the two of you. Everything’s on
your backs now. The pub. The worries. Suddenly there are no
people. I preach at mass and only five people are there. One
can close a pub but one can’t really close a church.
ADÉLA: One must believe.
146
KRYŠTOF: Five people are enough. Even three are enough. Actually
one is enough if the one is really listening. And if one sings all
alone, it’s still not so bad. Can I buy you a drink, sir?
VICAR: Then another glass of vodka.
KRYŠTOF: One glass of blessed vodka for Mr. Vicar. (Pause.)
I apologize.
VICAR: I shouldn’t be drinking. Maybe just wine. Our Lord’s blood.
That would at least be dignified. For a vicar. But I can fall
asleep only if I drink vodka.
DOROTKA: And if you pray…
ADÉLA: Dorota…
VICAR: And if I pray. I know my own sins. I guess it’s not very
appropriate for a vicar to talk about his wrongdoings in a pub.
ADÉLA: Our Lord drank alcohol too. He could even change water
into wine. And people loved him for it. Pubs and churches
have something in common.
VICAR: People confess in church; a vicar, in a pub. Pour me some
more, Adéla.
DOROTKA: Here people go neither to church nor to the pub. This
place is a dump. My dad went insane here. Nothing could help
him. (Silently.) Not even God.
(Pause.)
ADÉLA: Here you are.
VICAR: I hear you’ve got an offer.
KRYŠTOF: I have. Though I am still not sure. Well, considering it.
VICAR: Don’t worry about the church. Before you came, my
housekeeper sang at mass. She used to be a singing master.
At primary school. She will be singing again if you leave.
Although she definitely can’t sing like you. You know, she’s just
a teacher, whereas you’re an artist.
KRYŠTOF: As I said, I have to think it through.
ADÉLA: Won’t you have some more?
KRYŠTOF: The next round is on me.
DOROTKA: Do you know the song about Dorothy?
147
KRYŠTOF: No.
VICAR: About the blind Dorothy?
DOROTKA: My mum used to sing it to me. Barefoot in a white
camisole. An orphan.
VICAR: She had a guardian angel. He guarded her day and night,
night and day.
DOROTKA: Is it possible that some people have one of those and
others don’t?
VICAR: That’s impossible. Everybody’s got one.
DOROTKA: Neither mum or dad had one. So I’m not sure.
ADÉLA: They did. Everybody’s got one! And those who don’t believe
are called heathens. Go to your room and go to sleep. You’ve
been at the pond the whole day. You’ll be sick and we’ll have
to call for the doctor. Health is the most important thing we
have. And stop making that sour face. That’s because you’re
unhealthy. Cough and cold all the time. Day in day out.
DOROTKA: But I’m healthy.
ADÉLA: You’re not. You dribble all the time. Cough at night. And
then you think about stupid things, because of a lack of sleep.
KRYŠTOF: I think she’s got a pretty healthy colour.
VICAR: One more, and then I’m going to bed.
ADÉLA: I’ll walk you home. I need a breath of fresh air. Your light
will be out before I get back.
DOROTKA: My light will be out when I want it to be out.
ADÉLA: You see, Mr. Vicar? Only worries are left. We must believe.
VICAR: I should be saying that. Good night. We must believe.
I should be saying that. Dear God, don’t leave us. I should be
saying that. Don’t leave us. People. Good night, Dorotka. One
mustn’t remain blind.
ADÉLA: Let’s go, Mr. Vicar.
VICAR: I’m a blind man. I won’t find my way back to the vicarage.
Too much vodka. Jesus Christ! You’ve replaced my blood with
vodka. I shouldn’t have said that. Forget it. God bless. Come
to the mass. God, don’t leave us.
148
ADÉLA: I’ll walk you home. Let’s go.
VICAR: I must confess. I must see the bishop. Good night. I must
see the bishop! I’ll tell him everything. I’ll ask him whether
it’s possible not to have a guardian angel. (Laughing.) Is it ever
possible? A vicar who can’t see. Don’t leave us! God bless.
(Adéla and the vicar leave. The night is still dark.)
SCENE 5
(Dorotka’s room. Dorotka is lying on her bed. Kryštof knocks on the
door.)
DOROTKA: Switching off!
KRYŠTOF: It’s me. Can I come in? That’s a horribly strong wind
outside, isn’t it?
DOROTKA: In summer there’s always a strong wind blowing.
KRYŠTOF: I should have gone with them.
DOROTKA: She’s always saying that. She says she needs some fresh
air, then drags the vicar back to the vicarage. Tonight the wind
really is strong. I won’t be able to sleep with all that noise.
KRYŠTOF: I’ll wait until she’s back.
DOROTKA: Have you already seen this picture?
KRYŠTOF: That’s the Virgin Mary.
DOROTKA: My mum gave it to me. Every time my father came to
say good night, he kissed me on my forehead and then had to
kiss her too. Such a stupid habit. I’ll get rid of it. I’ve sinned.
And she’s been watching me do it.
KRYŠTOF: You haven’t sinned, Dorotka.
DOROTKA: It’s just a stupid picture. It doesn’t mean anything. I’d
better remove it because of Adéla. No. I’ll remove it because
of myself. I said I hated God. That’s a sin. No one understands
that.
KRYŠTOF: I do understand. We all have our sins.
149
DOROTKA: Look at the face she’s making. Sour, in my opinion.
KRYŠTOF: She’s smiling.
DOROTKA: That’s not a smile. I look like her now.
KRYŠTOF: She conceived the Son of God. So she’s smiling.
DOROTKA: What a load of crap. You talk like Adéla. She conceived
the Son of God. But where is he?
KRYŠTOF: He died for our sins.
DOROTKA: He died for my sins, and I don’t care. Can you hear how
much I’m sinning?
KRYŠTOF: There’s not enough love in the world. People don’t
believe in love. That’s the problem.
DOROTKA: Something must change. I don’t know what will happen
otherwise. You’ll leave, and we’ll stay here.
KRYŠTOF: Maybe I won’t leave.
DOROTKA: I don’t want you to leave! I’m selfish. Always thinking
only of myself. Stay with us. Do you see how selfish I am?
A little selfish girl. Stay.
KRYŠTOF: Good night.
DOROTKA: Will you kiss me on my forehead?
(Kryštof kisses Dorotka on her forehead.)
KRYŠTOF: Her too?
DOROTKA: No.
(Dorotka removes the picture of the Virgin Mary.)
DOROTKA: Stay.
KRYŠTOF: OK. For you.
DOROTKA: Will you sing to me? Like an angel? My angel?
KRYŠTOF: That’s not me.
DOROTKA: For me.
KRYŠTOF: Sometimes I feel like I’m totally alone. I had so many
dreams, but I was left alone with them.
DOROTKA: Me too. (Pause.) Another kiss?
(Kryštof kisses Dorotka.)
KRYŠTOF: So good night.
DOROTKA: Good night.
150
(Kryštof comes to the door. He opens it, then closes it. Dorotka is
standing on the bed. She’s watching him. Kryštof turns the light off.
He comes back to Dorotka.)
SCENE 6
(In the pub. Kitchen. Adéla is wearing her Sunday clothes. They are
eating breakfast.)
ADÉLA: You look flushed. Do you have a fever?
DOROTKA: I don’t have a fever.
ADÉLA: A tree was uprooted last night. What a strong wind. It fell
across the road. Now nobody will come to the pub anymore.
DOROTKA: Nobody comes here. It’s the same anyway.
ADÉLA: It’s cut us off completely.
DOROTKA: We’ve been cut off already. For a long time.
ADÉLA: It was an old tree. But a giant. No one will be able to move
it.
DOROTKA: If you really want to, you can move anything. At least
something’s changed.
ADÉLA: You really don’t have a fever? You have a cold, don’t you?
DOROTKA: Adéla, it’s summer. Why should I?
ADÉLA: You’ve been sitting at the pond.
DOROTKA: It’s summer.
ADÉLA: It isn’t warm.
DOROTKA: But it’s summer.
ADÉLA: I was tidying up your room.
DOROTKA: And?
ADÉLA: And nothing.
DOROTKA: So stop tidying up my room. I will clean it myself.
It’s my room.
ADÉLA: You’re always forgetting something. For example, to sweep
the floor under your bed.
151
DOROTKA: It’s my floor under my bed.
ADÉLA: I’m not saying anything. It’s your room. Your bed. Your
floor.
DOROTKA: So why did you say it? “I was tidying up your room.”
ADÉLA: Just because. Accidentally.
DOROTKA: You don’t say anything accidentally. You never do
anything accidentally. You don’t clean my room accidentally.
You’re always cleaning my room and….
ADÉLA: No and…It’s your room. And nothing. Your bed. And
nothing. Your floor. And nothing.
(Silence. They are eating. Adéla starts to cry. Silently. Then a bit
louder.)
DOROTKA: Why are you crying?
ADÉLA: I’m not crying.
DOROTKA: So what are you doing?
ADÉLA: Eating my breakfast.
DOROTKA: You’re crying. I’m asking why.
ADÉLA: Just because.
DOROTKA: Don’t say “just because”. Nobody cries just because.
And neither do you.
ADÉLA: What do you mean?
DOROTKA: Nothing.
ADÉLA: You are constantly doing me wrong.
DOROTKA: I can’t listen to your crying. I don’t know why you are
always crying.
ADÉLA: Why can’t I cry just because?
DOROTKA: So ask me.
ADÉLA: Don’t make me angry.
DOROTKA: Ask.
ADÉLA: I’m asking why can’t I cry just because?
DOROTKA: You’re not asking! You’re saying: “I’m crying just
because.” But I know that’s not true.
(Silence.)
DOROTKA: What shall we do with that tree?
152
ADÉLA: Suddenly you’re interested in that tree.
DOROTKA: I’ve always been interested in that tree. Only you don’t
see it.
ADÉLA: I’m not going to argue with you.
DOROTKA: Hmm.
(Silence. They are eating. Adéla starts sobbing again. She stops eating.)
ADÉLA: How could you do it!?
DOROTKA: What?
ADÉLA: I take care of you. I’m like your mother. I don’t think of
myself anymore, yet you do this. After all I’ve done for you!
DOROTKA: What?
ADÉLA: Torturing me like this. All the time. Seeing nothing.
Ignoring everything. You’re so selfish. And now this. Nothing
is sacred to you.
DOROTKA: What are you talking about?
ADÉLA: You know very well.
DOROTKA: I don’t know.
ADÉLA: And what’s more, you don’t know. Torturing me like this!
After all I’ve done for you. Selfish. Removing the picture of
the Virgin Mary. Stuffing it under the bed. With all the spiders
there. Making it dirty like that. How could you do it?
DOROTKA: It’s my picture.
ADÉLA: Yes, my. My! You egoist. Destroying everything. My
picture! Our mother gave it to you. Constantly torturing me
and ruining your own life. Disgusted all the time. What is it
that you actually want? Took away the picture. Doesn’t care
about anything. About yourself. About me. About God.
DOROTKA: Stop.
ADÉLA: In a dump! And? I’m in that dump too. I take care of you.
We own a pub. I work all day, cook, do the washing. Only you
don’t see anything. You removed Mary. You won’t confess.
We’re all alone. Do you understand?
DOROTKA: Don’t shout.
ADÉLA: Sick all the time. Without faith. Without life.
153
DOROTKA: Without a father!
ADÉLA: Without Kryštof!
DOROTKA: What?
ADÉLA: He’ll surely leave. I won’t see him again. I’ll be all alone. The
only person I have. The only person who doesn’t torture me!
DOROTKA: Stop it.
ADÉLA: Pull yourself together. Everyone died and all the rest will
leave us. There’s no one.
DOROTKA: There is someone, Adéla. He’s not leaving. He told me.
(Adéla starts eating again.)
DOROTKA: In the afternoon I’ll talk to Marek, and we’ll move the
fallen tree. There’ll be a road again.
ADÉLA: Dorotka and Marek. Is Mary under the bed because of him?
(Pause.) I knew it. It’s because he doesn’t go to church. He is
always inciting you to do things. It’s his family. They didn’t
raise him well. Do you want to end up like him?
DOROTKA: He hasn’t ended up yet. In any way.
ADÉLA: You’re not kids anymore.
DOROTKA: Marek’s going to be an astronomer. He’s going to study
the stars. And everything up there in the sky.
ADÉLA: Today, you shouldn’t be the one talking about heaven.
You’ve thrown Mary to the spiders. Don’t forget.
DOROTKA: Kryštof won’t leave. He can’t. Who else would sing
for us?
ADÉLA: As long as he keeps singing, everything makes sense.
DOROTKA: Kryštof.
ADÉLA: What?
DOROTKA: Nothing. I just have the feeling sometimes that the
life isn’t so bad. Sometimes I don’t even feel afraid. Although
you’re scaring me.
ADÉLA: I’m not scaring you. But I probably will.
(Adéla stands up and leaves the table.)
ADÉLA: Going to church.
DOROTKA: Already?
154
ADÉLA: To confess. To doubt is to sin.
DOROTKA: I always doubt.
ADÉLA: And that’s why you’re like that, Dorotka.
(Adéla leaves. Dorotka is getting dressed.)
SCENE 7
(At the fallen tree.)
MAREK: What a wind. I didn’t sleep at all last night.
DOROTKA: I didn’t sleep much either. We won’t be able to move it.
(Marek is walking on the tree.)
MAREK: It was alive and now it’s not. Such force.
DOROTKA: Dead.
MAREK: Fallen.
DOROTKA: Everybody’s dying here. In this dump. Something is
flowing out .
MAREK: That’s sap.
DOROTKA: It’s bleeding.
MAREK: Don’t touch it.
DOROTKA: Why?
MAREK: you’ll get dirty. It’s sticky.
DOROTKA: It’s not sap. It’s blood.
MAREK: The tree was old.
DOROTKA: But mighty. Look, it’s all over my hands.
MAREK: You’ll be sticky.
DOROTKA: What can we do?
MAREK: It’s completely blocking the road.
DOROTKA: Nobody comes here. Maybe nobody will leave.
MAREK: I told you. It’s all over you. You see?
DOROTKA: I can’t go to church like this.
MAREK: You won’t be able to wash it off. Maybe you will. Maybe
somehow you’ll manage..
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DOROTKA: Mum used to always make sure that we went to church
clean. A white blouse and a skirt. Black shoes. A ponytail. No
sneezing. Sit quietly in church. Don’t sneeze. Don’t breathe.
I got dirty every time. Somehow. On the way to church. Mum
said that I jumped into puddles on purpose. Nothing was on
purpose. Adéla was always clean as a whistle. Not a stain on
her. I could never manage that.
MAREK: Are you going to mass?
DOROTKA: Yeah. But like this? Adéla went ahead. To confession.
I’ve sinned terribly. Tonight. I’ve sinned in an indescribable
way. I can’t go to confession. Never again.
MAREK: Forget about it. You don’t have to be scared all the time.
My grandma says that people are afraid. They’re afraid of
something all the time. Church, that’s fear as well. Don’t get
dirty. Don’t breathe. Do that. Don’t do that. Confess. Don’t
confess. Fear all the time.
DOROTKA: Sometimes I’m scared. Really. I’m afraid of myself.
Adéla says I am scared of myself. But it’s true. I sin and I feel
great. As if I had a fever. That’s not normal.
MAREK: It’s all over you now.
DOROTKA:So it won’t wash away. And? The tree’s bleeding. But
I feel great. I sin. I’m scared. And I feel wonderful.
(Dorotka is licking her finger.)
MAREK: That’s really not normal.
DOROTKA: But it’s sweet. Not sour.
MAREK: Dorotka, Now I’ve got only you as well. Yesterday I said
to my parents that I want to study astronomy. Dad laughed.
Mum cried.
DOROTKA: Taste it.
MAREK: My mum wants me to go to law school. A lawyer like my
grandpa. I don’t have a head for that. Dad was furious. He told
mum that her father was a rat of a lawyer. My grandpa from
mum’s side. My grandpa from dad’s side is a mechanic like my
dad. So dad said I have to be a mechanic too. That I must have
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an honest job. My mum cried even more and told him that if
I were like him, I’d have an honest job but that I’d end up here,
in this dump and that I’d never make good money. Dorotka,
don’t eat it. You’ll poison yourself. It’s sap.
DOROTKA: You’ll be an astronomer. You’ll study the stars in the
sky.
MAREK: I don’t even own a telescope.
DOROTKA: But you can recognize all those constellations by now.
And you’ve got books. Don’t worry.
MAREK: I’d stay in this dump just for you. But I won’t be a mechanic.
I’d rather drown in the pond. Can you imagine that?
DOROTKA: No. You can’t drown. You can’s stay in this dump either.
For me. You’ll be an astronomer.
(Adéla comes. Step by step. She sits on the tree. Numb.)
DOROTKA: Hello. (Pause.) What’s up? Why aren’t you at church?
ADÉLA: God punished us. It happened.
DOROTKA: What’s happened?
MAREK: I wouldn’t sit on that. Sap is flowing out. It’s sticky.
ADÉLA: What?
MAREK: You sat down in the sap.
DOROTKA: You sat down right there. Right on the wound where
it is bleeding.
ADÉLA: What?
DOROTKA: The tree. Maybe it hasn’t died yet.
ADÉLA: Now it’s here.
DOROTKA: What’s here? What’s up with you?
ADÉLA: Retribution, Dorotka. The wind.
DOROTKA: It uprooted the tree. Never mind. It was old.
ADÉLA: For a terrible sin he punished us.
DOROTKA: How?
ADÉLA: The wind.
DOROTKA: It’s just a tree.
ADÉLA: Not the tree! The church. It was blown away.
DOROTKA: It blew the church away?
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MAREK: The wind?
DOROTKA: The church?
ADÉLA: It doesn’t exist anymore. It’s there but without its roof.
It’s not there.
MAREK: It probably didn’t blow it very far…
ADÉLA: I came there and the vicar’s housekeeper was sitting on the
threshold. Sitting there as if nothing had happened. I hadn’t
noticed anything. I wanted to go inside and she said that the
church was closed today.
DOROTKA: And where’s the vicar?
ADÉLA: Don’t know. Disappeared.
(Kryštof enters. He sits on the tree.)
MAREK: I wouldn’t sit on that.
KRYŠTOF: Never seen such a thing. A wreck. And nothing. Never.
ADÉLA: The funeral yesterday. Candles. Flowers. Ruins today. That
must be sorted out. The vicar is missing. The wind. The wind
has come and God is missing. It took everything. Your father.
The roof. The vicar. It left only ruins here.
KRYŠTOF: How do you want to sort this out? It’s impossible. Ruins
left in place of the church. With no roof. Maybe he’s drinking
somewhere.
ADÉLA: God?
KRYŠTOF: For God’s sake! The vicar!
ADÉLA: The vicar doesn’t drink for God. He drinks for himself. And
to think, I’ve been pouring vodka for him. God’s wrath. On
me. On the vicar. On you, Dorotka. Where else should he be
drinking? Who else would be pouring drinks for him? Where?
I own the pub!
DOROTKA: God only wanted something to change.
ADÉLA: You don’t believe in God. So don’t say who wanted what.
(Marek presses his finger against the tree.)
MAREK: It’s flowing from here too.
DOROTKA: So sticky.
ADÉLA: Dorota, why do you look like that?
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DOROTKA: It’s from the tree. It’s flowing. Look.
MAREK: Sap.
ADÉLA: Who’ll wash it off? It’s ruined. It’s all over you.
DOROTKA: You too.
(Adéla stands up. Marek licks his finger.)
MAREK: You were right. It’s sweet.
ADÉLA: You can’t wash it away.
KRYŠTOF: I’ve never seen such a thing. Never.
(Dorotka approaches Kryštof. She makes a stain on his face.)
ADÉLA: It’s really sweet. And sticky.
DOROTKA: Now it’s all over all of us.
ADÉLA: Now we can throw everything away. The skirt. The Sunday
blouse. The church is closed. The vicar is missing.
MAREK: It’s flowing from everywhere. The sap’s everywhere. Look.
From here as well.
ADÉLA: Don’t touch it. Dorota!
DOROTKA: Bleeding like this.
KRYŠTOF: I’ve never seen such a thing.
ADÉLA: It has to be rinsed away quickly.
(Adéla leaves. Dorotka hugs Kryštof. She kisses him.)
MAREK: So the roof was blown away by the wind. It’ll be in the
newspaper. Tomorrow by the latest. Maybe on TV. That
doesn’t happen very often. What a wind. See you.
(Marek leaves.)
SCENE 8
(Kryštof and Dorotka are left alone. Dorotka has smudged Kryštof
on the face.)
DOROTKA: A sin. Horrible. But beautiful. It isn’t normal.
KRYŠTOF: It shouldn’t have happened.
DOROTKA: What?
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KRYŠTOF: The roof.
DOROTKA: Hmm.
KRYŠTOF: Everything’s destroyed. Ruins are all that’s left of the
church. I can’t deal with situations escalating like this. The
depression is coming again. I have to sing it all away. Haven’t
seen such a thing. It’s worse than an earthquake.
DOROTKA: Never mind.
KRYŠTOF: What?
DOROTKA: It’ll be alright again soon.
KRYŠTOF: It won’t. It won’t be alright. It can’t be fixed just like that.
DOROTKA: Nothing can be fixed just like that.
(Dorotka sits on the tree. Kryštof is pacing around.)
KRYŠTOF: Can’t go on like this anymore. I used to have dreams
for my life, you know. Music conservatory. Art. Shiny shoes.
Shoulder-length hair. And singing. To sing till people cry. To
move them to tears. Real tears! So that they are really moved.
When I sing here, in church, sometimes they cry. Yeah, but
only at funerals! It’s not real. No real tears.
DOROTKA: Maybe it’ll come.
KRYŠTOF: I’ve had such dreams. Jazz in a café. Singing. In the
evenings. Really living. Or musicals. Art. Living it. You
understand? To move everyone to tears. Living it!
DOROTKA: I don’t cry anymore. Since mother died. Quietly
sometimes. For a while. Otherwise never.
KRYŠTOF: That’s exactly what I mean. But I understand you,
Dorotka. You can’t experience anything here. Really. I sing in
the pub and only Adéla is ever there. She’s listening, and when
I look I can sometimes see a tear in the corner of her eye.
A small tear. Nothing more. (Pause) A singing teacher! What
is it? Depression. That’s the only thing you can experience
that here. Really.
DOROTKA: I also worry sometimes. But now we’ve got each other.
That’s beautiful. That’s something different.
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KRYŠTOF: No, Dorotka. It isn’t. You deserve the best. You deserve
somebody! You’ve got everything before you. I’m nobody.
Nothing. A total loser.
DOROTKA: You are somebody. There’s nobody else. I’ve only got
you.
KRYŠTOF: A loser.
(Kryštof sits on the tree. Dorotka hugs him. He isn’t reacting, just
staring in front of himself.)
DOROTKA: What’s happening?
KRYŠTOF: Nothing. A total loser.
DOROTKA: And at night?
KRYŠTOF: Nothing. A loser.
DOROTKA: How so?
KRYŠTOF: You deserve a life. A real life! And I can’t provide that.
A singing master. At a primary school, for God’s sake!
DOROTKA: But I deserve you. You’re real! There’s nobody else.
(Kryštof hugs Dorotka intensely. They fall from the tree. Kryštof stands
up. Silence for a while.)
KRYŠTOF: For God’s sake. What have I done.
DOROTKA: What?
KRYŠTOF: What kind of person am I. What actually happened?
For God’s sake.
DOROTKA: What?
KRYŠTOF: Little girl, I’m not a loser. I’m a monster.
DOROTKA: Kryštof?
KRYŠTOF: Forgive me. Forget me. What am I saying?
What’s happening…
DOROTKA: What’s happening?
KRYŠTOF: Forgive me, Dorotka. I’m not a man.
DOROTKA: What’s gotten into you?
KRYŠTOF: I’ll burn in hell.
DOROTKA: We’ll both go there. It’s our mutual sin. A terrible one.
So what? We’ll burn there together.
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KRYŠTOF: Shut your mouth! Never say that again. Ever. You’re
a saint. You’ll go to heaven. You’ll be laughing at me from
above. At me, the monster. In the pit of hell. You’re only
sixteen. What have I done?
DOROTKA: I’m not a child anymore. I removed the picture from
the wall. I wanted to!
KRYŠTOF: No, you didn’t want to. Forget about it. Forget that you
wanted something. Nothing. Listen to me. You didn’t want
anything! I did. I am the monster. A loser. A depressed loser.
What’s happening? What’s going to happen? Forgive me.
(Kryštof is hugging Dorotka. He’s crying.)
KRYŠTOF: God’s started punishing me. He took the church.
It’s started, Dorotka. Forgive me, little girl. I deserve
punishment. Punishing. Suffering. No singing! My vocal cords
torn out. To suffer. To howl. In flames. Hell. To die. End.
DOROTKA: Stop it.
KRYŠTOF: Dorotka, that’s the end. I’m a monster. There won’t be
anything anymore.
DOROTKA: Let go.
(Dorotka frees herself from his embrace. Silence for a while.)
KRYŠTOF: So. This is better. Good.
DOROTKA: Leave me alone.
KRYŠTOF: Forget about everything, Dorotka. Forgive me for all
of this. Sometimes one can’t control oneself. I can’t control
myself. Like yesterday night. Forgive me. I’m a loser. What
shall I do? Say something. What shall I do?
(Kryštof wants to embrace her.)
DOROTKA: Nothing. I want….
KRYŠTOF: What? Say it.
DOROTKA: Nothing. Let go.
KRYŠTOF: You’re so pretty. Full of hope. I am a nobody.
DOROTKA: Pretty?
KRYŠTOF: Yeah.
DOROTKA: Full of hope?
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KRYŠTOF: Yeah. But still young. You know, everything’s ahead of
you.
DOROTKA: What?
KRYŠTOF: Everything, Dorotka.
DOROTKA: There isn’t anything or anybody anywhere.
KRYŠTOF: Everything’s ahead of you!
(The vicar comes. He’s got a nearly empty vodka bottle in his hand.)
VICAR: God bless all good people. The last bottle. It was hid in
my room. In a crack in the floor. Hid very well so that the
housekeeper wouldn’t find it. (Laughs) Trust me, very well hid.
She was searching and found nothing. It was well hid for bad
times. I always had a sip when the bad times came. It was in
easy reach. The bad times have come. They came last night.
When I realized that, I ran to my room and found it there.
It was right there. So I drank it. When I came around I left.
Where? I don’t know. To the church? No way. I didn’t have
courage for that. For some things, you can’t get up courage
even if you drink a whole bottle of vodka. But I have found
good people here. Look. I have no more. The last swallow.
(The vicar empties the bottle and drops it.)
VICAR: There’s none left. And won’t be. It can’t go on like this!
Hiding vodka. From the housekeeper, that’s fine. But from
God? I can’t hide so well. And from myself? That’s completely
impossible. (Laughing.) One can’t hide anything from oneself.
Not so well as not to find it later. You’re good people. Well
hidden. What am I saying? Yeah. One can’t hide anything from
oneself. Nothing. Believe me. It’s God’s will. Where to go now?
What will happen? God knows. And nothing will be hidden.
Nothing. So farewell.
(The Vicar leaves slowly. Kryštof is silently singing an unknown song.
Dorotka runs away.)
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SCENE 9
(Evening. At the fallen tree. Marek is sitting on it. He’s got a backpack
on his back. Dorotka comes.)
DOROTKA: What are you doing here?
MAREK: Waiting.
DOROTKA: For what?
MAREK: For you. It’s been two hours now.
DOROTKA: It’s nighttime. I was at the pond.
MAREK: I knew you would come. To look at the tree.
DOROTKA: The sap is still flowing from it. Look.
MAREK: Strange. Still flowing.
DOROTKA: It is. Bleeding like this. Since the morning.
MAREK: I wanted to say goodbye.
DOROTKA: Why?
MAREK: I’m leaving.
DOROTKA: Where?
MAREK: Away. I have a backpack, you see? Packed.
DOROTKA: Oh.
MAREK: If I hadn’t said it, you wouldn’t even have noticed. I’m
leaving. Because I have no one here. No one.
DOROTKA: You’ve got your family. And me.
MAREK: I don’t. You’ve got Kryštof now.
DOROTKA: That’s why? Because of that?
MAREK: Don’t ask anymore. I’m leaving home. I’ve packed my stuff.
My parents argued. They argued about what would become
of me. But that’s my business. And you won’t watch the stars
with me anymore.
DOROTKA: Why?
MAREK: You’re asking as if you really don’t understand!
DOROTKA: But I don’t.
MAREK: You do. We’re not kids anymore. We won’t always sit down
by the pond and watch the stars together. Or throw stones
164
in the water so that the stars will twinkle. Not anymore. We
aren’t kids. Goodbye.
DOROTKA: That’s really nice. My friend and he’s fleeing. What
about me?
MAREK: Exactly. What about you. You think only of yourself.
That’s why I’m leaving.
DOROTKA: You have nowhere to go. Where do you want to go?
MAREK: Away. None of your business. I won’t stay in this dump
any longer. Alone.
DOROTKA: So run away.
MAREK: Really?
DOROTKA: Hmm.
MAREK: So bye.
DOROTKA: And what have you got in that backpack?
MAREK: Stuff.
DOROTKA: What stuff?
MAREK: Everything I’ll need.
DOROTKA: You think it’s enough to simply pack and leave?
MAREK: I’m going to do it. I’m serious.
DOROTKA: So bye.
MAREK: I’m not a kid anymore.
DOROTKA: Think it over one last time.
MAREK: No, I’ve made up my mind. I’m going. Don’t say anything
to my parents if they ask. Don’t say anything to anybody. Not
even to Adéla.
DOROTKA: When will you come back?
MAREK: Never.
DOROTKA: Because of me? Because I only think of myself?
MAREK: Yes. Also because of that.
DOROTKA: But I don’t think about anything anymore. I don’t even
know what to think about.
MAREK: Think about what you want. About who you want!
DOROTKA: Just so you know, you’re the one thinking of yourself!
Farewell.
165
MAREK: Damn. I really liked you.
DOROTKA: You’ve got it all mixed up.
MAREK: I’ve got it all straightened out. It’s finally clear to me.
DOROTKA: If you really liked me, you wouldn’t leave.
MAREK: That’s why I’m leaving.
DOROTKA: You’ve got it all mixed up.
MAREK: I won’t waste time explaining. I’ve said everything I wanted
to say.
DOROTKA: So go.
MAREK: I’m going! Bye.
(Marek leaves. He leaves the backpack under the tree. He comes back.
Dorotka hands the backpack to him.)
MAREK: And don’t forget about me. For you, it’s all clear. Life’s ahead
of you.
DOROTKA: All ahead of me! What is ahead of me? Behind me
there’s wasteland. The stars. The pond. The ruins. And the
funerals. I’m pretty. Behind me and above me. Stars. Trees.
The sky. Blood. Sticky. I’m full of hope. In me. Wasteland.
Plenty. Ruins. Trees. Blood. I’m still young. Just myself…
MAREK: What?
DOROTKA: Just myself. I can’t see. Nowhere. Ahead, behind.
Nowhere!
(Marek pulls out a bundle of books from the backpack. He puts it on
the tree.)
MAREK: As a keepsake. (Marek is holding the backpack. He puts it
slowly on his back. Dorotka is numb. She’s watching him.)
MAREK: I have to go now. So bye.
(Marek leaves. Dorotka is standing there. Some stars can be seen in
the sky.)
166
SCENE 10
(In the pub. Kryštof is singing on a small stage. Adéla is listening. There
is a picture of the Virgin Mary on the wall. When Kryštof finishes, he
drinks from a bottle on a table. Dorotka enters. She takes a glass of
water. She wants to leave.)
ADÉLA: Dorotka, wait.
DOROTKA: I only came for some water. I’m going to my room.
ADÉLA: What’s with you? Look at me. You’ve got dark circles under
your eyes. So pale. I’ve been watching you for some time.
I don’t like what I see. Are you ill?
DOROTKA: Please, don’t start.
ADÉLA: Pale. What do you think, Kryštof?
KRYŠTOF: I don’t think so.
ADÉLA: Pale as death. (To Dorotka.) You’re going to the doctor.
The sun’s shining and you’re pale. That’s because you’ve been
sitting in your room the whole day.
KRYŠTOF: I was at the vicarage today.
ADÉLA: How is Mr. Vicar?
KRYŠTOF: He’s left his room today for the first time. First time
since then. He gave some instructions to the housekeeper
and then went right back. I didn’t even see him. Very strange
atmosphere there. Kind of depressing.
ADÉLA: For the last three weeks they have been trying to figure
out what to do about the church situation. For three weeks!
Church says they don’t have money for a new roof. People
without a church. The vicar withdrawn. What a time… (To
Dorotka.) like death.
DOROTKA: Time is death. You don’t know what you’re saying again.
ADÉLA: I know what I’m saying. That you’re going to the doctor’s.
DOROTKA: I’m going somewhere. To my room.
ADÉLA: Wait. Two people came to the pub yesterday. They had
coffee and talked about that tree. They asked how long the sap
has been flowing from it.
167
KRYŠTOF: Maybe they are scientists.
ADÉLA: Some things are outside of science.
DOROTKA: It’s still bleeding. From morning till evening. Every day.
ADÉLA: Some things can’t be understood. They just are.
DOROTKA: It’s a miracle. They should leave it alone.
ADÉLA: It would be a miracle if life finally appeared in this place.
KRYŠTOF: Everything will come, you’ll see. People. Business.
They’ve been talking about it. A church without a roof is
a disaster. They’ve been writing about it in the newspapers.
All the time. At least something. And the tree, it’s a sensation.
ADÉLA: What sensation? A tree is no sensation. Nor is the church.
It’ll all be forgotten soon. People have other worries. Here
today, gone tomorrow.
DOROTKA: I’m going to my room.
ADÉLA: Wait. We don’t see you anymore. Kryštof is singing and
you’re hiding in your room. All the time. Before, at least you
used to listen.
DOROTKA: Before, at least I used to make a sour face. (She looks
at the picture.) Like her.
ADÉLA: She just spent nearly a month under the bed, so don’t be
surprised. (Pause.) Something’s wrong with you.
DOROTKA: So ask.
ADÉLA: You want to make me angry again.
DOROTKA: Ask.
ADÉLA: I don’t have to ask. I can see that there’s something wrong
with you.
KRYŠTOF: I want to tell you something. I sang for the last time
today.
ADÉLA: That’s clear. With such an audience. Right?
KRYŠTOF: That’s not it.
ADÉLA: What is it then?
KRYŠTOF: I’m leaving.
(Pause.)
KRYŠTOF: As you know, the church is gone. I’ve lost my place here.
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ADÉLA: And when are you leaving?
KRYŠTOF: Soon.
ADÉLA: How soon?
KRYŠTOF: Tomorrow. Late afternoon.
ADÉLA: Are you going to teach singing?
KRYŠTOF: No. I was offered something else. Via an advert. I found
a job. Well paid. Fairly. Of course, I’ll send you the rent money
until you find someone instead of me. A substitute for me.
I had to take it. Yes, it’s pretty rash. Nothing ventured, nothing
gained.
(Silence.)
ADÉLA: Where are you going to sing?
KRYŠTOF: Nowhere. I won’t. I’m finished with singing. (Pause.)
Sometimes one has to put aside one’s ideals, otherwise one
can’t move on. Dreams are beautiful, but you have to face
reality by yourself. And opportunity doesn’t wait. It’s a job as
the head of a business department. Organizing and stuff. They
wanted someone flexible. Contact with people. So I took it.
DOROTKA: With people.
ADÉLA: That’s clear. There are no people here. There’s nobody here.
Right? No real contact. I hope you aren’t too worried about us.
KRYŠTOF: No, not at all. Actually yes. I like you all. I feel anxious
already. I get depressed at the thought of you abandoned here.
Don’t say anything. You’re young, pretty. Everything’s ahead
of you. Love. You just have to trust yourselves.
(Adéla is trying to suppress her tears.)
ADÉLA: I’m not young anymore.
KRYŠTOF: You’re a woman at her best age.
(Adéla is crying. Dorotka drinks water from a glass.)
KRYŠTOF: Just no tears. You have to start living. Sell the pub. Get
out of this dump. It’s too depressing here. Only tears. Only
ruins. You can’t live a normal life here. Go away from here.
There’s life somewhere. It’s waiting somewhere. You just have
to do something about it.
169
ADÉLA: There’s life somewhere. But where? I don’t see where.
KRYŠTOF: Adéla, you have to pull yourself together. Damn the pub.
The commitments. Nothing is stopping you. Just don’t feel
sorry for yourself. Don’t cry. Endure.
ADÉLA: I won’t endure it any longer. I can’t.
KRYŠTOF: You can! It’s enough to want to.
ADÉLA: I can’t stand it.
KRYŠTOF: I also told myself that I couldn’t endure it. There’s just no
life here. Everyone’s dying here. Two years were enough and
now I understand. You have to get out of here!
ADÉLA: And what shall I do?
KRYŠTOF: You finally have to find someone. A man. Start living.
Set up a family. Two kids, maybe three. A man with a good
job so that you won’t have to count every penny. You just can’t
spend the rest of your life here. Buy something to wear. Always
the blouses. White doesn’t suit you. More colours, Adéla. Go
to the hairdresser’s. Invest in yourself! Free yourself and let
your charm out. Let yourself be seen. Men will fight over you.
Trust me. It’s in you!
ADÉLA: I love you.
KRYŠTOF: I shouldn’t have sung today.
ADÉLA: For God’s sake. What did I want. Dorotka, hand me a glass
of water. Suddenly my mouth is dry. It’s burning terribly.
I shouldn’t cry so much, I know. I’ve been crying all the time.
You don’t like it. I know that you mind it. Dorotka buries
herself in her room and you want to leave. (Dorotka hands
her a glass of water.) Thanks. I have to drink something. (She
drinks. She spits the water at Kryštof accidentally. She cries.)
I’m sorry. I have to go to the bathroom. It’s as if I have a lump
in my throat. It’s stinging. Burning terribly. Really. You can’t
imagine how it hurts me. I can’t stand it anymore. I really don’t
feel well. Sorry.
(Adéla leaves. Dorotka takes the glass of water and pours the rest of
the water on Kryštof.)
170
DOROTKA: People just don’t believe in love.
(Dorotka leaves. She stops at the door. She returns. She gives a big kiss
to the Virgin Mary. She leaves afterwards.)
KRYŠTOF: Depression. That depression again. I shouldn’t have sung
anything today.
SCENE 11
(In the church. The next day late afternoon. Dorotka enters the church.
The vicar is sitting on a bench.)
DOROTKA: I heard that you don’t leave your room.
(Pause.)
VICAR: One has to look the truth and God in the eye. What are you
doing here? The church is closed.
DOROTKA: It isn’t. A church can’t be closed. Can I sit? Just for
a while.
(Dorotka sits down.)
DOROTKA: Are you sick? Don’t you feel well? Will you go to see
the bishop?
VICAR: I will. Sure I will.
DOROTKA: You’ve sat in your room for three days. Adéla was
waiting for you every day. She was watching for you.
VICAR: Somebody after all.
DOROTKA: Me too. From the window of my room. I got used to
you visiting us.
VICAR: God bless you, Dorotka.
(The vicar wants to leave.)
DOROTKA: Wait. I want to tell you something. I’ve sinned.
VICAR: I can’t give you absolution. I have to go to confession myself.
DOROTKA: Wait. We all have our sins. But I didn’t come to confess.
I just want to tell you something. (Silently.) I said I hated God.
And I also kept the Virgin Mary under my bed for a few weeks.
171
Then the wind blew the roof off. And there’s one more sin that
I can’t even tell you about. Kryštof is leaving. Today.
VICAR: I know.
DOROTKA: And only ruins are left of the church.
VICAR: One has to believe. In something.
DOROTKA: But I don’t believe. I said I hated God because he took
our dad away from us. And now I said it aloud too. In church.
VICAR: Me too.
DOROTKA: What?
VICAR: I said it aloud too.
DOROTKA: You too? He heard it. For sure. Both of us. What is
going to happen now?
VICAR: He doesn’t only hear the bad things. He hears the good
things too. And the people who don’t believe in anything don’t
talk like you.
DOROTKA: I want to tell you that something’s changed. I can’t
completely understand it. But it has. I don’t even know
whether it is good or bad. How it’s changed. I don’t know. But
somehow it has. The wind uprooted the tree that night. And
it’s still bleeding. Flowing. It’s a miracle. Do you understand?
VICAR: You don’t have to understand.
DOROTKA: You do sometimes. But what?
VICAR: You have to ask.
DOROTKA: Ask? But who? I’m asking all the time. But probably
idiotically.
VICAR: Farewell.
DOROTKA: Wait a moment. What did you do? In that room.
Hidden.
(After a while.)
VICAR: I hid something. And I couldn’t find it, you know? I couldn’t
remember anything.
DOROTKA: You can’t hide anything from yourself. Are you still
searching for it?
172
VICAR: At first I was searching for it, but I didn’t find it. Then I cried
and swore for a week. At myself. At God, too.
DOROTKA: And now what?
VICAR: Now I must find them. They got scared. Both of them.
DOROTKA: I know. Being scared of yourself. But searching for
something all the time? (Pause.) Sometimes I feel the urge but
don’t know where to look. For example, like for Marek. I don’t
know where to look for things. Always asking for something.
So ask. But whom? I’ll probably do it wrong. Are you OK?
VICAR: I’m going. Goodbye, Dorotka. I nearly forgot: Marek was
looking for you here.
DOROTKA: Marek?
VICAR: He was here before you came.
DOROTKA: Marek was here? He was looking for me in the church?
So he is back?
VICAR: He was asking for you.
DOROTKA: Where did he go?
VICAR: Don’t know. To the pond maybe. He said he was going to
the pond.
DOROTKA: He’s going to drown himself. For God’s sake. Goodbye.
VICAR: Dorotka?
DOROTKA: Never mind. Yes and the thing you hid in the crack
in the floor, stop looking for it. You’re wasting your time. So
goodbye.
(Dorotka runs out of the church. The vicar is standing.)
SCENE 12
(At the pond. Marek. Dorotka comes running.)
DOROTKA: Wait. Don’t do it, Marek.
MAREK: What?
DOROTKA: Don’t jump.
173
MAREK: Where?
DOROTKA: Into the pond.
MAREK: Why?
DOROTKA: You wanted to drown yourself.
MAREK: No, I don’t.
DOROTKA: You came back and looked for me in the church. But
I came after. I talked to the vicar. He isn’t looking for the vodka
anymore. He has stopped. He doesn’t remember that he drank
it. But he hid it so well that he isn’t looking for it anymore.
MAREK: Oh.
DOROTKA: Get it?
MAREK: No.
DOROTKA: Never mind. Where have you been? When did you
come back? Are you still angry?
MAREK: No.
DOROTKA: You’re not going to drown yourself?
MAREK: No. Why? It was raining yesterday. Look, the shore is all
drenched. Dorotka, what’s happening?
DOROTKA: I was worried about you. You haven’t even written.
Nobody went looking for you. A boy runs away from home
and nobody goes looking for him.
(Pause.)
MAREK: I was at the cottage. At my grandma’s and grandpa’s.
DOROTKA: I thought you ran away. Forever. That I wouldn’t see
you again.
MAREK: I did run away. But then I went to the cottage to see
grandma. Sorry. But I was angry with you. You just let me
go. Sorry.
DOROTKA: You’re such a child!
MAREK: Wait, Dorotka.
DOROTKA: I’m leaving.
MAREK: Sorry. Don’t go anywhere.
DOROTKA: What do you want?
174
MAREK: I won’t leave you again. I don’t care about Kryštof. Seriously.
I won’t do it again.
DOROTKA: But I don’t care anymore.
MAREK: You do. You were worried that I’d drown. You really don’t
know how glad I am.
(Dorotka slaps Marek across the face.)
MAREK: Ouch.
DOROTKA: There.
MAREK: I was bored to death.
DOROTKA: You deserved that, you cottage dweller.
MAREK: And what else is going on?
DOROTKA: Bye.
MAREK: Wait. The tree.
DOROTKA: What about the tree?
MAREK: It’s gone..
DOROTKA: Why?
MAREK: My dad got angry because it was always in the way. They
should have gotten rid of it a long time ago, supposedly. They
to it away. You can get through now.
DOROTKA: Oh.
MAREK: Are you upset.
DOROTKA: At least he rests in peace.
MAREK: Who?
DOROTKA: The tree.
(Dorotka wants to leave.)
MAREK: Just wait.
DOROTKA: I’ve read all the books. Do you still want to be an
astronomer?
MAREK: Yes.
(Adéla comes.)
ADÉLA: What are you up to again?
MAREK: Hi.
ADÉLA: I was at the church. Dorotka, I was looking for you. The
vicar was talking chaotically. Who wants to drown?
175
DOROTKA: Do you remember? Life is a path. And there’s heaven
at the end and life is eternal.
ADÉLA: Dorotka, for God’s sake!
DOROTKA: The vicar said so. He always used to say that.
ADÉLA: (To Marek.) What have you done to each other?
(Dorotka goes to the edge of the pond.)
ADÉLA: Come on. Don’t be crazy! Come back.
MAREK: Dorotka, I’m sorry. I’ll be an astronomer. I won’t ever go
anywhere. Not even to the cottage. Maybe to the cottage, yes.
But I’ll be back.
ADÉLA: Come back. Or I’ll come to fetch you.
DOROTKA: Forever heaven. Heaven. Forever?
MAREK: Come back. It’s really slippery.
ADÉLA: Come back right away. Come on.
DOROTKA: I’m not a child anymore. It can’t be taken back.
(Dorotka is still standing on the very edge of the pond.)
ADÉLA: I’ve only got you left.
DOROTKA: You have. But not only me.
ADÉLA: What happened!
DOROTKA: So ask.
ADÉLA: Tell me. What happened?
DOROTKA: The vicar was wrong. At the end there is no heaven.
ADÉLA: What?
DOROTKA: Life is a path and there is heaven at the end. It isn’t so.
It’s here.
ADÉLA: Dorotka!
DOROTKA: It’s here, Adéla. Have you ever seen heaven in the pond?
It’s there. Look. It isn’t at the end. When I looked up, heaven
was in the church too. It’s written in books. It’s everywhere.
Do you understand?
ADÉLA: Dorotka! I’m scared.
DOROTKA: You’ve got it there too. Inside. You know?
ADÉLA: No. I don’t think so. Come here. I don’t know.
DOROTKA: Marek!
176
(Marek goes to Dorotka.)
ADÉLA: You will both fall in there.
DOROTKA: Adéla, it’s summer. Come and look.
ADÉLA: It’s slippery. Drenched. Don’t go in there! We’re all alone.
DOROTKA: We’re all alone all the time. You get it? Kryštof is leaving,
but we’ve been alone for a long time. I’ve been all alone for ten
years at least. Since my mother died. Maybe longer. (Pause.)
I don’t know about you; but I’ve probably been alone since
I was born. I just don’t remember.
ADÉLA: I’m coming over there!
DOROTKA: Fine. Come on.
(It’s getting dark. Adéla comes towards them to the very edge of the
pond.)
ADÉLA: Aren’t you scared all alone?
DOROTKA: I am. Terribly.
ADÉLA: Me too.
DOROTKA: Like Dorothy. She was terribly scared. Blind and
barefoot. But she went.
ADÉLA: Where?
MAREK: Onto the rocks and across the river.
DOROTKA: She was also alone. An orphan. She was even worse off
then we are. Much worse. But she had somebody. Although
she was all alone. And she was also looking for something
that wasn’t mentioned in the song. She was definitely looking
for something. Why else would she go? Maybe she really had
somebody. Maybe there was someone there for her.
(Marek is throwing stones in the water.)
ADÉLA: She had someone although she was all alone?
DOROTKA: Yes.
ADÉLA: How so?
DOROTKA: I don’t know. The stars are twinkling on the surface of
the pond.
ADÉLA: She had someone even though she was all alone? But who?
DOROTKA: You have to answer that yourself.
177
ADÉLA: What?
DOROTKA: Who she had.
ADÉLA: That’s illogical. Either she had someone or not.
DOROTKA: Illogical?
ADÉLA: Who could she have had when she was all alone?
DOROTKA: Someone…
ADÉLA: But who?
(Dorotka laughs.)
DOROTKA: So ask.
ADÉLA: Who?
DOROTKA: You have to discover it yourself.
(Pause.)
ADÉLA: I’m thinking about it…maybe…
DOROTKA: So who? Who did she have?
ADÉLA: So you… you don’t know who?
DOROTKA: Sometimes I do. And sometimes I don’t.
ADÉLA: So if you don’t know it again next time…just ask.
(Dorotka silently sings a song. We can’t hear the words, just the
melody. All three of them look at the pond.)
THE END
178
Arnošt Goldflam
(1946)
Arnošt Goldflam graduated in theatre
direction from the Janáček Academy
of Performing Arts in Brno (JAMU) in 1977. Whilst studying, he
directed and played with the satirical theatre Večerní Brno (Evening
Brno), and after graduation was briefly employed there. From
1978 to 1993 he worked with Hanácké divadlo in Prostějov, which
changed its name to HaDivadlo after moving to Brno. He helped to
create the poetics of this theatre, working there as director, actor
and author. He is presently a director in theatres in Prague (Studio
Ypsilon, Divadlo v Dlouhé, Dejvické divadlo) and Hradec Králové
(Klicperovo Theatre), writes plays, teaches at JAMU and occasionally
acts in films. Arnošt Goldflam has written more than forty plays and
dramatisations. His plays can be divided into two groups: in the first
he follows a (non-illusive) theme of the conflict of generations, and
tries to capture the „spirit of history“; in the second he pays attention
to the banal situations of life, exaggerating them and taking them
to extremes. Characteristic for him is a feeling for embarrassment,
grotesque realism and satiric exaggeration.
LIST OF PLAYS (selection):
•
•
•
•
•
•
Horror, 1981; première 14. 12. 1981, Studio Fórum, Olomouc
Biletářka, 1982; première 18. 2. 1983, Hanácké divadlo,
Prostějov
Červená knihovna, 1985; première 1986, Státní divadlo Brno,
Reduta, Brno
Agatománie, 1985; première 22. 4. 1987, Viola, Prague
Písek /Tak dávno…, 1987; première 5. 3. 1988, HaDivadlo, Brno
Lásky den, 1994; première 8. 4. 1994, HaDivadlo, Brno
179
•
•
•
•
Sladký Theresienstadt, 1996; première 1. 11. 1996, Divadlo
Archa, Prague
Já je někdo jiný, 2001; première 25. 10. 2003, Klicperovo divadlo,
Hradec Králové
Ředitelská lóže, 2003; première 10. 2. 2004 at the same time
in Divadlo Komedie, Prague; HaDivadlo, Brno and Klicperovo
divadlo, Hradec Králové (rehearsed reading)
Z Hitlerovy kuchyně, 2007; première 10. 11. 2007, HaDivadlo,
Brno
Ženy a panenky, 2009; première 2. 3. 2009, Dobeška, Prague
•
TRANSLATED PLAYS:
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
Agatománie: English – Agathamania
Biletářka: English – The Ticket Girl, Norwegian – Den kvinnelige
Billetkontrollor
Červená knihovna: Danish – Mit livs novelle, German –
Gartenlaube, Norwegian – Misseroman
Horror: German – Horror
Já je někdo jiný: German – Ich ist jemand anders
Lásky den: German – Der Tag der Liebe
Modrá tvář: German – Das blaue Gesicht
Návrat ztraceného syna: German – Die Heimkehr des verlorenen
Sohnes
Několik historek ze života Bédi Jelínka: German – Aus dem
Leben von Fritzchen Hirschl
Písek: Russian – Pěsok
Smlouva: German – Der Bund
Zkouška: German – Die Probe
Sladký Teresienstadt: English – Sweet Theresienstadt
Ženy a panenky: English – Dolls and Dollies
Direktorskaja loža: Russian – Ředitelská lóže
Dámská šatna: English – Green Room
Z Hitlerovy kuchyně: German – Hitlers Küche
180
Arnošt Goldflam
DOLLS AND DOLLIES
Translated by Eva Daníčková
This play is copyright and subject to protection under the Copyright Act.
This work may be used solely for dramaturgical purposes in association with
a production of it.
Any other use, in particular its duplication or making it available to third
parties, is subject to the sanctions of §152 of the Penal Code. In the event of any
intent to produce or otherwise use the play, you undertake to seek performing
rights to the work from Aura-Pont s.r.o.
All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the Aura-Pont Agency
Radlická 99, Praha 5, 150 00, Czech Republic, www.aura-pont.cz
Address for correspondance: Veslařský ostrov 62, 147 00 Praha 4
181
Characters:
Doll 1, the youngest one, still a child, who plays with dolls
Doll 2, young, school-aged girl, a teenager, sister of Doll 1
Doll 3, youthful, middle-aged woman, mother of Dolls 1 and 2,
pushing forty
Doll 4, woman of about sixty, mother of Doll 3 and the
children’s grandmother
Doll 5, woman of about eighty, slightly senile, the great-grandmother
Dolly, living doll, made alive by any means: acted, graphically
designed, mechanically assembled, a robot …
Note: I imagine, although it does not necessarily have to be so, that
the characters appear in reverse order. For example, the youngest
one is played by the oldest actress and vice versa; the oldest is played
by the youngest and so on. Why? I don’t know-there is no rational
reasoning for it.
182
DOLL 1: Right, I’m gonna tell you something about myself. My
name is Heddie. I’m seven and a half. I love my , and I play
with them all the time. They are called: Heddie, like me, then
Heddie Ginger, Linda, and Adrienka. I play with them a lot.
Only sometimes I forget about them. I might leave them lying
around somewhere, and they just lie there and maybe I don’t
even dress them up. Then they get mad at me, and they start
crying and calling for me. I always hear it, and I run over
straight away, and what do I see? Heddie Ginger is lying on
the floor, and Heddie next to her, and they aren’t even dressed
since the last time, maybe they forgot, and now they’re cold,
and that’s why they’re crying. So I tell them off at once, and
I get them dressed, and I give them some food, things like like
milk, a pepper, bread rolls, and tomatoes. They don’t need
much. When they’ve eaten and they’ve warmed up, they are
all comfy and happy, and they go to doll’s school or sing one
of the songs I’ve taught them. I’ve taught them many songs,
and I’ve made them all up – like this one:
We are little dolly-girls
Teeny-tiny dolly-girls
We have tiny hands and feet
Teeny-tiny hands and feet
Something like that. I’ve made up songs about animals,
about myself, about me, so many songs. They are all different.
This one is also really nice:
Animals are different plenty
Lots of different dolls I have too
Dolls and people they are alike
Beasts are different altogether
So, that’s the songs I taught them, that we sing together.
I sing the best, Heddie’s second best, and then Heddie Ginger.
Adrienka also sings but her voice is like some old boy’s, and
she kind of croaks. So I always say to her: “You’d better not
sing, just listen”. Yeah, and Linda, she can sing really well too,
183
but she’s really stubborn. Like, I tell her to do something, and
she doesn’t wanna. They always tell me at home, when I’m like
that. They say-why are you so stubborn? But I’m not always
stubborn. But that Linda, she really is. The other day, I was
mad at her, and I said to her, “Stop annoying me. I’ve got the
others to look after as well.” But she kept on bothering me. So
I went, “What’s the matter?” And she went, “I’m hungry.” So,
I said, “How can you be hungry, we’ve just eaten?” And she
went, “It was disgusting. I feel sick. I was a little bit sick in my
mouth.” and I went, “How can you be sick? Both Heddies ate
it. Adrienka ate it, and they all liked it, and you always have to
complain! Why, tell me, why?” But she wasn’t saying anything,
and she just glared at me, so I turned her head backwards so
she couldn’t see us. She was quiet after that. And I also told her
that if she carried on being naughty I was gonna leave her like
that, and she’d never see in front of her, she’d always be looking
backwards so she wouldn’t even see herself in the mirror from
the front. And she went, “I don’t mind, and it’s better this
way, and I’ll see the hair at the back of my head, and it’s got
all sorts of benefits.” The other girls then started to be jealous
because she was showing off so much, and she would shout
something about…, something like, like…that she could talk
to whoever was sitting behind her in the classroom, and they
could look at each, and she didn’t have to look at the back of
somebody’s head, and not even at the teacher which was even
better. Things like that.
So she was showing off, and the other girls started bothering
me as well, until I had to twist all their heads, and it got me
so mad that they were so dumb. I didn’t even dress them, and
I just left them there. If they’re so dumb, le them enjoy it! And
I even told them that it’s really so stupid to copy each other
like that. I said: “If one of you twists her head, do you all have
to do the same? And if the others twisted their heads right
off, would you want that too?” I said something like that. And
184
I left them there to do as they pleased. That’s because they
don’t really know what they want but if one of them starts
something, they all want to copy her. Only it’s always the
dumbest one who makes something up, so it ends up being
some stupid thing.
(The doors open and Doll 2 looks in.)
DOLL 2: What’ya up to, dopey?
DOLL 1: I’m playing.
DOLL 2: What are you playing at?
DOLL 1: Nothing, I’m just talking to myself.
DOLL 2: (Enters.) I stopped playing with dolls ages ago because
it’s no fun.
DOLL 1: I like it. And it is fun. And you don’t play with them because
they don’t respect you. They respect me because I know how
to deal with them.
DOLL 2: My classmate Clara also stopped playing with dolls and
she took them all and put them in an electric oven and
cooked them. Then she brought the dolly cake to school, and
we pretended to eat it and that it was really delicious. We all
laughed so much that one boy, Paul, nearly pissed in his pants.
DOLL 1: That’s so not funny.
DOLL 2: Tell you what. Let’s cook yours, too.
DOLL 1: No way! I’d kill you.
DOLL 2: I’d like to see that!
DOLL 1: You’d see! Don’t you dare! Just touch my dolls and you’ll
see!
DOLL 2: What will I see? You’re weaker than me. You’re as dim as
Knight Rider, and your silly dolls aren’t even alive, so there.
I’m bigger and stronger. The boys are already checking me out.
And one of them said he liked me, just so you know.
DOLL 1: He must be blind as well as dumb.
DOLL 2: You’d be surprised!
DOLL 1: I’m not interested in boys.
185
DOLL 2: That’s because you ‘re still a kid. But if you cooked your
dolls, you’d grow a few years straight away. What do you say?
DOLL 1: No way. What would I get out of it? Nothing. I’d only be as
dumb as you are. I’d keep on looking to see if my boobies are
growing or something.
DOLL 2: That’s so not true. Anyway, mine have already grown. And
I don’t talk to dolls because I know they aren’t even alive. They
don’t feel no pain or nothing.
DOLL 1: They do so! The other day, Heddie…
DOLL 2: You are Heddie.
DOLL 1: So is she, and this one, too. Her name is Heddie Ginger. So
we are the three Heddies.
DOLL 2: You are the three mentalists.
DOLL 1: You can say what you like, we won’t listen to you. And
that Heddie, she banged her head the other day, when she
was walking around with her head turned backwards, and she
cried so much. So she feels everything. And I also told her
about you; how you always look in the mirror to see if your
boobies are growing and if you can see them yet, and she was
laughing so much. We were all laughing at you.
DOLL 2: That’s because you are jealous. Look, they’re dead. They
don’t feel nothing and you can whack them all you like. And if
you don’t catch me, I’ll beat the shit out of her. She don’t feel
nothing, anyways.
DOLL 1: Leave her alone!
DOLL 2: You have to catch me first!
DOLL 1: You’re hurting her!
DOLL 2: No I’m not, because she’s not alive, anyway. She’s dead,
dead, dead…
(Doll 2 takes one of the dolls and starts hitting something with it, Doll
1 starts crying and tries to catch her, they argue. During the following
dialogue, Doll 1 catches Doll 2, rips the doll out of her hand and starts
hitting Doll 2 with the doll. Doll 2 laughs.)
186
DOLL 1: It’s not true. They are all alive, and they feel everything.
They cry like us, and laugh, and everything. Only you have
to believe in them. If you don’t believe in them, they pretend
that they aren’t alive. So even when they are in pain, like now,
you can’t tell. Because you don’t believe in them and because
you are mean. But they know, and if you don’t stop annoying
them, they’ll show you. You’ll see.
DOLL 2: Wow, I can’t wait. I’m already trembling with fear.
DOLL 1: You’ll see. Maybe not now, but one day. Well, maybe.
(The doors open, Doll 5, the great-grandmother, looks in. She starts
talking in fairytale fashion.)
DOLL 5: So, what are you doing, children? Whatever are you playing
with? Are those dolls? I’ve never had any dolls. I only had a log
of wood, so I glued a little bit of oakum onto it – that was the
doll’s hair – then I drew some eyes, a nose and a mouth on
the wood, and my mother hammered in some old aluminium
spoons to the sides to make the arms, and old forks to the
bottom to make the legs, and there I had a doll. We had plenty
of those logs. So I had plenty of dolls in the end. Only my
stepfather wondered where the old forks and spoons kept
disappearing, and he cursed a little. But I had a secret shelf
in the barn and I stored all the new dolls there. There were
lots of them and so it was quite lively there. There was always
something happening there. Sometimes we’d be cooking
lunch, but there wasn’t enough food because it was during
the war. And we were not rich, far from it! We were poor. You
can imagine, with so many hungry logs to feed, it was not easy.
Each of the logs was reaching up with its spoon and fork, and
there was nothing to put on them. We cried all through the
nights, me and my dolls. One day, I said, “It can’t go on like
this.” So many mouths to feed and I, being a single mother,
had no man to help me out. And the fear that the stepfather
was going to come! Imagine, there was a whole group of about
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forty of fifty log dolls. I can still remember them; I had them
all sorted alphabetically!
DOLL 2: Blimey, now she’ll want to name them all!
DOLL 1: I find it interesting.
DOLL 2: (Ironically.) So what did you call your log dolls?
DOLL 5: What was that, dear? Did you say something?
DOLL 2: (Shouts.) Names! What were your dolls names?
DOLL 5: What dolls, dear? I never had any, only those sorry ones,
made out of logs of wood. And there were plenty of them,
plenty!
DOLL 2: (Quietly.) Fucking great…(Aloud.) So what were they
called?
DOLL 5: I still remember their names; I could tell you all of their
names, one after another.
DOLL 1: So tell us, great-grandma!
DOLL 5: Very well, I will tell you, my darlings. Listen up. Alice,
Agnes, Amelie, Barbara, Betty, Bella, Bertha, Bobby, Cecily,
Darlene, Dana, Dita, Dara, Denise, Elisabeth, Emily, Eddy,
Fifi, Gizel, Hannah, Hedvika, Helen, Ivanka, Irene, Ines,
Josephine, Jane, Jenny, Julie, Jackie, Jasmine, Karla, Laura,
Louisa, Leonora, Lena, Mary, Miry, Milly, Milena, Ophelia,
Olive, Petra, …
DOLL 2: (Quietly.) What a load of old shit… (Aloud.) That’s enough,
enough, great-grandma!
DOLL 5: I remember them all! There were so many of them, Paula,
Rennie, Rosie, Sasha, Silvia…
DOLL 2: (Shouts.) Enough!
DOLL 5: (Tearfully.)…but there are only a few left, dear, I’d really
like to finish, I won’t be long, it’s nearly finished, I just want
to finish, don’t be so mean. Why are you so mean? What have
I ever done to you, my darling girl?
DOLL 2: It’s not fun any more. It’s boring.
DOLL 1: It’s not boring at all!
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DOLL 5: I was never bored with them, ever! On the contrary, it was
so fascinating. Him, that stepfather, he was after them like
mad. He called me to him and he was really nice to me and he
sat me on his lap and he’d say, “Where are you hiding those
pretty dolls, I’d like to meet them”. And he would always touch
me all over and I needed to pee after that. But I couldn’t say
anything to him, he was my stepfather and my mother always
said, “We are lucky to have him, nobody else would look after
us.” And one day, I asked her why he’s always touching me,
she told me to be quiet, it’s because he loves me. She said if
he didn’t love me so much, he wouldn’t touch me. And when
I asked her why he touches me everywhere, she said she didn’t
know why he touches me here and not there, it’s just the way
it is. So why does he want to take my dolls away, I asked her.
But my mum didn’t know and she was all surprised, she asked,
what dolls, and why would he want to have them. And I said
to her: “Don’t you know, mum? My dolls Alice, Agnes, Amelie,
Barbara, Betty, Bella, Bertha, Bobby, Cecily, Darlene…”
DOLL 2: We’ve heard it already!
DOLL 5: (Absorbed in her thoughts.)…all my lovely dolls with arms
made out of spoons and legs made out of forks and hair made
out of oakum, and maybe he wanted to play with them too, just
like I did, and maybe he wanted to touch them too, just like
he touched me, so that’s why he wanted them, that stepfather.
DOLL 1: You should have turned their heads backwards, so they
wouldn’t look at him.
DOLL 5: And that mum of mine never said anything, she just walked
away. She was a bit strange. But we are all strange.
DOLL 2: Not me. I’m not weird. And I won’t be. I’m not thick so
I’m not weird.
DOLL 5: The next day, I went to have a look at my dolls, to find out
if they slept well. I had them in a big box, tucked away in the
shed. But the box was gone and the dolls were also gone. It was
cold and raining outside, and stepfather was roaming about
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downstairs in the launderette. I went down there and he was
just starting up the boiler and he was burning one doll after
another in the fire…Dana, Dita, Dara, Denise, Elisabeth, Emily
and Eddy…(Tearfully)…and he was laughing like mad, and
when he saw me he wanted to sit me on his lap and comfort
me. He said the dolls came to see him by themselves and now
they are jumping into the fire one after another. I acted as
if nothing happened, as if I believed him. I even sat on his
lap, and when he stroked my face, I bit his hand with all my
strength. Blood doesn’t taste very nice, remember that, girls.
Then I ran away.
(Doll 3, the girls’ mother, enters and she goes straight for Doll 5, the
great-grandmother.)
DOLL 3: What are you doing here?
DOLL 5: Me?
DOLL 3: Who else? Is there anyone else here? No. Must be you.
DOLL 5: I’m telling the girls a story…about the dolls that I used to
have. I used to have many dolls. I had Alice, Agnes, Amelie,
Barbara, …
DOLL 3: Where are you supposed to be?
DOLL 5: I don’t know; don’t be mad at me, pet, I’ve forgotten.
DOLL 3: Where are you supposed to be?!
DOLL 5: In my room?
DOLL 3: And what have I told you?
DOLL 5: What have you told me, pet? I honestly don’t know, I can’t
remember.
DOLL 3: So start remembering or I’ll help you remember.
DOLL 5: Hang on, hang on, I’ll remember. Just give me a minute.
It doesn’t come so fast any more, my head isn’t what it used
to be. You know, my darling, I used to be so sprightly, always
busy, but I’m not any more. I’m old now, everything hurts,
I can’t take much any more…well, I can’t take as much as
I used to. I don’t think I have a place here any more.
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DOLL 3: Go ahead, die, nobody’s stopping you. C’mon, what did
I say to you?
DOLL 5: That I’m old?
DOLL 3: And?
DOLL 5: And stupid?
DOLL 3: And?
DOLL 5: That I get all muddled?
DOLL 3: Hmm…
DOLL 5: (She suddenly remembers and blurts it out, as if she had
said it many times before.) That I’m an old, crazy lady…
DOLL 3: Bag!
DOLL 5: …an old bag, who can’t even see or hear properly any more,
which is only a burden to everyone, who is in the way, and who
shouldn’t really be here any more. That only because people
are merciful, I’m allowed stay here and I get food and all the
care that I don’t even deserve, because I’m an old sponger, and
I should be happy that I can be here with you, and that you are
all so nice to me even though I don’t really deserve it. I have to
keep on repeating that to myself, that none of what I get, and
take, and use, is deserved, because I’ve never been of any use
to you. I was always in the way, and I’ve cost you a lot of money
that you had to earn for me, and you have to keep on earning
now that I’ve overstayed my welcome. And that lovely room
I’m staying in would have belonged to the children a long time
ago, and when that happens, it’ll have to be painted anyway,
but I won’t be here any more, and it should be sooner rather
than later. I have to keep on reminding myself, because every
day I’m here is a day too long and a day that’s wasted, empty,
and lost. Right?
DOLL 3: Too right.
DOLL 5: But, pet, I like my little room and even if I had another
room, even smaller, I would go there, and I would like it too.
You are all so nice to me, I don’t really have anyone any more,
and I’ve only got you. I’d be long dead without you. A knock
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or two from you, my pet, it doesn’t hurt, because I know that
I annoy you and everyone else more than enough, and that
you’ve been taking care of me for way too long, and that you
should relax sometimes and not bother with me, the crazy old
bag, who can’t even hear or see properly any more and who is
just in the way of everyone…
(She again eagerly and mechanically repeats the same learned words,
until Doll 3 stops her.)
DOLL 3: Stop it! Stop it! You keep on repeating it out of spite; do you
really think I’m stupid? No, I’m not stupid at all, even though
you think so!
DOLL 5: But, pet, I don’t think that at all…
DOLL 3: You do! You all do! And why? Because it’s true!
(The doors open and Doll 4 enters energetically. She picks up on the
last few words…)
DOLL 4: What’s true? What’s true? I tell you what the truth is. The
truth is that if it wasn’t for me, this place would go down the
dump, because there’s no discipline here. Nobody knows
what to do, or how, nobody would even know how to make
a toast, you wouldn’t even know how to use the toilet! You’d
walk around in old rags and look for bread crusts in dustbins.
You wouldn’t even know how to run water from the taps and
you wouldn’t know what a toothbrush is. That’s how it is. The
children, those poor girls, they’d wake up every morning in
their own excrements, if it wasn’t for me! Because they’d be
nobody who’d be capable of explaining to them what it means
to be human and live by the values that give life a meaning!
And what is it, which gives our lives a meaning? It’s the good
old sense for order and commitment, that if I have these
children or this old mother here, that I have to give them all
they need, so they can carry on with life. But not just carry on
willy-nilly, but continue with dignity, worthy of going higher
and further than before. And that’s why you should be glad
that you have me here. Every day you should kneel on broken
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glass and pray to God that he kept me for you and that, before
I leave, you’ll know everything you need to know in order
to live. You should beat your heads against the shards, until
there’s blood running down your face, and thank the Lord; and
it will still not be enough.
DOLLS 1 AND 2: Hello, Grandma.
DOLL 1: I’m playing with the dolls. They are my babies. I’m their
mummy. If they’re good girls, I’ll teach them how to beat their
heads against the shards.
DOLL 2: Isn’t she thick, Grandma?
DOLL 3: Yeah, right, I was waiting for you to butt in and show
everyone that you are the best and the smartest! But nobody
here cares if you are the clever one and I’m the stupid one.
But I’ll tell you something! It’s because you never gave me the
opportunity to grow beside you. You brought me up so that
there would always be someone next to you who would be
the opposite of what you want to be! Of course you are the
best and the smartest, you can do everything and you know
it all, you always set an example. And that’s why you never
taught me anything, nor even let me find something I’d be
good at! You simply pushed me into a narrow alley that gets
tighter and narrower, and it leads in only one direction: to
a helpless, stupid, worthless, and hopeless personality, of one
who is good for nothing apart from demonstrating how great,
amazing, and precious you are!
DOLL 4: Shut up and bring the food, bitch.
(Doll 3 goes to get the food without saying a word; she brings back
some food after a while and starts serving it. In the meantime…)
DOLL 5: That’s really nice of you to send that lovely girl for food.
We were hungry. I am so hungry I could eat a scabby dog.
Children, have you ever eaten a dog?
DOLL 1: I wouldn’t eat a doggy! I’d like to have a doggy to play with,
not to eat it. I would teach him to carry my dolls in his mouth.
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DOLL 2: I don’t munch on mongrels. If we ever bought one, it would
have to be for protection. It would make sure nobody could
sneak in. Like some paedophile or something.
DOLL 4: Don’t say paedophile, say paedofan. Paedofan is correct.
Do you even know what it means?
DOLL 2: Sure, It’s some weirdo who likes kids and buys them all
sorts of presents. I don’t even understand how anyone can like
little kids. Just look at her!
(She points at Doll 1.)
How can anyone like that? Only by mistake. Or maybe some
weirdoes would, like those paedofans. That’s why people say
that teachers are paedofans. One of our paedofans for example
is totally mad. She told us the other day, that you can go to
school for, like, twenty years. Like, if someone wants to be
doctor. That’s such bullshit. You’d be so old by the time you
finished school, you’d be ready to snuff it.
DOLL 5: At one time, during the war, we ate all sorts of things at
home. Once we had squirrels, and some people were catching
crows and eating them, but apparently the meat was very
tough. And these Vietnamese, they eat everything. Whatever
crawls on the floor, they catch it and put it into a saucepan.
They are always boiling something in a saucepan. They stick it
in and when it’s cooked, they shove it in their mouth. Grown
ups, kids, even babies in cots, all of them eat the stuff. And
they are as happy as Larry. And they are very hard-working.
They have to be because they are always on the prowl. To catch
some bug or a mouse just with your hand is no easy business,
it takes practice. That’s how they learn it. It comes in handy
in life. It’s not very tasty though. Once, when I was little, just
like you (Pointing at Doll 1.) I found a dead mouse. I wanted to
know what it tasted like-but it wasn’t very nice. It wasn’t nice
at all. It was disgusting. I can still taste it in my mouth today.
It was as tough as old boot and it tasted as if it was dunk in
shit. And the hair got into my mouth; I was still spitting it out
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a week later. Yeah, that’s how it was. Yeah, yeah, and now, here
we are. But I’m happy, I’m really happy here. I’m only a crazy
old bag who can’t even see or hear properly any more, I’m in
the way and I shouldn’t even be here any more. Just because
there are people here who are merciful…
(Doll 3 comes back with some food; she’s grumpy and curses under
her breath.)
DOLL 3: Yeah, right. Of course, it’s nothing, giving birth to children,
looking after a man who is just like a kid, you whip him into
shape and he disappears God knows where, doesn’t even call to
see if I need anything. Some old floor mat has a better life than
me, who works and works to exhaustion, who doesn’t know
what it’s like to take a break and who isn’t even appreciated
here. But I have my dreams too! You might be surprised, but
I do. I saw it on telly, in this commercial. There was this girl;
I think it was some actress or something, she put this spray
in her hair, then she kept running around, talking to people,
filming a movie, and in the evening, her hair was exactly the
same, bouncing just like it was in the morning. I only mop the
hall and my hair is a bloody mess. That’s why I’d like that spray
that really holds your hair. And I saw more things that I’m
interested in. But I won’t say anything, I’ll keep it to myself, it’ll
be my secret. Nobody knows anything, only me and Him up
there, I’ll go to Him and I’ll be free from you forever. Nobody
will torture me any more.
(As she is saying this, she serves the food, probably some sort of
breakfast, everyone takes a toast and butters it, and everyone eats.)
DOLL 4: Shut up and eat.
DOLL 5: If anyone wants some bread crusts, help yourselves. Or
I could dunk them in milk. A sprinkle of sugar, or if the milk
is hot, I could mix it with honey and it’ll be like a milky soup.
It’s alright, it’s edible.
DOLL 3: But one day I’ll have enough, and I’ll pull myself together
and leave. I’ll put on my best frock and spray my hair with that
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magic spray. I’ll shave my legs so they’ll be completely smooth
for two weeks. I’ll put on a miracle mascara to make my lashes
look longer. I’ll put on a lippy so my lips will be all shiny and
seductive and I’ll get a room in a hotel.
DOLL 5: You know, pet, I saw…
DOLL 3: For Christ’s sake, don’t call me pet or I’ll strangle you!
DOLL 5: …just such a hotel on the telly the other day. People lived
there and they walked around in pretty clothes. They were
wheeling their suitcases behind them, big suitcases, they
were wheeling them all the time, everywhere they went. And
they killed someone in one of the rooms. The police were
investigating it.
DOLL 2: And? What happened next?
DOLL 5: I don’t know, I didn’t watch the rest, it got ugly. They keep
on slaughtering each other. I didn’t want to see that. I don’t
like that kind of stuff, I always switch it off. I can’t watch it.
DOLL 2: You should have watched it to the end. This way you don’t
even know anything, I don’t get it. You don’t even know who
played the dead guy.
DOLL 4: You did want to watch it to the end, mummy, but I switched
it off ; it’s not a programme for you. An old person should
watch programmes about nature, they are nice. A volcano
erupts, isn’t that beautiful! The colours, the whole horizon is
ablaze. Or hunting in the jungle, and the love games of animals
in the nature, and earthquakes so strong a beautiful palace
goes down like a house of cards in a second. Isn’t that better
TV for you, those kinds of things? Real life that happens on
this planet. That’s what you should be interested in. I tell you
something, mother. Even someone who doesn’t have much
time left on this earth, whose days are getting shorter, like yours,
who doesn’t know the day or the hour, even a person like that
should look ahead and try to learn something new, until the
last second. You know, it all comes in handy. Even if you were
dying in a lot of pain, the thought that everything passes could
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help you. Hadn’t you known that, you’d suffer all the way to
the end. This way you can die assured that you suffered a little
at the end of your long life. To be honest, in your case, it was
full of luxurious lazing. I don’t begrudge you, and I’m merely
stating the facts. Without knowledge, there is no action, and
without action, there is no fulfilment. Remember that. And
without fulfilment, there is no satisfaction. Remember that
when you are near the end because there isn’t much time left
for you, dear mother, despite all of us wishing for your sake
that there was.
DOLL 3: I will leg it, sod you all. You won’t exploit me forever, and
I won’t be your maid all my life.
DOLL 4: Shut your gob.
DOLL 3: Just so you’re not surprised.
DOLL 2: You keep on threatening, and nothing ever happens.
It’s because you are such a wimp. You can’t take it. Someone
barks at you, and you shit yourself. Granny has no respect for
you. She bosses you around, and you say nothing. I definitely
don’t take after you. I don’t even let anyone tell me what to do
at school, and it’s because I’m popular, and also because I’m
pretty and the boys like me, and I’m successful, and they all
stand behind me, and I’m also funny. The other day, one of the
teachers was telling me to get my act together or else I could
fail at the end of the year, and I just turned around and looked
at her and I said, “You wouldn’t dare! You try to fail me, bitch,
and I tell everyone that you hit me, and you’ll get sacked, and
you’ll end up cleaning shit on the underground.” And the boys
were like, “We would testify that it happened like that,” and
she just completely lost it. She shut up after that.
DOLL 4: I agree with you on some level. One has to have one’s own
opinions, but obviously not as vulgar as yours are. For example,
if that was me, I’d tell the teacher quietly but firmly that I was
considering submitting a written complaint in which I would
accuse her of carrying out a physical assault, and stating that
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this statement would be supported by a number of witnesses.
The way you said it may have scared her off, but my eloquent
but firm warning would shock her. This system is widely
used in medicine, especially in psychiatry. Shock therapy.
Remember that.
DOLL 2: Who cares, it’s all the same bullshit. But I don’t care. I really
don’t give a shit. What counts is that I’ve won. I blew her into
tiny bits, like atoms or whatever is, like, this small.
DOLL 1: (Feeding her doll and talking to her.) Why don’t you want
to eat? Such nice food, and you don’t want it. Any other child
would be happy to have something to eat, and you are making
a fuss. If you carry on like that, you won’t grow up properly,
and you’ll be like a little kid forever, and everyone will laugh
at you. Isn’t that right, won’t you laugh at her? Look how they
will laugh at you!
(Everyone turns to the doll with a smile to keep their youngest one
happy, and they laugh for a long time.)
DOLLS 2, 3, 4, 5: Hahahaha, hee hee hee…look at her, isn’t she silly,
she won’t eat…such yummy food…hahahaha, hee hee hee.
DOLL 4: Missing breakfast, missing dinner
Is so very bad for you
Limbs could drop off easy-peasy
Inside organs shrivelled, queasy
One by one your hair gets thinner
Freaky creature you will be
Just don’t eat and you will see
DOLL 5: Naughty little girl I was such
Sausage and mash didn’t like much
I was worm food before I knew
In my body holes they made through
Long time it took, almost ages
Before I made any changes
Mother worked hard, tried her best
Stepdad tried too, got no rest
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Couple of years would you believe
Pretty again, what a relief
Whether you think true or false
I am candid, don’t think worse
DOLL 3: Let them worry, feed you and fret
Spread the butter on your bread
One day they might not be bothered
No more breakfast, lunch and tea
Don’t miss comfort when it’s offered
This much food you’ll never see
DOLL 2: I don’t care if you eat or not
You aren’t alive, you can’t die
I eat fresh food, like a carrot
Your choice, you can laugh or cry
DOLL 1: Come, it’s lovely, have a little
Full of goodness, vitamins
Made for you, my little pickle
Dolls grow up to mannequins
You can lie down after dinner
I will even tuck you in
Of the dolls you’ll be the winner
Not to sleep is such a sin
Enjoy this, the sweetest moment
You must enjoy lovely days
Walk on the grass, not the cement
Your skin catching sunny rays
Face of kindness looking at you
Teeth like pearls in smile that beams
For a laugh there’s no need to queue
Eyes so kind like sweetest dream
Ear so sharp it never misses
Lips are made for mummy kisses
DOLLS 1, 2, 3, 4, 5: Hahahahahahahaha, hee hee hee hee hee….
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DOLLy: Oh God, how tiring, how exhausting, how hard it is, to be
buried in this stiff body. Tiny hands of my little tormentor
stuffing a curious substance into my mouth, tweaking my
head, breaking my arms and legs, what an eternal pain and
suffering. How beautiful would it be to become the mistress
of my own body one day and do only what I want to do. No
one knows what it’s like to be left in the cold, half-naked, with
your face pressed to the floor, or in boiling heat, for weeks or
months, in a pile, unable to breathe in the humid weather, only
half-alive. To float in water full of dead, swollen flies, forgotten
and unnoticed. On a park bench or under it, in a pile of rotten
leaves, waiting for the impossible, for a new opportunity to get
out of there, into the light…All of this is almost impossible
to describe. No one understands what kind of a life it is…
Without a chance to complain, without hope to improve in the
long term, without change, without knowing that perhaps one
good moment will last a little longer to be able to experience
it fully.
(At this point, Doll 1 roughly grabs Dolly and sits her somewhere or
moves her limbs somehow, cutting her off.)
DOLL 1: So you really won’t eat this? Such nice food I made for
you, and you don’t want it? I made such an effort, as if I was
cooking for the Queen, all for nothing. Do you think you are
some sort of a queen here? Or a princess? If you are naughty,
you won’t get anything. No more bed stories, no more nice
soft pyjamas, sitting on my lap and singing lovely songs for
little girls, no more walks in the bouncy pushchair, nothing.
DOLL 5: These are different times, my children. When I wanted
to take my log dolls out, it was such a worry, so much hassle.
Not like these days, wrap the baby in white or pink blankets
and off you go! There were no such lovely prams in my days.
Just a cart with wooden wheels. It all clattered and rattled
and bounced and everything kept falling out. I was all sweaty
before I managed to take all of my 50 dolls, all of those 50
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logs, and put them in that little cart of mine. My poor little
child’s arms were all tired and floppy, this floppy, before
I managed to get all the dolls together. And how they carried
on, when I took them out! I told them, I said, stop yakking,
can’t you be quiet for a little while? But they wouldn’t stop.
So one day I took a horse rug and I put it under the dolls
and that kept them quiet. I threw the other half over the top
of them and they were as quiet as nuns. But how worried
I used to be! It was my dear mummy who used to say: “Enjoy
yourself while you are young”. And so I was worried for days
on end and I took the dolls in the cart to the dark alleys so
I wouldn’t bump into my stepfather, but he always found me
and up I went to sit on his lap. And so I cuddled the dolls,
the stepfather cuddled me; mummy said that there is a lot of
mess and chatter about, like at a funfair, and then my youth
passed me by before I noticed. Who could have known? And
my dolls burnt down, my mother gone too, stepfather gone,
God knows where, and I’m all alone, I only have that little
room…now they are going to take my room away and kick
me out…But I can’t walk as far as I used to, my darlings! Two,
three steps, and I drop like a sack of potatoes. It’s true, don’t
say it’s not. I fall down, and who cares? Who will show mercy
to an old, useless, good-for-nothing woman, who can’t even
see or hear properly, who annoys everyone, who is useless
and who shouldn’t even be here any more. But people have
mercy, someone will see me on the floor and they’ll say, “Look,
there lies a granny, she must have been tired or something, she
made her bed on God’s earth.” He’ll pick me up and wrap me
in a horse rug so my old bones won’t rattle and take me home.
At the end of the day, beggars can’t be choosers.
DOLL 3: Do you want to finish me off? She goes on ranting and
drives people to insanity! I have taught you what to say and
you know it. But you aren’t stupid; you know how to turn
the whole thing against me! Look who’s suddenly the bad
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one, whose fault it all is, and who is abusing a helpless, old,
weak, mouldy granny, and who throttles her so she can’t take
a breath? Of course, it has to be me. There’s nobody else here
who would play the role of the victim so well, no one you could
grill and burn as easily as me! But I’ve been saying it for years,
I won’t let you carry on. I’ll leave you all and run away! Don’t
worry about me. I know people who won’t let me down. They
will help and support me. I might even get to walk on the red
carpet, smelling like fresh wind from the sea and my skin as
smooth as silk. I’ll fix my teeth and all.
DOLL 4: Shut up, you zero, you silly twat, you…you…doofus! How
dare you talk about my mother in this way? Don’t worry,
mummy, nobody is going to hurt you here. You brought me
into this world, it was your blood supplying me with food,
water, and oxygen inside the womb, it was you who whispered
lullabies to me and who sang to me quietly!
(She sings.)
Sleep my baby, sleep now
When you come the world is ready
To meet you, greet you and applaud
To envy us this gift from God
(Addressed to Doll 3.)
And I came into this world the hard way, unlike you,
I ejected you into the arms of ten doctors in spotless white
coats and twelve nurses in tiny green uniforms and knitted
gloves, while the air conditioning was humming above our
heads and a beach with swashing sea waves was projected
onto the ceiling, and I was watching all that and dreaming
about the magical world, and I didn’t even know when you
came out, it was that simple. And because it was so simple,
I didn’t even get to know you properly, I still don’t know you,
I don’t even know who you are’ and I’m amazed how rude
you are; how common and banal your thoughts are, of all that
goes on in the head. My coming into this world was redeemed
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by the suffering of my dear mother, the crying and howling,
moaning and wailing, mine and hers. I came into this world
the hard way and there was nobody there to help me. From
her womb I stretched my tiny arms helplessly, calling for help,
pleading. No one was there then who would say “Come, I’m
here to help.” Nobody but me, choking in a pool of blood, I had
to use the last remains of strength to claw myself out and the
poor old woman, the poor old woman you won’t even take the
bedpan from and flush the shit down the toilet, that poor old
woman wiped my body with a wet cloth and she said a few
words that I’ve never ever forgotten since. She said, in her
simple, unforgettable, matter-of-fact way; she said a few words
I’ve decided to engrave on my gravestone. They will follow
me from the beginning to the end. Remember those words,
they’re the essence of everything, they are, as the Germans say,
the core of the poodle, the bottom line. She said, “It’s over!”
Then she fainted. In the meantime, I was crying softly, until
the savage midwife came, in fact you remind me of her a lot.
She came in; picked me up with one rough, man-like hand
and span me around, juggler-style, like a pinwheel, checked
me over and said “Good, very good.” Even that rough woman
said “Very good.” Since then, I have grown and grown, looked
around and learned, and I’m still here, and you should thank
God for that, because without me, as simple as you are, you
wouldn’t even know how to fart, and that’s how it is.
DOLL 2: I wouldn’t have kids if you paid me. I’d have to be, like,
totally, totally thick, to want to have kids. No girl wants to
have kids; she’d have to be really thick. It ruins your tits. I’d
be like some old granny then, shuffling around, tits hanging,
dragging me down, a thousand years old, well, just old, like
forty or something. And on top of it all, having to look after
the kids. Not even have my nails done, ever. Hanging around
on the street, dragging a pram. The kid in the pram constantly
screaming wooooooaaaaah, wooooaaaaah. If only it grew up
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in, like, a month, maybe I could take it. But this way? I’d have
to go bonkers first; no way would I do such a thing.
DOLL 5: Small children cry, and nobody is there to help them. Right
now, somewhere a baby cried, and nothing. Nobody gets up
to see to it. Children cry all over the world and people sit and
don’t move. I think I’d like to go now. I don’t like it here any
more. It’s not nice here.
DOLL 4: No, Mummy, I won’t let you go. I won’t let you die. I know
what you want, the time has almost come, but I won’t let you.
The minute I see you going weaker, I’ll get up and give you
strength.
(She demonstrates.)
For example, if you can’t walk, don’t worry, I’ll give you a hand!
I’ll lift you up, support you and move your legs. I’ll put a chair
behind you, you’ll grab hold of it, lean on it, and we’ll manage.
You will be running again in a week, a month, or a year. I’m
not in a hurry; I’ve got all the time in the world. We could
struggle with many things: with eating, for example. You can’t
chew it all at once? I’ll sit with you, and I’ll feed you! Here,
there’s a spoonful, put it in your mouth, chew it, nibble it,
masticate it, liquefy it, and swallow it, and another bite. Or
I could pre-chew it for you, then I’ll spit it out onto the spoon
and you just have to swallow it. It’ll happen, don’t you worry.
That’s why I’m here, to help you, to pay you back all that you’ve
had to suffer for me. All that hardship. I’ll reimburse you for
everything, don’t you worry, nothing will be left unpaid. In the
end, the slate has to be as clean as baby Jesus’ gown.
DOLL 1: Heddie and Heddie Ginger are both well-behaved, and so
are Linda and Adrienka. Maybe every mummy who likes her
babies as much as I like both Heddies and Linda and Adrienka
should keep her babies in her tummy forever. She could just
take them out to play or eat, and after that, put them back into
her tummy. She could keep them there, especially if they’re
sick, because it’s warm in the tummy. Maybe there isn’t that
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much light there, but they could have a torch, because a torch
isn’t nearly as big as a whole baby. Not many things are that
big, and so anything that’s smaller they can have in the tummy;
like that little hairdresser’s salon that Heddie Ginger got. You
can take the cable out and plug it in, and they can even blowdry their hair. A whole dolls room could fit in there, and even
a fridge and a washing machine, and the dirty laundry water
would come out with pee, that wouldn’ t be a problem. They
could watch telly there, but only kids’ programmes, because
they are only small, my girls. The tummy is a house for little
girls. But not too big a house because everything wouldn’t fit
in there. Anyway, nobody has got everything, not even some
powerful witch. Yeah, that’s how it is. Yeah, that’s right. Or, the
mummy could get bigger with the babies. When the babies
grow up, the mummy would be as big as a house. That would
be really great. If there was a small lady on the street, you
could tell she hadn’t had babies yet. And if there was a big
one, everyone would know that she was somebody’s mummy
straight away. Also she could make bigger steps, and she
would manage everything better. Everyone would bow to
her and greet her because she was already a mummy. And if
somebody didn’t say hello to her, she could even smack them.
But because her hand would be so big, nobody could take
a smack from such a mummy. Not even another mummy,
a smaller one, because she hadn’t had so many babies. And all
the mummies would always go out together, holding hands,
singing and dancing in a circle, just like when you dance and
sing Ring-a-Ring of Rosies. But they would sing another song.
Come, sis, Mum, Gran, Great-Gran, come, let’s sing and dance.
DOLLs 2-5: (Overlap.) Leave me alone, don’t be silly, come on,
darling, etc.
DOLL 1: Come, come into the circle, I’ll show you, I’ll teach you!
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(The music starts, and the women stand in the circle, hold hands and
dance and sing a rather dull song. They may even play some musical
instruments that Doll 1 has given them. They are toy instruments.)
Round and round we keep on going,
singing such a lovely song
Feet are tapping in the rhythm; skirts are flowing,
dum da di dum
Faster, faster, faster still,
we dance and hold hands all night long
Dance and sing, don’t ask me why,
it’s a funfair, we could fly.
Red and yellow, green and purple,
colours flying in a circle
What a beauty, all is spinning,
all are equal, no one’s winning
Like a rainbow from south to north,
first and second, then third and fourth
Who can’t sing and dance like we,
they must from the circle leave
(In the end, they all fall to the floor and start to get up, still laughing
and happy, according to their characters. Every time Dolly starts
talking, the women stop and freeze, and only start moving again when
Dolly has finished. Dolly starts talking now.)
DOLLy: You can dance around in the circle, but it will never be
beautiful. Spin around and whine your daft songs, but I, the
cast away, the doll that is pushed aside and tormented, I won’t
join you. But it’s possible not even this is true, only I say I’m
”tormented,” somebody else could say I’m loved, spoiled, well
fed and well dressed, and what can I do? Oh God, does it really
matter that much? Sometimes I’m forgotten, put away, even
banished or lost and found again. Just a silly doll, a dead object,
a spiritless toy, only a toy and nothing else. I’m of no use to
anyone, only to the delightful little girl who strolls around the
flat with the doll in her hand, or goes around with the pram,
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and the little madam goes and clashes with everything that
stands in her way. The whole flat, the whole world is full of
enemies, alive and dead. Crash! Boom! There’s been a crash!
Poor old doll falls out of the pram and gets thrashing for not
being careful enough. She’s put back in the pram, literally
thrust under the blankets and she’ll be stuck there until her
mistress thinks of something else. There is a whole array of
whims and role play. A mean nanny, a strict teacher, the nicest
mummy, a cruel sister, a possessed governess, a perverted
carer, a brutal doctor, a runaway horse, a fighting dog, a cruel
dragon, everything good and bad that you can imagine. The
doll is tortured with starvation, stuffed like a goose with
cones, the food is literally rammed into her throat, she is being
watered with all sorts, milk sealed in plastic bottles, and the
doll can drink and drink and never takes a sip. She’s forced into
thick coats in the summer heat; she is tossed around dressed
only in knickers and shoes in the freezing cold. Those shoes
are so tight they don’t come off ; they are drawn on the dolls
feet, with socks and all. Such a doll can’t ever do anything of
her own will, by her own wish. Poor Doll can only dream and
long for a better life. Yes, that is the main and the only joy of
the doll race. Unlike those who own her and who rule over her,
she is able to dream; she has to dream. This ability, which her
mistresses gradually lose over the years, becomes the main and
the only joy in her miserable life. The doll dreams her life away
and she will experience what the living will never know; what
they could only long for, if they were able to imagine it, but
they almost never can. And so the doll’s real hard life becomes
more and more secondary, unimportant and uninteresting.
It’s the inner world of the dolls, their dreams, my dreams! It
is that which pushes reality to the very edge and beyond. And
the main and the only place is then taken up by our eternal and
never-ending dream; the idea that what happens is only in our
heads and in our hearts. Even when the head is a plastic shell
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and the heart a small light bulb, flashing in a see-through red
capsule. All this can’t be taken away from us because none of
our mistresses knows anything about it, their imagination and
their power doesn’t reach that far.
(When Dolly finishes her monologue, the rest begin moving and
talking again.)
DOLL 5: It’s been such a long time since I’ve had so much fun. To
spin around in the circle like a small doll, sing a lovely song,
hold hands with all my loved ones,. How long has it been
since I’ve done anything like that? Fifty, a hundred, a thousand
years? This is what I imagine death to be like. I’ll become light;
I’ll be lighter than a feather; my legs will be what they used
to be, I’ll put on a colourful dress, stand in the middle of our
room, and I’ll spin round. As fast as the wind, and faster still;
so fast that my arms will be totally free, as if they weren’t really
mine; as if they were tied by a string or an elastic band, like
a doll’s arms. And the string gets tighter and tighter, and my
arms stretch further and become longer and longer; so long
that they brush against everything that’s in their way. It should
probably hurt but it doesn’t, because I can’t feel anything, I see
nothing but coloured spots, my head is spinning as if I was
falling through a funnel. I’ve become a tiny coloured ribbon
in the wind, that suddenly whips me off into the air and then
I’m gone. That’s what I sometimes dream about in the night, in
my sleep, if I manage to fall asleep. But most of the time I don’t
manage; my legs drag me into the bed as if they were made
of steel, that’s how heavy they are. Sometimes I think my bed
won’t stand such heavy legs, and that it will collapse, I think
to myself. I can’t get comfortable; on my back, I feel dragged
down, my shoulders and my back hurt when I’m on my side
and I can’t manage to turn onto my stomach by myself, and
even if I do, I can’t get up. I have to slowly get up on all fours,
like this. Then I have to grab onto something, like the bedside,
and shuffle myself to the edge of the bed, and then I sit down,
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and then I’m ok. Or somebody helps me, takes my arms, yanks
me up-and here I stand. On my own, it’s hard, so it is.
DOLL 3: I wouldn’t get up at all. It makes no sense. Why bother
getting up? Is it even worth it? It’s good that I found out,
stupid me, I always help you out, drag you up by those arms
with brittle bones, dried up and knobbly, covered with skin
that’s shrivelled like an old lizard’s, and then all you do is get
in the way. But now that I know, I’m going to yank your arms
properly and I’ll rip them off! One after another. You won’t
even bleed, anyway. Then I’ll rip your legs off, wrap it all in
a parcel, write an address somewhere in South America, and
I’ll send you off to some museum or for medical research.
They will open the parcel and they’ll be all bowled over! They’ll
think it’s some old mummy, from America, at least a thousand
years old but a special space-saving one, stored in bits, arms
and legs separately. They’ll put you together again, with bits
of wire, and stick you in a glass box where you’ll stand like
a dummy. They’ll wax you up or give you a lick of paint; they’ll
even dress you in some feathery or beady dress, like a squaw,
golden beady headband, lucky you, you’ve never even dreamt
of such a thing! People will come and gawp at you. We’ll come
too, me and the girls here, on a Sunday.
DOLL 4: Shut up!
DOLL 2: No way I’m going to some stupid museum. Not me! I’m not
interested. Not one bit. I’m surprised that anyone goes; that
anyone likes museums. I can’t imagine who does, only some
old dazed idiot or little kids, coz’ they have to go. They tell
them at school, and they have to go – no way they can protest.
DOLL 1: I know all kinds of different songs. If you wanted to, we
could sing and dance together all the time. But you’d have
to be very good, like my dolls. That way we could play, but
you’d be living dolls. They haven’t invented those yet. And
there aren’t really any old dolls, wow that would be great! Like
a grandma doll or a great-grandma doll. You could have some
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disease or we could pretend there’s a funeral. I’d dress you all
in black and we’d march in a procession and we’d sing this
really sad song.
Little doll passed away, too old to live more
She couldn’t walk again, had a fall, was sore
She couldn’t chew either, not a tooth inside
She toppled down to the floor, Death comes, you can’t hide
Let’s dig a little grave, a little hole for you
There you lie, dear Dolly, rest in peace, bless you
DOLL 4: What a lovely song, who taught you that?
DOLL 1: Nobody taught me, I made it up myself.
DOLL 4: What a clever little girl you are! But it’s not very nice to
sings songs like that, it’s blasphemy. A funeral isn’t something
to make fun of.
DOLL 1: But I like to play the funeral game, I enjoy it. And if I have
that old doll, she’ll have to go in the grave. And if you tell me
off, you will go in the grave too! I’ll sing you a song too, but
not a nice one like that, if you tell me off.
(Doll 4 slaps Doll 1 in the face.)
DOLL 4: No, little girl, you will not play such games. You have
to listen to me, and I tell you that it’s not good for a little
girl; you will simply not play like this if I have a say in the
matter. Children should play happy, cheerful games, from the
beginning of life, not its end. It’s not acceptable to remind
a person of her end. It’s disrespectful, it’s not to be talked
about, it really isn’t very nice, it’s off limits. I don’t like to
say it but you will have to listen to me. Because, if you don’t,
something’s going to happen.
DOLL 1: (Crying.) What’s going to happen?
DOLL 4: Well, it can’t be without a punishment, that’s for sure. You
start singing some such song and digging a hole and burying
a doll in there, and now imagine: all of a sudden, there’s a flash
and thunder, and the flash comes down from the heavens and
boom! It will hit you right on the head, and your hair will be
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in flames, and it will burn you, and you will run around with
your head on fire, and even your dress will catch fire, and
you’ll be like a live fireball. You will be in a lot of pain, and
then you’ll die. They will also put you in a hole in the ground,
but this time for real.
DOLL 1: I don’t believe that.
DOLL 2: I don’t believe that either. It’s just what people say to scare
little girls. It doesn’t work with me, I even find it funny. When
I hear anything about heavens and flashes and thunder and the
like, some chapels or something, it makes me laugh.
DOLL 4: Other things could happen. Somebody will hear your
loathsome song, and suddenly he’s there. You’ve never seen
him before. He’s going to start talking to you in a voice as
sweet as honey.
DOLL 1: I don’t like honey.
(Another slap.)
DOLL 4: It’s a simile, my darling. It means that he will speak with
a sweet voice that will charm you so much that you will submit
to him. It will be as if you had the loveliest dream. But you
won’t know who it is; you won’t be able to see this man in the
face. But when you are totally infatuated, as it’s not possible
to resist the voice, you will go after him, as if in a dream. You
will walk and walk, you won’t know how long. He will then ask
you to give him your hand. You will do it and he will squeeze
your hand so tight that you won’t be able to wiggle out, and
not even crying will help. His grip will be as hard as steel. He
will lead you further and further and you will get used to the
grip. Your feet will then start hurting and you will cry and
plead again for him to carry you. He will pick you up and
squeeze you so tight that your bones will crack. He won’t let
go no matter what you do. A strong wind will come and lift
you up into the air and you will be cold for a bit and hot again
and you will fly far, far away, until you will see a burning crater
of a volcano underneath you, a real blazing fire. You will fly
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high up above until you are as cold as stone, frozen and blue.
Then he will let go of you. You will fall and you’ll keep on
falling into that terrible fire, it will take forever and you will
be full of fear and pain. You will be frozen stiff on one side
and burnt by the terrible volcano blaze on the other. You will
wish for it all to stop, wish for an end but it will never come.
You’ll see the demon circling high up above, be sure that it
will be the demon HIMSELF and you will hear him laughing.
You will never forget that laugh; it will ring in your ears, if
they can still take it in. All this will last a long time, a whole
eternity. You know, my darling, I don’t wish this on you. How
could I want such a horrible end for our beautiful doll? Of
course, I wish you all happiness and joy in life, to walk around
in pretty dresses, to eat only the nicest things, to drink lovely
fruit juice and milk from the cows fed on ever green pastures,
and that’s why you have to do as your grandmother says. I have
only your best interests at heart. How could I wish for you to
be afraid of something? I wouldn’t be capable of such a thing!
However, you have to take in all the good that I’m trying to get
into your head. You have to take it in just like I have to accept
everything that is my fate. Even our suffering is a gift of a sort;
think of it that way, my child. So, what do you say now?
DOLL 2: What a load of old shit!
(Doll 4 slaps Doll 2 in the face.)
DOLL 4: Those kinds of remarks you can keep for your daft
classmates. Don’t think that you are invincible!
(Doll 3 slaps Doll 4 in the face.)
DOLL 3: Here you go, sent straight from that devil of yours!
(Doll 4 slaps Doll 3 in return.)
DOLL 4: That hand you just slapped me with will rot and fall off,
remember that! I curse your hand!
DOLL 3: At least the hand had a little fun, so now it can rot! Now
you can curse the other one if you want.
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(Doll 3 slaps Doll 4 in the face with the other hand, the latter exclaims
fanatically, almost apocalyptically.)
DOLL 4: I curse you!
DOLL 3: No, I curse you!
DOLL 4: I do! I curse you!
DOLL 3: I do! I curse you!
DOLL 4: You? You curse me?
DOLL 3: It’s all, “Me, me, me,” all the time! Don’t you know anyone
else? Only yourself? Huh? What have you got to say?
DOLL 4: Yes, of course it’s about me and not you! You are nothing,
a nobody, a mere insect, unlike me! So yes, it is all about me!
DOLL 3: No, me!
DOLL 4: Me!
DOLL 5: Come on, what is this? Have you forgotten about your
great-grandmother? Your great-grandmother doesn’t mean
anything to you? The great-grandmother doesn’t deserve any
attention? Nobody has to look after me any more…I don’t
need anything any more, I don’t deserve anything, nobody
has to like me…no, no, I can be all forgotten now, as if I was
never here, yes, yes…
(Doll 2 slaps Doll 5 in the face.)
DOLL 2: Here’s one for you to stop you moaning. There you go. Got
what you wanted?
(Doll 4 slaps Doll 2.)
DOLL 4: Don’t you think you’ll get away with that! You aren’t big
enough to slap someone yet, and not too small to get one
either. You still need to be disciplined, and if nobody else takes
on that responsibility I will have to, yes, I’ll have to take on that
task. And if it’s needed, it won’t be just a slap. There’s plenty
more where this came from, if needed.
(Doll 4 slaps Doll 2 in the face, the latter immediately returning the
slap.)
DOLL 2: OK, there’ll be plenty more, so here is one for you.
(Doll 3 begins to slap herself.)
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DOLL 3: That is my punishment, for letting myself be abused all
these years: just deserts; I deserve to be slapped no end, but
not from you or anyone else; I have to punish myself for being
so stupid and taking everything; for being so obedient and
thinking it was the right way to be. My cheeks are all tough
from the slaps. It doesn’t even hurt any more, and I have to
beat myself up with all my might to feel anything at all. I can
feel hardly anything anymore. If I asked one of you to kick
me now, I wouldn’t even feel it. If I gave you a stick to beat
me with, I’d have to ask you where it was I was whacked. I’m
so beaten up after all these years that I can’t feel anything.
Nothing at all.
DOLL 4: And I can give you some more; all you have to do is ask!
DOLL 2: And I can give some to you!
DOLL 1: Everyone in one big huddle
Five and twenty on the drum
Who gets beating, not a cuddle
Has to sit down on her bum
(Doll 4 hurls herself at Doll 3 and starts beating her up. Gradually,
all the other women join and begin to beat each other senselessly.
Doll 1 uses one of the dolls as a weapon, Doll 5 uses her stick – she
can even have the two sticks that supported her a while ago. The fight
looks stylised after a while, like a fight in a silent movie. Dolly or the
other dolls start talking again, at which point the women freeze in
a live picture. The music starts. Dolly sings and dances, every now
and then the women moan, sigh, cry in the rhythm, as if in a dream.)
DOLLy: Far away an ocean island, country without men and wives
Who looks for it, cannot find it, undisclosed to human eyes
There we live alone and lonely, godforsaken, empty dolls
Collected all over the world, some of us hot,
some of us cold
Taken to the new land with care, sea so soothing,
look what we wear
Given new clothes, dress to dream of,
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golden-red veil, tailored with love
Little shoes from softest leather,
that can be worn every weather
To the table then invited, fed and watered, all delighted
Everything is true and honest, not a bad wolf in the forest
Sun-kissed beaches rich with fine gold,
not a drop of blood that is cold
Skin so soft like smoothest velvet,
cheeks are chiselled, lips are perfect
Sea is humming faraway tunes, we are happy,
playing in dunes
Who is tired, lies down resting,
somebody else fine wine testing
Good friends brushing our golden hair,
happy voices ring through thin air
Wind blows light and playful and warm,
call each other sir and madam
Soft bed, calm sleep, safety all night,
dance and sing we do when it’s light
Life goes by as sweet as a dream, dolls are lucky,
so it must seem
Doll is all you have to be, nothing human scaring here
(The music goes on, maybe even gradually gets louder, the women are
slowly waking up during the following dialogue, stretching as if from
a long sleep.)
DOLL 1: I had the best sleep ever. But where are my dolls? Heddie,
Heddie Ginger, Linda and Adrienka? Who’s taken them?
DOLL 5: As if I was still a young girl… so much strength, I can move
any way I like. I could even dance if I wanted to or I could go
and play with my log dolls; with Alice, Agnes, Amelie, Barbara,
Betty; with all of them. But I don’t need anything; it’s enough
to know I could. I could!
DOLL 2: Did I just sleep or what? I’m not that thick to sleep in the
day, or am I?
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DOLL 4: Blessed sleep… We were given a gift for life.
DOLL 3: Yeah, at the end of the day, I’ve got the right to take a rest
as well, and nobody can say anything. That’s right. I won’t take
any more abuse from anyone!
(The wind picks up, and gradually, as if the wind was too strong, the
women get thrown to the floor, onto the wall or against the furniture,
as if it was the end of everything, or it can be done in a stylised manner
and choreographed as a dance. Every blow is accompanied by a gust of
wind or a musical emphasis. Dolly then comes in and walks amongst
the scattered women, holding a small watering can full of ‘blood’. She
waters all the women. The watering should be noticeable rather than
subtle. An alternative is that Dolly covers Dolls with white sheets
or one big white sheet or similar, and the blood suddenly seeps from
below. The music gets louder, a sudden blackout.)
THE END
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Václav Havel
(1936)
As the son of an entrepreneur and
builder, Václav Havel was barred
from higher education for political reasons. Instead he took an
apprenticeship in a chemical laboratory and graduated whilst
employed. He later worked as a stage hand, assistant director and
dramaturge at the Theatre on the Balustrade (Divadlo Na zábradlí).
In his twenties he started writing for literary and theatre magazines,
but it was not until 1967 that he was able to graduate in dramaturgy
from the Theatre Faculty of the Academy of Performing Arts. His
plays The Garden Party (Zahradní slavnost, 1963), The Memorandum
(Vyrozumění, 1965) and The Increased Difficulty of Concentration
(Ztížená možnost soustředění, 1968) introduced a new spirit onto
the Czech and later international theater. In the summer of 1968 he
spent several weeks in the USA, but in 1969, after the invasion of the
Warsaw Pact armies, he was – as a leading cultural representative of
the Prague Spring – completely silenced. With his new plays, which
included The Beggar‘s Opera (Žebrácká opera, 1975), Audience and
Private View, and also his essays, manifestos and his everyday attitude,
he became the natural authority for independent movements in
Czechoslovakia and a leading representative of international culture.
He was imprisoned several times by the Communist authorities,
on the last occasion in 1989. Following the “Velvet Revolution”, of
which he was the best-known representative, he was from 1990-1992
President of Czechoslovakia and from 1993-2002 President of the
Czech Republic. In a television questionnaire in 2005 he was voted
the third greatest Czech in history, an exceptional achievement by
international standards: in no other country has a living individual
achieved from such a popular pastime such a high ranking. After
his presidency ended he returned to writing plays with Leaving
217
(Odcházení, 2007), his first play in twenty years. 2011 marked his
debut in film direction when he adapted Leaving for the screen.
LIST OF PLAYS (selection):
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
Zahradní slavnost, 1963; première 3. 12. 1963, Divadlo Na
zábradlí, Prague
Vyrozumění, 1965; première 25. 7. 1965, Divadlo Na zábradlí,
Prague
Ztížená možnost soustředění, 1968; première 11. 4. 1968,
Divadlo Na zábradlí, Prague
Audience, 1975; première 9. 10. 1976, Akademietheater, Vienna
(Austria)
Vernisáž, 1975; première 9. 10. 1976, Akademietheater, Vienna
(Austria)
Largo desolato, 1984; première 13. 4. 1985, Akademietheater,
Vienna (Austria)
Pokoušení, 1985; première 23. 5. 1986, Akademietheater, Vienna
(Austria)
Asanace, 1987; première 24. 9. 1989, Schauspielhaus Zürich
(Switzerland)
Odcházení, 2007; première 22. 5. 2008, Divadlo Archa, Prague
•
TRANSLATED PLAYS (selection):
•
•
•
Metamorfóza: English – Metamorphosis
Zahradní slavnost: Dutch – Het Tuinfeest, English – The
Garden Party, German – Das Gartenfest, Russian – Prazdnik
v sadu, Spanish – Una fiesta en el jardín
Vyrozumění: English – The Memorandum, French – Le rapport
don‘t vous êtes l’objet, German – Die Benachrictigung, Russian
– Uvedomlenie, Spanish – El comunicando, Turkish – Bildirim
218
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
Ztížená možnost soustředění: English – The Increased
Difficulty of Concentration, German – Erschwerte Möglichkeit
der Konzentration, Russian – Trudno sosredotochitsia
Anděl strážný: English – Guardian Angel, French – L’ange
Gardien, German – Der Schutzengel
Motýl na anténě: English – A Butterfly on the Antenna
Spiklenci: English – Conspirators
Horský hotel: English – The Mountain Hotel, French – Hôtel des
Cimes, German – Das Berghotel, Russian – Gostinica v gorach
Žebrácká opera: English – The Beggars’ Opera, French – La
grande roue, Polish – Opera zebracza, Spanish – Ópera de los
mendigos,
Audience: English – Audience, French – Audience, German –
Audienz, Portuguese – Audiencia, Russian – Audiencija, Spanish
– Audiencia
Vernisáž: English – Vernissage, Private View, French –
Vernissage, Polish – Wernisaź, Portuguese – Vernissage, Russian
– Vernisaž , Spanish – Inauguración
Protest: Belorussian – Pratest, Bulgarian – Protest, English
– Protest, French – Pétition, German – Der Protest, Polish –
Protest, Portuguese – A Petião, Russian – Protest,
Chyba: English – Mistake, French – Tant pis, German – Der
Fehler, Russian – Probljema Spanish – Error
Largo desolato: English, French, German, Polish, Russian,
Spanish – Largo Desolato
Pokoušení: English – Temptation, French – Tentation, German
– Die Versuchung, Polish – Kuszenie, Russian – Iskushenije,
Spanish – La Tentación
Asanace: English – Redevelopment, Slum Clearance, German
– Sanierung, Polish – Rewaloryzacja, Russian – Rekonstrukcija
Zítra to spustíme: English – Tomorrow!, Russian – Zavtra
vystupajem
Ela, Hela a autostop: English – Hitchhiking
219
•
Odcházení: Bulgarian – Ottegliane, Catalan – Anar-se’n,
Croatian – Odlaženje, Danish – Afsked, Dutch – Het vertrek,
English – Leaving, French – Sur le départ, German – Der Abgang,
Hungarian – Távozás, Latvian – Aiziešana, Polish – Odejścia,
Rumanian – Plecare, Russian – Uchod, Spanish – Retirándose,
Swedish – Avgång, Turkish – Ayriliş
220
Václav Havel
LEAVING
A play in five acts
Translated by Paul Wilson
This play is copyright and subject to protection under the Copyright Act.
This work may be used solely for dramaturgical purposes in association with
a production of it.
Any other use, in particular its duplication or making it available to third
parties, is subject to the sanctions of §152 of the Penal Code. In the event of any
intent to produce or otherwise use the play, you undertake to seek performing
rights to the work from Aura-Pont s.r.o.
All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the Aura-Pont Agency
Radlická 99, Praha 5, 150 00, Czech Republic, www.aura-pont.cz
Address for correspondance: Veslařský ostrov 62, 147 00 Praha 4
221
Characters:
Dr. Vilem Rieger, the former chancellor
Irena, his long-time companion
Grandma, his mother
Vlasta, his elder daughter
Zuzana, his younger daughter
Monika, a friend of Irena
Bea Weissenmütelhofová, a political scientist and multicultural
socio-psychologist.
Albín, Vlasta’s husband
Hanus, a former secretary to Rieger
Victor, a former secretary to Hanus
Oswald, a servant in the Rieger household
Dick, a journalist
Bob, a photographer
Patrick Klein, a deputy minister and later, vice-prime minister
Knobloch, a gardener
First Constable
Second Constable
The Voice
Setting: The play is set in the orchard of the Rieger villa.
Note: Quotations from “The Cherry Orchard”, by Anton Chekhov, are
taken from Michael Henry Heim’s translation, published in “Chekhov:
The Essential Plays”, The Modern Library, New York, 2003. The
quotations from Shakespeare’s “King Lear”, with minor adjustments,
are taken from the Kitteridge Edition.
222
ACT ONE
(The orchard outside the Rieger villa. Upstage steps lead to the entrance
to the villa, on one side of the stage. On the other side, opposite, is
a coach house, and centre upstage, a gazebo. Centre downstage is a set
of garden furniture, a table with some chairs set around it. A swing
hangs from the branch of a tree. Rieger’s daughter, Zuzana, is alone
on stage. She is sitting on the swing, which is swaying gently back and
forth; she has a large set of earphones on her lap, along with an open
laptop on which she is writing something with both hands. She has
a mobile phone clamped between her shoulder and ear.)
ZUZANA: (Speaking into the phone.) Yeah – Aha – Okay –
Marvelous – Brilliant – Me too – Very much. No, you’re the
one, Lily – Okay, talk to you soon – Bye.
(Zuzana turns the phone off, slips it into her pocket, puts the earphones
on and continues working on the laptop, oblivious to her surroundings.
A short pause, then Rieger strolls slowly onto the stage. He’s a graying,
elegant man of about sixty in a navy-blue blazer and a cravat. Irena,
his companion, about forty, enters with him, along with Monika,
Irena’s self-effacing friend, and Grandma, Rieger’s mother. There is
a somewhat regal, ceremonial air about their entrances. Rieger, who
is clearly the focus of attention, sits down, while the women gather
around him. A short pause.)
IRENA: Are you warm enough?
RIEGER: Yes –
IRENA: You can’t possibly be warm enough!
RIEGER: I assure you, darling, I am quite warm enough –
IRENA: Let me bring you a blanket –
RIEGER: I don’t need a blanket. I don’t want a blanket. I am quite
comfortable as I am –
GRANDMA: Let him be. Stop treating him like a child.
IRENA: Monika, would you please? The brown one. It’s right there
in the hall, on the armchair –
MONIKA: You mean the beige one?
223
IRENA: Yes –
RIEGER: Monika, please – I’m perfectly fine –
(Monika, at Irena’s silent command, exits into the villa, passing
Oswald on the steps. He’s a general factotum in the household. He is
carrying a glass with a hot toddy in it on a tray, along with a serviette
and a spoon. He stands in the background, ready to serve.)
GRANDMA: There are several beige blankets in there, and they’re
in a bit of a mess, they haven’t been to the cleaners in
donkey’s years, and anyway, they’re not very warm –
RIEGER: What’s keeping those reporters? Weren’t they meant to
be here by now?
(Victor, Hanus’s former secretary, enters from the coach house.)
VICTOR: I simply don’t understand it, sir. People can’t just come
and go as they please when you’re visiting the chancellor! I’ve
called them and apparently they’re on their way.
IRENA: Vilem, you have to tell them exactly what you think. None of
your diplomatic pussy-footing around. People would be very
disappointed in you –
VICTOR: Precisely. You have to be firm.
GRANDMA: Vilem doesn’t need to be told what he should do.
He’s always had a way with reporters.
(Victor exits into the coach house. Monika enters from the villa
with a beige blanket. She hands it to Irena, who drapes it around
Rieger’s shoulders.)
RIEGER: I think it’s time for my afternoon toddy –
(Oswald steps up to the table, lays out the napkin and the spoon, and
then sets down the drink.)
RIEGER: Thank you, Oswald. How did you sleep?
OSWALD: Very well, thank you, Mr. Chancellor.
IRENA: (To Oswald.): It’s time to peel the potatoes for dinner. When
you’ve put them on to boil, empty the washing machine and
hang everything out to dry on the line over there among the
cherry trees. The clothes pegs are in their usual place under
the sink, and be careful not to spill the rubbish when you’re
224
getting them. You might take the rubbish out while you’re at
it, – but not until you’ve finished hanging out the laundry. And
don’t forget to put in a new bin liner.
(Zuzana’s mobile phone starts to play the “Ode to Joy.” She works
a little longer at her laptop, then closes it, removes her earphones,
takes her mobile phone out of her pocket and puts it between her ear
and shoulders, leaving both her hands free; she slides off the swing,
takes the computer and earphones and walks toward the villa.)
ZUZANA: (Speaking into the phone.) No, Lily, you don’t have to,
really – Right – Yes – Right – No, there’s nothing to worry
about! – Exactly! – Exactly! – No, absolutely not! – Great! –
Great! – Brilliant! – Okay, talk to you soon. Bye –
(Zuzana exits into the villa.)
IRENA: (To Oswald.) Don’t even think about just emptying the
rubbish and putting the old liner back in the bin. It makes an
awful smell. Monika will be along shortly to make sure you’ve
done it properly, and generally give you help and advice. Won’t
you, Monika?
(Monika nods. Oswald bows and exits, with the tray, into the villa.
He passes Hanus, Rieger’s former secretary, on the steps. Hanus is
carrying a huge, garishly painted portrait of Rieger.)
HANUS: (To Rieger.) Good news, Vilem. You can keep this The
chancellery stamp on the back is so smudged that if it comes
down to it, we can always say we simply didn’t notice –
RIEGER: Let them have it. It’s a shoddy piece of work anyway.
GRANDMA: I want it! I’ll hang it in my bedroom.
RIEGER: Mother, please. We’re not going to clutter the house up
with fourth-rate finger paintings.
IRENA: We’ll keep it. But it doesn’t belong in Grandma’s room.
She can put up some of your childhood pictures if she wants.
It’s going in my room. Besides, it’s not half bad, is it, Monika?
(Monika shrugs her shoulders. A short pause. Hanus looks
questioningly at those present, and then takes the portrait back into
the villa. Victor enters from the coach house.)
225
VICTOR: They’re here!
GRANDMA: Who’s here? The reporters? How many of them are
there? Wouldn’t it be better if they stayed on the other side
of the fence?
IRENA: Monika, would you be kind enough to take Grandma inside?
She can watch television, or read yesterday’s Keyhole.
(Monika ushers Grandma into the villa. On the steps they pass
Oswald, who enters carrying a tray with three bottles of beer. He
stands respectfully in the background. Victor comes out to meet Dick,
a reporter, carrying a bag over his shoulder, and Bob, a photographer
with several cameras slung round his neck.)
VICTOR: Mr. Chancellor, this is Dick. He’s the famous reporter,
and this is Bob, who’s going to take a few pictures, if that’s all
right with you –
RIEGER: May I ask which paper you work for?
DICK: Various foreign journals, all world-class papers, I hasten to
add. And some domestic ones as well –
RIEGER: Which domestic ones?
DICK: Well, for instance, I work for The Keyhole. I interviewed you
fifteen years ago, in Athens, do you remember?
RIEGER: I’ve given so many interviews –
DICK: It was right below the Acropolis –
RIEGER: I was there with Papandreou, wasn’t I?
DICK: Exactly.
RIEGER: Very well, please take a seat –
(Dick sits down at the table, and takes a set of notes, a notebook, and
two recording devices from his bag. Victor stands a little way off. Bob
walks around, looking for interesting shots and taking pictures with
different cameras. Dick shuffles through his notes until he finds what
he is looking for.)
DICK: (Reads.) Can you tell us, Mr. Chancellor, how, after so many
years spent in –
IRENA: Would you mind introducing us?
226
RIEGER: Yes of course, sorry. This is Irena, my longtime companion
–
DICK: Dick –
IRENA: It’s an honor to meet you, Dick –
DICK: (To Rieger.) Your longtime companion is utterly charming –
RIEGER: Thank you.
DICK: (Reading). Can you tell us, Mr. Chancellor, how, after so
many years spent in –
IRENA: Excuse me, but is there anything I can get you?
DICK: That’s kind of you, but I’m fine. Or – come to think of it,
a couple of beers would hit the spot. For Bob and me.
RIEGER: I’ll join you.
DICK: Do you think I could have a bit of cinnamon with that?
(Oswald steps forward with the tray and puts three bottles of beer
on the table, pulls a small packet out of his pocket, and shakes some
cinnamon into Dick’s beer.)
IRENA: (To Oswald.) Did you find the clothes pegs?
OSWALD: I haven’t looked yet.
IRENA: Well, when you do, be careful not to knock over the bin.
And could you send Monika out?
(Oswald bows and exits, with the tray, into the villa.)
DICK: (Reading.) Can you tell us, Mr. Chancellor –
RIEGER: I’m not the chancellor any more –
DICK: Can you tell us, Mr. Former Chancellor, after so many years
spent in high office, how you feel in the role of an ordinary
citizen again?
RIEGER: I feel quite comfortable about it, mainly because I now
have far more time to spend with my family. On the other
hand, it’s only now that I realize how deeply people believe
in the traditions, values, and ideals that I’ve come to embody
in their eyes, and which now that I’ve left office appear to be
losing ground with each passing day –
(Monika enters from the villa, Irena removes the blanket from
Rieger’s shoulders and hands it to Monika.)
227
IRENA: Would you be kind enough and bring me my compact – the
new one – my hairbrush – the old one, and my lipstick – the
dark one. They’re either in the left-hand shelf in my bathroom,
or on my night table, or on the first shelf from the top in the
right-hand cupboard in the hall – or wherever –
MONIKA: Wouldn’t you like me to bring you your dark glasses and
that silk wrap from the Prcek Brothers?
IRENA: What a lovely idea! Yes, please do. (Monika exits into the
villa.) I’m sorry, but I didn’t know you were going to be taking
pictures as well –
DICK: (Reading.) Which of the values you fought for, Mr. Former
Chancellor, do you consider the most important?
RIEGER: At the very core of my political thinking there was always
the individual human being – a free, happy citizen, constantly
learning new skills and steeped in family values –
IRENA: Dick, don’t you love the way he can put things in a nutshell?
I’ve always admired that –
VICTOR: The chancellor speaks beautifully and expresses himself
very clearly. I hope you’ll put it all down exactly as he said it.
RIEGER: The government exists to serve the citizen; the citizen does
not exist to serve the government.
VICTOR: I’d quote that word for word!
RIEGER: I’ve always wanted our country to be safe and secure. And
not just our country. The whole world. And safe and secure,
not just for humanity, but for all of nature. (He declaims.) Not,
however, at the expense of economic growth!
THE VOICE: I would remind the actors to play their parts as
civilly and naturally as possible, with no grotesque or comic
overacting. They should not try to make the play more
entertaining by using exaggerated facial gestures. Thank you.
(Hanus enters from the villa, carrying a telephone in each hand.)
RIEGER: This is Hanus, my former secretary. He’s helping me sort
out a few things. (To Hanus.) I hope they’re not government
property –
228
HANUS: Unfortunately, Vilem, they are.
(Hanus walks across the stage with the telephones and exits into the
coach house. Monika enters from the villa with the hairbrush, the
lipstick, and the compact, dark glasses and a silk wrap. She gives
everything to Irena, who immediately starts putting on her makeup.
Hanus enters from the coach house, walks across the stage, and exits
into the villa. Dick leafs through his notes. After some time, he finds
the next question.)
DICK: (Reading.) Mr. Former Chancellor, how did you turn the
ideals you stood for into public policy?
RIEGER: Well, for instance, I placed great importance on human
rights. In the name of freedom of expression, I imposed
significant limits on censorship. I honored the right of
assembly, and during my terms as chancellor, fewer than half
of all public demonstrations were broken up by the police.
And I respected freedom of association. Just witness the
dozens of citizens’ groups that arose spontaneously from the
grassroots – IRENA: Excuse me, Vilem, but you really should mention that you
respected the opinions of minorities as well –
RIEGER: And I respected the opinions of minorities and in some
cases I had absolutely no hesitation in sitting down with
various independent or single issue groups –
VICTOR: In that regard, the Chancellor was truly broadminded.
Sometimes to a fault. You should have seen the kind of riffraff that turned up sometimes!
(Oswald enters from the villa with a bag of rubbish and a tray on
which there are three glasses, a small amount of beer in each one. He
puts down the bag and respectfully stands in the background.)
IRENA: I think he did a lot for women, too – RIEGER: I have always had great regard for women and I’ve always
surrounded myself with them –
DICK: Great headline!
VICTOR: (To Dick.) That’s something we might discuss later.
229
RIEGER: I waged a merciless war on bribery and corruption.
Everyone remembers the Klein affair, surely. Would you like
a little more beer?
DICK: Well, but really, just a little –
(Oswald approaches with the tray, puts the beer on the table, takes
a package of cinnamon out of his breast pocket and sprinkles some
into Dick’s beer. He bows, and heads toward the villa with the tray,
just as Grandma is entering.)
THE VOICE: This business with the cinnamon: there is no
psychological or any other explanation for it whatsoever. Or
at least as far as I know there isn’t. For now, let’s just call it
a product of pure authorial whimsy, or of my somewhat selfcentered delight that I can come up with any harebrained idea
at all and the actors will have to play it with a straight face. But
what can I do? The simple fact is, I like it and I feel it belongs
there.
(Oswald exits into the villa. On the steps he passes Grandma, who
enters with a copy of The Keyhole in her hands. Irena finishes applying
her makeup, then puts on her sunglasses, takes them off again, plays
with her wrap and subtly strikes a number of poses while Bob dances
around her, taking pictures.)
GRANDMA: Let him be now! You can see how tired he is –
RIEGER: I’m not tired, Mother.
GRANDMA: Yes, you are. I can hear it in your voice. Anyway, you
always say the same thing every time –
IRENA: That’s not true! He spoke beautifully today.
VICTOR: I agree. It turned out exceptionally well today. But as
the saying goes, best to stop while you’re ahead. One more
question, please –
RIEGER: Do you know what Tony Blair once told me? If you
don’t answer their questions, they’ll answer them for you.
That’s good, isn’t it?
DICK: Right, then, one more question. Does the loss of parliamentary
immunity bother you?
230
RIEGER: Why should it bother me?
DICK: And aren’t you worried that –
VICTOR: I’m sorry, but really –
DICK: And aren’t you worried, Mr. Former Chancellor, that
VICTOR: I’m sorry, but we really must wrap it up now –
DICK: … aren’t you worried, Mr. Former Chancellor, that you’ll be
forced to move out of here? This villa, after all, is government
property –
(Rieger, Irena, Monika, Grandma, and Victor all look at each other
in surprise. A pause.)
RIEGER: They wouldn’t dare.
(Dick makes a few more notes, then puts his notebook and his
recording devices into his bag, gets up and shakes hands with Irena
and Rieger. Bob takes some final pictures.)
DICK: If we have any follow-up questions, may we come again?
IRENA: Of course you may, Dick.
(Dick and Bob exit, accompanied by Victor.)
VICTOR: I’m sure you’ll understand if we ask to take a look at your
piece before you publish it? Just a quick once-over, and we’ll
return it to you straight away. Could you do that for us?
IRENA: (Calls out.) We’ll choose the pictures together, won’t we,
Dick?
(Dick and Bob exit, Victor returns.)
VICTOR: Mr. Chancellor, my congratulations! You were magnificent!
RIEGER: The most important thing is to know how to call things by
their proper names, to address the big picture, put things in
their proper context. A good leader, of course, will surround
himself with a good network of think-tanks –
VICTOR: I’m sorry, what did you just say?
RIEGER: A network of think-tanks. Did you notice that they
completely forgot to ask about the economy or social policies?
Or about education, for that matter. I deliberately mentioned
Klein, who was made deputy yesterday, and I expected them
231
to latch onto that and ask me more about it – but they didn’t.
Odd, isn’t it?
VICTOR: It’s sad, Mr. Chancellor, the sort of people you have to give
the time of day to. I’m going to carry on –
RIEGER: Can’t you just lay off for now?
VICTOR: We can’t let that bureaucrat, Hanus, do all the work!
(Victor exits into the coach house. Vlasta enters with her husband,
Albin. She is Rieger’s elder daughter. She holds a basket of fruit, Albin
is carrying some official folders.)
VLASTA: Hello, Father; hi Grandma, hello Irena, hi Monika. I’m
bringing you some fruit. Help me, Albin –
(Vlasta and Albin put a variety of fruit on the table.)
IRENA: (Calling out.) Oswald!
GRANDMA: Vlasta, did you know what a reporter said here just
now? He said we might have to move out. Where would we
go, for heaven’s sake?
IRENA: Monika, would you mind looking to see what’s become of
Oswald? When you find him, tell him, please, to bring me
three baskets with napkins and several fruit knives, and some
watered-down beer for Albin, and then to keep an eye on
those potatoes. When they’re ready, he should drain them
nicely, then let them dry and cool down, and then peel them.
But he shouldn’t use a regular potato peeler! He just has to
remove the skin with a little knife.
MONIKA: Does he know which one?
IRENA: He can use any knife he wants as long as it’s not the fancy
one Mrs. Putin gave us…
(Monika exits into the villa.)
VLASTA: People are talking a lot about your moving out. They say
you don’t need fancy government digs any more. If the worst
comes to the worst, you – I mean you, Grandma and Zuzana –
can move in with us. You know, how much we love you, don’t
you, and how grateful we are to you for everything?
RIEGER: And what about Irena?
232
IRENA: No need to worry about us. Monika and I will find
something, a sublet somewhere. The main thing is that we
should be nearby –
RIEGER: That’s so kind of you, Irena.
(Hanus comes out of the villa with a huge bust of Gandhi in his arms.
He stands in front of Rieger.)
HANUS: I’m sorry to say we can’t keep this. Fifteen years ago,
someone included it in the office inventory.
RIEGER: To hell with them!
HANUS: I almost hesitate to bring this up, Vilem, but a set of rulers
is missing as well. Do you know anything about it?
RIEGER: No, I don’t!
(Victor enters running from the coach house.)
VICTOR: (Sharply.) They were all given out as souvenirs. There’s none
left, and you shouldn’t be bothering the Chancellor with this
at all!
(Hanus exits into the coach house with the bust in his arms. Victor
follows him. At the same time Monika enters from the villa, carrying
a tray with a basket, some little knives, napkins and a glass of watered
down beer.)
IRENA: Well?
MONIKA: He’s probably gone to sleep somewhere.
(Monika sets everything down on the table and puts the fruit into the
basket. Albin takes the watered down beer. A pause.)
RIEGER: It was a gift from Indira –
GRANDMA: (To Vlasta.) Are you staying for dinner? We’re having
new potatoes with cheese and butter –
(Knobloch, the gardener, enters, carrying a rake.)
VLASTA: Shall we stay, Albin? (Albin shrugs his shoulders.) We’ll
just have a bite and then be on our way.
THE VOICE: I know that nothing much has happened so far, but
I wanted the play to start very slowly. That way, the audience
will be all the more grateful when the pace gradually begins
to pick up.
233
(Hanus enters from the coach house, walks across the stage, and exits
into the villa.)
RIEGER: How do you do Mr. Knobloch? So, are we going to have
a good crop of cherries this year?
KNOBLOCH: A bumper crop, if you ask me.
RIEGER: And what’s new out there in the big wide world? What do
people think about things? Have you seen any demonstrations
supporting me? Or any posters, at least?
KNOBLOCH: The lads in the pub are talking about the move –
RIEGER: What move?
KNOBLOCH: Deputy Klein says the government simply can’t afford
to be handing out villas to every Tom, Dick and Harry –
(Victor rushes in from the coach house.)
VICTOR: It’s just been on the radio!
RIEGER: What?
VICTOR: Deputy Klein announced in a media scrum outside
parliament that the government simply can’t afford to be
handing out villas to every Tom, Dick and Harry – (A wind rises, and it starts to rain.)
END OF ACT ONE
ACT TWO
(The orchard outside the Rieger villa, one hour later. Everything is as
it was at the end of Act One. The wind and the rain have died down.
The stage is empty. After a few moments, Vlasta and Albin, who is
carrying files, Rieger and Irena, followed by Monika and Grandma
enter from the villa, one after the other.)
RIEGER: Will you stay with us a while longer?
VLASTA: Fine, but just for a while –
234
GRANDMA: Why were the large potatoes not properly cooked, and
the small ones overcooked?
IRENA: (To Monika.) Could you please tidy away all this makeup?
(Monika starts putting the items of makeup on a tray.)
VLASTA: (To Rieger.) Father –
RIEGER: Yes?
VLASTA: We – that is, Albin and I – would like to discuss something
with you –
RIEGER: Go ahead –
IRENA: Grandma, it’s time you were going inside. There’s a cold
damp coming off the ground. Monika, could you please –
(Monika takes the tray with the makeup, the wrap, and the dark
glasses, then takes Grandma by the hand and exits into the villa with
her.)
VLASTA: Father, you know how much Albin and I love you. We
only want what’s best for you. It’s a bit awkward, but it’s what
everyone does, because you never know what might happen.
And so we thought – that is, Albin and I thought – that we
should – as a family, I mean – be ready for anything –
RIEGER: Are you referring to the possibility that sooner or later, we
might have to move out of here?
VLASTA: I’ve already made myself clear about that: you would
come and stay with us – at least for the first few days, until
you found something else. But there are many other things to
consider as well.
RIEGER: Like what?
VLASTA: Oh, I don’t know. The furniture, the pictures, the books,
the bank accounts, living expenses. The long and short of it
is, Albin and I have already talked to a friend of ours, a lawyer,
and tried to come up with a proposal –
(Vlasta takes the file from Albin. Monika enters from the villa.)
RIEGER: You mean a will?
235
VLASTA: It sounds awful, doesn’t it? But what I mean by that is
a certain set of instructions in case there are any doubts about
what belongs to whom – IRENA: You mean when Vilem dies?
VLASTA: No need to jump to the worst conclusion. We all want
Father to live as long as possible. For that reason, our proposal
takes different alternatives into account. It might seem
terribly formal, of course – in this family, everything has
always belonged to everyone – more or less – but given the
times we live in, anything might happen. For instance, they
could easily enact legislation to legalize the seizure of private
property in cases where there is justified suspicion of evading
an investigation into suspect activity –
RIEGER: In other words, you want me to transfer my property to
my nearest and dearest –
VLASTA: To the members of your family –
RIEGER: What about Irena?
IRENA: Don’t worry about me – Monika and I have plenty tucked
away, don’t we?
(Monika nods.)
RIEGER: That’s so kind of you, Irena.
IRENA: (Calls out.) Oswald!
VLASTA: You should look this over, think about it, and perhaps
discuss it with someone. Albin and I don’t want to rush you,
we only think it would be pointless and silly to let ourselves
get caught out just because we weren’t thinking ahead. All we
have to do is come up with an arrangement that won’t tangle
us up in a lot of red tape, and won’t land us on the front pages.
IRENA: Vlasta’s right, Vilem. You know the kind of thing The Keyhole
can get up to. (To Monika.) Shall we go?
(Monika nods, and Irena and Monika exit. Vlasta hands the file to
Rieger, who puts it aside on the table. Vlasta, then Albin, embrace
Rieger and exit. Knobloch approaches with a rake in his hands.)
KNOBLOCH: So, you’re expecting a visitor?
236
RIEGER: Me? No –
KNOBLOCH: Deputy Klein said on television that he plans to pay
you a visit soon –
RIEGER: He said that?
(Knobloch exits. Shortly afterward Bea appears with a book in her
hand. For a moment she simply stands and looks at Rieger, who finally
becomes aware of her presence.)
RIEGER: Are you looking for anyone in particular?
BEA: You –
RIEGER: And how can I help you?
BEA: Would you be willing to sign my copy of this book of your
speeches?
RIEGER: Of course –
(Rieger motions Bea to come closer and sit down, and she does so,
somewhat hesitantly. Rieger also sits down and takes out a pen. Bea
opens the book to the title page and sets it in front of Rieger.)
RIEGER: Now, don’t tell me you’ve read the whole thing.
BEA: Actually, I’ve read it rather carefully, first because I found it
absolutely fascinating, but also because I wrote my doctoral
thesis about you. It was my own idea. My thesis is called:
“Vilem Rieger’s Conception of Democracy” –
RIEGER: And how did it turn out?
BEA: Excellently. I’ve been interested in your ideas for years.
I probably know more about you than you do yourself. And
the longer I study you, the greater the impact your work has
on me –
RIEGER: So, you’re a political scientist?
BEA: Yes – but I’ve taken a couple of terms of multicultural sociopsychology and intermedia communications –
RIEGER: May I ask what your name is?
BEA: Weissenmütelhofova. Beatrice Weissenmütelhofova. But you
can call me Bea, Mr. Chancellor.
RIEGER: Delighted, Bea. But I’m no longer chancellor.
237
BEA: For me, you will always be chancellor, Mr. Chancellor. (A pause.
Rieger takes one of the baskets of fruit from the table and offers
it to Bea.) No, thank you. I didn’t come here to eat up your
food, or even take up much of your time.
RIEGER: You’re not eating up my food, or taking up my time. Go
ahead – have one.
BEA: Thank you, I will. (Bea chooses an apple and eagerly takes
a bite. Grandma quietly enters from the villa. Rieger and Bea
don’t see her. There is a longish pause, as Bea eats her apple.)
Is this from your orchard?
RIEGER: No, my daughter brought them. This is just a cherry
orchard –
BEA: Once, in Charkov, you spoke very movingly about your
orchard. You said it was the symbol of our cultural tradition,
of how we shape the landscape in our own image –
RIEGER: Ah – that was so long ago. Do you mind my asking which
of my speeches, or ideas, most caught your fancy?
BEA: As I understand it, Mr. Chancellor, the basis and the main
source of your politics is the idea that the individual must be
at the very core of that politics, and that everything we do
in politics should be aimed at helping him, or her, develop
themselves in the broadest possible way. But the idea that
our country ought to be safe and secure was also important.
And how right you are about that! How could anyone develop
themselves in the broadest possible way in a place that was
unsafe or insecure? I also love the idea that you put forward
fifteen years ago, in Taiwan: the notion that human beings are
made for freedom –
RIEGER: Ah, yes, I remember that speech made quite an impression
at the time. Chiang Kai-shek even asked me for my original
copy –
GRANDMA: I certainly hope you didn’t give it to him.
(Rieger and Bea turn to Grandma in astonishment.)
238
RIEGER: Mother, this is Bea – Bea, this is my mother. Bea wrote her
thesis about me –
GRANDMA: How lovely. Should I go looking for Oswald?
RIEGER: Just make sure he didn’t leave something burning on the
stove –
(Grandma goes back into the villa. A pause.)
BEA: I’d love to write your life story sometime. You must have
experienced so many fascinating things!
RIEGER: Yes, I’ve lived through quite a lot and I’ve accomplished
a great deal. There’s so much that only a few people know
about, or that no one knows about at all –
(Irena and Monika enter. They are carrying paper and plastic bags
with the shopping. When they see Rieger and Bea, they stop.)
IRENA: I see we have a visitor.
RIEGER: This is Beatrice Weissenmütelhofova, a political scientist
and multicultural socio-psychologist who has also studied
intermedia communications. She’s a student of my politics
and she’s going to write my biography. This is Irena, my longtime companion, and this is Monika, Irena’s friend.
(The women shake hands.)
IRENA: I bought you a cap –
(Monika takes a sporty peaked cap with “I Love You” written on it and
hands it to Irena, who puts it on Rieger’s head.)
RIEGER: Thank you, darling.
(Monika picks up all the bags and exits with them into the villa.)
IRENA: You have a very pretty admirer. But then, you always did.
And you always managed to find time for them. It’s interesting,
men don’t seem to write about you –
RIEGER: There’s Dobes .
IRENA: The one who writes for The Keyhole? That’s hardly something
to brag about. Anyway – please don’t let me interrupt you –
(Irena exits into the villa.)
BEA: I don’t think your longtime companion was too pleased to see
me here –
239
RIEGER: She’s very much in love with me, which means that she
can sometimes be a problem. I’d be delighted to tell you about
my life. I have a lot of time on my hands these days, and I’m
rapidly forgetting things, so the sooner we begin, the better –
BEA: Could I come tomorrow, early evening? I’m really looking
forward to working with you. Well – goodbye.
RIEGER: Goodbye, Bea –
(Rieger hesitates a moment, then quickly kisses Bea on the cheek. She
strokes his hair, then picks up her book and runs off. Klein slowly,
somewhat ceremoniously approaches, accompanied by Knobloch,
with his rake, and Victor. Rieger quickly stuffs the hat into his pocket.)
KNOBLOCH: You have a visitor, Mr. Chancellor.
RIEGER: Patrick Klein. What a surprise! Please, sit down. Can I get
you something?
KLEIN: Some tea, perhaps –
RIEGER: Victor, would you do the honors?
(Victor bows and goes into the villa. Knobloch exits as well.)
KLEIN: So – how’s life? I suppose you have more time for your
family now. Or do you miss politics?
RIEGER: It’s something of a paradox, but it’s only now that I realize
how many supporters I really have. It seems I must, after all,
have embodied some values that people hold dear.
(Irena enters from the villa.)
IRENA: Hi!
KLEIN: Hello.
RIEGER: We were just saying that I have a lot of supporters.
IRENA: Yes, many people have expressed their interest and their
fellow feeling. Hardly a day goes by without some journalists
dropping in, or young students planning to write something
about him.
RIEGER: Irena’s not exaggerating. But, as Havel once told me,
popularity isn’t everything –
(Victor enters from the villa with a cup of tea, followed by Monika.
Victor gives the tea to Klein.)
240
VICTOR: Can I get you anything else?
KLEIN: No, thank you. Unless there’s a tiny drop of rum to go with
it.
IRENA: The rum is just inside the door, on the left, above my hats
and below where Vilem keeps his shoes.
(Victor nods and exits into the villa.)
KLEIN: Clever young man.
RIEGER: That’s Victor, the former secretary of my former secretary
Hanus. He’s helping us separate our private things from those
that belong to the chancellor’s office. You wouldn’t believe how
difficult that is. But of course, you’ll go through the same thing
one day. (Rieger laughs long and hard at his own joke.) And
what about you? How are you enjoying your new position?
KLEIN: You know how it is; so far, I’m just trying to work out
who’s with us, and who is merely pretending to be with us.
(Victor comes out of the villa with a bottle of rum. He goes up
to Klein and puts a few drops of rum into his tea.) Thank you,
Victor. Do you mind if I ask you for one more tiny little thing.
I do love biscuits with my tea.
IRENA: They’re on the table, Monika. Unless Oswald has squirreled
them away somewhere. He has his own little system of hiding
places. Not long ago, for instance, I discovered that he’d put
a box with five kinds of cheese in it behind the refrigerator.
Imagine that – five kinds of cheese! God knows how long
they’d been there, so of course I threw them out.
(Monika exits into the villa, Victor stands back.)
RIEGER: I hear you’re about to become a cabinet minister.
KLEIN: The boss told me that at this point in time, he can’t imagine
anyone better for the post, and he’s prepared to put my name
forward, so the matter’s on the table, but it’s not yet top of
the agenda.
RIEGER: Victor, you can go home now. You can carry on in the
morning.
241
VICTOR: With your permission, I’d like to finish sorting through
one more important box.
RIEGER: What’s in it?
VICTOR: Some of your private correspondence.
RIEGER: You can burn it.
IRENA: No, put it aside, and I’ll go through it later.
RIEGER: (Shouts.) Burn it!
KLEIN: Your archives shouldn’t really be destroyed. One day they’ll
have immeasurable value. At the very least, young Miss
Gambacci, at the Intergovernmental Historical Commission,
should take a look at them.
VICTOR: You can rely on me, Mr. Klein.
(Victor exits into the coach house. Monika enters from the villa with
a plate of biscuits. She puts it down in front of Klein, who immediately
starts to eat them, and will continue to eat them until his exit.)
KLEIN: Thank you, Miss –
MONIKA: Monika
KLEIN: Thank you, Monika. You are very kind and you have such
a nice name. I’ve always been soft on Monikas –
IRENA: She’s my friend. Monika, would you please try to wake up
Oswald?
MONIKA: If I can find him.
(Monika exits into the villa.)
KLEIN: May I speak freely in front of Irena?
RIEGER: Certainly.
KLEIN: The reason I came –
RIEGER: I’m listening –
KLEIN: It would be unfortunate for you and your family, and an
embarrassment to the new leadership, if you suddenly had to
move out of here, given that you’ve made such a contribution
to the country, and everyone knows how you’ve made this
place your home over all those years, and how fond of it you
are, and that you really have nowhere else to go.
242
RIEGER: I appreciate your seeing it that way, Patrick. To tell you the
truth, I’d never given it much thought. I suppose I just took it
for granted that we’d be able to stay on.
KLEIN: As did I! I didn’t really pay any attention to the matter until
my advisors pointed out that someone could start digging into
this – and you can just imagine what a field day a rag like The
Keyhole would have with that.
RIEGER: What do you suggest?
KLEIN: That the government rent it out to you. Naturally, for an
affordable sum – that’s something we could easily defend.
RIEGER: That wouldn’t be so bad. What do you think, Irena?
IRENA: As the queen of Sweden once said to me: Nothing is free –
KLEIN: I haven’t come here to offer some kind of deal, certainly not
where one’s hearth and home is concerned. I have to say that
any such interpretation would be a personal insult, not only
to me, but to the entire leadership. That is really and truly not
how we wish to do politics, and anyone who thinks we do
would be making a terrible mistake, one that we could simply
not let pass without some kind of response.
RIEGER: Easy now, Patrick. Irena didn’t mean it that way.
(Victor enters from the coach house carrying a stuffed briefcase.)
VICTOR: Goodbye –
KLEIN: Look after yourself, Victor. I’m sure we haven’t seen the last
of each other –
VICTOR: We certainly haven’t, Mr. Deputy –
(Victor exits.)
KLEIN: On the other hand, it has to be said that the new leadership,
Vilem, does not wish to see you as an adversary and it certainly
has no intention of bringing anything to a head. What good
would that serve? It could only lead to instability. So it’s only
logical that part of the agreement would be that you too – at
least in public – would not come out against us in any way.
RIEGER: But Patrick, you surely can’t expect me to say things –
about certain people – that I don’t really believe?
243
KLEIN: We couldn’t care less what you think about us.
IRENA: So what’s your point?
KLEIN: (To Rieger.) It would be in the interests of political harmony
in the country if, at the appropriate time and in the appropriate
place and in the appropriate way, you were to let it be known
that you support the new leadership because you do not wish
to question the democratic system in this country and the
legal instruments that are now in place. After all, we too wish
to put the individual the centre of our political agenda, and we
too want our country to be a safe and secure place.
THE VOICE: I have the feeling that this dialogue, as important as
it is to the play, might also be somewhat boring. But it’s not
entirely my fault. Of course, I have an influence on my own
play, undeniably, but the main thing is that when I write, I try to
serve the logic of the thing itself, which seems more important
to me than my own feelings. For better or worse, I am merely
mediating something that transcends me. I can’t rule out one
other possibility: that I’m just making excuses for myself. How
easy it is, after all, to blame everything on “something beyond
ourselves.” Sometimes, when I see everything that gets blamed
on “something beyond ourselves,” I feel sincere regret.
(The actors all look at Rieger. A short pause.)
RIEGER: I’ll give it some thought.
KLEIN: Vilem – you know I’ve always had the highest regard for
you. That’s why I’m asking you to stand with both feet planted
firmly on the ground. If I don’t get a positive answer from you
by tomorrow, I’ll know what that means. (Klein gets up, takes
one more biscuit from the plate, and calls out to Irena) My
best to Monika!
(Klein exits.)
IRENA: Vilem?
RIEGER: Yes, darling?
IRENA: What was in that private correspondence?
RIEGER: I really couldn’t say.
244
IRENA: Something intimate?
RIEGER: You know very well I’ve always burned things of a sensitive
nature.
IRENA: It’s your pants that are on fire, you liar! (She calls out in
different directions.) Oswald! Oswald! Get up!
END OF ACT TWO
ACT THREE
(The orchard outside the Rieger villa. A day later. Oswald is alone on
stage, rearranging the garden furniture. Irena enters, accompanied
by Monika and Grandma. Irena sits down, the other women gather
around her.)
IRENA: Where’s Vilem?
OSWALD: The chancellor is taking a bath –
GRANDMA: Now? In the afternoon?
OSWALD: He’ll be out soon. I heard the water running out of the
tub ten minutes ago, and he’s probably now shaving, applying
aftershave, gelling and combing his hair. Then all he’ll have to
do is get dressed.
IRENA: Aha, he’s got an interview. Monika, would you mind?
MONIKA: The maroon sweater?
IRENA: If it’s not wrinkled –
MONIKA: I’ll check –
IRENA: Thanks –
(Monika exits into the villa.)
IRENA: Oswald, could you please dig out that hand-painted plate
we got from the Ceausescus, put the fruit Vlasta and Albin
brought yesterday on it, get some napkins, small plates and
knives and bring it all out here.
245
GRANDMA: Are you expecting those reporters again? I wouldn’t
bother telling them anything more. Vilem’s told them
everything.
(Oswald bows, and exits into the villa. He passes Hanus, who is
coming down the steps.)
HANUS: Is Vilem not here?
IRENA: As you can see.
HANUS: I wanted to ask him about something. Just some final
details about office supplies.
IRENA: Don’t tell a soul, but he was really sorry to have to give up
the Gandhi.
HANUS: So was I.
(Hanus exits into the villa, passing Monika on the steps. She’s bringing
makeup, the maroon sweater and dark glasses. She puts everything on
the table. Then Irena gets up, strips down to her brassiere and puts the
sweater on. She hands her discarded top to Monika, sits down again,
and starts putting on her makeup and combing her hair. Monika exits
into the villa with the clothing.)
THE VOICE: It happens all the time: I remember something I’d
forgotten, but then immediately afterward, I forget what it is
I’ve just remembered. It’s getting serious. I’m always forgetting
who’s on stage, who’s just exited, whether two people are
meant to be addressing each other formally, or familiarly,
what mood they were in when they left the stage, and so on
and so forth. I might easily have someone make an entrance
and then never have them leave the stage. Or, on the contrary,
they might exit at the beginning, then never return. Or I might
require them to enter when they’re already on stage, or exit
twice in a row without having entered in between. I think I’ll
write poetry instead.
(Monika exits into the villa. A few moments later Rieger enters from
the villa; he is nattily dressed and groomed, and he’s visibly applied
pancake make-up. His hair has been dyed a dark brown.)
IRENA: (Still putting on makeup.) They’re blackmailing you.
246
RIEGER: I know.
IRENA: You should never have told them you’d think it over –
RIEGER: It’s just a turn of phrase –
IRENA: If you endorse them, you’d be spitting in your own face.
I couldn’t respect you anymore.
RIEGER: I know.
(Oswald enters from the villa with a tray, carrying a large handpainted plate with fruit, along with napkins, small plates, little
knives, and a bottle of champagne and flutes. He puts the fruit and
the other things on the table and retreats to the background, where he
stands, waiting to be of service. Victor enters from the coach house.)
VICTOR: They’re on their way. Could I mention one small thing?
RIEGER: Did you burn it?
VICTOR: I think, Doctor Rieger, that you should be firm, but at the
same time, diplomatic. If you are too dismissive of the new
leadership too soon, it could be counterproductive, because it
could seem that you simply haven’t been able to accept it – that
you are still harboring a grudge, or nursing some bitterness,
or a sense of betrayal, or a feeling that you are irreplaceable,
or something like that.
IRENA: Some advisor you have!
RIEGER: Victor’s not my advisor; he’s the former secretary of my
former secretary, Hanus. Did you burn it?
VICTOR: I’m sorry, but I had to tell you what I think, forgive me.
When they get here, I’ll bring them in.
RIEGER: Did you burn it or didn’t you?
VICTOR: Time! Time! There’s never enough time!
(Victor exits rapidly into the coach house. Irena finishes putting on
her makeup and brushing her hair; she puts away her makeup and
puts the dark glasses up on her head.)
RIEGER: Mother, would you look to see if any of our cherries are
ready to pick?
GRANDMA: If you’d like.
(Grandma exits into the villa. She passes Monika on the steps.)
247
IRENA: You were strutting about like a peacock in front of that
Weissenmütelhofova person yesterday, wasn’t he, Monika?
(Monika shrugs her shoulders.)
IRENA: It was ghastly to watch. I was utterly ashamed of you. Do
you think you have to demean yourself in front of every piece
of skirt that happens along? Monika, surely you agree –
(Monika shrugs her shoulders.)
RIEGER: That’s all nonsense. I behaved with that young lady the
same way I’d behave with anyone else.
IRENA: Listen to him. A lady? Ssssssss –
(Offstage, the Ode to Joy sounds, then suddenly stops. Zuzana enters
from the villa carrying an open laptop and earphones, with a mobile
phone clamped between her ear and shoulder. She heads for the
swing.)
ZUZANA: (Into the phone) Now? All right, why not, Lili. Yes – yes
– I can do that. Fine. Brilliant! See you soon. Bye.
(Zuzana puts the mobile phone in her pocket, sits down on the swing,
opens the laptop, puts on the earphones, and starts working on the
computer. She pays no attention to anything going on around her.
A pause.)
IRENA: Do you love me?
RIEGER: Yes.
IRENA: More than you love this house?
RIEGER: Yes.
IRENA: More than the orchard?
RIEGER: Yes.
IRENA: More than politics?
RIEGER: Yes.
IRENA: More than you love yourself?
RIEGER: Yes.
IRENA: I think you’re talking complete rubbish.
(Victor enters from the coach house and goes to meet Dick and
Bob, who are approaching. Grandma enters from the villa carrying
a basket. She walks across the stage and exits.)
248
THE VOICE: What I love about the theatre are entrances, exits,
and returns, coming out of the wings and onto the stage,
and from the stage back into the wings. It’s like going from
one world into another. And on stage, I love gates, fences,
walls, windows, and, of course, doors. They are the borders
of different worlds, cross-sections through space and time
that carry information about their contours, their beginnings
and their ends. Every wall and every door tells us that there
is something on the other side of it, and thus they remind
us that beyond every “other side” there is yet another “side”
beyond that one. Indirectly, they ask what lies beyond the final
“beyond,” which in fact opens the theme of the mystery of the
universe and of Being itself. At least that’s what I think.
(Dick sits down, opens his bag and takes out his notes, a notebook,
and two recording devices. He places everything in front of him, then
takes out several copies of The Keyhole, shows it to everyone present,
and then puts them on the table as well.)
DICK: Tomorrow’s Keyhole. For you.
IRENA: Thanks, Dick. Don’t you have today’s?
DICK: You haven’t seen it?
IRENA: We only have yesterday’s.
(Everyone except Zuzana takes a copy, some remain on the table.
Irena and Monika leaf through their copies for a while and then put
them down. Victor, who is standing a little way off, is holding his copy
in his hands. Bob walks around the stage, taking pictures, trying to
get shots of people holding The Keyhole.)
RIEGER: I have an idea, my friends. This is my first major interview
after these huge changes in my life, and I enjoy working with
you. Let’s have a glass of champagne to celebrate!
(Everyone nods. Oswald immediately passes around the flutes, opens
the bottle, and pours it. He removes a small packet of cinnamon from
his pocket and starts to put a little in Dick’s champagne.)
DICK: No, thanks – not today.
BOB: I’ll have some, thank you.
249
(Oswald sprinkles some cinnamon into Bob’s glass. There is a general
toast.)
RIEGER: So – here’s to our health. May everything turn out well for
every one of us. It may be that difficult times lie ahead. But if
we stick together, if we can all just like each other, even just
a little, if we listen to each other and try to understand each
other, they can’t touch us.
IRENA: We’re with you, Vilem. Please, be with us.
(Dick shuffles through his notes until he finds the question he was
looking for. He turns on the recording devices. As Rieger responds, he
writes down the answers in his notebook.)
DICK: (Reading.) Dr. Rieger, could you tell us what the essence of
your economic policies were when you were chancellor?
RIEGER: That’s a good question. The essence of my policy was an
effort to significantly reduce the burden on taxpayers. All taxes
were gradually reduced, some were eliminated altogether,
such as the tax on the interest on inherited interest. Lowering
taxes was meant to stimulate economic growth, which in turn
would enable the government to gradually increase pensions
and social security payments, so that everyone would really
benefit. Is that clear enough?
IRENA: Shouldn’t you mention your favorite slogan: “Less
government?”
RIEGER: Ah yes, less government, lower taxes and higher pensions
and benefits. That’s it in a nutshell.
DICK: (Reading.) And how did your policies impact on women?
RIEGER: Going forward, we intended to bring in a special bonus
for working women who also had a home and a family to look
after.
IRENA: You talked a lot about that. You called it “dish money”. We
used to make fun of it. Remember, Monika? (Monika smiles
and nods.)
VICTOR: Sorry to butt in, but it might be appropriate to point out
that these were policies with a very long time frame
250
RIEGER: Of course, it couldn’t all have been accomplished right
away. But on the other hand, we wanted to put an end to the
politics of procrastination.
DICK: As far as economic policy is concerned, I’d like to just ask
– (He quickly shuffles through his notes.) – how you intended
– what you intended – (He finds the question.) – what you
intended to do to attract foreign investment?
RIEGER: We had several instruments for achieving that. Are you
drinking? Does everyone have enough? Oswald, could you top
people up?
(Oswald pours everyone more champagne. Hanus enters from the
villa.)
HANUS: Vilem ––
RIEGER: For instance, when a potential foreign investor wanted
to build something – a warehouse, let’s say – we would have
cut down the trees, cleared the undergrowth, leveled the
ground, brought in water, sewage, gas, electricity, internet
access, and built roads and parking lots. At the same time, this
would increase employment, which would in turn decrease
unemployment.
HANUS: Vilem ––
RIEGER: On the other hand, we wanted to provide incentives,
including zero-sum or negative-sum tax payments, and
special profit-based rewards –
HANUS: Vilem ––
RIEGER: And then, thirdly we – what was the third thing, Victor?
VICTOR: I can’t remember, Dr. Rieger…
HANUS: Vilem, please …
RIEGER: Wasn’t it an offer to fund a polyfunctional promotional
campaign for qualifying corporations?
VICTOR: I don’t know. Yes. Maybe. Perhaps –
(Irena nods to Monika, who approaches Irena, who then whispers into
her ear while Monika nods.)
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HANUS: Vilem – I’m sorry to interrupt, but we have a minor
problem.
RIEGER: What is it?
HANUS: Several days ago, according to the administration
department records, you took out a hundred erasers, fifty
colored pens, a liter of ink, and ten packages of paper.
Shouldn’t we be returning some of that, at least?
VICTOR: (Shouts.) Don’t bring that up, Hanus!
HANUS: But we don’t want to leave ourselves open to attack over
such trivial items.
RIEGER: Don’t be such a nervous Nellie!
(Irena has finished whispering to Monika, who exits into the coach
house. Hanus exits into the villa. Dick, after searching for a while,
finds another question.)
DICK: (Reading.) How would you respond, Dr. Rieger, to critics
who accuse you of not waging a tougher war on bribery and
corruption, especially among our leading politicians?
RIEGER: The exact opposite is true. It was I, after all, who first
drew the public’s attention to some rather shady transactions
involving Klein.
IRENA: When a politician buys five luxury homes, all at the same
time, for himself and his extended family, doesn’t that strike
you as a little odd? Vilem talked about this openly and what
happened? Everyone attacked him for it, and Klein just
laughed. Isn’t that so, Vilem?
RIEGER: It is.
VICTOR: To be precise, we did not press charges, so in the formal
sense –
RIEGER: Charges or not, everyone knows that with just a little more
time, I would have given bribery and corruption a good run
for its money. After all, it’s been a priority of mine for the last
fifteen years.
(Monika enters from the coach house, goes over to Oswald and
whispers something to him. He nods, then bows and exits into the
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coach house. Monika gestures to Irena that something has been
settled.)
RIEGER: If I might venture beyond the bounds of your question:
I have always believed that decency and morality were
extremely important in the marketplace. I simply wanted this
country to be a safe place. For everyone.
IRENA: You’ve already said that, Vilem.
RIEGER: Some things bear constant repetition. For instance, the
idea that there are times when freedom must be defended by
force. After all, that’s why we have an army, a police force, an
intelligence service, a counter-intelligence service, a second
police force, a militia, special forces, first-strike commandos,
an army – and so on.
(Grandma enters with a basket full of cherries. She’s accompanied
by Knobloch, who is carrying a rake. Oswald enters from the coach
house with another bottle of champagne. He opens it and tops up
everyone’s glasses, while quietly laughing to himself.)
IRENA: I brought this champagne back fifteen years ago from Paris.
We bought it on the Boulevard St. Germain with Jack Lang.
He loved this champagne, especially the 1915 – October cru.
(To Oswald.) What are you laughing at?
OSWALD: Yepichodov broke a billiard cue.
IRENA: What’s Yepichodov doing here? And who let him play
billiards? I don’t understand these people!
(Oswald suppresses a laugh, then quickly clears the unnecessary
things off the table, the empty bottles etc., puts them on a tray, bows,
and exits into the villa. Grandma shows everyone the cherries.)
GRANDMA: There’s going to be a bumper crop this year. What will
we do with all those cherries?
KNOBLOCH: When I was young, those cherries would be dried,
pickled, marinated and made into jam. They were so soft and
sweet and juicy, those dried cherries. They smelled so good.
RIEGER: You’re not the only one who remembers that, Mr.
Knobloch. I’d rather hear what’s new. What are people saying
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about me? Do they feel the same vast intellectual and spiritual
abyss between me and the current leadership as I do? The
thing is, these journalists here are going to write about it.
KNOBLOCH: People like Vice Prime Minister Klein.
RIEGER: What? He’s vice prime minister already?
KNOBLOCH: I heard it on the radio just a while ago. (He points to
The Keyhole.) May I?
RIEGER: Go ahead.
(Knobloch takes a copy of The Keyhole and exits. Grandma also takes
a copy and exits into the villa with her basket of cherries, looking at
The Keyhole as she leaves. Dick leafs through his notes, and finally
finds a new question. Grandma pauses before exiting into the villa.)
GRANDMA: Angelina had breakfast with Brad in an Indian
restaurant.
(Grandma exits into the villa.)
DICK: (Reading.) And now to change the subject a little – do you
still feel young, or do you feel you’ve aged?
RIEGER: Haven’t aged a bit, mentally or physically.
DICK: (Reading.) How does your long-time companion, Irena, get
along with your mother and daughters?
RIEGER: Irena gets along well with almost everyone. (Calls out.)
Mother! (Grandma appears in the doorway of the villa holding
The Keyhole.) Tell the gentleman how well you get along with
Irena.
GRANDMA: Just fine.
DICK: (Reading.) Do you think, Mrs. Riegerova, that your son and
his long-time companion Irena are fond of each other?
GRANDMA: Vilem’s rather afraid of her.
IRENA: He’s not afraid of me in the slightest, and he tries to get his
own way. But I respect that and I always try to accommodate
him, because I have enormous regard for him. And I love him.
DICK: And do you also love your long-time companion, Irena?
RIEGER: Yes. Could I say something –
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IRENA: He’s terribly shy about some things and it’s impossible to
get a sensible word out of him –
RIEGER: Could I say something –
IRENA: – yet in other things he’s not shy at all.
DICK: What kind of things?
RIEGER: Could I say something about my education policies?
DICK: Go ahead.
VICTOR: We didn’t really accomplish a great deal in that regard.
RIEGER: I wouldn’t say we were complete failures either. I wanted
those who went through our school system to come out as
wise, decent, and well-rounded, well-educated people. That
was the main idea behind my plan for school reform. If it was
slow to be realized, that was mainly the fault of some teachers
who were not themselves sufficiently wise, decent, or welleducated –
DICK: Have you been faithful to Irena, your long-time companion?
RIEGER: (Insulted.) Of course I have!
DICK: When did you last have sex?
RIEGER: (Angrily.) That’s none of your damn business!
DICK: But it would certainly interest readers of The Keyhole.
RIEGER: (Shouting.) Fuck them!
THE VOICE: I would urge the actors to act naturally, not to raise
their voices pointlessly, to avoid pathos, to articulate their
lines well, to stick to the text, and not resort to histrionics.
Thank you.
(Dick turns off the recording devices and puts everything back in his
bag.)
DICK: I think that’s everything. May I? (Dick positions himself
between Rieger and Irena, putting his arms around their
waists. Bob takes their picture from all angles.) Can we take
a few more shots inside?
IRENA: But please, be quick about it.
(Irena exits into the villa, followed by Dick, Bob, Victor and Monika.
Rieger exits last, but he stops on the steps.. Zuzana also stops.)
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THE VOICE: When a playwright requires a character to be alone
on stage, or have a conversation the others are not meant to
hear, he usually tries to devise ways to usher the unnecessary
characters off the stage. Shakespeare didn’t worry about
such things. His characters simply walk on or walk off as he
required. Today, there are many complicated ways of getting
actors off stage. Often, they leave to prepare something to
eat. That’s also a way of ensuring that when it’s time for them
to come back, their entrance will be natural because in the
meantime, they will have got something ready, and they can
bring it on stage at the right moment. I wonder if having the
characters go into the villa collectively for a photo shoot will
seem too arbitrary a way of getting them out of the way so that
something can happen that they are not meant to witness?
Yes, I admit, I need them off the stage. I would add, however,
that it is customary for newspapers to run photographs of the
subject of a major interview at home, and for members of the
family to be present, if only to do a quick tidy up or make sure
the journalists don’t steal anything.
(Rieger notices that Bea is now on stage.)
RIEGER: Bea –
BEA: Is it true they’re trying to evict you?
RIEGER: They’ll rent this place to me if I support them publicly.
They said they would continue with my policies –
BEA: That’s bollocks. They may say they are guided by your political
principles, but it won’t be genuine, because all they’re
interested in is power. You’ve been strong all your life –
that’s who you are – that’s your identity – and after all you’ve
gone through, you can’t just give up. We’re all going to try to
find you a suitable place to live – RIEGER: That’s so kind of you, Bea.
(Bea kisses Rieger.)
BEA: You smell so nice
RIEGER: It’s partly for you –
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BEA: You seem far younger than you do on television. You have
hardly any grey hair –
RIEGER: You have no idea how badly I sometimes need
encouragement. And kind words from a young, pretty, wise,
well-educated creature make me feel twice the man.
(Rieger and Bea look at each other intensely for a moment, and Rieger
suddenly embraces Bea and begins kissing her. Bea gently struggles,
more for show, to get out of his embrace.)
BEA: No – not here!
RIEGER: Come!
(Rieger takes Bea by the hand and leads her quickly into the gazebo.
They embrace and kiss. Oswald enters from the villa running. He is
laughing, and in each hand, he holds half of the broken billiard cue.
He examines the break, shaking his head, laughing. Then he exits into
the coach house. The “Ode to Joy” sounds from one of Zuzana’s pockets.
She puts the computer aside, walks downstage, takes out the mobile
phone and turns it on. The “Ode” stops. Zuzana listens intently. For
a moment, there is utter silence.)
ZUZANA: (Into the telephone.) And your point is?
(At that moment, the wind rises and it begins to rain.)
END OF ACT THREE
(Intermission)
ACT FOUR
(The orchard outside the Rieger villa. The same day, a short while
later. The wind and the rain have died down. Rieger and Bea are
hugging and kissing in the gazebo. Oswald is sleeping in the bushes
not far away, but he can’t be seen.)
IRENA: (Calls from offstage.) Vilem! Darling! Where are you? (Irena
enters, followed by Monika. She stops close to the gazebo, then
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something catches her attention, and she looks inside and sees
Rieger with Bea.) Vilem!
(Rieger and Bea quickly emerge from the gazebo, and rearrange
themselves in great embarrassment. Irena glares at Rieger for
a moment, and then slaps his face.)
RIEGER: Ow! (A short pause, then Irena slaps Rieger in the face
again.) Ow! (A short pause, then Irena starts quickly slapping
his face over and over, while Rieger tries to avoid the blows.)
Ow – I’m sorry – I can explain – Ow!
IRENA: What’s there to explain? You’re a ridiculous, selfish,
miserable, dirty old man. Or more precisely, you’re the parody
of a dirty old man.
BEA: Goodbye!
(Bea exits, Rieger comes up to Irena and tries to caress her. She pushes
him away.)
IRENA: Why do you think I had the French champagne brought
out? Because today is our fifteenth anniversary! I deliberately
waited to see if you’d remember it. Naturally, you forgot. And
not only that, you betray me on this very day, and in the very
gazebo where we had such wonderful, wild times together.
RIEGER: You’re making too much of this. She merely kissed me –
I couldn’t very well push her away, could I?
(Monika leans toward Irena and whispers something to her. Irena
nods and then yells in different directions.)
IRENA: Oswald! Oswald! The onions are burning. (Oswald gets up,
looks around sleepily, bows, and goes into the villa.) Have you
ever thought how much I’ve given up because of you? My flat.
My place as a makeup artist with Prcek Brothers. Family. My
flat. My cottage. My friends. My flat. My best friend –
RIEGER: Best friend?
IRENA: You’ve never met him –– my flat. I lived only for you and
through you. I did everything to satisfy your needs, to make
your life easy and harmonious. I accepted a role as your
shadow and enhanced your career in so many ways. I patiently
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endured everything around you – including your mother.
You say the individual is at the heart of your politics, but you
haven’t a clue what love is. You’re just as cynical as all the rest
of them.
RIEGER: Who do you mean by “all the rest of them?”
IRENA: All of you lot. Monika, we’re leaving.
(Irena takes Monika by the hand and exits with her. Rieger goes to
follow her.)
RIEGER: (Calling out.) Irena! My dearest! Forgive me! It was just
a silly little thing – Vlasta enters with Albin.
THE VOICE: I don’t know what it is, exactly, but something bothers
me about that scene. Does it disrupt the poetics of the play? Is
it banal? Is it too flat? Too much of a parody? Not enough of
a parody? Or, on the contrary, is it too highly emotional, too
overblown? But what can I do? I’ve done the best I can with it.
VLASTA: Have you looked at it yet?
RIEGER: Looked at what?
VLASTA: At the documents Albin and I gave you.
RIEGER: Not yet.
(Knobloch enters with his rake.)
KNOBLOCH: Well, it’s here, Dr. Rieger. A courier just came and
delivered the eviction notice. From today on, it says, you’re
living here illegally. They’ve assigned you a bachelor flat.
RIEGER: Where?
(Victor enters from the coach house.)
VICTOR: In some village or other about a hundred versts from here.
It’s too bad you were so inflexible. You might have won some
concessions from them. Now, clearly, it’s too late.
RIEGER: We’ll go and live with Vlasta.
VLASTA: I’m sorry Daddy, but Albin and I have talked this over
again, and we weighed all the alternatives and in the end, we
decided that that would not be a good solution, either for you
or for us. We’d be squeezed together like sardines, and we’d
soon be getting on each other’s nerves. We could give Zuzana
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a folding bed in the kitchen for a few days, but what would we
do with Grandma? Where would we put her? In the village,
you’ll have peace and quiet. I’d give anything to be able to live
in the country!
(Grandma enters from the villa with a frying pan in her hands.
Knobloch exits.)
GRANDMA: He burnt the onions. What should I do with this?
RIEGER: Just toss it out, Mother.
GRANDMA: The frying pan too?
RIEGER: Either clean it properly, or toss it out.
GRANDMA: Where’s Irena?
RIEGER: She’s gone.
GRANDMA: Where to?
RIEGER: I have no idea.
GRANDMA: Did Monika go with her?
RIEGER: Yes.
GRANDMA: Should we wait for her for dinner?
RIEGER: I don’t know.
GRANDMA: (To Vlasta.) Are you and Albin staying for dinner?
VLASTA: We’re going to Albin’s parents’ place.
GRANDMA: For dinner?
VLASTA: Yes
GRANDMA: And where’s Zuzana? She was just here a while ago –
RIEGER: I don’t know, Mother –
GRANDMA: Did she go dancing?
RIEGER: Perhaps –
GRANDMA: Where did she put her computer?
RIEGER: Mother, please – no more questions.
GRANDMA: Well, I beg your pardon. (She looks at the frying pan.)
I’ll probably have to throw this away.
VICTOR: It’s not a complete disaster –
RIEGER: What isn’t?
VICTOR: The interview –
260
(Victor exits into the coach house. Knobloch enters with his rake,
holding an open Keyhole in his hand.)
KNOBLOCH: “He had women on the brain.” That’s the main
headline on page one. “He never professes his love, but
he’s very sensual, says his current mistress.” “Is he faithful to
her? No one knows.”
RIEGER: Is that today’s?
KNOBLOCH: It’s the day after tomorrow’s.
(Rieger tears The Keyhole away from Knobloch and looks at it. Victor
enters from the coach house with another copy of the same edition
of The Keyhole. He looks at it with Grandma, who has gone to stand
beside him. Vlasta and Albin huddle around Rieger and read his copy
over his shoulders. A pause.)
RIEGER: What kind of nonsense is this? Did they at least print the
whole conversation?
VICTOR: Yes, except for the political bits.
RIEGER: Why did you let them in here, for God’s sake?
VICTOR: Remember what Tony Blair once told you? If you don’t
answer their questions, they’ll answer them for you.
RIEGER: You idiot! I can’t imagine a more embarrassing way to end
my political career.
VLASTA: You should take a look at those documents; it’s in your
best interest, isn’t it, Albin?
(Albin nods. Rieger crumples the newspaper up and throws it at
Victor. Victor leaves. Knobloch leaves after him.)
GRANDMA: Where will we go? To Vlasta’s?
VLASTA: But Grandma, whatever gave you that idea? You wouldn’t
all fit in! And Albin and I have our own lives to live; we haven’t
time to listen to all your questions. And where would you
sleep? Who would cook for us all? Zuzana will move in with
her boyfriend, and then what? Father needs a writing desk,
he’d be entertaining reporters all the time – it’s simply out of
the question. (To Rieger.) Will you look at them?
(Monika rushes in.)
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MONIKA: Irena tried to jump off a cliff.
RIEGER: What cliff? Did she actually jump?
MONIKA: I held her back.
RIEGER: Thank you, Monika. You’re worth your weight in gold.
Please, keep a close eye on her, will you?
MONIKA: I will.
(Monika exits.)
VLASTA: It’s true we have a large flat, but it’s laid out so badly that
Albin and I are always tripping over each other. And you can
hear every sound, every word people say. Fortunately Albin
never says very much. It’s enough to make you nervous about
going to the bathroom, isn’t it, Albin? I just felt a drop of rain.
Read it! Let’s go.
(Vlasta and Albin leave. Victor enters carrying a document. The wind
slowly rises and a light rain begins to fall.)
VICTOR: Excuse me, Dr. Rieger, but a promising offer has just come
up. Would you be interested in going on some kind of personal
speaking tour? You could tell entertaining anecdotes from the
life of a chancellor, sex it up here and there with spicy details
about other statesmen, interspersed with hit songs. You could
take Miss Irena along as your makeup person. And your entire
entourage could fit into a minivan.
RIEGER: And who, precisely, is making me this offer?
VICTOR: The Show and Tell Tourist Agency run by Veprek, Einhorn,
Prcek, Gambacci Sr. and Associates.
RIEGER: Don’t respond – at least not just yet.
GRANDMA: So, what’s going to happen?
RIEGER: The village is going to happen. (To Victor.) Can you go
there tomorrow and take a look?
VICTOR: I’m sorry, Dr. Rieger, but in my opinion it would be more
sensible for you to pay a visit to Vice Prime Minister Klein as
soon as possible, if he’ll see you, that is. Or at least write him
a letter. Otherwise he’s threatening to make more trouble. One
has to have both feet on the ground.
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RIEGER: My feet are on the ground! Are you going to check it out
tomorrow or not?
VICTOR: I’m sorry to say I already have something lined up with
one of the government agencies. It wouldn’t make a very good
impression if I were to cancel my first meeting.
(Oswald enters.)
OSWALD: Dinner is served.
GRANDMA: And what will become of you, Oswald?
OSWALD: Me? I’m meant to be going to the Ragulins, to look after
their household. I’ll be something like a major domo.
RIEGER: Why don’t you all go to the Ragulins? And then straight
to the devil!
(Rieger snatches the frying pan out of Grandma’s hand, hits Oswald
on the head with it, then flings it away and exits energetically.)
GRANDMA: (To Oswald.) Are you all right? Come along now,
before you fall asleep.
(Oswald bows and exits into the villa with Grandma. Victor exits
into the coach house.)
THE VOICE: I also love an empty stage. The question is, how
long can it remain empty? In my observation, nothing much
happens at first: the audience is simply waiting. Next they start
to become restless because they don’t know what’s going on.
Then they begin muttering and mumbling, because they’re
starting to suspect that something has gone wrong and that
the theatre’s at a loss to explain why the play is not continuing,
or why the curtain has not come down. Finally, people start
leaving, or they laugh. But the main point is that an empty
stage has its own special content, its own message. It is the
emptiness of the world, concentrated into a few minutes. An
emptiness so empty that it remains silent, even about itself.
(A pause. The stage grows subtly darker, the wind rises and the rain
becomes heavier. A soaking wet Rieger enters. The dye he has used
to colour his hair is flowing down his cheeks in little rivulets. He is
followed by Hanus, cradling the bust of Gandhi in his arms.)
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HANUS: I know that this bust means a great deal to you.
RIEGER: Mao-Tse-Tung admired it greatly, when he came to visit.
HANUS: I’ll leave it with you. I’ll take the blame for it. Let them lock
me up if they want. Morally, this belongs to you.
(Rieger and Hanus exit. Grandma enters from the villa, looks around,
and then calls out.)
GRANDMA: Vilem! Vilem! Where are you? We’re having eggs, and
fresh cherries!
(Grandma exits into the villa; Rieger enters with the branch of a bush
hanging round his shoulders. Hanus enters at a different spot, carrying
the bust of Gandhi in his arms.)
HANUS: Are you here, sire? On such a night, even the creatures of
the night tremble in fear, and the beasts of prey hide in their
lairs.
RIEGER: I have no complaints against you, ye elements! I have not
given you my kingdom. Beat against me, if that is your wish.
The government is here to serve the citizen; the citizen is not
here to serve the government. I am a man more sinned against
than sinning. It is raining. Do you write verse?
HANUS: You have nothing to cover your head, sire. Here’s a hovel.
It will shelter you a little from the storm.
RIEGER: You are right, boy. Come, bring us to this hovel. (Hanus
puts the bust down, takes Rieger by the hand and leads him
into the gazebo, where they both sit down.) Blow, winds, and
crack your cheeks! Let the all-shaking thunder strike flat
the thick rotundity of the world. Crack nature’s moulds, all
germains spill at once, that make ungrateful man!
OSWALD: Where is my lord?
HANUS: He is here. But let him be. Let quiet calm his torn senses,
which otherwise could not be made whole.
OSWALD: Dinner is getting cold.
HANUS: So be it!
(Oswald bows and enters the villa.)
264
RIEGER: Put a dog in office, and see how he’s obeyed. The greater
thief hangs the lesser. Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plate
sin with gold and the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks.
Arm it in rags, a pigmy’s straw does pierce it.
HANUS: There is reason in this madness.
RIEGER: We came crying hither. The first time that we smell the air,
we wail and cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.
Let us have less government!
(In the following scene, various characters enter from various points,
say their line, walk across the stage and exit again. Only Rieger
remains on stage. The wind and the rain slowly die down.)
IRENA: How did you sleep last night?
GRANDMA: What paper do you work for?
VLASTA: Could I have a little more cinnamon? Will you have some
too, Albin?
ZUZANA: My regards to Monika.
BEA: Yepichodov broke the billiard cue.
RIEGER: Less government!
HANUS: I didn’t come here to eat your food or waste your time.
OSWALD: You have nothing on your head, my lord.
DICK: I’ve always been soft on Monikas.
BOB: It was right below the Acropolis.
VICTOR: I don’t want a blanket!
KLEIN: I’m not tired, Mother.
KNOBLOCH: We couldn’t care less what you think of us.
KLEIN: I’m not tired, Mother.
RIEGER: I don’t want a blanket.
IRENA: It was right below the Acropolis.
GRANDMA: I’ve always been soft on Monikas.
VLASTA: You have nothing on your head, my lord.
ZUZANA: You’re so kind, Irena.
MONIKA: I didn’t come here to eat your food, or even take up much
of your time.
HANUS: I like you, Albin.
265
(Gradually, unobtrusively, all the characters have reassembled on
stage: Rieger, Irena, Grandma, Vlasta, Zuzana, Monika, Bea, Albin,
Hanus, Victor, Oswald, Dick, Bob, Klein and Knobloch.
A rock version of the Ode to Joy comes up, quietly at first. Everyone
begins to sway or move to the rhythm. The music grows louder, the
dancing more and more lively until finally it becomes very wild. Then
the music suddenly stops. Everyone except Rieger quietly disappears
in different directions. The lights suddenly come up full on stage, and
the wind and the rain suddenly stop as well.)
RIEGER: I feel worse now than I did when I was feeling my worst.
(The First and Second Constables enter.)
FIRST CONST: Would you mind coming with us, Dr. Rieger.
RIEGER: Where are you taking me?
SEC’D CONST: To the police station.
RIEGER: Why?
FIRST CONST: To provide us with an explanation.
RIEGER: I’m not going to explain anything to you.
SEC’D CONST: I’m afraid you are, sir.
RIEGER: Am I under arrest? With no recourse? For a twist of fate?
I demand to be treated decently. Ransom will be paid!
FIRST CONST: I kiss your bumblebee, my sweet piglet!
(Rieger is taken aback.)
THE VOICE: Could you do that once again, please?
FIRST CONST: I kiss your bumblebee, my sweet piglet!
RIEGER: (Cries out.) He didn’t burn it. I want to see a doctor! Those
damned letters! My brain begins to turn! That disgusting
young Gambacci! Oh, God!
(The constables come up to Rieger, each one grabbing him by the arm.
Rieger resists, refusing to go, and in the end he allows himself to be
dragged off, his legs stiff and motionless. Immediately after that Albin
streaks across the stage and into the villa. He is completely naked.)
END OF ACT FOUR
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ACT FIVE
(The orchard outside the Rieger villa. A day later. Several large pieces
of luggage are lying beside the garden furniture, among them the bust
of Gandhi. The painting of Rieger from Act One is leaning against
one of the suitcases, facing the audience. Rieger is sitting on one of the
trunks. His hair is once more grey, perhaps even greyer than before. He
is not made up, and he looks somewhat more haggard and lethargic,
especially beside his youthful and elegant appearance in the portrait.
A short pause. Grandma enters from the villa with a handful of socks,
which she starts stuffing into one of the suitcases.)
GRANDMA: How are you?
RIEGER: My trousers are falling down.
GRANDMA: You’ve probably lost weight.
RIEGER: Probably.
GRANDMA: Would you like a hot toddy?
RIEGER: Not today.
(Oswald enters from the villa with a huge armful of damp laundry,
which he starts stuffing into one of the trunks. Hanus enters from the
coach house, walks across the stage, and exits into the villa.)
GRANDMA: Shouldn’t I be picking some cherries for the journey?
RIEGER: As you wish, Mother.
GRANDMA: Are we going to clear out the cellar as well?
RIEGER: I don’t know.
GRANDMA: Will they come for us first, and take the luggage later?
RIEGER: Yes. Probably. Certainly.
GRANDMA: Or will they take the luggage first, and come for us
later?
RIEGER: Probably. Possibly. I don’t know.
(Hanus enters from the villa with a pile of books in his arm, all of
them the same, most likely a set of encyclopaedias. He walks across
the stage and exits into the coach house. Knobloch enters, carrying
his rake.)
KNOBLOCH: They’ve sold it.
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RIEGER: Sold what?
KNOBLOCH: The villa and the orchard.
RIEGER: Seriously? The government sold it? Are they allowed to do
that? And who bought it?
KNOBLOCH: Vice Prime Minister Klein.
RIEGER: At least it’s someone we know.
(Knobloch exits. Vlasta enters with the naked Albin in her arms.)
VLASTA: He was sunning himself under the cherry trees and went
stiff with the cold
GRANDMA: Put him next to the stove for a while.
(Vlasta, carrying Albin in her arms, exits into the villa. Hanus enters
from the coach house, walks across the stage and exits into the villa.
Oswald finishes stuffing the laundry into the suitcase, bows, and exits
into the villa.)
RIEGER: He already has five villas. What’s he need another one for?
GRANDMA: What did those officers want from you yesterday?
RIEGER: Oh, they only wanted some kind of explanation.
GRANDMA: And were they polite?
RIEGER: Yes, probably. Certainly, yes, they probably were. (Irena
and Monika enter; Irena is limping and Monika is supporting
her.) Irena! I was so worried about you.
IRENA: I’m such a goose. What have I ever got from you? Why
do I always forgive you for everything? Why have I not
accomplished anything to this day? Why am I ruining my life
with you, when I could have been so well off with – or with –
what’s his name? – or with –
RIEGER: The main thing is you weren’t seriously hurt.
(Hanus enters from the villa with a pile of books in his arms. He walks
across the stage and exits into the coach house. Knobloch enters with
his rake, and an open copy of The Keyhole in his hands.)
KNOBLOCH: (Still walking, he reads aloud.) “Former
Chancellor’s mistress pulls our reporter.” And there’s a picture
of him with his arm around Irena’s waist.
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(Grandma, Rieger, Irena and Monika surround Knobloch and look
over his shoulders at The Keyhole. Hanus enters from the villa with
a pile of books. He walks across the stage and exits into the coach
house.)
GRANDMA: (To Irena.) You shouldn’t have let him stand so close
to you. It’s your fault!
IRENA: Get stuffed, Granny.
(Knobloch exits with The Keyhole.)
IRENA : Did you sign anything for them?
RIEGER: I don’t know. Probably. Certainly I think I probably did.
GRANDMA: And what was it?
RIEGER: An account of our conversation. It was quite innocent. It
would have been hard to refuse.
(Hanus enters from the villa with a pile of books. He walks across the
stage and exits into the coach house.)
IRENA: Is it in your own handwriting?
RIEGER: Just the signature.
IRENA: In your own handwriting?
RIEGER: It was only an explanation. The document I signed merely
confirmed that I had listened to what they had to say. And
that’s true. And what if I did sign it? I have to think of all
of you. In any case, none of us knows what weapons these
bumblebees still have in their arsenal.
IRENA: What bumblebees?
(Hanus enters from the villa with a pile of books. He walks across the
stage, heading for the coach house.)
RIEGER: Can’t you give it a rest, Hanus?
HANUS: I’d be glad to, Vilem.
(Hanus exits into the coach house with his books. Oswald enters from
the villa with a case of beer. He puts it next to the suitcases.)
GRANDMA: Where’s Yepichodov?
OSWALD: He’s gone to play billiards at the Ragulins’.
(Oswald can scarcely contain his laughter. He bows and exits into the
villa. On the steps, he passes Zuzana, who is wearing a back pack,
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carrying a laptop in one hand and a bag with various things in it in
the other.)
ZUZANA: Daddy, Gerard is inviting us all to come to his place.
RIEGER: Who’s Gerard?
(Hanus enters from the coach house and sits on one of the suitcases.)
ZUZANA: He’s French –
RIEGER: French?
ZUZANA: He represents the firm of Smith, Brown, Stapleton,
Bronstein and Stoessinger Inc. He has a lovely house.
(A horse whinnies off stage.)
RIEGER: How do you know him?
ZUZANA: He’s my partner. I’ll give the coachman the address.
RIEGER: I didn’t know you had a partner.
ZUZANA: There’s a lot you don’t know, Daddy. (Zuzana puts her
things on the ground, takes her cell phone from her pocket,
punches in some numbers, puts the phone between her ear and
her shoulder, picks up her things again and starts to leave. She
speaks into the phone.) Hello? Yes, everything is okay. I’ll see
you soon. Bye –
IRENA: Bumblebees?
(Zuzana exits. Off stage there is the sound of a chainsaw and a falling
tree. Those present on stage listen attentively. Victor enters from the
villa with a cup of tea, a bottle of rum, and a small plate of biscuits.
He puts everything on the table, then pours some rum into the tea.)
VICTOR: The vice prime minister has big plans for this place.
HANUS: And what has this got to do with you?
VICTOR: He’s made me his advisor. But that may not be his
last word. The position of deputy has opened up. The new
leadership has a rather good plan. It wants to substantially
lower the tax burden and at the same time, increase some
government services. In many ways, it’s picking up where
you left off. For example, it wants to put the individual at the
centre of its policies.
RIEGER: Is Klein going to live here?
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VICTOR: He’s quite happy where he is and doesn’t want to move.
He wants to use this place to start up some business ventures.
(A horse whinnies off stage and then a chain saw and a falling
tree can be heard. A pause. Klein slowly comes on stage.) So
– I’ve tried to speed up work in the orchard, Mr. Vice Prime
Minister.
KLEIN: Thank you, Victor. You’re a pleasure to work with. Greetings
to you all. Hi, Vilem – hi Irena.
RIEGER: Greetings, Patrick. So – congratulations.
(Klein takes a cup of tea, sips from it, and takes a bite of a biscuit.)
KLEIN: I’m so sorry you have to go and live in some village. But
I couldn’t put this construction work off any longer. You’ll only
be a hundred versts away. Have you been to look at it? Is the
countryside pretty? Will there be room enough for all of you?
I see the carriage is already waiting.
RIEGER: I’d prefer that we went to Gerard’s. He’s one of our family
acquaintances. He’s got a lovely house, right here in town.
KLEIN: Is he the one from Smith, Brown, Stapleton, Bronstein and
Stoessinger, Inc.? I’m not certain, but I have the impression
that he’s about to land in a spot of trouble. I hear there was
some funny business to do with real estate deals, tax evasion,
that sort of thing. Gambacci gave me a rundown just this
morning.
RIEGER: Gambacci? The one accused of bestiality?
KLEIN: They never proved it. Now he’s chief of police. May I tell you
something of my plans for this place?
RIEGER: I’m sorry, Patrick, but are you even aware that they
interrogated me all night long?
KLEIN: Gambacci’s people?
RIEGER: Probably. Certainly. Yes, they probably were.
KLEIN: May I share some of my plans for this place with you?
RIEGER: I’m sorry, Patrick, but doesn’t it seem a little odd to you
that they came for me just yesterday evening?
IRENA: And then today, all those smears appeared in The Keyhole?
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KLEIN: I’ll ask General Gambacci about it tomorrow.
RIEGER: Don’t tell me that –– person –– is a general!
KLEIN: We had to give him a rank appropriate to his station,
otherwise he wouldn’t have the proper authority, after that
business with the young heifers. May I share some of my plans
for this place with you?
VICTOR: Mr. Vice Prime Minister, I think that everyone will find
it most interesting. You’ve worked it all out in such exquisite
detail!
KLEIN: Here, where this unprofitable orchard now stands, we are
going to build a moderately large social and commercial
centre. It will have three cinemas, five stores, a massage
parlour, a hairdressers, a boutique, the editorial offices of
The Keyhole, a butcher’s shop, a petrol station, a dance hall,
a tattoo clinic, a cinema, an antique store, a butcher’s shop,
and oh, did I mention the editorial offices of The Keyhole? And
three restaurants, including a Thai establishment. Over there,
in the coach house, there will be a casino. Casinos are simply
part and parcel of the times we live in, aren’t they, Victor?
VICTOR: They are, absolutely.
KLEIN: I have the right person to look after the billiard room. His
name is Yepichodov. And finally, over here, in the villa, there
will be a modern erotic entertainment club. The point is to
fill the entire area with life, all the time. And if, during the
day, the public is preoccupied with shopping in the mall, then
by evening this pretty villa will grasp the baton in the relay
race of life. Of course we’ll have to adapt it a little. In all this,
I rely on the principle of “less government.” Which is I why
I intend to license the erotic entertainment club to a friend of
mine who has no political axe whatever to grind; he’s a private
entrepreneur who’s long had the very best credentials in
this field, and he’s had loads of experience in many different
countries. Hundreds of young Ukrainian women owe their
all to him.
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RIEGER: Are you referring to Gambacci’s uncle?
KLEIN: (Shouting angrily.) It’s nobody’s business whose uncle he is!
THE VOICE: I know it’s inappropriate for me to interfere, but do
you think you could do that line with a little more civility?
KLEIN: It’s nobody’s business who’s uncle he is. (A horse whinnies
off stage, the sound of a chain saw and a falling tree. A pause.)
And what will you do now? Anything in the pipeline?
RIEGER: You know how hard it is. I’ve given my whole life to politics.
KLEIN: I might have an idea. How would you like to be an advisor
to my advisor, Victor?
RIEGER: An advisor?
KLEIN: Yes indeed.
RIEGER: To your advisor?
KLEIN: Yes indeed.
RIEGER: In other words, do I want to be an advisor to the former
secretary of my former secretary?
KLEIN: Well, when all is said and done, you understand how politics
works, and since you’ve given your whole life to it, it would
be a great pity if all that experience went to waste. Perhaps
if you’d been more cooperative, you might be higher up
the ladder today, but on the other hand, it’s still better than
forking manure and living in shame for the rest of your life
just because of some intimate little piece of filth you wrote
fifteen years ago, and which The Keyhole is now about to
print. You must know that the Intergovernmental Historical
Commission – which is chaired by young Gambacci – is as
leaky as a sieve. So – will you take the job?
IRENA: He’s not taking it.
KLEIN: As you make your bed, so you lie on it. Might I ask you,
Monika, what you’re doing tomorrow evening? We might go
out to dinner. I know a marvelous Chinese restaurant where
they say the Prince of Bahrain himself once dined. You’d be
my guest – and I’d pay for everything, the food, the drink, the
food.
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MONIKA: I’m sorry, Mr. Vice Prime Minister, but by tomorrow
evening I’ll be in Paris. Jack Lang is expecting me after eight
at the Deux Magots, isn’t he, Irena?
IRENA: I had to twist her arm, but Jack Lang isn’t one to take no for
an answer. He’s always been soft on Monikas.
GRANDMA: Are you going with her?
IRENA: Do you think I could just walk away from Vilem at a time like
this? What would he do without me? I’m sure he doesn’t even
know where the clothes pegs are. (To Rieger.) Bumblebees?
KLEIN: Well, Monika, you go right ahead and have a good time in
Paris. I trust your passport is in order. (Klein laughs for a long
time. Off stage, the sound of a chain saw and a tree falling. To
Rieger.) So what’s it going to be?
RIEGER: I’ll have to think it over.
IRENA : What in heaven’s name is there to think over?
KLEIN: What in heaven’s name is there to think over?
HANUS: What in heaven’s name is there to think over?
RIEGER: That’s easy enough for you to say, Hanus. You don’t have
a family. We can’t expect Albin to support us all, can we?
VICTOR: They’re here!
IRENA: (To Grandma.) Could you look after the carriage?
(Victor hurries out to meet Dick and Bob, who are just arriving.
Grandma exits. Klein sits on the swing. Victor takes the plate of
biscuits, goes over to Klein, gives him a little push and at the same
time, offers him the biscuits. Klein will go on eating them as long as
he’s swinging. Hanus approaches Rieger.)
HANUS: (Quietly.) Do you think it was wise to sign that statement?
RIEGER: (Quietly.) Leave me alone, you pathetic little –
(Dick takes a scruff y piece of paper from his pocket and studies it.
Bob takes pictures.)
HANUS: (To Dick.) That was a rotten thing you did with that
interview.
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BOB: We had nothing to do with it. It was edited by our new artdirector slash manager, Mr. Gambacci Junior, and our new
public relations consultant, Madame Gambacci Sr. –
DICK: (Reading from his piece of paper.) Good afternoon, Mr. Vice
Prime Minister. Our readers would like to know if the new
leadership will be taking up where the former chancellor left
off.
KLEIN: We have every intention, in the immediate future, of carrying
on with everything worthwhile in the preceding period, and
at the same time, ridding ourselves of everything that was bad
about the preceding period. Have I made myself clear?
VICTOR: Very nicely put.
DICK: (Reading.) And what is the main thrust of your policies?
KLEIN: The government is here to serve the citizen; the citizen is
not here to serve the government. We want this country to
be a secure place for free, well-educated individuals. And not
only for them, but for their families as well.
VICTOR: Bravo! Now you’ve really given your enemies what for, Mr.
Vice Prime Minister!
KLEIN: Didn’t I now, Victor? I think I’m in grand form today. I’ve
really made their heads spin.
(Dick examines both sides of his piece of paper. A horse whinnies
offstage. Oswald enters from the villa.)
IRENA: Have you brought all the laundry in from the orchard,
Oswald?
OSWALD: It’s in the suitcase.
IRENA: I hope you didn’t put it away damp, did you?
OSWALD: No. I don’t think so. Certainly not, I think.
(Oswald starts arranging all the luggage into a single neat pile. Hanus
adds to it the bust of Gandhi and the portrait. Dick, meanwhile, has
found another shabby piece of paper in another pocket. He turns to
Rieger.)
DICK: May I ask you a question as well?
RIEGER: Go ahead.
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DICK: (Reading.) Is it true that your long-time companion, the
former makeup artist, Irena, has left you and that you have
a new mistress, a graduate student?
RIEGER: I’m sorry, but I’m not going to respond to that.
DICK: (Reading.) And could you comment on why you’re not going
to respond?
RIEGER: No I could not.
DICK: And could you tell us why you’re not going to comment on
why you’re not going to respond?
RIEGER: No I could not.
DICK: (Reading.) And could you offer an opinion as to why you
won’t tell us why you won’t comment on why –
MONIKA: Oh, for Christ’s sake, she’s already come back to him!
IRENA: Someone has to be here to make sure he doesn’t sign
anything else. (To Rieger.) Bumblebees?
(Bob approaches Dick and whispers something in his ear. Dick nods.
Offstage, you can hear the sound of a chainsaw and a falling tree.
Oswald and Hanus finish what they are doing. Hanus sits down on
one of the suitcases.)
OSWALD: (To Hanus.) There was a time when they sent dried
cherries by the cartload to Charkov.
(Oswald takes a bottle out of the case of beer, opens it, drinks from it,
and then carries it off to the gazebo and sits down in a way that makes
him virtually invisible. Dick turns back to Rieger.)
DICK: And something else, Dr. Rieger. Is it true that you’re thinking
of accepting a position as advisor …
(Knobloch hurries up with his rake, waving a copy of The Keyhole.)
KNOBLOCH: (Reading.) “Former chancellor refuses to leave
government residence!”
DICK: … of accepting a position of advisor to the advisor…
KNOBLOCH: (Reading.) “Vice Prime Minister Klein intends to
convert the former government villa into a place for use by the
general public. But its former occupant, the former chancellor,
Vilem Rieger, is complicating matters by refusing to move out.”
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DICK: … of accepting a position as advisor to the advisor to the
advisor to the advisor to the advisor of the new Chancellor?
KLEIN: I’m the vice prime minister, not the chancellor. At least not
yet.
(Klein laughs for a long time. Oswald has fallen asleep in the gazebo.
Knobloch exits, taking The Keyhole with him. A horse whinnies
offstage, followed by the sound of a chain saw and a falling tree.
A brief, tense pause ensues. Everyone looks expectantly at Rieger. Dick
is making notes on his shabby piece of paper. Bob takes the occasional
photo. Klein, with a push from Victor, swings gently on the swing.
Rieger takes out the hat with “I Love You” on it and ceremoniously
places it on his head.)
RIEGER: (To Dick.) Now look here, sir. The first thing a man must do
is ask himself what he thinks the most important things in life
are. In my case, there are only two possibilities. The first is that
from here on in, my life will feed off what went before. I will
constantly reminisce about the past, returning to it over and
over again, analyzing it, explaining it, defending it, comparing
it again and again to what exists now, in the present, persuading
myself just how much better everything was back then. In
other words, I could easily become completely obsessed with
my own footprint in history, my past achievements, my legacy,
and all the little monuments I have left behind me on my way
through the world. (The sound of a chainsaw and a falling
tree offstage. Vlasta enters from the villa with Albin. Albin
is dressed normally, but he has a beige blanket around his
shoulders. Both of them stop to listen to Rieger.) But if I took
this attitude, I would ultimately be reduced to an obscure
figure on the margins of history, capable only of tarnishing
the reputation of others, of reminding others of all the famous
people I once knew, bitterly belittling everything that came
after me. (A horse whinnies offstage.) And the outcome?
Everyone would think I was just a vain and embittered old
man who thumbed his nose at a generous offer to contribute
277
his experience to the service of his country. That, sir, is the
first choice that lies before me. But there is another as well.
HANUS: Excuse me, Vilem, but if you ever need me for anything,
you know where to find me.
RIEGER: Thank you for everything, Hanus, but I have the impression
that it would be better, not just for me, but ultimately for
yourself as well, if we were not always seen together, in each
other’s company, like a couple of Thai twins.
HANUS: Well – goodbye, then.
(Hanus strokes the bust of Gandhi on the head and exits.)
RIEGER: (To Dick.) But there is a second choice before me: to
demonstrate clearly to everyone that serving my country is of
greater importance to me than my personal position. I have
been guided by that principle, sir, all my life and I don’t see
why I should back away from it now just because of the trivial
concern that I would, officially, hold a somewhat inferior
position to the one I have held for so long.(The sound of
a chain saw and a falling tree is heard.) After all, what a man
does, in real terms, for his fellow man and what kind of real
influence he has, is more important than the position or
the title he holds. We are living, sir, in a democracy, and in
a democracy, it is quite normal and common for people to
hold certain positions, and then leave them again. Am I not
right about that, Patrick?
KLEIN: Sometimes that’s the way it is.
IRENA: Vilem –
RIEGER: What is it, darling?
IRENA: You’re lying to yourself, more than you have to, and more
than I can bear. I’d happily help you spread manure in the
village, and eat bumble – I mean humble pie– if I thought
that you had a backbone and I had a reason to respect you.
I’m leaving. I’m leaving for good. You can look for the clothes
pegs yourself, wrap a blanket round you yourself, make your
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own hot toddies. Or you can get Weissenmütelhofova to do
it all for you. Come on, Monika. We’re leaving.
(Irena steps up to Rieger sharply and sweeps the cap with “I Love You”
on it off his head, tosses it away, grabs two large suitcases, and exits.
Monika takes one suitcase and exits as well.)
RIEGER: She’ll be back. She’s always come back before.
THE VOICE: I don’t know whether it’s better to have Irena come
back again, or to have her leave Rieger for good. Whichever it
is, it would have to happen, or at least something should tell
us it will happen, within the play itself, which means now, or
in the next few minutes. When the play ends, it’s all over. The
play’s world ends when the play ends, and all that remains is
our impression, our interpretation, our memories, our joy, or
our boredom. But I don’t want to hold things up while I make
up my mind, either. So, I’ll leave the matter open. I won’t be
the first author, nor the last, who left things open-ended, not
because he intended to, but simply because he didn’t know
what else to do.
(A horse whinnies offstage.)
RIEGER: And something else, sir. Please be aware that the very fact
that civilization is now global has boundless consequences in
the sphere of politics as well. One of them is the burgeoning
influence of experts, of specialists, of people with specific
knowledge, because it is increasingly difficult for a top
politician to know everything or have an opinion about
everything. As a result, the influence and the importance of
advisors is growing every day, along with the dependence
of politicians upon them. (Offstage, the sound of a chainsaw
and a falling tree.) After all, who can do the math when it
comes to lowering taxes? Who decides how many thousands
of bureaucrats have to be fired to make room for less
government? Who decides how many fighter planes offered
for sale by General Gambacci’s aunt are needed to make this
country a safe place? The advisors, that’s who. And how do the
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advisors know with any certainty what’s what? Why they get
it from their advisors! I dare say, sir, that as an advisor to an
advisor, I may well have a greater influence on the realization
of my ideals than I had when I was chancellor, which burdened
me with so many purely ceremonial duties, often to the
detriment of my ability to insure that the individual was really
at the centre of my politics.
(A horse whinnies offstage. Bob again whispers something to Dick.)
DICK: Does your change of attitude toward the new leadership have
anything to do with your midnight interrogation, and with some
of the archival material that young Gambacci’s commission
unearthed?
RIEGER: As for the interrogation, as you call it, it involved no more
than providing a standard explanation. And the archival
material, as you call it? They were no more than standard
forgeries. But that’s not important. What is important is that
at this moment, I wish to serve my country where my country
at this moment in time most needs my help and where I can
best be of service to it. Politics is service. We want wellrounded families. Long live growth! It’s all about the future.
Blow wind, and crack your cheeks! The world is a great stage
of fools! My trousers are falling down! Check!
(Klein, with Victor’s help, slows down and gradually stops the swing.
Offstage is the sound of a chainsaw and a falling tree.)
ALBIN That was one of the finest, most balanced speeches I’ve
ever heard you give, Vilem. You overstated nothing, and
understated nothing either. Am I not right, Vlasta?
VLASTA: Albin, you talk too much.
KLEIN: Albin is right. Vilem spoke like a man.
VICTOR: That’s exactly what I was about to say, Mr. Vice Prime
Minister. The Advisor to the Advisor spoke like a man.
KLEIN: Even though he may have slightly exaggerated the importance
of being an advisor to the advisor.
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VICTOR: Yes, indeed, Mr. Vice Prime Minister. Advisors to advisors
certainly don’t play such an important role, at least not in our
country. I would say that at this moment, and in this country,
the greatest influence on politics lies with the Vice Prime
Minister.
KLEIN: Though in the future, when all is said and done, the most
influential of all ought to be the chancellor.
(Klein laughs for a long time. Grandma rushes in.)
GRANDMA: The carriage is waiting!
(Grandma takes the portrait of Rieger. Dick, Vlasta and Albin each
take two suitcases and they all exit. Bob exits too, but he takes nothing
with him because he is shooting the departure. Rieger throws the last
piece of luggage over his shoulder.)
KLEIN: Come back and see the place when everything is finished.
You always were fond of sex clubs. Remember Bangkok,
fifteen years ago?
RIEGER: Goodbye house. Goodbye orchard. Goodbye gazebo.
(Rieger picks up the hat with “I Love You” on it, puts it on, only to
sweep it off again and bow ceremoniously to Klein. Then he puts
the cap back on, picks up the bust of Gandhi, and exits. Knobloch,
carrying his rake, rushes in and calls out to Klein.)
KNOBLOCH: Wouldn’t you like some of this cherry wood for your
fireplace? It makes an excellent fire.
KLEIN: You can deliver a wagonload to my villa.
KNOBLOCH: Which one?
KLEIN: How about the one where that Frenchman used to live, the
one Gambacci expelled from the country today.
(Knobloch exits. A sleepy Oswald emerges from the gazebo holding an
empty beer bottle. A horse whinnies offstage, and then only the clip
clop of the departing carriage is heard.)
OSWALD: They’ve gone. Forgot about me. I bet my master didn’t
wear his fur coat, bet he put on that light one instead. Life is
over before you live it. I think I’ll lie down for a minute. No
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strength left. He certainly left without his fur coat. Nothing
left, nothing.
(Oswald lies down behind a bush. Klein and Victor walk away from
the swing.)
THE VOICE: One of my friends suggested I end play end right here.
Just like Chekhov’s Cherry Orchard. But I think there needs
to be something more for the play to be complete. I apologize
to my advisor friend.
VICTOR: Are you warm enough, Mr. Vice Prime Minister?
KLEIN: Not really. I think I’ll put on my fur coat.
(Victor exits, followed slowly by Klein. Then he sees that not far off,
Bea is standing there with a book in her hand. He stops.)
KLEIN: Are you looking for anyone in particular?
BEA: You –
KLEIN: And how can I help you?
BEA: Would you be willing to sign my copy of this book of your
speeches?
KLEIN: You mean the one that just came out today?
BEA: Yes. “Democracy, Freedom, the Market, and Me”
KLEIN: Let me have it. (Bea opens the book and hands it to Klein,
who signs it for her.) You know what Molotov once told me
over a cocktail? Patrick, he said, never refuse to sign one of
your books.
BEA: It’s wonderful that you intend to keep the individual at the
centre of your politics. Thank you.
KLEIN: You’re most welcome. Checkmate!
(Bea kisses Klein shyly on the cheek. At the same time, all the other
characters in the play begin to enter from all sides: Rieger, Grandma,
Vlasta, Zuzana, Monika. Albin, Hanus, Victor, Oswald, who emerges
from behind the bush, Dick, Bob, Knobloch, The First And Second
Constables. All of them gradually come downstage and surround
Klein and Bea. Bob starts to arrange them all for a group photo.
Then he stands in front of them with his back to the audience and
starts taking pictures.)
282
THE VOICE: I’d like to thank the actors for not overacting. The
theatre would like to thank the audience for turning off their
mobile phones. Truth and love must triumph over lies and
hatred. You may turn your phones back on. Good night, and
pleasant dreams!
(Bob takes his place among the other actors. They all bow. A big
orchestral version of the Ode to Joy comes up on the sound system
and plays until the audience has left the theatre.)
END OF ACT FIVE
THE END
283
Petr Kolečko
(1984)
Petr Kolečko studied dramaturgy
and playwrighting at the Academy
of Performing Arts (DAMU) in Prague. His first play staged
professionally was Without Orientation (Bez orientace, 2004)
which opened in Theatre Na Prádle, Prague in 2004. He finished his
studies with the play Love, Dude (Láska, vole, 2007) in DISK Theatre,
premiered in December 2007. His play Britney Goes to Heaven (2006)
was produced by the Divadlo Petra Bezruče. It was translated into
English, and a rehearsed reading was performed in December 2007
by the Immigrants Theatre Project in New York’s Public Theater.
There was also a rehearsed reading of a Polish translation at the
Teatr pod Ratuzsom in Cracow in March 2007. In 2008, he won
a month-long International Residency at the Royal Court Theatre in
London. There he finished his next play, Gods Don’t Play Ice Hockey
(Bohové hokej nehrají, 2008), which premiered in Činoherní studio
in Ústí nad Labem later the same year. Since September 2009 he
has been the Artistic Director of one of Prague’s best fringe stages,
A-studio Rubín. The theatre has already produced five of his plays,
of which The Salome Case (Kauza Salome, 2009) was nominated
for the prestigeous Alfréd Radok Award for the Best Czech play in
2009. Recently he has also cooperated with director Tomáš Svoboda
on two plays which have won big popular success: Jaromír Jágr, the
Kladno Lad (Jaromír Jágr, Kladeňák, 2009) is a show inspired by
the personality of the famous Czech hockey player (premiered in
Středočeské divadlo in Kladno); Porn Stars (Pornohvězdy, 2009) is
a musical set in the world of the porn video industry (premiered in
Roxy Club in Prague in December 2009).
Petr Kolečko also works for Czech Radio. His modern classical
tragedy, The Gloom of Points (Soumrak bodů, 2006) was recorded by
284
Czech Radio in 2006. He is also a member of the writers team of the
series, Life is a Dog, created by Czech Radio. He was a storyliner of
the TV Nova series The Street (Ulice). During the years 2003-2005
he was a member of a Brit pop group, The Slots, playing saxophone.
Occasionally he writes lyrics for Czech groups, both in Czech and
English.
LIST OF PLAYS (selection):
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
Britney Goes to Heaven, 2006; première 29. 9. 2006, Divadlo
Petra Bezruče, Ostrava
Soumrak bodů, 2006; première 17. 10. 2006, Divadlo DISK,
Prague
Láska, vole, 2007; première 5. 12. 2007, Divadlo DISK, Prague
Zlatý prsten Jana Třísky, 2007; première 7. 12. 2007, A Studio
Rubín, Prague
Bohové hokej nehrají, 2008; première 19. 12. 2008, Činoherní
studio Ústí nad Labem
Soprán ze Slapské přehrady, 2008; première 23. 11. 2008,
A Studio Rubín, Prague
Kauza Salome, 2009; première 7. 5. 2009, A Studio Rubín,
Prague
Jaromír Jágr, Kladeňák, (with Tomáš Svoboda), 2009; première
9. 10. 2009, Středočeské divadlo Kladno
Pornohvězdy, (with Tomáš Svoboda), 2009; première 15. 12.
2009, NoD/Roxy, Prague,
Klub autistů, 2010; première 12. 3. 2011, Studio Beseda of the
Klicperovo divadlo, Hradec Králové
TRANSLATED PLAYS:
•
•
Britney Goes to Heaven: English, Polish – Britney Goes to Heaven
Bohové hokej nehrají: English – Gods Don’t Play Ice Hockey
285
Petr Kolečko
GODS DON’T PLAY
ICE HOCKEY
Translated by David Short
This play is copyright and subject to protection under the Copyright Act.
This work may be used solely for dramaturgical purposes in association with
a production of it.
Any other use, in particular its duplication or making it available to third
parties, is subject to the sanctions of §152 of the Penal Code. In the event of any
intent to produce or otherwise use the play, you undertake to seek performing
rights to the work from Aura-Pont s.r.o.
All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the Aura-Pont Agency
Radlická 99, Praha 5, 150 00, Czech Republic, www.aura-pont.cz
Address for correspondance: Veslařský ostrov 62, 147 00 Praha 4
286
Characters:
Tomáš, hockey player
Kristián, unrecognised songwriter
Eržika, gipsy girl
David, unemployed labourer, her brother
Eddie, labourer
Jarda, unemployed labourer
Rudolf, bar owner
Monika Gold, television presenter
River dogs
287
PROLOGUE
(Eddie, Jarda and David are lying, drunk, on the ground. Eddie wakes
up.)
EDDIE: Bloody hell, man, shut up!
(David wakes up.)
DAVID: Wad are you doin’, Ed? I’ve ’ad a dream, man.
(Jarda wakes up.)
EDDIE: I just wish they’d be quiet, man.
DAVID: Who, man?
EDDIE: Them dogs, o’ course. Down by the river, man, can’t you
hear ’em? They’re disturbin’ my afternoon siesta, man.
DAVID: What siesta, man? You’re not workin’ anyway, Ed, man.
EDDIE: Bollocks, man, I’ve been to work.
DAVID: What do they put in that rum, man? ’E’s a month behind
the time, man. An’ ’e’s hearing somoe dogs, man. Where the
hell are we?
EDDIE: But I can ’ear ’em… (To Jarda.)… You can ’ear ’em, can’t you?
JARDA: Sure, Ed.
EDDIE: See, man. He can ’ear ’em, man.
DAVID: You’re wakin’ me, man, over some bloody dogs, man, and
then arguin’… I’ve ’ad a dream.
EDDIE: What about?
DAVID: ’Ow am I s’posed to know, man, now you’ve woken me up
an’ keep goin’ on aboudogs… Wow, man. I dreamt it.
JARDA: What?
DAVID: ’Earin’ dogs barkin’, man.
EDDIE: Man.
288
I THE PUB
(Tomáš is sitting stage front next to a huge bag of ice-hockey kit. He
is holding some skates. He is apparently pondering whether to cut his
throat. A little way behind him is a bar, and behind that the barman,
Rudolf. Kristián is drinking at the bar. The radio is on.)
TOMÁŠ: The body is rich in meat
and black will be its blood,
dripping lazily with the paddle’ s beat
before slappers’ summons erupt
The paddle is my hockey stick,
inviting beasts on the white ice,
as their red begins oozing thick
my black‘ s better in a thrice.
Who then will the eternal thirst slake
of the ice and slappers in Pramen?
Who our offered favour take,
where a sign for us to examine?
(The radio is playing the song “The weekend is five days away, then
we’ll go collect our pay, like on every Fri-i-day.”)
KRISTIÁN: (Already pretty pissed.) Switch over, dammit, Rudolf.
RUDOLF: What’s up wi’ you, man?
KRISTIÁN: Can’t you hear it? ‘Fri-i-day’. It don’t work, man.
RUDOLF: What d’you mean, don’t work?
KRISTIÁN: The soddin’ beat’s all wrong. It needs a three-syllable
word.
RUDOLF: But it was you who recorded it.
KRISTIÁN: That’s why I wish you’d bloody switch over, man. If it
were Heidi Janků singin’, I couldn’t give a shit.
RUDOLF: I happen to like Heidi Janků.
KRISTIÁN: Stop fuckin’ wi’ me, Rudolf.
289
(He leans across the bar and switches to another station. The
announcer is heard to say: “In his Pramen Hockey Club strip
a magnificent performance was turned in today by defender Tomáš
Svatý, whose uncompromisingly tough play sustained the close lead of
the home side during the final power play of the visitors from Hradec.
After today’s game Svatý shares joint first place in the plus-minus
ratings for the whole competition.”
Tomáš staggers across to the bar and switches the radio back. It’s still
playing Kristián’s dire hit.)
What’s up, man?
TOMÁŠ: Nothing, man.
KRISTIÁN: Wadya mean, man?
(He switches back to the sports news. “Tomáš Svatý is having the best
season of his career.”)
(Tomáš switches back. Kristián puts up his fists.)
KRISTIÁN: Come on then, man. Come on.
(Tomáš ignores the challenge.)
TOMÁŠ: Bog off.
KRISTIÁN: So quit buggerin’ about wi’ the radio, man.
(Kristián switches back. Tomáš says nothing and switches back again.)
You asked for it.
(Hits Tomáš. Tomáš takes the hit and fails to respond.)
RUDOLF: Damn you, Krizza*.
(Kristián ignores the barman.)
KRISTIÁN: See, man. It’s like we say, if you’re not prepared to fight,
don’t bugger about with the radio.
(Switches back. Tomáš switches back again. Kristián thumps him
again. Again it leaves Tomáš unmoved.)
* The name in the original it means ‘rat’.
290
RUDOLF: Krizza, get the hell outa here.
(Rudolf runs round from behind the bar, grabs Kristián and tries to
get him out. Kristián resists and tries to get at Tomáš.)
KRISTIÁN: My name’s Kristián. You know I can’t stand these stupid
pub-type nicknames o’ yours. Krizza – that’s like for some
common worker.
RUDOLF: I’m tellin’ you, I want you outa here. I don’t want any
trouble.
KRISTIÁN: But this pillock’s buggerin’ about wi’ my programme.
RUDOLF: Someone or other’s always buggerin’ about wi’ your
programme. Leastways it’s what you keep sayin’, Krizza.
KRISTIÁN But this jerk keeps switchin’ stations, dammit, Rudolf.
RUDOLF: Who cares, you get out.
(Slings Kristián out to the front of the stage).
TOMÁŠ: Thanks.
RUDOLF: You can get out as well, dammit. Nobody’s goin’ to bugger
about wi’ my programme.
(Tomáš leaves placidly and sits down stage front next to Kristián.)
II OUTDOORS
(Tomáš and Kristián sitting drunk stage-front.)
KRISTIÁN: I still ’ad a rum to finish.
TOMÁŠ: I had a vodka.
KRISTIÁN: You’re a prick. Switchin’ stations like some jerk.
What’s that kit for anyway?
(Points to the sports bag.)
TOMÁŠ: Ice hockey.
(Tomáš starts digging about in the bag and gets out a drinking bottle.
Offers it to Kristián.)
KRISTIÁN: You takin’ the piss? D’you really s’pose I’m gonna start
guzzling Isostar like some sportin’ halfwit?
291
(Tomáš takes a swig.)
Okay, give it ’ere.
(Pulls the IsoStar open and takes a swig. His face lights up.)
Jeeze, that’s good! Do you play just for the hell of it cos you
get this stuff to boost your performance?
TOMÁŠ: I actually play in the super-league. One shot to improve my
aim during power play, three shots when we’re a man down to
turn me into a real beast.
KRISTIÁN: That you are. I’m Kristián.
TOMÁŠ: Tomáš.
KRISTIÁN: Hey, I always thought those nutters that do sport don’t
drink.
TOMÁŠ: The nutters don’t. But once you realise that every day you
pull on your helmet and go in among them sweaty pillocks just
so as another sweaty pillock can dump a bit of rubber in the
goal, so that several thousand other sweaty pillocks can shout
“Goal,” then you just ’ave to treat yourself to a drop o’ vodka.
KRISTIÁN: A hockey-playin’ alkie, that’s good. Hang on, Tomáš.
Are you that one off the radio?
TOMÁŠ: Yeah.
(A sequence during which they spray each other with vodka from the
bottle, knock the stuff back, gargle with it, spit it out, anything.)
KRISTIÁN: (Sings the team anthem.)
Up and at ’em,
lads from Pramen,
have a jar of
Staropramen.
TOMÁŠ:Burn in hell and
we’ll say ‘Amen’
to all you lads
that’s not from Pramen.
KRISTIÁN: Mental, innit?
TOMÁŠ: Specially the Pramen-Staropramen rhyme. The lads up
front can’t even do a proper face-off because of it.
292
KRISTIÁN: Can’t be helped really, when they tell you to cram the
sponsor’s name in somewhere, sod ’em. What were I s’posed
to write?
TOMÁŠ: Sorry.
KRISTIÁN: I know it’s a load o’ crap. Like everything, man.
TOMÁŠ: Like everything.
KRISTIÁN: But you came out top o’ the plus-minus ratings, man.
TOMÁŠ: That’s just it.
KRISTIÁN: Aha, I get it.
(Eddie and Eržika come in through the portal, Eddie looks round,
failing to see Kristián and Tomáš. Eržika kneels down mechanically,
Eddie behind her, he hitches her skirt back and starts making love to
her from behind.)
Look at that, man… Some town, this, man… bit dodgy,
wouldn’t you say.
(Eržika mumbles something.)
TOMÁŠ: But…
KRISTIÁN: Pretend we’re fishin’ or somethin’, man. Manners, man.
TOMÁŠ: We don’t ’ave any rods… She’s sayin’ somethin’.
ERŽIKA: They’re waiting for you by the river, sad, like you, little
brother.
KRISTIÁN: Christ, man, that’s ’er brother! You’d only get that in
a dump like this.
EDDIE: (To Eržika.) Whadda you on about? I ain’t your brother.
KRISTIÁN: Aha.
(Time stands still, Tomáš and Kristián gawp, Eddie has his way with
Eržika while she speaks.)
ERŽIKA:They’re quiet,
just howling now and then.
When they catch the scent of the heroes
who’ll save this Pramen of ours,
just like they’ll save them.
The river hounds have been barking today
louder than at any other time,
293
They’re here.
Find them, and all wounds will heal.
Then they’ll find life and love for us from the river,
as we rightly deserve.
River hounds have sharp teeth.
And black blood.
But no one can choose their teeth and blood.
We’ll be deserving.
Eddie completes his copulating and leaves. Eržika sits and
smiles. Tomáš immediately gets up and goes to her.
TOMÁŠ: Are you all right?
KRISTIÁN: We were just passin’, didn’t see a thing. You’re a bit offcolour, by the looks of it, d’you know?
ERŽIKA: I knew you’d come. Heroes. You’ll save us.
(She kisses both on the forehead and runs off.)
KRISTIÁN: Wow, man.
TOMÁŠ: Wow, man.
(They sit down, surprised, and gape.)
KRISTIÁN: We must a’ been dreamin’. It’ll be that bottle. Some
artificial muck must have got in with the real booze.
TOMÁŠ: Ahm.
KRISTIÁN: Expect it’s why you’re all as thick as shit. Comes o’
drinkin’ out o’ these ’ere bottles.
TOMÁŠ: Could be.
KRISTIÁN: What’s that you got in yer ’and?
(Points to a piece of paper.)
TOMÁŠ: A poem.
KRISTIÁN: Show me.
(Reads.)
Bit clumsy, but powerful stuff, man, powerful. ’Cept this
bit here, roaring whores.” I’d ’ave to alter it to “roaring slags”
– so it’d get through.
TOMÁŠ: Don’t think so.
KRISTIÁN: You some literature critic or a hockey-playing dingbat?
294
TOMÁŠ: The hockey one. All I meant was it was me as wrote it and
I don’ want to change it.
KRISTIÁN: Bugger me, man! You spend your days fellin’ hulks on
skates and your nights writin’ this stuff?
TOMÁŠ: Yep.
KRISTIÁN: But like I say, a bit rough round the edges, but powerful.
Subject-wise like. I say, though, what’s it about?
TOMÁŠ: Dunno, read it.
KRISTIÁN: I ’ave done, but I still can’t tell. That punchline, when
someone comes and quenches the thirst of whores… What
prat was it that first ’ad the idea that metaphors were a good
thing?
TOMÁŠ: Dunno.
KRISTIÁN: All a guy wants is to make a bit o’ money, do a couple
o’ television appearances and shag a few girls, but work out
metaphors to cover it all…
TOMÁŠ: Or play hockey.
KRISTIÁN: Listen, what if I recorded it? As it is I’m having a bit of
a crisis with writin’ lyrics.
TOMÁŠ: Why not?
III OUTDOORS
(A group of three workmen is sitting around drinking bottles of beer.
One of them is David.)
EDDIE: … so I tells ’im, “Put it there, eh, yeah.” An’ man, ’e, says,
“I will, man. An’ then it’ll be there, man, won’ it?” That’s what
I said, man. So if you wan’ it there, man, put it there, yeah,
makes sense.
JARDA: Yeah man, that Lee guy really is a pillock.
295
DAVID: Well, there you ’ave it, man, those slitty eyes, from Vietnam
or somewhere, yeah. Bloody Union, man. And us, black and
white, left kickin’ our ’eels down the labour exchange.
JARDA: You’re right there, David. The racism thing, man, it’s all over
the place nowadays.
EDDIE: Remember ’ow he cooked up that dog, man, the one we
found down by the river, yeah.
DAVID: Yeah man, you gotta hand it to them yeller buggers, yeah,
not even my kid sister can cook dog, man.
EDDIE: But then Lee can’t do the hairy tractor.
DAVID: What’ve you been doin’ with her again, man? What hairy
tractor?
EDDIE: Look man, I gave you my granddad’s ring, so let the tractor
get on with its ploughin’, yeah?
DAVID: Right, don’t matter anyway.
EDDIE: But Lee, man. How ’e took ’is knife to that mutt, yeah, that
were okay, man. But the way he sliced its tail off, man, yeah,
Vietcong I tells myself, man. In different places they do things
different, ’s obvious. But man, to see ’im sling the whole thing
into that boiling water, man, into the pot. The mutt wrigglin’
half-dead in it, eh, man, and I thinks, for chrissake, guys, what
is this? Where the bloody hell are we…
DAVID: But people ’ave to eat summat, right.
JARDA: Yep.
EDDIE: Obviously, That weren’t wot I meant, man. I’m talkin’ about
culture, innit, you pricks, right. Think about it. You’d never
toss a 100-kilo pig in boiling water, would you, man?
JARDA: No.
EDDIE: See, man, I was right.
(The Gipsy girl enters.)
High time, man.
DAVID: Hi, Eržika.
(Kisses his sister, she moves off a little way and starts knitting,
humming a tune in her sweet voice.)
296
EDDIE: (Fands David some money.) Here, man.
DAVID: A hundred? You mad?
EDDIE: If you fix it for ’er to see a gynaecologist, I’ll give you two.
DAVID: You’re being racist, man.
EDDIE: ’Ang on man, that’s a bit thick.
DAVID: Whitey’s bloody arrogance, man.
EDDIE: Try thinkin’ logically, damn’ you! ’Ere we are, the both of
us, havin’ a joint dig at them yellow shits and you call me
a racist, eh?
DAVID: That’s all very well, an’ I’m glad, Eddy. But these sexually
racist innuendos, man. Like why does every gippo in every
dirty joke has to have crabs?
EDDIE: How the fuck should I know? I get all my jokes from my
old man.
DAVID: So there you ’ave it, man.
EDDIE: ’Ave what, David, man?
DAVID: Aw, sod it. Go on then, forget it.
(David takes the hundred. Eddie heads after the Gipsy girl. When he
touches her, she pulls away.)
GIPSY GIRL: You can’t have it today. I’ve seen them.
EDDIE: You what?
GIPSY GIRL: Outside the pub. Two of them. Heroes.
EDDIE: Fuckit, what ’eroes?
DAVID: ’Ang on, Eddie.
(Goes towards Eržika.)
What d’you see, sis?
GIPSY GIRL: Heroes. Outside Rudolf ’s pub.
DAVID: And what’s that you’re knittin’?
GIPSY GIRL: Bootees. Four bootees.
EDDIE: She don’t know what she’s sayin’, man. Probably overdid
the fuckin’ rum, at Rudolf ’s. Come on, man, I’ve given you
the money.
DAVID: You mean your heroes?
297
GIPSY GIRL: Yes. I’m not doing it today. I’ll never do it again while
the heroes are here. There’s no need. They’ll save us. They’re
going to save the whole town. (To Eddie and Jarda.) You’ll
find love. (To David.) And you’ll learn to forgive yourself, little
brother, and you’ll feel good.
You’ll all feel good. Everybody’s going to feel good. It’ll be
good in Pramen. And I’ll knit bootees. Four bootees.
EDDIE: Come on, the only thing that’s going to save me is a go on
the hairy tractor. Then I’ll feel good for a while.
DAVID: Here’s your hundred, Eddie. Tractor’s given up ploughin’.
Come on, Eržika, let’s get home. We can have a chat. About
those heroes of yours.
(They leave.)
EDDIE: (To Jarda.) To hell with it man, bloody psychics. Might as
well put your balls in the kitchen fridge, man.
JARDA: Too right, Eddie! Hell, man.
IV THE PUB
(Rudolf behind the bar. Kristián is sitting at a table with his guitar,
composing. He’s trying to come up with a tune for Tomáš’s poem.
He’s tackling it with relish.)
KRISTIÁN: The body is rich in meat
and black will be its blood
dripping lazily with the paddle‘ s beat
Before slappers‘ summons erupt.
RUDOLF: Don’t we call ’em whores, Krizza?
KRISTIÁN: Shit, Rudolf. Can’t you see I’m working… And kill the
telly for Christ’s sakes.
RUDOLF: I dunno, man, these moods you get into. It bugs you being
on the radio, so I buy a television, which you’re not on, and
that bugs you as well.
298
KRISTIÁN: Because I’m not on it, dammit, Rudolf.
RUDOLF: I don’t get it.
KRISTIÁN: Well turn the bloody thing off. What is it anyway?
(He glances at the television.)
‘High Notes’, I see. D’you the name of that blonde presenter?
RUDOLF: No.
KRISTIÁN: Monika Gold. Gold from getting pissed on, man. She
started in porn, in pissing films.
RUDOLF: I see.
KRISTIÁN: And d’you know what’s worst?
RUDOLF: No.
KRISTIÁN: She’s got no musical sense… (Focuses on the television.)
Wow, man, I reckon she’s got the Nedvěds on.
RUDOLF: I happen to like the Nedvěds.
KRISTIÁN: Christ, Rudolf, you’re so bloody hopeless.
(Rudolf switches the television off. Kristián carries on writing.)
The paddle is my hockey stick,
inviting beasts on the white ice,
(Enters Tomáš.)
TOMÁŠ:as their red begins oozing thick my black’ s better in
a thrice. That’s not exactly the jolliest of songs, Kristián…
A quad vodka, Rudolf.
RUDOLF: Quad? Don’t be so soft. Have a whatsit.
TOMÁŠ: Okay, a whatsit.
KRISTIÁN: You’re crazy, man. It’ll kill yer.
TOMÁŠ: That’s what I’m hoping.
KRISTIÁN: How did it go?
TOMÁŠ: We won three-two. Except I tore one guy’s bottom jaw
away. I need something to wash it down.
KRISTIÁN: Wow, man, why?
TOMÁŠ: Three minutes from the end, I was chargin’ at the goal.
KRISTIÁN: You’re idiots, you lot.
TOMÁŠ: I’ll probably get a couple of matches’ ban, but at least I’ll
get more written, and drunk.
299
KRISTIÁN: D’you have to be waist-deep in shit all the time? Have
a fruit juice and lighten up a bit.
(Rudolf brings a whotsit and sets it down on the table in front of
Tomáš.)
TOMÁŠ: Give it to him.
KRISTIÁN: You’ve been overdoin’ the protein, man, haven’t you?
You’ll make me ill.
TOMÁŠ: That’s the point. At least you’ll compose some decent
music, eh?
KRISTIÁN: What?
TOMÁŠ: Drink it.
(He starts forcing the whotsit down Kristián’s throat, managing most
of it.)
KRISTIÁN: Shit, man, you gone mad?
TOMÁŠ: You need to know what you’re singing about. And if you’re
singing about what I write about, then you’re singing about
pain.
KRISTIÁN: You what? What p…? Bugger me…
(Kristián twists round behind himself and vomits. Afterwards he
straightens up.)
I think I’ve had an idea.
TOMÁŠ: Really?
KRISTIÁN: Yep.
(He starts strumming a doleful tune.)
TOMÁŠ: Good! You know what? We’ll do a whole album like that.
I don’t mind doing some more lyrics for you. It could do some
good.
KRISTIÁN: A record about pain?
TOMÁŠ: Yep. Pain, my friend.
KRISTIÁN: I’m not sure that that’s the real path to fame.
TOMÁŠ: Ah but it is. Lots o’ people suffer pain, don’t they? An’
someone needs to say so.
KRISTIÁN: Mm… They might have us on ‘High Notes’. With the
pissing bimbo.
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TOMÁŠ: What??
KRISTIÁN: Never mind. And now I’m going to have to drink
whotsit every day and puke.
TOMÁŠ: Either that or I can break your jaw.
KRISTIÁN: You’re a prat, Tomáš, honest?
TOMÁŠ: I’m off to write.
(He leaves. Kristián starts playing.)
V OUTDOORS
(Workmen 1 and 2 are sitting around with David and taking turns
swigging from a bottle of Irish whisky; a little way off, Eržika is knitting
bootees.)
EDDIE: Jeeze, this is great stuff, man.
JARDA: I’d rather have rum.
DAVID: Bollocks rum, man, crap made from potatoes, man.
EDDIE: Yeah, right, but this is also made from potatoes, man.
DAVID: You’re a prick, man. You don’t expect me to waste my
sister’s last earnings on potatoes, do you, man? This stuff,
it’s Irish whisky, man.
EDDIE: So it’s made of Irish potatoes, man.
DAVID: Bollocks, man. It’s brown, man. Made of grain, man, some
kinda barley, man.
JARDA: Or rye.
DAVID: Bollocks, man, rye, dammit, that’s what they do in Germany,
man, this is Irish.
GIPSY GIRL: Irish whiskey’s made from corn.
(Continues dancing.)
EDDIE: Don’t you go pokin’ yer nose in, bitch. You won’t do it, right,
and now you go buttin’ in when we’re discussin’ grain crops.
DAVID: So what did you do with that thousand now my kid
sister’s not offerin’?
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EDDIE: Emptied my piggie-bank took my old lady to the water park,
man.
JARDA: Blimey!
EDDIE: What can you do, man, she kept belly-achin’ about wantin’
to go to the new water park outside town, man.
DAVID: Who built it?
EDDIE: No idea, man.
DAVID: How come, man? It wasn’t our lot, right, so I’d bloody
expect you to want to know, man.
EDDIE: Sod that, I’m takin’ the old lady on those bloody chutes, man,
so I’m hardly going to check who built it, right, no way. I bet
it were the bloody Germans paid for it again man, anyway.
JARDA: Or the yellow buggers.
DAVID: Could well be, Jarda.
EDDIE: Talkin’ of yellow buggers, yeah, how much did Lee want for
that whisky, man?
DAVID: Three hundred.
EDDIE: The yellow bugger, man!
DAVID: Well, and what about the water park?
EDDIE: I tell you, man, my old lady was in ’er element. And me,
man, I went on that bloody funnel thing, right. Like the one in
Liberec, where that guy from Mozambique got killed, y’know.
DAVID: There’s a rule in that, man: if you’re black, steer clear of the
funnel ride, right?
JARDA: True, man.
DAVID: And what about you?
EDDIE: I’m white, man, so all I got was a grazed arse like.
DAVID: Bloody hell, you pays to get in, man, and you comes away
with a grazed arse. What a world, man.
(Enter Kristián and Tomáš. Their first couple of exchanges go unheard
by the others.)
KRISTIÁN: We’re asking to get shafted if we go in ’ere.
TOMÁŠ: And it doesn’t interest you? But you sing about it.
KRISTIÁN: Sure, man, it’s the authenticity thing.
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TOMÁŠ: Why do you sing though?
KRISTIÁN: Keep yer philosophisin’ to yerself, will you? You’re
probably goin’ to need it in this place…
(Notices Eržika, who is heading towards him.)
Blimey, look there, perhaps it wasn’t just the booze last
time.
GIPSY GIRL: My heroes. I knew you’d come. I’m goin’ to dance
for you.
(The others also spot Eržika. She begins to dance.)
EDDIE: What’s this, man? You won’t do it with us, but you don’t
mind dancin’ with this lot cos they’re loaded, eh?
DAVID: Cool it, Eddie.
EDDIE: Cool be buggered, man. I’m gonna smash their ugly mugs
in for ’em, dammit.
(Takes a step towards Kristián and Tomáš, but Eržika blocks his way.)
GIPSY GIRL: Not these ones. They’re heroes.
EDDIE: I don’t give a fuck for your ’eroes, bitch, dammit.
(Pushes Eržika aside and Tomáš instantly decks him with one blow.)
KRISTIÁN: I thought you kept your fightin’ for the game.
EDDIE: (Picking himself up.) Christ man, you’re Tomáš Svatý, the
defender.
TOMÁŠ: (To Eržika.) Are you okay?
GIPSY GIRL: Fine thanks. You’re so strong and handsome.
(Returns to her knitting.)
DAVID: Sorry about my sister… She’s psychic… Hey, man, you’re
Kristián Polabský, that second-rate songwriter, aren’t you?
KRISTIÁN: How d’you mean, second-rate, man?
TOMÁŠ: Easy!
DAVID: Saw you once at the arts centre, front row. Only they
chucked me out for pukin’ all over your shoes.
KRISTIÁN: So that was you.
EDDIE: Wow, guys, I’d know idea you were them, them…
GIPSY GIRL: Heroes, you mean?
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EDDIE: Yeah, s’pose I do. Heroes. Hockey’s important, and music as
well. Arts centres and winter stadiums bring people together,
see?
KRISTIÁN: (Aside to Tomáš.) See what I mean? I told you,
metaphors are a load o’ bull.
EDDIE: Fancy a whisky?
KRISTIÁN: Sod off, man.
EDDIE: Hey man, speak proper like, like normal people, man. Jarda,
give the lads a drink.
JARDA: Sure.
(Pours out.)
TOMÁŠ: Thanks.
GIPSY GIRL: Get it down you, gives you strength.
(Starts pawing at them.)
Nothing must happen to you, no. I’m going to protect you.
All by myself.
(Puts a hand on Tomáš’s belly.)
What’s this? What’s this?
(Starts crying.)
What is it, my hero?
(Tomáš takes a drink, pulls a nasty face and puts an arm round her.)
TOMÁŠ: It’s nothing, understand, Gipsy girl? Nothing.
GIPSY GIRL: It’s nothing.
TOMÁŠ: You carry on knitting.
KRISTIÁN: What are you knitting’ actually?
GIPSY GIRL: Bootees. Four bootees.
KRISTIÁN: For us? That first one’s a bit on the small side. No, not
for you. You’re heroes.
These are little boots for one from the river.
(Eržika knits. The others drink and sit down.)
EDDIE: Right man, tell us about it, guys. You’re goin’ on telly one
day, on some programme, perhaps both o’ you, like you’re both
from Pramen. When you get another decent song together,
Kristián, eh?
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KRISTIÁN: Bugger…
TOMÁŠ: Easy.
KRISTIÁN: We’re doin’ a record. Tomáš is writin’ the lyrics, so if
we make a good go of it, we’re
bound to be on telly together.
EDDIE: Wow, a record, man. Makin’ a record. Hear that, Jarda?
These guys are cool, man.
JARDA: Cool, man.
DAVID: What are you doin’ ’ere anyway?
TOMÁŠ: We want to make a record about you. And us. For everyone
to hear.
EDDIE: Well I’ll be… They’re makin’ a record about us, Jarda, ain’t
that somethin’?
JARDA: Cool, man.
EDDIE: Man! So we could appear in the odd clip, right?
KRISTIÁN: Yep, that’s brilliant!
EDDIE: Bein’ authentic like, see, since it’s about us. Like I could sit
down ’ere.
(Shows what he means.)
Yeah, an’ I’m drinkin’, like. Whisky, see, so nobody goes
thinkin’ we’re just hicks.
(Drinks.)
Then Jarda can come and sit down like this in front o’ me,
man… Jarda, man.
(Jarda sits down in front of him.)
JARDA: Why though?
EDDIE: But it’s obvious, man, that’s the… the point. Then I can kick
Jarda in the arse…
(Kicks Jarda in the arse.)
JARDA: Ouch, Eddy.
EDDIE: Stop whingein’, this is art… then I, like, pick up this whisky,
an’ that shows how okay I am an’ that we don’t drink rum like
some peasants, the kind Jarda ’ere sort o’ stands for.
KRISTIÁN: That’s interesting.
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EDDIE: Well, then you can film it all and you’ll be famous. You’ll get
to see Bartošová.
TOMÁŠ: Bartošová?
EDDIE: Yeah, Iveta Bartošová.
KRISTIÁN: (Drinks, he’s the worse for wear.) We won’t just see ’er,
we’ll bed ’er as well.
GIPSY GIRL: Shrieks.
No! You mustn’t!
EDDIE: Shuddup and get on wi’ your knittin’. Fancy shaggin’
Bartošová, man!
(Raises the bottle to drink a toast.)
TOMÁŠ: But that’s not the main thing at all.
EDDIE: Right, man, I reckon her cunt stinks anyway, yeah. Eh, Jarda?
JARDA: Yeah.
TOMÁŠ: Who cares whether it stinks or not, what matters is you
lot and Pramen.
DAVID: Like what a shitty dump this is?
TOMÁŠ: Yep.
EDDIE: I fancy seein’ Bartošová anyway, man. I can tell she’s got
a smelly twat. When she sings, man, there’s a bit of her mouth
goes all twisty like. It’s a classic giveaway.
KRISTIÁN: She does twist it.
EDDIE: And you know the sayin’, man, one ’ole twisty, one ’ole stinky,
and the third ’ole mostly full o’ shit.
DAVID: Will you come round to our place? Eržika will cook
somethin’ up.
EDDIE: Wait man, why can’t they stay ’ere with us? We were just
beginnin’ to get along.
DAVID: Look man, you’re pretty rat-arsed already, Eddie, so knock
it off, man.
TOMÁŠ: Did you say her name’s Eržika?
DAVID: Yeah.
TOMÁŠ: Nice name. We accept then.
KRISTIÁN: What!
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DAVID: Great, man. Eržika, home. Today you’ll be cookin’ for
heroes.
(Eržika, David, Tomáš and Kristián get up and leave. Eržika dances
her way out.)
GIPSY GIRL: Cooking for heroes. Heroes.
EDDIE: What I’d give to fuck Bartošová anyway, man, stink or no
stink.
JARDA: Sure, man.
VI
(At Eržika and David’s home. Tots of rum. David is asleep with his
head on the table.
Tomáš and Kristián fortified, their wits dulled. Eržika is clearing
away the plates.)
KRISTIÁN: Blimey O’Reilly! That oriental cuisine!
TOMÁŠ: What was it from?
GIPSY GIRL: The river.
KRISTIÁN: Didn’t taste much like fish.
GIPSY GIRL: Their blood’s black, so it has to be braised in red wine
to make it go red. Then their strength passes to you.
KRISTIÁN: Are you tryin’ to tell me we’ve been eating Gipsy
mongrel cutlet or something, eh?
GIPSY GIRL: The Vietnamese guy doesn’t know how to make it.
When he does it the blood stays black.
TOMÁŠ: I see, and the workers eat it at ’is place?
GIPSY GIRL: Yes, my hero.
KRISTIÁN: So they eat badly cooked dog and then go soft in the
head?
TOMÁŠ: Sommat like that.
KRISTIÁN: Wow man, we can’t go singin’ that, people’ld be shittin’
bricks… and Nohavica as well.
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TOMÁŠ: And why don’t you cook for ’em?
GIPSY GIRL: They’re not heroes. You’re heroes. You’re going to save
Pramen and then we won’t have to cook dogs. They will be free
and they’ll be able to keep their strength for themselves, like
us. An’ I’m going to give the first one some bootees.
TOMÁŠ: You mean you’re knitting bootees for a dog?
GIPSY GIRL: Yes, my hero. The dogs have suffered for happiness
like me. For the happiness you will bring. For the love you are
bringing.
(She starts to get undressed. )
And the gods will reward us. I love you, my heroes.
KRISTIÁN: Man, I dunno if it’s down to the booze or that mongrel
in wine sauce.
GIPSY GIRL: Come to me, heroes.
(The naked Gipsy girl starts to howl, the intoxicated heroes take her
and darkness falls.)
VII
(Morning. The Gipsy girl is lying between the heroes. She is the first to
wake and, still half-asleep, speaks.)
GIPSY GIRL: Black blood is changed by wine,
just like strays alone by the river,
when heroes drink from them
the dog’s red only meets
the red of the bitch,
and love need not be re-boiled again.
Yet you two cannot live
on dog’s blood forever.
And finally the river hound
must stop dying for our sins,
as the whole town dies with it.
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Now you’re heroes, capable
of exploiting your own strength.
And the only thing you need
is the love of the people of the river
that drive you on to victory.
And you shall have that love.
For gods you are not, just heroes,
who need love
just as love needs them
for its first engendering.
(Kristián and Tomáš wake up and hear Eržika’s last lines.)
But fragile more than blood of dog
is the path that lies ahead of you
if but for a single moment you
forget, my heroes, who
cooked river hound for you,
until you found your strength,
who shared a warm bed with you
until you found your love,
who gave heroic powers to you
which rose out of the town’s pain,
which rose out of her pain.
When you’re blinded by conceit
or lust so easily accessed,
and suddenly you’ll want to build
shadows for the gods,
then shall these same gods
no longer want your services,
and he who needed heroes
shall turn black with you.
When, blinded by fame,
You won’t be able to see as far as the river
to tell whether it’s man or dog drowning there,
then it will vanish beneath the surface,
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for all it may have briefly walked upon the water.
And Pramen will have to wait
until that moment far ahead
when heroes new shall head this way
across the iron bridge in good faith.
the bootees I’ll knit
can burn up along with your love
for the Gipsy girl who saved her strength
in pain for you two, and with your love
for the town which waited
in pain for your love.
(Exit Eržika.)
KRISTIÁN: Did you understand any o’ that?
TOMÁŠ: Dunno.
KRISTIÁN:.But you’re the guy with the metaphors, man.
TOMÁŠ: I’m not so sure.
KRISTIÁN: (Clasps his hands to his head.) Why’s my ’ead not
splittin’? You feeling ill?
TOMÁŠ: No.
KRISTIÁN: My head’s completely clear.
TOMÁŠ: My liver’s okay.
KRISTIÁN: What d’you mean?
TOMÁŠ: I’ve got liver trouble. At least I did have.
KRISTIÁN: The liver heals itself.
TOMÁŠ: But not overnight.
KRISTIÁN: Cool, eh?
TOMÁŠ: Yeah.
KRISTIÁN: And that thing with the legs… wow, man.
TOMÁŠ: I think I’m in love.
KRISTIÁN: Me too.
(Gets up and leaves.)
Where are you goin’?
TOMÁŠ: I’ve got a match.
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KRISTIÁN: Right. Go out there and win. I’m off to work. I think
I know what’s missing.
TOMÁŠ: Yeah?
KRISTIÁN: Yeah. The notes are popping up on their own. Talent,
man, or what… I’m feeling great, Tomáš.
TOMÁŠ: Yeah, me too.
KRISTIÁN: Go out there and win.
TOMÁŠ: We will.
(Tomáš picks up his bag and leaves. Kristián picks up his guitar and
starts humming. The workmen, Monika Gold and Rudolf come slowly
onto the stage. The homespun strumming changes into a performance.)
VIII THE PERFORMANCE
(Kristián is playing.)
KRISTIÁN: When with his silky paws
a tomcat touches me
I get a trembling in my claws
as I wade through river debris.
Then a rock makes me stumble,
smash my bones with the fall’ s force,
my whole body’ s quashed and crumpled
‘fore I even set my chisel on its course.
Yesterday’s rum
is always longer than the river
that leads to work in the morning.
It’ s always good fun
when they bark at the slivers
I throw them as the river dogs get torn in.
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Yesterday’s rum
is always longer than the river
that leads to work in the morning.
It’ s always good fun
when they bark at the slivers
I throw them as the river dogs get torn in.
(Applause. Tomáš approaches the front of the stage.)
TOMÁŠ: I just wanted to say that tomorrow sees the opening of
our distillery, which has given Pramen so many new jobs. And
from each copy of the record sold 100 crowns will go towards
its overheads, just as up to now the same sum went towards
its construction. We thank you all.
KRISTIÁN: Right, charity! That’s what we’re here for, right? Thank
you, good people, thank you!
Buy the record, it’s in a good cause.
(He’s relishing his stardom and plays another song.)
The body is rich in meat,
and black will be its blood,
dripping lazily with the paddle’ s beat,
before slappers’ summons erupt.
The paddle is my hockey stick,
inviting beasts on the white ice,
as their red begins oozing thick,
my black‘ s better in a thrice.
(The workers join in the chorus.)
ALL: Who then will the eternal thirst slake
of the ice and slappers in Pramen?
Who our offered favour take,
where a sign for us to examine?
GIPSY GIRL: (Elsewhere, to David.) Can you hear the dogs, little
brother?
DAVID: Yes, I can, but I’m a mite pissed.
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GIPSY GIRL: Never let them go quiet, little brother, d’you hear?
They must always bark just like today.
DAVID: Sure, sis. I’m not stupid!
IX THE ‘HIGH NOTES’ TV TALK-SHOW
(Monika, Tomáš and Kristián.)
MONIKA: And my next guests are Tomáš Svatý and Kristián
Polabský. Let’s hear it for the holders of a platinum disk for
their album ‘Black Blood’.
(Applause. Tomáš and Kristián sit down.)
Right, boys, you’ve hardly had the time to sit down and the
testosterone has left me soggy all over.
(Laughter from the audience and Kristián.)
Where did the idea of getting together come from?
A hockey-player and a song-writer, that really is rather
unusual. By the way, Tomáš, how’s the season gone so far?
I’m told you’re doing quite well.
TOMÁŠ: It’s over actually. We won the title.
MONIKA: Of course, I knew really, the celebrations in the square
were stupendous and you sang your greatest hit Black Blood
from the album of the same name. So once again, how did
you get together?
KRISTIÁN: I was goin’ to smash his mug in in the pub.
MONIKA: I say, how very sexy! That deserves some applause!
(Applause.)
Your album is full of pain and suffering. Why do you
suppose it is that in this day and age, when people want to
dance and have a good time, it’s selling so extraordinarily well?
TOMÁŠ: I reckon that people in this town don’t want to dance,
and people elsewhere are buying the record because
they’re sadistically drawn to our pain. But thanks to their
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sadism everyone gets to hear what it’s like here and for me
that’s important.
MONIKA: Sadistic? I say, how sexy! We’re all sadists! Let’s hear it!
(Applause.)
KRISTIÁN: You gotta understand, Monika, young Tomáš here
wants to save the world.
MONIKA: You mustn’t be so modest. We all know that 100 crowns
from the sale of every album goes to the Pramen distillery. So
it comes out of your royalties too.
KRISTIÁN: That’s true… I like charity. Have you spotted anything
new since we last met?
(Points to his head.)
MONIKA: But of course. Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it for
Kristián Polabský’s new quiff!
(Applause.)
I bet I’m not the only one who wouldn’t mind gelling his
quiff for him, eh?
(Laughter.)
KRISTIÁN: And I could think of other things we could do with
your gel, Monika.
(Laughter.)
TOMÁŠ: The distillery’s nearly built, so I’d like to ask you all to give
our Dog Spirit a try.
MONIKA: Dog spirit? That sounds positively risqué!
(Applause.)
TOMÁŠ: It’s a pure, potato-based vodka. Top quality. And anyone
drinking it is donating something towards the poorest among
us, the workers at the distillery.
MONIKA: I read in one of the red-tops that you’ve stopped drinking,
Tomáš. And that you’re cured of your liver problems. They
had a sonogram of your liver and it looked just like a baby’s.
TOMÁŠ: Hmhm.
MONIKA: Let’s hear it for our famous teetotaller and his liver!
(Applause.)
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KRISTIÁN: Tomáš has even banned drinkin’ durin’ worktime at
the distillery.
MONIKA: But that’s fantastic! Let’s hear it for Tomáš, a hero. And
Kristián, a hero with a beautiful quiff!
(Everyone applauds.)
TOMÁŠ: (Takes the microphone from Monika.)
We’d also like to ask Jarek Nohavica to donate some of his
royalties to Ostrava.
KRISTIÁN: What?
TOMÁŠ: Well, he sings about it, so he can try to do something for it.
MONIKA: Interesting.
KRISTIÁN: He doesn’t mean it. Nohavica does give to charity.
TOMÁŠ: But not enough! He doesn’t give that much, Kristián. And
we don’t give much either!
And everybody drinks and smokes and dies without ever
knowing how to live!
KRISTIÁN: Forgive me.
MONIKA: No, no, this is nice, we’ve never had an interlude like this
before. Long live charity!
Long live charity!
She has the audience rise from their seats. Applause.
TOMÁŠ: And you ought to be helping as well, Monika, and not
fussing about quiffs and gels.
MONIKA: Actually, I use a foam setting lotion, but you’re right
anyway, Mr Svatý.
KRISTIÁN: What ’ave you got against quiffs?
TOMÁŠ: Nothing, I’m done.
(He leaves.)
MONIKA: Let’s hear it for Tomáš. He can’t drink anyway. And we’re
about to have a toast to mark the end of the show, Maestro.
(Applause. Monika prepares champagne and mineral water. They
clink glasses.)
MONIKA: Your health!
(They drink. Applause.)
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Come, come, Kristián, I’d be disappointed in you if you
drank it all. What a waste! And I’ve got a new hair-do too!
KRISTIÁN: And a beautiful one at that.
(Begins pouring champagne over Monika.)
MONIKA: Ah, that’s so good. Applause please!
(Applause breaks out.)
So good-bye until next week, when we’ll be talking about
Iveta Bartošová’s room 101.
(The lights go out. In the dark can be heard the trickle of champagne
and Monika’s blissful sighs.)
X THE DISTILLERY
(The workmen around a still. Eržika is dancing around. Rudolf is
surveying the scene.)
RUDOLF: Right lads, no time to waste, man, I don’t keep my pub
empty for half the day for you lot to fritter it away.
EDDIE: All right, man. Things ’ave gone from bloody bad to bloody
worse. Out o’ the fryin’ pan up the spout.
DAVID: Zip it. You’ve just been to the Water Park three times in
a row, ’aven’t you, man?
EDDIE: Yeah, man. Okay lads. I say, d’you see the show last night?
JARDA: Sure.
EDDIE: Practic’ly pulled her, ’e did, that bird that presents it.
(The Gipsy girl lets out a shriek.)
DAVID: Calm down, Eržika, nothing happened. Take it easy.
EDDIE: You love them, don’t you? Leavin’ sod all for us… I bet you
even shaved yourself for ’em, am I right?
DAVID: Cool it, Eddie.
EDDIE: They make millions, so they don’t want to ride the tractor.
DAVID: Fuck off, Eddie. That’s no way to talk about them.
EDDIE: Sorry, all right? I need a drink.
316
DAVID: You know you can’t. Something could happen and that’d be
the end of yer water park, man.
EDDIE: Too true, man, I know.
JARDA: Lee’s been to see me.
DAVID: What did ’e want?
JARDA: Stupid idea. Like could I get ’im some strays from the river.
Said he’d give me 500 a time.
(The Gipsy girl lets out a shriek.)
DAVID: An’ what d’you tell ’im?
JARDA: That ’e must ’ave shit for brains after all that rice, man.
EDDIE: What a yellow prat, man. I’ve got a car now and I always go
on from the water park to the hypermarket. Lee ’asn’t a hope
in ’ell, man.
JARDA: An’ what d’you buy there?
RUDOLF: Right lads, jump to it, it’s not goin’ to brew itself, this stuff.
EDDIE: Aw, leave off, will you? (Back to Jarda.) What d’you think
I buy, man? Everything, ’cept booze, o’ course, since Rudolf
lets us ’ave it at cost… Tell you one thing, though, it’s worth it.
After every trip my old lady forgets to nag for three whole
days, man. And as soon as she starts up again, right, I give ’er
a good dousin’ at the water park, like, take ’er shoppin’ an’ she
cuts cacklin’ again. Bliss, man! You can’ imagine it. And now
I’ve found this great thing, man.
JARDA: Whassat?
EDDIE: Activia Bio, man.
DAVID: You’d shit yourself for that stuff?
EDDIE: No, but that’s the point. That’s what I’m talkin’ about. This
Activia, man, it stiffens yer turds.
JARDA: You what?
EDDIE: You can get smashed in the ornery way of an evenin’, and
next mornin’, man, you ’ave an Activia. No more squits, man!
DAVID: Christ, man, no more squits, that’s great.
EDDIE: True though… I could do wi’ a drink, man. Rudolf! Gi’ us
a snifter.
317
RUDOLF: Come on, lads, you know it’s not allowed… No work,
no pay.
EDDIE: What a prat ’e is, Rudolf.
XI
(Kristián is at Eržika’s place. Tomáš arrives with his hockey kit.
Eržika is knitting.)
KRISTIÁN: Hi.
TOMÁŠ: Hi.
KRISTIÁN: How’d the training go?
TOMÁŠ: Good, looks like we’re in for a good season.
(Goes over to Eržika and kisses her.)
GIPSY GIRL: Hi, hero.
TOMÁŠ: How are the bootees coming on?
GIPSY GIRL: They’ll be ready soon.
KRISTIÁN: You lot get on my tits. Bootees, kissin’. Got anythin’ to
drink?
(Tomáš gets a bottle of IsoStar out of his bag and tosses it to Kristián.
He takes a swig and splutters.)
Shit, I’d forgotten what this stuff ’s like.
TOMÁŠ: Sorry.
KRISTIÁN: ‘Sorry’! Holy shit, man… If you’re not careful you’ll end
up as useless as that Nedvěd guy, man.
TOMÁŠ: ’E’s a footballer.
KRISTIÁN: Same difference… Yer todger’ll shrink as small as ’is.
TOMÁŠ: What’s got into you?
KRISTIÁN: Ah nothing. It’s not coming so good, now you’ve
stopped writing.
TOMÁŠ: There’s no need any more.
KRISTIÁN: How come, no need? I want to play.
TOMÁŠ: But you do play, don’t you?
318
KRISTIÁN: Thanks, pal. That condescendin’ mug o’ yours. You
drink this IsoStar muck, you build factories for them crazies,
you’re like Jesus, man. I wanna puke…
TOMÁŠ: And what d’you think I should do instead?
KRISTIÁN: Dunno. But I do know what I wanna do.
TOMÁŠ: What’s that?
KRISTIÁN: I wanna buy a wolverine.
TOMÁŠ: Wolverine? And why would you do that then?
KRISTIÁN: Cos I can afford to, can’ I. It might chew your balls off,
then I could ’ave Eržika to myself.
GIPSY GIRL: Oh no. I love you both. But don’t buy a wolverine
anyway.
KRISTIÁN: ‘Spect she’s right really, Tomáš. I won’t buy one. I’d be
embarrassed cos o’ you, cos it’s pointless. Cos I could put the
cash to better use.
TOMÁŠ: Right.
KRISTIÁN: And that’s exactly what gets up my nose. D’you see?
TOMÁŠ: You might be a good person.
KRISTIÁN: Good person be damned! I want a wolverine,… and I’m
gonna buy one. And d’you know when, pal?
TOMÁŠ: When?
KRISTIÁN: When those pillocks o’ yours drink ’emselves to death
in the distillery. Why didn’t you build ’em a sausage factory?
TOMÁŠ: You know why.
KRISTIÁN: Right, man. They need space to better ’emselves, and
that’d be too easy in a sausage factory. Bloody stupid. They
can’t cope. They’re a load a retards, and you know it.
TOMÁŠ: They deserve it.
(Tomáš laughs.)
KRISTIÁN: Come on man, stop takin’ the piss again, as if you’d got
a monopoly of common sense.
GIPSY GIRL: It’s going to be good. The bootees are nearly done. But
don’t buy a wolverine, hero.
(She carries on knitting. Enter David, completely blotto.)
319
KRISTIÁN: See that? As soon as their shift’s over they go and
get hammered. An’ it’s for them we give up 100 out of our
royalties. An’ I don’t even come from Pramen, man.
TOMÁŠ: What?
KRISTIÁN: It’s true though. I invented it when I started singing,
but I’m really from Teplice.
TOMÁŠ: So much the better.
(David staggers and vomits over Kristián’s shoes.)
KRISTIÁN: Bugger it, you’ve gone an’ puked all over my shoes
again, idiot. See that?
They wouldn’t do that to me in Teplice.
TOMÁŠ: Look, ’e’s singin’.
(David’s mumblings with a blank expression evolve into a little ditty.)
DAVID: A white knight riding through the dark,
His white sword swings above his head.
He gallops, yearning in his heart,
Gallops across a Europe that’s sad.
He’s covered with the dust of roads,
Bearing a message whither he goes,
His eyes they are all shot with blood.
He rides alone, as everyone knows.
White rider, white with grace,
White the day and white the face.
White knight, white with grace,
White the day and white the face.
KRISTIÁN: Christ, mate, pull yerself together. You’re a Gipsy, aren’t
you? This really is a bit thick.
(David goes to bed.)
TOMÁŠ: There could be another explanation.
320
KRISTIÁN: Don’t talk crap? That’s Orlík*, don’t you see. Landa,
man. Metaphors that even I can see through… Or do you
think you’re some white knight riding across Europe, man?
Puttin’ up factories everywhere?
GIPSY GIRL: A hero on a white horse.
KRISTIÁN: This is stupid. I’m off.
TOMÁŠ: Where to?
KRISTIÁN: Where to? To pick up my royalties and buy a wolverine,
and you should do the same.
(He leaves.)
GIPSY GIRL:Wolverine, no river stray,
he chews testicles, hero.
No testicles, no seed,
no testicles, no hero.
No testicles, no love,
no testicles and white ice cracks.
TOMÁŠ: I don’t understand you, Eržika.
XII
(Eddie is sitting outdoors, knocking back the rum. Kristián comes by.)
KRISTIÁN: You on the bottle again?
EDDIE: Well? Shift’s over, innit?
KRISTIÁN: Bugger that, makes no difference. Why d’you think
we’ve been singin’ them songs about booze, the workers and
stuff?
EDDIE: ’Spect you thought it were an interestin’ subject, man?
KRISTIÁN: And isn’t it more likely to have been to make you quit,
Ed?
* The name of a nationalist, racist skinhead band from the late 80s, Landa was the band’s
leader.
321
EDDIE: Well, Krizza, man, I ’ave thought about it quite a lot. Kinda
though o’ givin’ it up, right, and makin’ the old lady ’appy, and
pissin’ off Les, the yeller prick, right, man. ’Cos then I won’
’ave to buy stuff off ’im.
KRISTIÁN: So why didn’t you quit?
EDDIE: ’Ad second thoughts about it, man.
KRISTIÁN: You what?
EDDIE: Well, now I’ve got Activia Bio, I don’t ’ave to stop, man, do I?
KRISTIÁN: That’s garbage, Ed.
EDDIE: I ’ave one in the mornin’ an’ I’m as right as rain. I ’ave a real
good crap, man, geddit…
The old girl don’t nag, I’ve emptied myself… I’m rockin’,
man.
KRISTIÁN: You’re not jokin’?
EDDIE: And now they put those Lucky Clover stickers in the
multipacks. My old lady collects ’em, like, man, she couldn’t
’ave kids, like, man, so she collects ’em as if she did, man.
KRISTIÁN: Right. Silly me for askin’. Anyway, just make sure to
drink loads o’ that sour muck tomorrow. We’ve a big order on,
so let’s not have any cock-ups. I’ll be on duty myself, so I’ll be
keepin’ an eye on you.
EDDIE: Right on, boss.
KRISTIÁN: Activia Bio. I must be dreaming.
(Kristián leaves. Eddie remains alone on stage, drinking. In a spotlight
Eržika is knitting. She pricks herself with the needle, and a spot of
blood appears.)
GIPSY GIRL: Where are you, my hero? Where are you?
XIII
(Monika is in bed with Kristián. Eržika is still staring at the drop of
blood.)
MONIKA: Hm, that was a bit peasanty, but I’m lovely and wet.
322
KRISTIÁN: True, it is a bit perverted; do you know the hairy tractor?
MONIKA: Ugh, that was the nineties, Iggy Pop used to do it.
KRISTIÁN: Iggy Pop’s fine.
MONIKA: A has-been. And how come you’re talking about
perversions when it’s you who wants to buy a wolverine to
tame?
KRISTIÁN: Yeah well.
MONIKA: But the wolverine thing turns me on. D’you think you’d
let it bite someone’s balls off if they tried to get off with me?
KRISTIÁN: Reckon I would.
MONIKA: And that’s you saying you love me?
KRISTIÁN: Reckon I do.
(The pair of them snuggle down; spotlight on the front of the stage,
where Eržika is hollering.)
ERŽIKA: Brother!
(David comes staggering out.)
DAVID: Wha’ d’you want, sis?
ERŽIKA: Go get me a dog from the river.
(The scene at the front of the stage fades out.)
MONIKA: Mmmm, I call it platinum rain, you having that platinum
disk, eh?
(The two lovers laugh.)
Listen, I nearly forgot. I had such a big hit with that talk
that they’ve given me a new prime-time slot. Not only music,
but with guests from all fields, you know, and the top ten just
as back-up.
KRISTIÁN: Congratulations.
MONIKA: People have been writing in to say how much
Tomáš’s sound-bite about sadism grabbed them, and his
performance generally.
KRISTIÁN: What can I say, that’s Tomáš for you. Look, I ’ave to
get goin’.
MONIKA: Where to? We’ve hardly started. I thought you were
going to piss on me a couple more times.
323
KRISTIÁN: I’d love to piss on you some more, but I think I should
get back to the distillery, I’m on nights.
MONIKA: Nights? You mean you go to work like any ordinary
employee?
KRISTIÁN: Yep.
MONIKA: Why so? You’re the most famous musician this country
has.
KRISTIÁN: It’s what I do. Keep an eye on my wolverine. I’ll be back
tomorrow.
MONIKA: Bollocks to that! I’m Monika Gold, the famous TV
presenter. I’m not going to look after your wolverine just
because you get fits of moral rectitude.
KRISTIÁN: You’re a proper slag.
MONIKA: And you’re a dumb-ass egomaniac like that mate of
yours. Saviours of the world indeed, how sad can you get! Get
lost!
KRISTIÁN: Media whore!
MONIKA: Trickle-peed dickhead!
KRISTIÁN: Bristle-permed scrubber!
MONIKA: Flakey butt!
KRISTIÁN: Your ankles are terrible!
MONIKA: And so are your knees!
KRISTIÁN: I’m off.
MONIKA: Go on then!… Right, but come in for that show next
week.
KRISTIÁN: I’ll be there.
MONIKA: Don’t you fancy having another go?
KRISTIÁN: Sure!
(Goes back to her.)
324
XIV
(In the factory.)
GIPSY GIRL: The wolverine bit off his balls
The wolverine bit off his balls
The wolverine bit off his balls
A hero doesn’t piss on girls
A hero doesn’t always feed the doggies
The doggy won’t be getting shoes.
RUDOLPH: Right, lads, I’m off. Kristián will be on for the morning
shift. He’ll be here any time now. Tomáš has gone to sign up
a sponsor he’s talked round to meet the cost of those new
pipes. You lot have a quiet time of it here.
GIPSY GIRL:The heroes have left us alone,
Little brother, sell a dog to the Vietnamese guy,
Little brother, sell a dog to the Vietnamese guy,
Little brother, love is dead now.
(In a circle of workmen.)
JARDA: Where’s David?
EDDIE: Dunno, man. It ’as to be today he doesn’t turn up. Bloody
nuisance.
JARDA: How d’you mean?
EDDIE: Wish I knew, man. Yesterday I drank five Activias. The new
kind – Bifidus Active.
JARDA: That’s good, innit?
EDDIE: Looks as if I’m not goin’ to be able to shit for a week. An’
I’ve got belly-ache, man.
JARDA: So ’ave a fag and a shot. That’ll clean you out.
EDDIE: You know we’re not allowed.
JARDA: But it’s in a good cause, innit? Polabský’s not ’ere yet anyway.
EDDIE: But ’e could be ’ere any minute.
JARDA: Let’s go round the back then, so even if ’e comes, ’e won’t
see us. We can say we’ve been for a shit.
EDDIE: Very bloody funny, Jarda, ha ha.
325
JARDA: Sorry.
EDDIE: Okay then, as you like.
(They leave. Enter Kristián.)
KRISTIÁN: Why aren’t you knittin’, Eržika?
GIPSY GIRL: You’re too late, my hero. No bootees are going to be
needed. It’s going to burn down.
(From the proscenium arch we can hear the workmen.)
EDDIE: That’s fantastic. A shot o’ rum and a fag. I needed that.
That’s great, now we’re goin’ places, man. Bloody Activia! …
Shit, man!
KRISTIÁN: What’s goin’ on there?
(The Gipsy girl shrieks.)
EDDIE: Christ, I’m on fire!
KRISTIÁN: What?
(Runs through the proscenium arch.)
JARDA: I’m on fire too. Kristián!
GIPSY GIRL:
(Alone on stage.)
You can’t put it out. You’re not a hero. What you going to
do? Stay, or save yourself? You’ve killed them. Even with love.
And the bootees are going to be burned up with it. And the
strays will burn to death.
(Tomáš comes running in.)
GIPSY GIRL: Will you stay, or save yourself? Are you a hero?
TOMÁŠ: Eržika, what’s going on? Where’s the fire?
GIPSY GIRL: You’re going to let me down too, hockey-player, you
too.
TOMÁŠ: Kristián!
(Runs through the side proscenium.)
GIPSY GIRL: You’ve never burned for anything, you’re not going to
burn now. I’m on fire. And I always will be.
(Goes through the side proscenium. Tomáš and Kristián run out of
the other.)
TOMÁŠ: Where is she? She was here a minute ago!
326
(Intends to hurl himself after Eržika.)
KRISTIÁN: Don’t! We’ll build a new distillery! D’you hear? A new
distillery! Or a sausage factory, or a chocolate factory, so no
one can go drinkin’ inside!
TOMÁŠ: I love you, Eržika! Let me go!
(Kristián won’t let go.)
KRISTIÁN: Too late, Tom. Too late now, bugger it!
XV
(The pub as at the beginning, the radio is on. David is sitting at
a table, drinking from a strange-looking glass. The presenter on
the radio speaks: “No light has been thrown on the circumstances
surrounding last year’s fire at the distillery in Pramen even by Kristián
Polabský’s first contact with the media; he was an eye-witness and the
distillery’s then proprietor…”)
KRISTIÁN: Man, ’e said he was ’avin’ trouble shittin’ after ’e ate
some yoghurt, man, what a jerk. Bought it at the hypermarket,
man, like I said, man, they’re idiots, man, so why save ’em,
’spect I shouldna bought that wolverine or something, man.”
(Rudolf enters the pub, turns off the radio and puts a tape in; Chinese
music.)
RUDOLF: Sorry, David.
DAVID: No probs.
(He takes a drink and pulls a face.)
DAVID: Ugh, that’s vile.
(Rudolf brings him some food.)
DAVID: What’s that supposed to be?
RUDOLF: M32. Today’s a weekday, so you’ve got M32 as usual.
But tomorrow’s Saturday, so that’ll be M65. And next week
there’s the bank holiday for the Anniversary of the Burning
of John Huss.
DAVID: So M15.
327
RUDOLF: No, M15’s for New Year’s Eve. John Huss is M47.
DAVID: Like it’s the fourth of July?
RUDOLF: No, that’s just a coincidence.
(David erupts.)
DAVID: Fuckit, Rudolf. Call me that yellow bastard!
RUDOLF: But I can’t call him. You do the catching, I cook, the
others do various odd jobs and Lee’s in charge.
DAVID: Fuck you, Rudolf!
(Makes to assault Rudolf.)
RUDOLF: Cool it, David. Take a deep breath or two.
(At first David jibs, Rudolf tries to soothe him, David calms down.)
DAVID: Why the fuck did you sell ’im the pub?
RUDOLF: What else should I ’ave done, man? I put quite a lot into
the distillery and then my regulars got burned to death…
sorry.
DAVID: And what’s it made of, the stuff we get?
RUDOLF: What d’you mean?
DAVID: Do me a favour and take it back.
(Rudolf is about to take it away.)
No, wait a mo, I’m hungry.
(Rudolf puts the food back on the table. David watches him.)
RUDOLF: Lee isn’t here anyway. He’s on some show. Some new
thing, called ‘Monika hears confession’ or something.
DAVID: I see.
RUDOLF: You okay now?
DAVID: What d’you mean?
DAVID: Do us a favour, stop that Chinese tape, would you. That Lee
really is perverted.
Comes from Vietnam, cooks Chinese muck and listens to
Chinese music, man. Like if we opened a shop with Russian
pirogs, man, and played ‘Nas nedogonyat’, man.
RUDOLF: What’s ‘Nas nedogonyat’?
DAVID: Fuckit, Rudolf, put somethin’ else on.
328
(Rudolf goes and switches to another radio station, before disappearing
into the kitchen.
There is a sports programme on the radio.)
“…The match ended with a beautiful goal from the
visitors’ attack forward Matějka, and so Pramen HC lost 3:7,
thereby further extending to eight the unflattering run of
matches from which they gained no points. For Pramen this
year’s competition is proving highly unfortunate. They have
totally lost any hope of a play-off, and ever since Tomáš Svatý
brought his career to such a tragic end due to cirrhosis of
the liver, it’s looking extremely likely that they’ll have to dig
deep if they want to stay in the super-league. Who would have
thought as much this time last year…”
(Rudolf comes in from the kitchen, hears the last couple of sentences
and switches to another station. There they’re playing Kristián
Polabský’s old song.)
The body is rich in meat
and black will be its blood,
dripping lazily with the paddle’ s beat
before slappers’ summons erupt
The paddle is my hockey stick,
inviting beasts on the white ice,
as their red begins oozing thick
my black‘ s better in a thrice.
Who then will the eternal thirst slake
of the ice and slappers in Pramen?
Who our offered favour take,
where a sign for us to examine?
RUDOLF: I honestly don’t know what else to switch it to now.
(David says nothing, and finally takes his first mouthful, bursts into
tears and gets up.)
DAVID: Can you hear barking, Rudolf?
RUDOLF: No.
329
DAVID: Me neither.
(Leaves.)
RUDOLF: Where you goin’, man? You’ve still got that M32.
XVI
(Tomáš and Kristián are lying on the ground supping from an IsoStar
bottle; occasional sound of dogs barking.)
KRISTIÁN: They do keep barkin’, don’t they?
TOMÁŠ: So they ought.
KRISTIÁN: At least they are barkin’.
TOMÁŠ: You takin’ the piss?
KRISTIÁN: What did you think? Once a pillock, always a pillock.
I did tell you.
TOMÁŠ: You know full well it didn’t burn down cos o’ them.
KRISTIÁN: No, it was cos he couldn’t crap after drinkin’ yoghurt.
That’s why it burned down, so noble.
TOMÁŠ: Balls.
KRISTIÁN: Why the language? You used to talk proper, not like
them.
TOMÁŠ: That’s the point, man. I don’t deserve to talk proper; I’m
gonna talk like a hockey player. Like a hockey player who
drinks IsoStar an’ vodka, man. I’ve always been like that, man,
never a real poet.
KRISTIÁN: Sorry to hear it.
TOMÁŠ: I know. The whole idea was probably stupid.
KRISTIÁN: How’s your liver?
TOMÁŠ: I got the cirrhosis back right after it burned down. Even
before I finished my first bottle after that fiasco.
KRISTIÁN: Are you dyin’?
TOMÁŠ: Dunno. If I want, I can quit drinkin’ and they’ll gimme
a transplant.
330
KRISTIÁN: I piss myself. Every night.
TOMÁŠ: That’s just coincidence.
KRISTIÁN: Like it’s cos of the stupid business of pissin’ on that
bird…?
TOMÁŠ: Well, you know. She were a tough cookie. She’ll get ’er
own back.
KRISTIÁN: Let’s ’ave another drink.
TOMÁŠ: Right.
(They squirt IsoStar at each other. Eržika appears.)
GIPSY GIRL:Where there’s no love
there’s no need of heroes.
Where there’s no blood
there’s no need dogs to cook.
Where there’s no loveliness
there’s no need of these dogs.
Where, Brother dear, for you should I look?
KRISTIÁN: You know, man, we should’ve let ’er write our lyrics.
TOMÁŠ: I guess so.
KRISTIÁN: Look man.
(They spot David crossing the stage with a knife. They drink. David
disappears off-stage. The howling of dogs grows louder, gradually their
various voices shrink to a whine until finally all is quiet. David crosses
back in front of Tomáš and Kristián with the knife now stained with
blood and continues through the proscenium arch.)
See that, man? At least someone. And Lee’s fucked, man.
TOMÁŠ: Pity about the dogs.
KRISTIÁN: Well they all ’ad rabies an’ other shit anyway.
TOMÁŠ: You’re dead right there, man.
(They take a drink.)
THE END
331
Kateřina Rudčenková
(1976)
Kateřina Rudčenková graduated
from the Jaroslav Ježek Conservatory
(with a specialization in Lyrics and Script Writing) and the
Czech Agricultural University (with a specialization in European
Agricultural Diplomacy). She has published collections of poems
Ludwig (1999), It Is Not Necessary for You to Visit Me (Není nutné,
abyste mě navštěvoval, 2001), Ashes and delight (Popel a slast, 2004)
and a book of short stories Nights, Nights (Noci, noci, 2004). Her
short stories were also published in story books I No Longer Love
You (Už tě nemiluju) and Dates with Erotica (Schůzky s erotikou,
2005). Her poems have been translated into several languages
and she is represented in foreign anthologies. For her bilingual
translation of her second collection Nicht nötig, mich zu besuchen
(2002) published in Austria she received the German Hubert
Burda Award for young Eastern European poets in 2003. She won
the scholarship of the Independent Literary House in Austrian
town Krems (2001), Hermann Kesten Scholarship in Nuremberg
(2002) and Künstlerhaus Schloss Wiepersdorf scholarship (2004)
in Germany. The scenic draft of a theatre play Frau in Blau (2004)
was staged by the Drama Studio Ústí nad Labem in 2004. Her play
Niekur (2006) was produced by Theatre Ungelt in 2008. With this
play she won the 2nd prize in the drama competition of the Alfréd
Radok Awards for 2006, (the first prize was not granted that year).
As a consequence, she was chosen for a month-long residency
organized by the Royal Court Theatre in London for playwrights
from all over the world. This resulted in a new play, The Time
of The Cherry Smoke (Čas třešňového dýmu, 2007), which was
shortlisted for the Alfred Radok Awards Playwriting Competition
332
for 2007. Personal website of the author is www.rudcenkova.
freehostia.com.
LIST OF PLAYS:
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
Frau in Blau, 2004; première 21. 12. 2004, Činoherní studio,
Ústí nad Labem
Blue Horses, 2006
Niekur, 2006; première 10. 6. 2007, Divadlo LETÍ, Prague
Čas třešňového dýmu, 2007
Nehoda – kóma – bezčasí, 2008
Petrolejka, 2009
Zpacifikovaná, 2009
TRANSLATED PLAYS:
•
•
Frau in blau: German – Frau in blau
Čas třešňového dýmu: English – The Time of The Cherry Smoke
333
Kateřina Rudčenková
A TIME
OF CHERRY SMOKE
A Play in Semisomnolence
Translated by Heather McGadie
This play is fully protected under the copyright law of Czech Republic and is
subject to royalty. It cannot be nor used nor changed without an appropriate
written permission given by the DILIA Agency. The providing of this play
to a third party for uses other than production due is also subjected to
DILIA permission.
A violation of this restriction and using this play without the permission will
be interpreted as an infringement of copyright law and will underlie to the civil
and criminal liability.
All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the DILIA Agency
Krátkého 1, Praha 9, 190 03, Czech Republic, www.dilia.cz
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Characters:
Valerie (1919)
Marie (1949)
Anna (1979)
The play is set in the year 2009.
“Lineage reveals an identity stronger, more interesting than legal
status – more reassuring as well, for the thought of origins soothes us,
whereas that of the future disturbs us, agonises us.”
Roland Barthes:
Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography*
* Translated by Richard Howard (from the Vintage Books edition, London, 1983, p. 105).
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1st dream – An Obsession with White
(The Slovak folk song The Chill Winds Were Howling O’er the Lowlands
– wedding song from Holíč – is heard.)
1. The chill winds were howling o’er the Lowlands
flowers withering in our homeland,
oh mother dear, today I will be wed,
mother of mine, today to wedlock I’ll be led
oh mother dear, today I will be wed,
mother of mine, today, to wedlock I’ll be led
2. I fell in love with a lad from over yon,
my path to your house is fairly overgrown,
oh mother dear, when I remember you,
mother of mine, how the tears flow, they do
oh mother dear, when I remember you,
mother of mine, how the tears flow, they do
The chill winds were howling.
(In the dreams – with the exception of the seventh – Valérie and Marie
are wearing wedding dresses, while Anna is dressed in corduroys and
t-shirt.)
VALERIE: All is white. A white path, along which we go together,
dressed in white, white clouds, white birds, a white procession
behind us, a white train which stretches out behind me in
a white valley and white bridesmaids bearing its hem are lost
in the distance, way beyond the white horizon.
MARIE: Will even our future husbands be dressed in white suits?
And hats?
VALERIE: We will travel in a white wagon pulled by six white horses
with silver crests. And if some cats cross our path, then only
white ones. White drivers in white coats with white whips,
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spur on white horses in white harnesses, with white blinkers
over their eyes, and white horseshoes.
ANNA: If we passed through snow-covered land, all would be yet
whiter.
VALERIE: That’s true, but surely you’d rather wait until winter?
After the ceremony we’ll sit at a white table on white chairs,
drinking white coffee.
MARIE: Even the guests are all white, they pass around only white
cakes with curds, in the women’s hands and the men’s lapels
are only white flowers.
ANNA: Most probably, the child which you carry, will be entirely
white or do you mean to say, that you are a lily-white virgin?
(Marie and Valerie put their hands on their slightly pregnant bellies)
VALERIE: Of course
MARIE: Of course.
ANNA: And now imagine, that here from below appears on this
white dress, a huge red stain. Or that it turns out that the
sturdy white horses are in reality mud-splattered oxen! And
that the flowers which you just threw over your shoulder were
made of glass, and the one who most wanted to be married
and who shot forward for it like a goalkeeper, split her head
open.
MARIE: My darling loves me.
ANNA: Oh please, he only saw you once, and what’s more you were
still sleeping in your coffin.
VALERIE: My darling…
ANNA: You keep quiet – all that had to happen before he started
making preparations for the wedding was to dance three times
with you.
VALERIE: You can talk. You were asleep too when he cut his way
through that thorn bush to you. One glance, one kiss and he
knew that you were the one! Ha ha!
ANNA: Yes, but the difference between you and I, is that I had
a choice.
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MARIE: Wait a minute, Is Little Red Riding Hood getting married
too?
ANNA: Yes she is.
MARIE: And who is she marrying?
ANNA: The wolf. That girl needn’t worry about getting blood on
her dress.
(end of dream)
Interview
VOICE: Welcome to the next episode of our regular transmission
The Invisible Reporter.We have here in the studio as our guest today
a young, successful painter Anna, recently awarded the Artist’s Prize.
(Pause.)
ANNA: I want to see my face
VOICE: I’m sorry?
ANNA: What was your question?
VOICE: I asked, now that you hold the Prize, what are your
immediate plans?
ANNA: Well… just to keep painting, that’s all.
VOICE: That’s all?
ANNA: I’d like to keep striving, through painting, to discover who
I am and where I live.
VOICE: Why do you think you were awarded the Prize?
ANNA: That’s very clever, I’m supposed to extol my own virtues
here… maybe that painting of mine was good…
VOICE: … or?
ANNA: Or all the others were even worse.
VOICE: … or?
ANNA: Or they sensed in me…
VOICE: What?
ANNA: Let me explain it like this. When the doctors in a maternity
unit have to decide which premature babies to save - they can’t
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save all of them – do you know how they decide? They decide
according to which of those babies, none of whom yet knows
anything about the world, is fighting the hardest for his or
her life. You still don’t know that you are in the world, and yet
already you have to fight for your place in it..
VOICE: And that’s why you think you were awarded the Prize?
Because you are fighting?
ANNA: (shrugs)
VOICE: Why do you paint, actually ?
ANNA: Because nothing else interests me. I paint that which keeps
me alive. Especially people’s faces.. and my own face.
VOICE: But why are your self-portraits mostly nudes? Some of your
critics suggest that it’s really exhibitionism.
ANNA: In short, nudity best represents the naked truth.
VOICE: What is it you’re searching for?
ANNA: Perhaps what we all seek: something greater than us,
something which has compassion for us, which loves us, even
if we don’t love ourselves.
The birthday
(Marie and Anna sit at a table, opposite one another, between them
thirty candles are lit on a cake, for a moment silence, just the candles
burning.)
MARIE: Well?
(Anna blows them out.)
Many happy returns. To my little girl, who’s so grown up
already.
ANNA: Thank you.
(Giving her two gifts, the first is small, the second large; A. unwraps
the large gift, it is a fur coat.)
MARIE: I saw you on television, you looked good. But what was that
odd discourse you came out with about premature babies?
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ANNA: Hm. (Disappointed by the fur.) It was a kind of metaphor,
you know.
MARIE: So try it on.
(A. puts the coat on and stands there, stiff and uncomfortable yet
trying not to show it.)
It’s just right. It suits you.
ANNA: Hm.
MARIE: What’s wrong?
ANNA: You know I don’t wear fur.
MARIE: You have to have something warm for the winter
ANNA: But I have a jacket.
MARIE: Something really warm.
ANNA: But why fur?
MARIE: You needn’t always go around looking so…
ANNA: Only wives of the mafia, Russians and prostitutes wear fur
coats. Why should I?!
MARIE: So you don’t catch a chill in your ovaries. Anyway, what do
you mean by that? I wear fur too.
ANNA: Mother, today I ’m thirty. Believe it or not, for quite a long
time now I’ve been buying my own clothes myself.
(Anna takes off the fur coat, opens the second parcel, it is a ring, her
face lights up.)
Oh, it’s beautiful!
MARIE: It was my mother’s. A professor gave her it, he was a suiter,
but she married our father instead of him.
ANNA: It’s a pity I never met her.
MARIE: Oh yes, just a moment, I found something else as well.
(From next door, she brings a black dress, very sober and dreary.)
ANNA: Nooo!
MARIE: At least try it on, so I can see you in it.
ANNA: But it’s awful.
MARIE: Do you have any idea how well it suited me? I wore it all the
time. In my day, times were hard!
ANNA: I can see that.
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(She puts on the dress.)
Well, I suppose it would do for a funeral.
MARIE: Don’t stoop. Do you know whose they were? I got them
from a classmate, who’d had them passed down to her by
her mother, whom the communists prosecuted in court in
a fabricated trial.
ANNA: What?
MARIE: You’ve put on a bit of weight, haven’t you?
ANNA: So how did it turn out?
MARIE: She was executed.
(Anna looks in horror at the dress she is wearing.)
You’re not pregnant, are you?
ANNA: No chance!
MARIE: How’s Xaver?
ANNA: Fine.
MARIE: You’re in luck, it doesn’t suit you, you can take it off.
ANNA: Maybe I should at least do a kind of a funereal portrait in it,
that would work.
MARIE: Yes, here, I found you some adverts…
ANNA: I’m not looking for work.
MARIE: … for a position which corresponds to your education.
Have a look at it after.
ANNA: For God’s sake.
MARIE: Did you notice how well the fig’s doing?
ANNA: Yes, it looks fantastic.
MARIE: Although I don’t understand why this branch is growing
here, when it has so much more space and light.
ANNA: Mother, that fig knows what it’s doing,
MARIE: I don’t agree, it’s doing it wrong.
(She points among the boxes at the tins, lifts a bag containing moulds
for Christmas biscuits.)
Hopefully the move will soon be complete. I’ll leave this
here for you, ok?
ANNA: You needn’t, you know I don’t bake.
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MARIE: Maybe not right now, but once you have children, at
Christmas time…
ANNA: They sell Christmas biscuits in the shops, why would I waste
my time with it?
MARIE: You mean you won’t even bake Christmas biscuits for the
children?!
ANNA: What children?
MARIE: You’re not serious! Did you not like it, when I baked for you?
ANNA: Of course I did. (Pause.) Yesterday I dreamt, you were ill,
Mother.
MARIE: Hm. That’s nice.
ANNA: You were wearing a white shirt. I helped you up the stairs,
you were weak and light as a feather
MARIE: You have sad dreams like that about me?
ANNA: Only it wasn’t sad at all.
MARIE: No? And how was it??
ANNA: Liberating.
MARIE: And d’you know what I dreamt last night? I was lost in
a forest of cherry trees. Some of the trees were in bloom, even
though it was already autumn on the other side of the orchard,
and as I walked, ripe cherries were falling like hailstones. I was
wearing a white dress.
ANNA: You wore a white dress to go into the forest?
MARIE: I was supposed to be getting married to Jan.
ANNA: Not to Dad?
MARIE: To Jan, he said to me in the forest – maybe this is the last
time we will see each other. And then he really did disappear.
I looked all over the forest for him in desperation. When I got
home I was covered in blood red stains from the cherries.
(A storm breaks outside, thunder and lightning,rain.)
It’s getting windy, I must close the window.
(She exits.)
ANNA: This is where I have to come back to… To the flat in which
my parents divorced… the flat in which they slept in separate
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beds. What if this flat is cursed, if here everyone will leave me
like our former father left us. The bed will definitely have to go.
The Appearance of Valerie
(While Anna talks to herself, Valérie sits down in the shadow, so when
Anna goes to sit there, she jumps in fright.
Their inner Voices are heard through loudspeakers, but they don’t
speak.)
ANNA: Help, someone’s do breaking in to our flat! There’s some
woman here!
VALERIE: Your Grandma.
ANNA: And she says she’s my Grandma! I don’t have a Grandma!
My Grandma lies in the graveyard.
VALERIE: Grandma’s here.
ANNA: So it seems the woman escaped from the grave
VALERIE: I knew you’d be shocked. When will the living finally
comprehend how fine the line is between this life and the
afterlife?
ANNA: There’s a dead woman sitting here capable of movement,
who is speaking with me in my head. Oh dear. Why should
I believe her when she says she’s my Grandma when I’ve never
met her! Anyone could say that. (she sits next to her on the
couch)
(Valerie gives Anna a photograph of herself with Marie as a child,
Anna compares her with it; from now on, both speak over the
loudspeakers.)
ANNA: Ah, yes, I know this photograph. But… when you died, well…
as far as I know… you were only forty years old… and now…
VALERIE: Even in our world…
ANNA: … people age? And you…And what’s the longest… the oldest
a person can be?
VALERIE: It’s restricted in the same way as for people who are alive.
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ANNA: But granny, how did you do it? I’m not dreaming, am I?
VALERIE: I don’t know. In exceptional cases, it’s allowed.
ANNA: And this is an exceptional case, is it?
VALERIE: Hm.
(Marie enters.)
MARIE: Who are you talking to?
ANNA: We have a visitor.
MARIE: Who did you invite?
ANNA: Grandma’s here
MARIE: What Grandma? Who are you?
VALERIE: Marie, dear.
MARIE: How is it possible?
VALERIE: The last time I saw you, you were that small… You don’t
visit my grave very often…
MARIE: I know… but graves and me… I thought that after death the
dead were no more.
VALERIE: You see.
MARIE: But sometimes I dream about you.
(Anna shows Valerie the ring she has just received.)
ANNA: Look what I’ve got. A gift from a professor, apparently?
VALERIE: My professor. Mother wanted me to marry him.
I disappointed her considerably.
MARIE: Wait a moment. I don’t understand. How can you be here…
VALERIE: A person has the right to return once among the living
when he has the feeling…that it’s badly needed.
MARIE: And why is it badly needed?
VALERIE: You’ll understand soon enough.
ANNA: And did you want him, the professor?
VALERIE: He was a highly desirable catch, but it wasn’t passion. Do
you remember Grandpa Joe?
ANNA: Not really. And was there passion with Grandpa?
VALERIE: At the start, yes. (She looks around the flat.) It’s changed
here… There where there were doors is a wardrobe, in place
of our kitchen is a living room and the hall has been converted
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into a walk-through kitchenette… Nothing is in its place
anymore.
ANNA: I’m going to live here now.
VALERIE: Alone?
ANNA: With Xaver.
VALERIE: Is that your husband?
ANNA: A boyfriend.
VALERIE: A man friend?
ANNA: A boyfriend, he’s more than just a friend. How is it in the
other world, Grannie?
VALERIE: Oh, you know. It’s boring. It’s a pity Joe isn’t with me in
the same grave.
MARIE: We had to bury Daddy in his birthplace.
ANNA: (To Valerie.) Your grave belongs to the family of your
ancestors, the whole graveyard belongs to them.
VALERIE: I know, but I would rather be with him.
(Valerie pauses in front of the picture featuring a skull, a carafe of
wine and playing cards.) So he finished this painting in the end,
did he? It’s good. He started painting it before I fell ill. (To Marie.)
You must tell me about your growing up… It must have been very
difficult for you. I don’t even know what you studied.
MARIE: Law.
VALERIE: Really? Clever you.
MARIE: Anna too.
VALERIE: And what do you do now?
MARIE: I work at the High Court.
VALERIE: As a judge?
MARIE: I’ve been the Chief Justice for over a year now.
VALERIE: No, really? So the President named you?
MARIE: Yes.
VALERIE: I’m really very proud of you! I knew you’d make something
of your life! My clever child. You always knew your own mind.
And what does Anna do?
MARIE: Ah, well, she doesn’t want to work
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ANNA: I’m a genius, Granny, but the world can’t accept it, because
for the moment the word genius doesn’t apply to the female
of the species.
VALERIE: Well you can be the first to prove it does. And in which
field are you a genius, my dear?
(Anna brings a large painting on canvas from next door.)
You paint! How wonderful! You take after Joe. He would be
so pleased if he could see you! (To Marie.) Aren’t you pleased?
MARIE: Of course, it’s admirable. But how is she supposed to earn
a living from that?
(A. has heard it all before, she’s furious.)
It’s all she knows how to do! People buy a painting once
a year, you just can’t make a living from that. She should have
a proper job first and paint as a sideline.
ANNA: „Paint as a sideline!“ To paint requires the whole person,
fully committed. If I was only to paint while holding another
job, then I would paint like Grandpa, at the rate of one still life
of a skull per year. A person has to decide…
MARIE: … if he wants to end up an unacknowledged artist, yes.
That’s some decision! Just pretend you like being poor…
ANNA: I’m perfectly content as long as I have enough to live on.
MARIE: Oh right enough! So just tell Grandma how you earn a living.
ANNA: I’ll tell her when I’m good and ready.
MARIE: She works in a bar.
ANNA: I work there so I have time to paint.
MARIE: She serves people beer! For that she studied at university.
ANNA: So? What’s important is that I don’t have to work every day,
nor do I have to get up early.
MARIE: She doesn’t get up before twelve. She mostly needs to rest …
ANNA: In art, the waiting is as important as the creating. In fact
there’s nothing better than for parents to support their
children in their endeavours!
MARIE: Endeavours! Endeavours! That kind of attitude…
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VALERIE: Why do you think, Marie, darling, that Anna should live
according to your principles? Do you think she’d be happier?
ANNA: Of course. But it’s my fault that she’s living so ridiculously,
I brought her up badly.
VALERIE: And I blame myself for not having been with you when
you were growing up.
Night’s falling.
Shouldn’t someone go for coal?
ANNA: We don’t heat the place using coal anymore, Granny, but gas.
VALERIE: Shouldn’t someone go to the cellar for gas, then?
ANNA: You don’t have to go for gas, Granny
VALERIE: And where do you store it? Surely not in the larder?
ANNA: The gas never runs out. It’s supplied infinitely through pipes.
Either you turn on the heating so the gas flows there or you
don’t.
VALERIE: Isn’t it dangerous? What does the gas do when you don’t
need it?
ANNA: It sits in the pipes and waits.
VALERIE: It waits for us?
2nd dream - Godot
ANNA: What are we waiting for?
VALERIE: Until they marry us, of course Do you arrive at a wedding
and forget why you’ve come?
ANNA: Aha. And don’t the briar thorns bother the grooms?
MARIE: No, they’re dressed in armour.
ANNA: And our fathers … are they ready to lead us to the altar?
MARIE: As far as I know they’re not quite drunk yet.
ANNA: Who is doing the marrying today?
VALERIE: Father Godot.
ANNA: Ah, symbolic.
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MARIE: Am I dreaming or not? There in the distance,
something’s burning!
ANNA: Excuse me, I am not feeling at all myself. Do you think it’s not
too late to cancel the ceremony or is my only remaining option
to say No? I still have to take these urns to the urn shrine. And
if my dead ancestors are not satisfied with the place, can I still
transfer them elsewhere?
(end of dream)
What all happened before I was born…
MARIE: If it’s a boy, we’ll call him Benjamin. I think it’ll be a boy.
I can’t imagine the joy I’d feel if it was a girl, A girl!
ANNA: If they had asked me when I was still in my mother’s womb,
I would have answered quite certainly: don’t bother with
a vagina in my case! But if, nature, you want to shed my blood
and trouble me with pains every month for no good reason,
then be my guest.
VALERIE: You wanted a girl, me too, but Joe wanted more than
anything, a boy who was gifted at sports.
ANNA: Grandpa Joe? Yes, our great sportsman.
VALERIE: He wanted a boy who was gifted at sports, but instead
we had a plump little girl. (To Marie.) And you were strictly
anti-physical exercise.
MARIE: I’ve still only been on skates a total of three times in my
life and it has always ended with me spraining something.
Sportswoman! My father forbad me to wear make-up or a bra
because sportswomen simply don’t wear bras. (To Anna.) You
were clever. And what’s more you were pretty, always smiling.
ANNA: When a girl is born, her ears are pierced for earrings, she
is dressed in pink her hair is tied in ribbons and she is told to
smile and be quiet.
MARIE: You were such a happy child! Now you do all in your power
to ensure no-one knows you ’re a pretty girl. That hairstyle
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does nothing for you… Long hair suited you, you used to wear
that gorgeous little chignon, remember?
ANNA: I know, I know.
MARIE: I wasn’t very pretty as a child. I was a head taller than the
boys in our class, I had a huge bottom of which I was ashamed,
and what was worse, I was the cleverest in the class. A girl who
was superior to the boys both in height and intellect used to
be „extremely popular“ But I didn’t have a mother to tell me
I would soon grow out of it.
ANNA: Grandma, how was your childhood?
VALERIE: What I most remember from childhood is sun, duck
ponds and the woods in the hills of Vysočina and my dear
sisters and brothers. There were seven of us! When I was born
my daddy, as he did as a tribute to the birth of each of his
children, planted a cherry tree in the garden. In the garden
ten cherry trees stood, as ten of us were born.
Although when they were still toddlers, three of my siblings
drowned in the duck pond behind the house.
(The sound of the sea.)
ANNA: I love water in every form. The sea, marshes, the bath, rain…
MARIE: I can lie all day in the sun by the sea and listen to the waves.
Once there was a turtle swimming in the sea next to me!
VALERIE: I’ve never been to the sea.
ANNA: The sea moves as during passionate lovemaking. I love the
blue surface, peppered with sailboats like large white birds.
VALERIE: The sea is my heart’s desire and I would like to fulfil it.
You won’t believe it, but I can’t swim. I forgot how because
when I was fifteen years old I experienced something strange
underwater. I saw people, whom I stroked and spoke to
I had the feeling that I had arrived in a wonderful, beautiful
world. Then I somehow reached the bank and crawled away
to my towel like an animal, and for the rest of my life I never
mentioned that experience to anyone. Presumably I was
drowning.
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ANNA: So we’ll take you to the sea, won’t we mother?
MARIE: Now there’s an idea. And we’ll teach you to swim again!
VALERIE: Would you do that for me? That would be lovely! Joe
found it hard to accept that I couldn’t swim.
MARIE: D’you know what? Let’s’go right now. What do we need to
take with us?
VALERIE: I don’t need anything…
MARIE: Swimsuits!
ANNA: I’ll take two so there’s one for you too, Granny.
VALERIE: Shall we leave now?
ANNA: Where is the sea closest from here?
VALERIE: The Mediterranean?
ANNA: The Adriatic!
MARIE: Let’s go to the Adriatic!
ANNA: Up to the Adriatic!
3rd dream – Wasn’t that our mothers?
ANNA: You don’t happen to remember – are we getting married out
of choice or did they force us?
VALERIE: Who d’you mean?
ANNA: I don’t know – father, mother, circumstances…
VALERIE: I can’t remember how the decision was reached.
MARIE: Anyhow, it’s decided.
VALERIE: I thought that the desire to marry simply flowed from the
very source of my being.
ANNA: Do you think it flows with the blood?
VALERIE: I was taught that marriage is a dress and without it I’m
naked.
ANNA: This white dress?
MARIE: Surely we’re doing it for our children. They are on the way
after all..
ANNA: Wasn’t it, by chance, mainly our mothers?
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VALERIE: My mother… Died when i was little.
MARIE: My mother… Died while giving birth.
ANNA: So there remains only one explanation - for the illusory
fortune of your dapper princes.
VALERIE: And what about love? /
MARIE: And what about love?
(end of dream)
MARIE: Oh yes, Anna, dear, have I already told you? Karen was
supposed to get married…
ANNA: Oh no, not another of those famous stories with a predictable
ending? „Then they got married and lived happily ever after.“
Recently, there have been an uncanny number of these stories.
MARIE: … but the wedding’s postponed because she’s pregnant!
ANNA: Never! Well that’s a trump card! Announcements of
pregnancy usually occur with a six month interval after
wedding announcements.
MARIE: And she has morning sickness.
ANNA: As soon as they turn thirty, women, as though waving
a magic wand, stop being deaf to the seductive ticking of their
perfectly timed biological clocks, close beneficial marriage
contracts in droves and like a well-reared herd of cattle,
obligingly reproduce
MARIE: You and your strange monologues, in our day it was said
women should have their first child by thirty, now they say to
thirty-five so you still have four years to go.
ANNA: Why does no-one ask me what I want?
MARIE: When I was thirty I already had two children! I can’t expect
my daughter to have children. It’s something she simply
doesn’t need, to have someone to take care of.
ANNA: I don’t want to be pregnant. I don’t like the physical side of
it. Of course children are very sweet…but for an hour at the
most and from a safe distance.
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MARIE: Women without children are strange and unhappy.
ANNA: How are they supposed to be happy, when people are
constantly threatening them? I just don’t understand this
inordinate desire for children.
MARIE: Every woman wants children.
ANNA: Not every one. If I had been born male, No-one would even
consider thinking of me as bad. Grandma Valerie, Save me!
What do you think of pregnancy?
VALERIE: I don’t know. Giving birth is a painful, but it’s pain which
is quickly forgotten. If it wasn’t for pregnancy, we wouldn’t be
here, talking to one another.
MARIE: That’s true. Personally, I must say that for me no experience,
not even the sexual act, as ever fulfilled me as much as holding
my child in my arms did. To hold that tiny head in the palm
of the hand, that little, warm body, pressed into me with such
abandon…
VALERIE: My first child, the son Joe so longed for, died while he
was stil in the maternity hospital of pneumonia. The war had
just ended, but we felt as though it continued. I felt guilty that
thereafter I gave birth to only daughters.
ANNA: Surely not, Granny! The sex of a child is decided by the
sperm, of course, it’s a well-known fact! Grandpa was the
one who could have felt guilty, if anyone, For not producing
another boy!
VALERIE: Really? If only I’d known!
ANNA: Sometimes I ask myself by what coincidence was it that we
were born as ourselves. If you’d never met Grandpa, Granny,
but had children with the professor, Mother and I wouldn’t be
here, but someone else instead. If you (to Marie) hadn’t met
Daddy, then it wouldn’t be me.
VALERIE: I met Joe at a dance!
(The silhouette/shadow of a man appears in the background,
he is exercising behind the screen.)
MARIE: I met Rattlesnake at a university do.
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(The silhouette/shadow of a man with a guitar appears beside her.)
ANNA: I had so many men, I’d be here for hours if I was to tell you
all about them.
(Behind the screen, 15 to 20 men pass without stopping.)
VALERIE: Joe. He was so handsome! So manly. He looked at me and
in an instant my heart stopped.
ANNA: For how long?
VALERIE: It’s just a manner of speaking.
MARIE: Rattlesnake was enchanting and funny. He was always
laughing.
ANNA: Who would think it, that that humour would one day
evaporate?
MARIE: He played wonderfully on the guitar and he sang beautifully
He had his own band, similar to the Beatles.
(The man with the guitar starts to sing a Beatles song eg. Michelle.)
VALERIE: He had a strong-set physique, he was an excellent
footballer and it was clear to look at him.
MARIE: He was so thin that when he walked you could hear his
bones rattle. That’s why he was called Rattlesnake.
ANNA: I like silent, intellectual men, discrete and a little mysterious,
so I can imagine the rest myself. Like Xaver. And they can
certainly be small and non-sporty.
VALERIE: Only neither of us at that dance was alone. We were
both spoken for. I danced with my professor, the one whom
everyone assumed I would marry. Joe danced with some girl,
Eva, whom he was seeing at the time, and during that dance
we threw each other passionate looks behind the backs of our
escorts.
MARIE: That such a hunk would want me never occurred to me
even in my dreams! And he wanted me! So I was in my first
year of university, I was nineteen years old and pregnant.
VALERIE: Right after our second meeting I left with a baby in my
womb.
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ANNA: Luckily I didn’t have to marry the first guy who would have
knocked me up.
VALERIE: When I told my parents, devout evangelists, That
I, a business school graduate, was pregnant by a skilled
electrician, a penniless Catholic, an atheist to be precise from
a Catholic family, they were apalled.
MARIE: When I told daddy, that I was pregnant and we were planning
to be married he said: Don’t marry him, he has the chin of
a weakling! I’ll raise the child myself. Rattlesnake’s mother
said: Give up the child, or Rattles’life is ruined! He simply
must study! And Daddy said – yes, let the breadwinner for
the family finish his studies.
VALERIE: The lovelorn professor came to see my parents to ask for
my hand. He loved me so much, apparently, that he would
marry me even with another man’s child.
(The wedding march is heard.)
VOICE: Valerie, Valerie, do you take the here present, poor,
uneducated Joe to be your wedded husband?
VALERIE: Yes! He’ll complete his schooling while at work …
VOICE: And you, Marie, do you take your thin Rattlesnake, a rocker
with the chin of a weakling, to be your wedded husband?
MARIE: Yes! I’ll feed him, and that he’s effeminate suits me fine, at
least he’ll listen to me.
VOICE: And what about you, Anna, whom will you marry?
ANNA: I don’t want to get married! No, no, no! My freedom is for
me the most valuable thing.
VOICE: Do you know, that woman is an enigma and marriage her
decipherment?
ANNA: Crap.
VOICE: Do you know, at least, in what is inherent your refusal of
traditional values?
MARIE: It’s simple. She’s afraid of taking a wrong step. And in order
not to ruin something like we did, she prefers to do nothing.
ANNA: Mother, didn’t you want to tell me something?
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MARIE: Didn’t I tell you already? Helga got married! And Elizabeth
as well and Rosalia and Jane got married and Carla also got
married. And Vladimira and Monika, they both got married…
(The list of names continues arbitrarily.)
4th dream – We’ve got you
ANNA: Girls
VALERIE: Yes?
ANNA: As though suddenly everything got on top of me. A bit like
when something coming to an end.
VALERIE: Like life?
MARIE: Why should it be the end?
ANNA: They’ve got us and now we’re trapped.
VALERIE: No no, we’re just getting married.
ANNA: You just don’t get it, why all fairytales end at the point when
two people get married, do you?
VALERIE: No, why?
ANNA: Because from that moment on, it would turn into a horror
story. Then she would gave birth to one brat after another
until she died.
MARIE: Why do you want to spoil our mood?
ANNA: They both grew old and ugly,
MARIE: Why do you want to steal our illusion?
ANNA: they stopped loving each other,
MARIE: Even if what you say was true, it’s definitely better to believe
that love endures, becomes gentle and lasting…
ANNA: they started to cheat on each other,
MARIE: To believe! We will love each other to the end of our lives,
in peace and fondness we will grow old together. And why
should we think of old age, anyway?
ANNA: Sometimes he beat her, But she withstood everything.
MARIE: That’s enough. Be quiet!
355
ANNA: She was, as they say, a strong woman, who knew what she
wanted. Mainly not to lose him! Women, as they say, withstand
more than humankind.
MARIE: Just because you don’t believe in love, doesn’t mean that
love does not exist.
ANNA: Just because you believe in love, doesn’t mean that love
exists.
(end of dream)
VALERIE: Before Joe met me, He alternated between many women.
ANNA: He was the village stallion?
MARIE: Anna, dear, be quiet for a minute please.
VALERIE: His mother, who never liked me – I was too well-educated
for her and from too rich an estate – she said to him: Up to
now, girls have cried over you, now you’re the one who’s going
to cry.
ANNA: How was it, Granny, when you moved to Prague?
VALERIE: I had such a beautiful childhood in the countryside. I will
never forget the day, that I stood at the door of our house
and at the open stable doors and looked at the surroundings
and at out cherry orchard And had to say goodbye to this
countryside. Joe got a job in Prague and we had to move away.
I didn’t want to move to the city, though!
MARIE: I got married mainly so I could run away from home.
ANNA: When I was about six years old, I asked mother: Mummy,
and when I grow up, where will you go to live? Didn’t I?
MARIE: It didn’t seem very funny to us.
VALERIE: I had used to walk in the fields and woods, gathering
mushrooms and blueberries, and I had been happy. But in the
anonymous city, suddenly I would spend days shut in the flat
alone, and I felt deserted,
MARIE: Then Daddy moved in with his Elizabeth, my sister with her
husband and Rattlesnake and I stayed there
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ANNA: I automatically assumed that when I grew up, THAT FLAT /
VALERIE: IN THAT FLAT /
MARIE: IN THAT FLAT /
ANNA: Would remain mine alone.
VALERIE: Alone with two girls, and no neighbours nearby, no
community, no dances or pleasure.
MARIE: Maybe that’s why you became ill.
VALERIE: I missed everything, here: the yellow fields, planted with
rape and sunflowers, the meadows and oak woods, willows
and duck ponds, the cool waters, the dancing and the air, my
six siblings, my caring sisters, our cherry orchard, the striking
of the clock in the tower.
(The striking of a clock in the tower is heard and at the same time
a piano composition is heard, probablyRachmaninov, Schumann or
Chopin.)
The anonymus city.
That prison.
ANNA: I love the city. A person is free there. Alone, but free. I would
go mad in the countryside, where the neighbours peer over
the fence and through your windows. When I was small, my
daddy used to play the piano for hours on end. On our old,
cherry wood piano. It was so lovely, I would surely live with
a pianist just so he could play for me for days on end.
(Marie walks to another part on the stage and to emphasize that
memories are being dealt with , she speaks with a child’s voice.)
MARIE: Dear Mummy, auntie is very nice to me here. Today we had
sirloin steak with a creamed vegetable sauce for lunch. I am
very happy, Mummy, and am thinking about you, so please
come back soon from hospital and be with us. Get well soon,
love, Maria.
VALERIE: To read your letters…
MARIE: The hospital visits filled me with dread
VALERIE: I didn’t want you to see me like that… The pain, and my
child, I had to leave you alone…
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ANNA: Cancer as a family curse also took Garandpa Joe…
MARIE: At your funeral everyone cried and they were sorry for us
orphans. I was so unhappy, but I decided that I wasn’t going to
cry. I sat in the first row at the crematorium and said into thin
air: Shit, arse, shit, Arse, arse, arse, arse, and meanwhile your
coffin disappeared into the oven. Daddy cried, poor soul…
VALERIE: … just as his mother had predicted.
ANNA: (To Marie.) Mother, why did my hair go grey so early?
MARIE: (To Valerie.) Mother, why did you desert us? Daddy didn’t
talk to me at all. From then on I waas responsible for domestic
arrangements. Of course I still didin’t know how to cook! At
twelve years old!
ANNA: How come Grandpa never cooked?
MARIE: For him it was clear. He was a man after all. And so
throughout my childhood, cooked, scrubbed floors, washed
windows, carried coal up from the cellar,washed linen, ironed,
hung curtains… sometimes I have the feeling that I’ve never
stopped, right up to the present.
ANNA: People who are deprived of their childhoods often become
workaholics.
MARIE: While my friends played, I worked, and when I went to visit
them, sitting there with them were their smiling mothers, the
table set, a cake baked… Daddy never complimented me for
anything. Only when I was promoted, I think, did I feel he was
really proud of me.
VALERIE: Oh, but you’re so clever, Maria, dear, I’m proud of you.
MARIE: Really? That’s good.
ANNA: Dou you know what I can’t get out of my mind? Why did
you so easily give up your names? I think children should
be named after their mothers, they are after all from their
mothers’bodies. It’s absurd that when a father leaves his family
as ours did, children remain named after him. I would never
let myself be re- named after a man,. Never.
MARIE: I just remembered… Varya Ranyevska got married.
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ANNA: Really? Who to?
MARIE: Lopakhin of course. Everyone had suspicions that he was
having something with Jepikhodov, but in the end it was
announced. It was a relief. Everyone was afraid that Varya
would do something to herself.
ANNA: And did Jasha marry Dunyasha too?
MARIE: Yes, how did you know?
5th dream – They left us here
ANNA: Woman was apparently created from the rib of man. Is it
true?
MARIE: You musn’t believe everything that people say.
ANNA: So where is she from?
MARIE: She was born of another woman of course, It makes sense,
surely. Was father Godot here already?
VALERIE: Not yet.
MARIE: Where is everyone? Why aren’t they here yet? Where are
the wedding guests?
ANNA: Why aren’t they beginning the wedding banquet?
Something’s held them up. Perhaps the storm caught up with
them, Or they all fell over a precipice en route.
VALERIE: Oh no! I left my myrtle at home!
MARIE: (To Anna.) Listen, what on earth are you wearing? Are you
planning to get married in that?
ANNA: Oh Lord, I forgot to put on my dress. I left it lying on my
bed at home!
MARIE: How could you?
ANNA: It can’t be! They told me that today is my truly great day, the
only one in my life and now it’s lost. I’ll never become a real
woman now. (Moaning sobs/Boo-hoo! Boo-hoo!)
MARIE: Don’t cry. You can hide behind me, alright, As long as noone sees you.
359
VALERIE: It doesn’t matter. Apparently father Godot sees with only
one eye. And not too well with that one either.
MARIE: So are you going to marry us or not? We’re waiting
ANNA: We’re waiting.
VALERIE: Where did they go to?
ANNA: They just went.
MARIE: They left, leaving us here.
(end of dream)
MARIE: The passing countryside…
ANNA: What do you think, Mum, How do you think life will be for
me in the flat where your marriage fell apart? Will it be ok?
MARIE: I spent fifty-six years in that flat.I had the place freshly
wallpapered, I laid new carpets. If you wash the curtains once
a year and wash the windows, it’ll be fine.
ANNA: So you don’t think your ghosts will come to haunt me, that
I’ll see you crying on the bed again? And my relationships will
crumble as yours did?
MARIE: If you wash the floor properly and scrub the bath, then no.
ANNA: And Mum, Mum, doesn’t it matter, that even at thirty years
old I don’t have a well-paid job?
MARIE: If you smile sweetly, the others won’t notice that you are an
outsider. But first you have to have your teeth fixed.
ANNA: You know I couldn’t bear it if I had to get up at the same
time every morning for work. It would give me the shivers,
to think that for the rest of my life there is only work, work,
work, and the only interruption being a two-week holiday in
Croatia every year.
MARIE: If you had a better job, you could travel to better places.
ANNA: Mum, didn’t it ever occur to you, that by wanting the best
for me, you are actually indicating to me, that in your eyes
I have failed?
360
MARIE: You’ll still have to reorganize the furniture. That small table
under the window needs a plant on it. I hope that’s clear to
you.
ANNA: Mum, Mum, Are you not disappointed that I was born? Or
actually - that it’s me whom the child you gave birth to grew
into?
MARIE: You were such a happy child. I remember you best when you
were about six or seven years old, As you are in the photograph.
The one of you in profile. You have long hair in that picture,
a lovely little nose. You were as pretty as a princess.
ANNA: Like a princess who awaits her prince, I know. Why are
women always waiting for something, can you tell me that?
They await a prince, they await compliments, they await
consent, so they may set out into the world, they await
gratitude, to be freed. Men simply mount their horse and spur
it on. They’re alright, Jack!
(The three women now become three riders – princes on horseback;
riding music is playing and they are galloping.)
VALERIE: Friends, dig your spurs in your steeds’ flanks! I can see
the tops of the towers.
MARIE: We’re getting close to the castle!
ANNA: Listen, guys, let’s decide in advance how we are going to
share out the women there.
MARIE: Snowhite is mine!
VALERIE: I want Cinderella!
MARIE: I’ve heard so much about Snowhite! They say that as soon
as she happens upon an empty cottage, she starts to cook and
clean in it, what if a small gnome lived there who appreciated
it? And what if there were several of them? Mirror, mirror on
the wall, who is the fairest? The one who washes dishes.
VALERIE: Cinderella’s ash-smeared face excites me.. Do the
gentlemen not have a weakness for poor little pliable girls
with puppy dog eyes? They say that under their dirty coats
they have naked cunts!
361
(Offended neighing of Marie’s horse.)
No? So sorry, sorry! I am turned on by how they lower their
gaze, and meanwhile they are burning down there, as she puts
wood in the stove, she is on fire, heh, heh, heh
ANNA: Careful of the thorns, slow down! Sleeping Beauty is mine.
To creep up to the beauty and shag her in her sleep, while she
doesn’t even make a sound, that’s what I call love.
VALERIE: Gentlemen, until today I have been lying up on the stove,
many would call me lazy, but it strengthened my buttock
muscles, so now I can control a horse just by the pressing of
my buttocks!
MARIE: Paf, that’s nothing. See, how my virility swells? How do you
think I control a horse?
ANNA: I do not have exotic places on my body. Hopefully Sleeping
Beauty will see in me an exceptional person anyway.
(end of scene)
Granny, are the cherry trees in the garden at your estate
still standing?
VALERIE: Don‘t even ask. It was a terrible thing. One day the
husband of one of my nieces decided that the cherry trees
in the garden are now just vegetating pointlessly. That they
block the view and don‘t even bear fruit anymore, and without
asking anyone, he had all ten of our cherry trees cut down.
When I arrived, all of my sisters and brothers were lying on
the grass, one next to the other. Then they chopped all the
trees up and burned them and for weeks after, our valley was
filled with rolling cherry smoke I can still remember that sad,
stinging aroma.
ANNA: Why do you want to fell the trees?
MARIE: No, you can’t!
VALERIE: What did the trees do to you?
ANNA: Are you mad?
362
VALERIE: That‘s my body!
MARIE: Our roots!
ANNA: Granny! Mum! Let’s get out, We’re here! We’re at the sea!
VALERIE: Ah, I can see it now! It‘s vast, it‘s beautiful!
(They go to the water’s edge, across the beach.)
ANNA: So, Gran, look. (Shows universal movements for each style.)
That’s the breast stroke. That’s the crawll. That’s the butterfly.
Doggy paddle. Backstroke. And floating.
VALERIE: I’ll probably be best at floating.
6th dream – Waiting for the grooms
and for internal change
MARIE: It’s starting to feel like a long wait.
VALERIE: Watch out, who will arrive first?
ANNA: It’ll hardly be mine. It took one hundred years for him to
notice me.
VALERIE: Because you were sleeping.
MARIE: Me too, but one glance was enough…
ANNA: Oh yes? I heard that yours thought you were dead.
VALERIE: I heard that too.
MARIE: Oh, please!
VALERIE: I mean you were lying in your coffin.
ANNA: Yes, who ever heard of anyone falling in love with a corpse?
MARIE: Why are you so touchy? You’re not the only ones whose
grooms didn’t turn up. (To Anna.) You surely weren’t like
a corpse? With your finger pricked on a spindle?
ANNA: It was just a regular casualty of the jealous thirteenth fairy,
that our parents didn’t invite her to the Christening.
MARIE: Yes, and so he knew that then? Why didn’t he fall in love
with the bricks in the tower in which you slept instead of with
you?
363
VALERIE: Let‘s forget it, anyway this is getting embarrassing. We are
embarrassing and laughable, in these dresses we’re standing
here in.
ANNA: I knew there was a reason to leave mine at home.
MARIE: They probably all got drunk somewhere, together. What do
we know about them?
ANNA: That they have money,the princelets.
VALERIE: They‘re probably more likely to have gone to get some
girls.
ANNA: When they arranged to marry us, do you think so?
VALERIE: A farewell to their freedom. I don‘t care, I‘m just glad he
has a chateau.
ANNA: So you even admit it…
MARIE: Why are you elevating yourself? Just because you yourself
were born in a castle… What would you do if it wasn’t a royal
prince who cut his way through to you by chance? That was
a lucky coincidence, wasn’t it?
ANNA: About nothing bigger than that when someone chances
into the forest, where you by chance lie in your coffin, and
by chance the coffin has a glass lid, then it’s by chance a royal
prince! No-one other than a prince would wander per se in
the forest.
VALERIE: Would you stop it, what‘s the point when we are here
alone anyway?
ANNA: Yes, if by chance a beggar went by! Your gang of seven
little mining perverts would think twice about it, about
entrusting you to him with his necrophilic lust. Yes, but if he
has a chateau… (To Valerie.) And you be quiet too! You lurer.
To dress in an expensive dress, just to seduce him! A slattern
pretends to be a princess. Women throughout the whole
region cut off their heels because of her miniature tootsys.
VALERIE: But it‘s only a fairytale!
364
ANNA: And doesn’t it matter to you that children believe it. Believe
in us, such silly cows? Did you really never want to achieve
anything in life?
VALERIE: Yes I did.
ANNA: You wanted to be a zoologist, if I remember correctly?
VALERIE: Yes.
ANNA: Birds ate from your hand, They helped you find peas in the
ashes, You know what to do with animals, so why do you want
to get married, you daft thing and wait on that scented goon?
You have a great career before you! (To Marie.) What did you
want to be?
MARIE: I wanted to open a restaurant and maybe one day expand
it into a worldwide chain.
ANNA: You see? And here she is in a fine dress waiting for her
saviour. Let’s go home.
VALERIE: Hey, has your voice not become somehow coarser?
ANNA: Mine? Well, yes, it’s possible.
VALERIE: And you, isn‘t there something growing on your cheek?
MARIE: You‘re right. What is it?
VALERIE: See, beneath my dress, I think my breasts have started
to get smaller.
ANNA: Help! I think I’m going bald.
VALERIE: What is it?
MARIE: What‘s happening to us?
(She touches her lap.)
ANNA: Oh no, that’s it.
(end of dream)
ANNA: Will you be really angry with me, if our ancestral line ends
with me? I simply can’t see my continuity or immortality in
children.
MARIE: So in what, then? Surely not in your paintings?
365
ANNA: No, not even in them, I don’t see it in anything. Everything
disappears into the grave, into the void.
VALERIE: You‘re my optimist. Do you mean by that, that all of my
lifetime efforts were in vain?
MARIE: And mine too?
ANNA: Of course not, definitely not yours. I’m glad I’m alive. But
why should humankind reproduce at all costs?
VALERIE: But I mean it‘s wonderful to be able to create a new life
from one‘s own body, It‘s a miracle!
MARIE: (To Anna.) You think too much. And the very reason why
you have time for all these daft thoughts is that you don’t have
children.
ANNA: I look in the mirror… I remember how beautiful I was and
how I couldn’t imagine becoming old one day.
VALERIE: And life runs away with you, you don‘t even realize where
it went.
ANNA: It’s lucky we see ourselves in the mirror every day. If we
only saw ourselves, say, once every ten years, we would get
a terrible shock.
(Valerie and Anna enact a mirroring mime together.)
I look in the mirror and I see you, Grandma Valerie, as
though it was you who was looking and I learn to imagine that
when you were young you also had hope in your life.
VALERIE: I feel giddy…
ANNA: …from the times, …
VALERIE: … which we have been through …
ANNA: … like a tree-lined avenue.
MARIE: Why are you so sentimental? I love life and I always feel as
I felt at twenty. I never want to die! And I really hate returning
to the past. Who knows how many years we have left but why
should we let it trouble us? It‘s better just to do something.
(The women enter the sea, Valerie swims.)
VALERIE: I‘m swimming. How can I be swimming again!
It‘s wonderful! Anna, dear, what stroke is it I’m doing?
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ANNA: Well, Granny, I’d say it was the half-doggy-paddle. And we
did that at some point as children, when we were playing at
drowning. But visually it’s very pretty, your head in the sea
with the sunset, against the light Granny, stay in that position,
I’ll paint your portrait in the sea! (She paints.)
VALERIE: The water is carrying me. It carries me like a butterfly.
MARIE: (To Anna.) Now, when we’re here at the cliff, I want to
tell you something. Please will you listen? I’d like to ask you
a favour. I don’t want to be buried under any circumstances.
Can you promise me? I don’t want a grave. Throw me into the
sea. Here. To the south sea, so I am in the warm.
ANNA: Ok, Mum, I’ll scatter you here, I promise.
One year later
(Valerie sits throughout this seene somewhere in an armchair in the
shadows in the background, Anna sits at the table and cries.)
VALERIE: Don‘t cry child, no-one‘s worth it. I’ve lost again. (Dries
her tears.) Granny, how much longer will you be here with me?
I don’t want you to leave.
VALERIE: It depends on you and mother.
ANNA: What do you really think of Mum?
VALERIE: Why? Your mother is a clever, courageous woman.
ANNA: I just have complexes with her. My mother… achieved
perfection in every sphere of life, at home and at work.
For a daughter who refuses to excoriate her skin herself,
it’s a model. Women of her generation lived their lives in two
shifts, they wanted nothing of men, and they were proud of
themselves that they managed everything alone.
VALERIE: What do you think I did?
ANNA: Yes, I know, but it was a different era I remember father, how
he lay on the bed here reading, while Mum was where? In the
kitchen. And incidentally she, to a degree, achieved a career as
367
well as the household management, much better than father.
I have talent, ideas, energy, but it’s as though something
constantly stands in the way of my achieving success.
VALERIE: How do you mean, you were awarded the Prize
ANNA: I know, but… as though I always flinch at the last minute,
as though I’m afraid…
VALERIE: Do you know what I think it is? You don‘t allow yourself
to be happy, because you don‘t live, as your mother surmises.
You don’t listen to her voice and now you’re afraid of failure…
(A. looks at her in surprise, because V. hit a truth, which up to now,
she hasn’t been aware of.)
ANNA: Yes, it’s true, but what should I do?
VALERIE: It‘ll sound banal, but be your own person. She doesn‘t
decide on your values nor how you should live.
(Marie enters.)
MARIE: Who’s Xaver?
ANNA: He…I don’t know. So, now wait…
(Anna goes over to the picture which is propped against the wall,
veiled.)
This is for you from me for your birthday. Do you want to
see it?
(M. goes over to the picture and unveils it. It features a naked portrit
of Anna with a child in her arms.)
MARIE: What is it?
ANNA: Well, you know… I know you’d like…
(M. sits down at the table and A. too.)
MARIE: But I am not expecting a child from you.
ANNA: Really?
MARIE: I know that even as a child you never played with dolls.
When it’s not you, there’s no point in forcing the issue
ANNA: Really? Thanks, Mum. I don’t know why I don’t want it.
I heard that children who are brought up in families with
divorced parents, in short, don’t desire children, because they
can’t believe… in a family.
368
MARIE: Where’s Xaver?
ANNA: He… left me.
MARIE: How come. He seemed like a sensible person
ANNA: He fell in love with another.
MARIE: It’s still better than if he had died.
ANNA: I don’t know. When he leaves you, it’s like there’s a huge,
glittering, neon sign hanging above your head saying NO. I’m
full of emotions and don’t know what to do with them, where
to hide them, I need to love and I don’t have anyone, how can
I embrace the whole world?
MARIE: When Jan died, I cried for five years. Things stayed inside
me, which I didn’t have time to tell him, he persuaded me of
something while he was alive, and now I couldn’t let him know
I agreed. When you love someone so much… When did he go?
ANNA: A week ago
MARIE: So hold on, maybe he will still come back.
ANNA: So you don’t think it is my mistake?
MARIE: Why yours?
ANNA: I always thought that you wanted it for me with Dad. Like as
a punishment, you know? That you thought it’s right that he
shouldn’t love me, because I’m evil and dirty, and that’s why
you deliberately chased him away from me.
MARIE: No, no. I just stopped revering him. When I lost Jan, you
were already big so I threw myself into my work.
ANNA: So that’s why?! (Pause.) And you cried over Jan for a full five
years? Do you think you’ll ever be able to fall in love again?
MARIE: I don’t want to cry again.
(A. strokes M’s arm.)
After his death I started to look around the countryside,
walk in the forest, which I never did before. Maybe after a loss,
new horizons open for you, maybe thanks to this you will
paint a beautiful picture.
ANNA: Mum.
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VALERIE: I thought I was going to spend my entire afterlife here.
It‘s now time for me to go back, my children.
ANNA: No, Granny, don’t go yet. We still have so much to say to
each other!
VALERIE: No, I can go now alright.
ANNA: At least take this painting of you swimming in the sea.
VALERIE: Take it to Joe, so he can see what you can do, that you
take after him, and so he knows that I know how to swim now.
Come and place a candle on my grave a and we will chat on.
You don’t think the dead don’t live, do you?
Be brave here.
Bye!
(She disappears, Anna immediately lights a red, grave candle and
goes with it to the graveyard.)
ANNA: To find Grandmother’s grave in that little graveyard wasn’t
difficult at all. There are only our family, our ancestors lying
here. I’m giddy with the thought, that even they were young
once, full of hope. I wouldn’t mind a grave, if someone wanted
to visit it. But there would have to be a tree above me. A willow
or a birch, with branches which reached the ground.
VALERIE: The candle which you lit by day, if there‘s a moderate
wind, will burn until the night.
7th dream – Women in tails
The Slovak folk song:
I Am to be Married, is heard
I Am to be Married, I won’t forget .
I put the …down in the ladi.
I collect flowers as they bloom
Give me away, mother, when they ask for me.
(all three are wearing men’s suits.)
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VALERIE: So the wedding will in fact happen in the end.
ANNA: Did the wedding guests find their way?
VALERIE: Yes, they‘re all here.
MARIE: They were just feeling lazy so they walked slowly.
ANNA: Don’t you remember, sir, what our bosoms are for?
MARIE: So you can feed the foal with them, if you meet him in the
meadow.
ANNA: Did you know, sir, that the male seahorse also carries its baby
horses in its belly?
VALERIE: In return the female praying mantis eats her male
immediately after mating!
MARIE: Are you making fun of me, sir?
ANNA: God forbid!
MARIE: You are making fun of me putting my head in the noose!
ANNA: I am not laughing at you
VALERIE: You are looking a little pale , sir.
MARIE: You know, it‘s uneasiness, I am expecting a horselet.
VALERIE: You too?
ANNA: And who is marrying you, sir?
MARIE: A woman is marrying me. A woman from whose rib I was
extracted. Or from the womb? I don’t remember.
THE END
Thank you to Royal Court Theatre, the Czech Centre and the firm
Norton Rose,
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Roman Sikora
(1970 )
Roman Sikora graduated from
the Theatre Faculty of the Janáček
Academy of Performing Arts in Brno in 1999, in the field of
dramaturgy, in Studio D, under the guidance of Professor Bořivoj
Srba. He is the author of a number of political and cultural essays and
short pieces which can be designated “nonsense dramas” and of plays
for the theatre, some of which have been performed both at home
and abroad. In 1998 he received second prize in the Alfréd Radok
Awards for his play Sweeping Up Antigone (Smetení Antigony, 1997).
His play The Death of a talented Pig (Smrt talentovaného vepře, 2009)
had a staged reading in Berlin performed by Stefan Kaminski. In
2010, he took part in a residency programme, organised by the Letí
Theatre and the Centre for Contemporary Drama. In the framework
of this programme, he wrote the play The Confession of a Masochist
(Zpověď masochisty, 2010), which was performed by the Letí Theatre
in 2011.
Roman Sikora is one of the founders of the theatre internet
magazine, Yorick. Sikora can be characterised as an “Angry Young
Playwright”. His antipathy towards the totalitarian tendencies of
the market system and subjection to the ideology of material bliss
and all-embracing technology, are built on the stirring strength of
the word, which he often uses in provocative, surreal and unusual
combinations. His approach as an author is expressed in the title of
his key essay, New Definitive Quality, thanks to which – unlike PostModern verbosity, lack of certainty and chaos – he achieves a precise
designation of the state in which we find ourselves. In recent years
Sikora has also been devoted to work as a theatre critic.
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LIST OF PLAYS:
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
Manžel Dituš, 1994
Kočka na mráčku, 1994
Sodomagomora, 1995; première 5. 2. 1996, Studio Marta, Brno
Balada pro jednoho kance, 1995
Tank, 1996; première October 1996, Východoslovenské divadlo,
Košice (Slovakia)
Černá noc, 1996
Smetení Antigony, 1997; première, 6. 4. 2003 Studio Marta,
Brno
Vlci, 1997; première 17. 12. 1997, Divadlo Husa na provázku,
Brno
Krásná hra s jarními květy, 1997
Sibiř, 1997
Aut mori, 1997; played by various swordsmen
Nehybnost, 1998; première 12. 12. 1999, Divadlo Promiňte, klub
Amfora, Prague
Rozrazil 3/99, 1999; première 17. 11. 1999, Divadlo Husa na
provázku, Brno
Holomek z Prasnic, 1999; shown by a group of swordsmen in
Přerov
Opory společnosti, 2000; première 11. 11. 2001 Divadlo Na
zábradlí, Prague (staged reading)
Jitro kouzelníků, 2003; première 29. 1.2006, Marta Theatre,
Brno
Největší básník, 2004
Včera to spustili, 2004
Smrt talentovaného vepře, 2009
Zpověď masochisty, 2010; première 26. 1. 2011 Divadlo Letí and
Švandovo divadlo na Smíchově, Prague
373
TRANSLATED PLAYS:
•
•
•
Smetení Antigony: French – L’ Antigone Balayee, German –
Antigone weggefegt, Hungarian – Takarodj, Antigone!
Smrt talentovaného vepře: German – Tod eines talentierten
Schweins
Zpověď masochisty: English – The Confession of a Masochist,
French – La Confession de Masochiste, German – Bekenntnis
eines Masochisten
374
Roman Sikora
THE CONFESSION
OF A MASOCHIST
or Labyrinth of the World and Paradise of the Whip
Translated by Hana Pavelková
This play is fully protected under the copyright law of Czech Republic and is
subject to royalty. It cannot be nor used nor changed without an appropriate
written permission given by the DILIA Agency. The providing of this play
to a third party for uses other than production due is also subjected to
DILIA permission.
A violation of this restriction and using this play without the permission will
be interpreted as an infringement of copyright law and will underlie to the civil
and criminal liability.
All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the DILIA Agency
Krátkého 1, Praha 9, 190 03, Czech Republic, www.dilia.cz
375
The author would like to give thanks to Marie Špalová, Martina
Schlegelová and to all members of Letí Theatre and Švandovo
Theatre without whom this play wouldn‘t have been created.
Further thanks go to Tomáš Tožinka, Jiří Silný and Patrik Eichler,
without their earthy comments and suggestions it would have been
much less fun than it is now.
The play has been a part of a residential programme of the Centre
for Contemporary Drama.
1.
Mr.M is protesting. What he is protesting against is not known.
MR.M: I protest! Protest! I’ve been cheated. I’ve been raped. Raped.
I protest. Human dignity has been trampled on, human
dignity. Mine. My dignity! I protest! Protest! Protest! Protest!
Am I some nit?! Am I some dirt?! Am I some… some… some
homeless, stupid Gipsy? Some Ukrainian? So everyone can
wipe their arses with me? Trample on me? On me? Shit? On
me? Shit?! I protest! Against injustice! Against oppression!
Against cynicism! Against immorality! Yes, even against
immorality! Why should we lie about it (?) it’s embarrassing,
there is a lot of immorality, everywhere. Really everywhere.
A lot. Even the former President has always said it. He’s talked
about it. That there is a lot of immorality. And I protest!
Protest, protest, protest!
You must understand, please, that I am no notorious rebel,
no protester. I am not. I am no whiner, no grumbler, no chronic
babbler, no. None of it. I am not. I was not. I have never been,
no. But I’ve been, I really have been so trampled upon, so
humiliated, yes, even shat on, literally from head to toe, shat
on, yes. I am. I am all this. Against my will. Against my will.
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Against my nature. My interests. My desires. My dreams. They
shat on my dreams. Vomited on them. On me. Pissed. On me.
No questions. No one even asked. No one even asked: “Excuse
me. May I piss on your head? Shit on your belly? Vomit behind
your collar?” No one asked. No one asked and yet they did it.
Just did it. And I protest, protest, protest!
It all began like this.
2.
The story of the cane. Delivered in a mesmerizing voice.
The cane. A tool which has acquired through the years an aura of
extraordinariness due to its unique qualities and sophisticated use,
sometimes resembling an official ritual. The tool is shrouded in legend;
the tool, when used with proper care, is the source of an unforgettable
and piquant experience. The cane justly enjoys its reputation. It is
respected, and the mere mention of using the cane for the forthcoming
or last execution fills many minds with seriousness, gloom and awe,
bordering on anxious and thrilling fear. The cane is rightfully one of
the main concerns of people who have found pleasure in caning. The
cane is the uncrowned queen of the tools used for beating. The queen
must obviously be treated and used with due respect. The cane is no
toy. Humbleness is a good guide at both ends of this cane.*
(This passage is accompanied by painful screams from the darkness,
which should sound approximately like Ow! Ouch! Ow! Ow! etc.
However, these screams should not lack faintly noticeable hints of
pleasure.)
* The passages in italics and quotation marks are taken from the bdsm.cz website and their
author is an anthropomorphic horse Altair, for whose valuable comments I would like to
express my gratitude.
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3.
Mr.M is giving a speech on humbleness and is being caned.
MR.M: Yes, let’s talk about humbleness, yes. Humbleness is an
important quality, a human quality. Without humbleness the
world wouldn’t be what it is. Ouch! With many things, with
many activities, it is good to be humble. One should adopt
a humble approach to many things. Many things. A humble
approach to, for example… for example.. to education. To
God too, adopt a humble approach to God. If somebody
goes for him, for that God, adopt a humble approach to
him. Also to the Pope, if you like, if somebody goes for him.
There is freedom. We have it. Really. Freedom. And to the
authorities one should adopt a humble approach too. Ow! To
the real authorities. Even to the not so real authorities. But to
authorities anyway. Because somebody, somewhere, sometime
has decided that he is an authority. This company manager, for
instance, he is an authority. Or your boss. Also an authority.
Or a politician, for example. Ouch! They should be respected,
the authorities. It is no coincidence. We need authorities. So
that we can be humble. Humbleness is important. For us. And
for the authorities too. Ouch! That’s the way it is in the world.
The authorities, in order to be authorities, need humbleness
as well. From me. Or you. From you and you or even from
you. They need to be told: Yes, you are an authority. They
are satisfied then, much more, and they have much more
authority too. Ow! And some people need to be authorities.
It makes them feel good to be authorities. And some people
are just that way. They just need to be an authority. And some
people don’t. They do not need to be an authority. But, on
the other hand, they need to tell somebody: “Yes, you are an
authority.” Ouch.
378
Take for example Litte Jane here. She was an authority,
of sorts. Sometimes. But we will talk about her later. Now,
it’s time for the Anthropomorphic Horse.
4.
The Anthropomorphic Horse recites an epic about his life.
(The Anthropomorphic Horse enters, takes a bow like a child would
before the recitation of a poem and begins.)
When to the world I made it,
As a weak and surprised baby,
At the mercy of this time,
Somebody spanked this naked ass of mine.
Me, still a little colt,
Did forget to give a shout,
As the other babies.
Maybe even a passing smile
Did appear on these lips of mine,
So sweet was the first spank, maybe.
And so began my career as an almost professional pervert.
(The Anthropomorphic Horse takes a bow and leaves.)
The Anthropomorphic Horse has delivered only a very small part
of his life epic. Who would have expected him to be so brief?
379
5.
Little Jane, sweet, gentle, brisk Jane with a big lollipop.
MR.M: Hi, there. You are a cutie.
LITTLE JANE: Giggly, giggly, giggle.
MR.M: What’s your name?
LITTLE JANE: Little Jane.
MR.M: Jane. That’s a beautiful name, isn’t it?
LITTLE JANE: Isn’t it?
MR.M: It is a beautiful name.
LITTLE JANE: Giggly, giggly, giggle.
MR.M: Listen, Little Jane, have you ever spanked anybody, nicely?
On naked buttocks?
LITTLE JANE: Don’t be an idiot! (She leaves.)
MR.M: So, that was her, Little Jane. Sweet, she was. Little Jane, and
how good she was with the cane, sweet Jesus.
LITTLE JANE: That idiot seemed to me like an idiot right away.
Spanking, spanking, he would like to spank. So I got angry and
left. Never with some pervert. Not me. With such a pervert.
But, then, how about, just trying it a bit? And so we did. A bit.
MR.M: Jane, sweet Little Jane, how about tying me, a bit? Tying my
hands and knees together?
LITTLE JANE: Okay. Why not?
MR.M: It was always enough just to ask my Little Jane. That was
enough. One could say for example: Little Jane, how about
changing into this outfit, just for a while? Into this? (He points
to a latex outfit for a dominatrix.) And Little Jane would
always say:
LITTLE JANE: Okay. Why not?
MR.M: Or one could say: Little Jane, what if I licked your boots, just
a bit? And Little Jane would say:
LITTLE JANE: Okay. Why not?
MR.M: Or one could tell her: Little Jane, what about gagging my
mouth. Just a bit. And Jane would say:
380
LITTLE JANE: Okay. Why not?
MR.M: Mumble, mumble, mumble, mumble…
(But Mr.M gets upset because in his relationship with Little Jane there
is something that does not satisfy him. He unties the gag without much
effort, puts it away and…)
You bitch, fuck off, will you?! I can’t stand your “Okay. Why
not?” anymore! You are cold, cold as ice in the ass. You cannot
even fucking gag me properly! Bitch!
LITTLE JANE: Okay. Why not?
MR.M: And she left. Little Jane. Oh, the first loves. Still the most
beautiful.
6.
Mr.M is complaining about the poor quality
of the BDSM community.
It might seem, at first sight, that people like me do not have
an easy life. In this, this society. We are not talked about, no.
And maybe we are the kind of people, you know, the kind of
people, who are not talked about, too much. Or at all. Not
talked about at all. A taboo, oh yeah, we are a taboo. We are
not, really, don’t worry. Really, we are not. It’s not so bad. Too
bad. We are fine. Sort of. But now, now I would like to talk
about the quality of the Czech BDSM community. It is poor,
very poor. It is. It is generally very poor. No quality, none. None
whatsoever. Boring, they are so terribly boring. Guess what,
they arrange first how they are going to be tortured. How they
are going to inflict pain. And then they do it. Terribly worried,
they’re terribly worried not to cause anything. Nothing.
Absolutely nothing. No streaming of blood. No pain, by any
accident, no. Terrible! Robert, for instance. Just take Robert,
for instance.
381
ROBERT: Hey, mate, it’s my first time here. I don’t know. I’d prefer
a woman, to cane, to humiliate, you know, why not a man, you
know? Ok, even a man, why not. Okay. Tell me. How would
you like it? No worries, no, I know the rules. It mustn’t hurt,
too much. You must give consent. To everything. In advance.
MR.M: Okay, I consent. To everything.
ROBERT: Wait, wait. What do you mean, to everything? We haven’t
agreed on anything. I haven’t suggested a thing. Basic rules.
They are that both partners must arrange everything in
advance. And give consent, both. They must. Everyone likes
something different, you know. Expects something different.
Some go for bondage, some for submission or flagellantism,
spanking, tickling, some for latex, or electro stimulation. Some
go for leather, you know. Or for mouthwashing, for example.
Or some for slavery for example. Safe, sane and consensual
– that’s in the constitution. The golden rule. Safe, sane and
consensual. We also must choose a safeword. A safeword, you
know. A safeword. To know. To know when it is too much.
When to stop. Caning, for example. When it is said. The
safeword. The safeword. We stop after the safeword. What
about Cassandra? It could be a safeword. What do you think?
Maybe we should write it down, write everything in advance.
As a contract. Between ourselves. A mandatory contract. Such
as, “I, Mr. So and So hereby cede the right to, to, so many
slashes by Mr. So and So, for example. Reasonable. Slashes.
Or something like that. And the safeword. For this. Cassandra.
For example. For example, Cassandra. I am a lawyer. My job,
yes. I know about this; how to write it. You don’t need a stamp
for this. An oral agreement is mandatory too, you know. It
goes without saying. It is also valid. But you know, a document
is a document. That goes without saying. With my wife, with
my wife, too, we wrote an agreement. Prenuptial. We have
three children, yes. Happy? Yes, we are. Vladimír, Bedřich and
Cassandra. Very nice children. I have their photos somewhere,
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yes. I have the photos in my pocket, in the dressing room. You
cannot, you cannot put anything in this. No pockets. No. I’ll
fetch them.
(He leaves.)
MR.M: You see that this, this, this was too much for me. Actually it
wasn’t too much. It was too little, too little. Nothing. Absolutely
nothing. And for nothing. You see? Safe, sane and consensual.
Safe, sane and consensual. Safe, sane and consensual.
(He laughs more and more.)
Bullshit!
And after something like this, you know. After this, I used to
have a dream. Always.
7.
After an unsatisfactory experience, Mr.M used to have a dream.
Similarly unsatisfactory.
How many teardrops and how much sweat its wood has
absorbed. And now, she is standing here and she hasn’t heard
crying or swearing for a long time. A wooden torture bench.
She is standing in a room in a museum, and feels only the
indifferent stares of the visitors. But mine is definitely not
indifferent. I cannot take my eyes off her. A woman with
a pleasant voice, who is guiding our group; is talking about
something, and I am convinced that she is definitely not made
of wood. It comes to my mind to suggest to her to prove the
validity of her claims about the painfulness of the beating with
scientific methods. Only a few more steps and I am standing
close to her. She has fascinated me from the very first moment
I saw her. Her massiveness contributes to her seriousness,
the firm tying straps give her power. To the bench, not to the
woman. And today, finally, my time will come. I am undressing
383
quickly. The others in the group clap their hands and support
me enthusiastically. Naked, I carelessly fold my clothes and
underwear. I lie down. The guide straps my feet and hands,
and then the last strap around my waist.
The guide brings a tall, slender vase from which three hazel
twigs are exposed. She places the vase on my bed of pain in
such a way that I can see it properly. The museum visitors are
as quite as mice. In their eyes you can see hungry expectation,
eagerness, excitement. One tourist even unknowingly touches
his fat wife’s pussy. She purrs with pleasure. The guide looks
me in the eyes. A soft, slightly absent gaze. Her excitement is
also visible. Her eyelids are trembling, her blood is running
into her cheeks and her fingers unknowingly touch her breast.
Then finally she chooses one of the twigs. The biggest one.
She dries the dripping water with her loose hand. Slowly. She
is taking her time. Her arm is finally raising. She raises it to
strike. Firmly. Powerfully. As much as she can. So much that
you must hold your breath. And then. And then…
MR.M: And then I fucking wake up, always! Bitch!
8.
Mr. M. doesn’t do it even with whores.
MR.M: Talking of fucking. Fucking with whores I mean. Prostitutes,
you know. It was nothing special, no, it wasn’t. Even when they
were given money, they took it. Also nothing special. Whores
also don’t have any quality, absolutely no quality. Take this one
for example. A dominatrix, they say. Miss Laura. Dominatrices,
that’s what they call these dull cows. Dominatrices they are
called. I left all my salary there. Always. And for nothing. For
absolutely nothing. Take this one, for example. Ms. Laura. She
looked like Ivana Trump. Probably her idol.
384
LAURA: So, how do you like it? It is crucial for the professionals to
know what their customers want. We have a questionnaire,
sort of. I will ask questions, from the questionnaire, a company
made it for us. The auditors. They also made an audit for
Open card. Three times. And theatres in Prague, too. A good
company. Reliable. So we know what we are at? What the
customers want. What you want, for example. Or another, or
another. It seems familiar, somehow. You see?
MR.M: Yeah, a questionnaire.
LAURA: So, what shall I call you? In terms of the working process?
MR.M: I don’t know, let’s say shit. Call me shit.
LAURA: We have a little problem, here, with vulgarities, you know.
We don’t use vulgarities for customers. But if you really insist,
really, maybe it could be sorted out, somehow.
MR.M: I see. What about some money, for you. In your pocket. An
envelope. Extra?
LAURA: Well, yeah. You know. If you want something, really, really
want something, you pay extra. Logically. Everywhere. If you
want something unusual. Something unusual. Or forbidden.
You pay extra. Or, if you want something people demand
a lot. At a municipal authority, for example. At the doctor’s.
At school, if you want to buy a diploma, for example. You don’t
have time, for school, for example, you don’t have time. You’re
very busy. And so on.
MR.M: I see.
LAURA: What do you prefer? Bondage, spanking or just humiliation?
In advance, I must warn you, for pissing and caviar, there’s an
extra charge. The boss doesn’t like it. These practices cause
terrible mess, afterwards. An awful mess. The cost of cleaning
is higher, you know. The cleaning personnel said they wouldn’t
clean such shit, they wouldn’t. Too much. Never too much
hygiene. And a safeword, we must arrange one. In advance.
It’s important. What about “Adele”, for example?
MR.M: Do you have kids?
385
LAURA: A daughter, yes.
MR.M: Adele?
LAURA: How do you know this? Well, it’s not so important now. So
how would you like it?
MR.M: I like whipping. With a scourge. With barbs. Or a whip,
even better. Some blood, you know. Tatters of skin, my skin,
hanging from me. Maybe cut me with a razor, too. I need it.
Kick my eye out with high heels. Yours look very suitable for
this. A chainsaw, I’d like that too. A rack also. Maybe. Dislocate
my arms and legs. Something like this. It wouldn’t be bad.
LAURA: You fucking pervert!
9.
Mr.M. is protesting again. The reason is different,
not so significant. This protest is not as important
as his previous, crucial protest.
MR.M: I just protest! Protest! It is not possible, no, to treat people
like this. Like this. To deprive them of their rights, basic rights.
No, it is not possible. No. It’s simply not, it isn’t. But that’s not
what I am actually protesting against. That’s not the main
protest. The main protest is against something absolutely
different. Something absolutely different.
10.
In a word, Mr.M didn’t have an easy life.
MR.M: You understand, now, now you understand that such a life,
this life, is terrible. Simply terrible. I can no longer… no, no
longer can I live like this. You work hard, yes, from dawn to
386
dusk. You earn. Money, for example. And you want to enjoy
something. For the money, too. At least. Something small,
at least. A sustenance level. Some sustenance, you know.
It’s impossible. No. Simply… I haven’t had an easy life. No, not
at all. But, do not think… do not think that I am a weakling.
Some sissy. A whiner who spills his guts to everyone. Cries
on everyone’s shoulder, has a good weep, cries his eyes
out. No. Don’t think that. I didn’t give up. I didn’t. I went.
I walked. Tried in all different ways, you know. Everyone is
the maker of his own happiness, happiness and unhappiness.
Obviously. Because of freedom. And so on. Absolutely. First,
I tried cross-dressing, you know. Cross-dressing. It is said
that even the homeless have their destiny. A cruel destiny.
So I dressed up. Because a cruel destiny is something for me.
For me, it’s something. Some old rags, I put them on. Spread
dog shit over myself. Sat down. In a tram. And waited. To see
if it’s going to work. What do you think? What happened?
Nothing. People were opening windows. And were squeezing
in the front of the tram. Hissing, sometimes, something mean.
What else? That’s all, nothing. Nothing was happening. And
then the police came. Finally. At last. Finally. Two of them.
Finally some hope. It looked hopeful. At last.
POLICEMAN: Sir, or whoever you actually are, you can’t sit here.
POLICEMAN: And you stink terribly.
MR.M: Why not?
POLICEMAN: Just can’t. You bother the others. The other
passengers.
POLICEMAN: And you stink.
MR.M: Me? Stink? (He sniffs his clothes, wondering.) I smell nothing.
POLICEMAN: Get off, just get off.
POLICEMAN: Get off, you stink.
MR.M: And actually they stank terribly, too. With spirits. Municipal
police. They wash their hands in spirits. When they go for the
homeless. Rubber gloves they have. On their hands. Where
387
else? These two had gloves. I was even sorry for them. They
don’t want to touch, no. Maybe with a stick, a broom stick. Or
a tonfa. No, not even with a tonfa. The policewoman, miss,
was just repeating:
POLICEMAN: You stink.
MR.M: Sure. I stank. Dog shit stinks. Sure. Maybe I used too much
of it. Scared to touch they were. Not even with a tonfa, or,
maybe? I was wondering. That’s what it’s all about. Not even
a tonfa. Them. No tonfa. Because I am into tonfing a bit too,
you know. Not only spanking. But a short explanation would
be handy. A short explanation. From Wikipedia. For example.
“The tonfa, also known as ‘a baton with a perpendicular handle’, is
a blunt weapon resembling a baton, usually made from plastic. As
opposed to the baton, the tonfa could be used more flexibly thanks
to its extra handle and thus it is used nowadays by police instead of
the traditional police baton. Moreover, the great advantage of the
tonfa is, among other things, that one can protect the whole forearm
in its entire length and simultaneously strike very quickly. Nowadays
the tonfa exists also in a telescopic version. This telescopic version
is practical for police forces especially because it doesn’t obstruct
running and also because of its small size it isn’t so visible, which in
many cases may be an advantage.”*
MR.M: Into tonfing, as well, a bit. So they grabbed me. Twisted my
arm behind my back. Gave me an armlock.
POLICEMAN: Let’s go! Phew! He stinks so terribly.
POLICEWOMAN: You stink!
MR.M: (He is moaning, but with a slight tinge of pleasure.)
Aaah! Ow! Aaah, it hurts! It must be said that I was trying
to wrench myself from their grip, a bit. Not to make it too
easy for them. They pressed harder. Not to do a sloppy job.
* This passage is not from bdsm.cz website, but really from Wikipedia. There are some
interesting photos as well. http://cs.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tonfa.
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Yes. So I could have something from it, at least. Ow! Owch!
Well, finally, finally, they didn’t show their best side, no, not
really. A dull job, really. I’d even say that some people from
the community work for the municipal police. The BDSM
community. Ho hum. Lemon. Just got me out of the tram. And
away, quick. Probably too much dog shit. Really, too much.
And yet I tried cross-dressing one more time.
11.
In Mr. M’s opinion the leftists are boring…
MR.M: I was just trying everything, everything possible. For example,
there was this Fund. The International Monetary Fund, some
time ago. And people talked. Everywhere. That there will be
a mess. Here. That the extremists, left-wingers, from around
the world will come. For example Franta was saying at work,
FRANTA: My God, there will be a mess. I won’t stay here. The
extremists, lefties, will come from around the world. They’ll
demolish Prague, our Prague. Anarchists, Communists,
Trockists, Stalinists, fucking savages.
MR.M: Really?
FRANTA: I hope they’ll smash their faces, kick their arses, into
a heap of shite, perhaps even more heaps of shite. The police
will show them. With batons.
MR.M: And with tonfas!
FRANTA: Yes, with them too. With tonfas. Tear gas. Yes. Baton
rounds, yep. Just the rubber ones, yes, I know. We are not
like them.
MR.M: (Dreaming.) Yes, it’ll be terrible, my God.
FRANTA: I’ll just finish this, fucking T-Mobile, “new tariff for
friends, revolution in your hands” and fuck off. From Prague.
For the weekend. I took some days off. You’ll fuck off too, no?
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MR.M: Sure. What would I be doing here? When it will be so terrible.
(The last words again seem a bit dreamy.)
It seemed to me like a good idea to join them. Join them. To
be an extremist, you know. For a while. Fights, there will be
fights. In the streets and so on. I tried that. I put on some tiedyed rags. I put them on. A jacket, tattered. Jeans, still got
them from the homeless outfit. Even The International and
Bella Ciao I learned to sing. But I am a loser, bad luck. On
TV there were fights, stones in the air, shop windows broken,
Prague on fire. And I, for fuck sake, was always somewhere
where nothing was happening. Nothing. Just banners and
stupid speeches. No beating. No smashing of faces, heads,
with a stone, for example, by accident, or by water canons.
Nothing. And I was running around Prague, from place to
place, like an asshole. And nothing. And I am telling you, the
leftists are so boring, fucking dull. They just got advertised on
TV and in the newspapers. They side with them. Because they
are “active”. Or something. And that you can enjoy yourself
with them. Advertising is a lie, just a lie. I work in an ad agency.
As a graphic designer. All lies. Fucking lies.
12.
Intermezzo
(A gentle song by Aggression 95 called “Die, Bastard!”)
I’ll get you swine,
You’ve no right to life,
Until I am dead,
No peace in your head.
My hatred is growing,
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My laughter still roaring,
Until our country is spotless
As fresh fallen snow!
Refrain:
Die, bastard, die,
My hatred will kill you,
Die, bastard, die,
You black ulcer, you!
Die, bastard, die,
You’ve had your chance
Die, bastard, die,
No more tolerance!
Pack your bags and piss off,
With your fucking brats,
Otherwise you’ll meet,
A long and painful death.
I’m sick to death with you,
Your skin is not white,
You’re worse than plague,
That’s White Power’s right!
2x refrain:
Die, bastard, die…
(Diminished concert lights and light effects. During the song at least
two skinheads run to the stage and begin to pogo violently, they heil
and sing. It might be better to make them dance a minuet. Mr.M. joins
them with excitement. During the song and dance he is putting on
makeup. Only when the lights are turned on, we will see that he has
painted himself brown, put on a black wig and brown contact lenses,
391
in case he has blue eyes. He also might wrap his head in a scarf in the
style of Jasir Arafat.)
13.
… and the Nazis are fucking cowards.
(Two skinheads at a bar or some table or wherever – it is not so
important. It is also not necessary to make them wear uniforms. They
are drinking beer and singing the song heard from the concert hall
next door with gusto. They are swinging rhythmically, clinching their
fists and shouting the refrain in each other’s faces.)
SKINHEAD 1: Die, bastard, die… yeeeaaah!
SKINHEAD 2: Yeeaaah! You black ulcer, you!
SKINHEAD 1: Heil! Heil! Heily, heily, heil! Yeeaaah!
SKINHEAD 2: Yeeaaah! Die, bastard, die!
SKINHEAD 1: Yeeaaah! Diiiiiie!
MR.M: Hopeful it looked, sort of. At the concert. Just Nazis and
skinheads. Wonderful, just wonderful! And so I cross-dressed
again, a bit. A wig, black, curly wig, a lot of makeup, brown,
on my face and hands. It was okay. (He starts talking to the two
skinheads.) Hey, mate. Where is there to get a drink ‘round
‘ere? I’m parched, fucking parched. A shot. Where is there,
then?
(Both Nazis are literally stiff with surprise. They stare in amazement
at MR.M. as if he were a ghost.)
Good music. Real good. Die, bastard, die! Who’s that? Who?
SKINHEAD 1: Aggression 95.
MR.M: Really good. Fucking good. And what? You two look so
surprised? What’s up? Have fun! Yeeaah! Die, bastard, diiiie!
SKINHEAD 2: (Whispering.) Dude, let him be. He’s a copper, I bet.
SKINHEAD 1: Fuck. It occurred to me too. Immediately. Here,
where I stand. A bolt from the blue. From the fucking blue.
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MR.M: (Flings his arm around their necks, hugs them and jumps
with the rhythm of the song.) Die, bastard, diiiiie! Yeeeaah!
What’s up with you two? It’s great music! Fucking brilliant!
But you two are sad. (He looks at them for a moment and then
he totally breaks down and starts to cry.) Fuck! Fuck! I have
bad luck! Fucking bad luck! Fucking life. Fuck it! I try and try,
always fucking try, and nothing, just nothing, for fuck sake.
You cunts! Wankers! Die, bastard, die… shit! Just bullshit!
What the fuck am I supposed to do?! What shall I do, finally,
finally, something, at least, something, little, something, will
be enough. A bit. What shall I do? Fuck.. this.. fuck…
(He runs away crying. Both skinheads gaze at him for a long time.
Then the music changes. A very nice anthem of Worker’s Party by
music band Ortel.)
SKINHEAD 2: Fuck. The anthem. It’s the anthem.
(They both stand at attention, their left hands on their hearts, the
right up towards heaven, they are standing, moved, and start singing.
One of them takes out a lighter with his heiling hand, or even a candle.
The other notices this and does the same. They both stand there, very
emotional, and gently swing the candle or the lighter in the air in
their heiling hands. This scene could be accompanied by the following
video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RBTOkSsdr38.)
Dream terminated, tribe defeated,
Storm clouds, hymn, tears and impotence.
Work like a dog, sweat is turning into salt,
This dirt, as you know, repels men.
Make more effort, you know the price,
People will die, with no desires.
So say the arrogant bastards,
Who are home and dry, not I.
Refrain:
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They are just masters, real bastards,
Always treating workers like dirt.
As long as the worker is living,
I’ll be the masters’ throats wringing.
You swollen-headed bastards, sons of swine,
On your polished furniture my name I’ll sign.
Toil-ridden hands, clenched in fists
Won’t be shaking in the streets.
Maybe it’s my own fault, outside my power,
The wish to conquer the world and grow a flower.
My life is no bed of roses, I have no gift,
To ask in vain why God has always given me shit…
14.
Mr. M. is simply doing something wrong.
MR.M: Turn it off! Turn it off! Come on! That’s not to say that I don’t
like it. That I don’t like this. Nice songs they have. They sure
do. But action? No action. All talk and no action, you know
what I’m saying. You pin your hopes on it. And… Nothing.
Unfortunately, unfortunately I realized that the leftists
are dull and the Nazis are fucking cowards. Just bullshit.
Only bullshit. Macho talk. Songs. But what else? Nothing.
Absolutely nothing. A breakdown. Total breakdown. I had
a total breakdown. The whole world was against me. As if
the whole world didn’t give a crap about me. And nothing.
Absolutely nothing. Nothing for me. For me it didn’t want to
do a thing, nothing. Not one iota, as people say. In fever I was
lying. Delirious. I had a revelation. Really, I had. But no, not
the one from God. Not that one. Cause he doesn’t exist, as
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we all know. Obviously. And even if, if, by any chance, he did,
he wouldn’t give a shit about me. So it’s as if he didn’t exist
anyway. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t. If he exists, or not. So the
revelation. Now.
15.
One day Mr. M. had a revelation.
MR.M: Doctor. Doctor?
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Yes, boy?
MR.M: Am I delirious?
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: You might be.
MR.M: Why is the world so cruel, why? Why is it so merciless?
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: I don’t find it this way. Not at all.
MR.M: Really?
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Really.
MR.M: Doctor?
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Yes?
MR.M: Are you actually a doctor, are you?
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: No.
MR.M: And who are you? Who?
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: A horse. I am a horse.
MR.M: A horse.
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Yes, a horse.
MR.M: Nice. That’s very nice. To be a horse.
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Yes, it is. I can recommend it.
MR.M: Me too. I want to be a horse too.
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: So be one.
MR.M: If only it were so easy. To fulfil one’s wish. To be happy.
Finally happy. I don’t want too much, do I?
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: No, you don’t.
MR.M: What shall I do, then? What shall I do to be happy?
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ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Well, if I could suggest
something, I’d recommend this simple day to day work as
President Masaryk used to say.
MR.M: And what is it?
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Well, you see, if you don’t
manage to be happy in the world as it is, you must change it.
Slowly, but, as they say, systematically. You must do all you can
to make the world a happy place for you to live in. A place for
a horse. A happy horse. A place where you can make use of
your skills. Where even your deepest desires become fulfilled.
Such world won’t change on its own. I’ll give you a small hint.
Come here.
(The Anthropomorphic Horse puts on Mr.M a full harness and hitches
him into a small buggy etc. Then he hitches also himself.)
Do you see? If you want the world to be like this, you must
make the effort. You must sacrifice yourself.
MR.M: Sacrifice, yes. That’s beautiful.
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Yes, it is. Gee-up! (They are
trotting like circus horses in show jumping.) Keep pace! Head
up. Trot according to the rules.
MR.M: Yes, yes, I want to sacrifice myself. I want to. Enough of this
cheap kitsch. No more hunting for instant experiences. No
more consumerism. We must change reality. We must.
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: You must.
MR.M: Yes, I must. I must change reality.
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Yes, you must. Pure, pure
beauty. But that’s not all. Whoa!
(A Faceless Man enters the stage and sits on the buggy.)
FACELESS MAN: Gee-up!
(Both horses trot again.)
MR.M: What beauty! Such beauty. I can see almost how reality is
changing. I see it. It’s within my reach. There, there behind the
straight stretch. At the end of the race course. I must speed
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up. Faster and faster. Summon all my strength. Surrender to
the movement.
FACELESS MAN:(Whipping Mr.M. on his back) Gee-up.
MR.M: (Almost in religious ecstasy.) What beauty. Such beauty! To
run freely. (He is still trotting perfectly.) To be free. To be finally
happy. My dear horse, it’s such beauty.
16.
Mr. M. gets down to an epochal work.
MR.M: You know, a revelation. It was a revelation. A real revelation.
And it kept coming back. Especially at night, coming back.
What nights. Finally. Hot nights. The power. The power of
subconsciousness. It was wonderful. Unleashed. I was getting
up in the morning, full of energy. Jumped out of bed always.
Hurray! For new adventures. To work. Important. Work. And
the gentleman, the man in the buggy, was with me. Always.
Every night with me. At first, in the beginning, he was faceless.
But then his face became familiar. Began to be familiar. They
were signs, sort of. Signs. Those faces. The gentleman in the
buggy. At first, really at first, appeared the face of my boss. So
I went to work, the second day. And right away to my boss.
And I say: “Boss, don’t you think my salary is too high?” And
he said:
MAN WITH THE FACE OF THE BOSS: Yes, you’re right. It is
a bit too high.
MR.M: So make it lower. Why don’t you make it lower? And he
just beamed and cut my salary. Horizons, I broadened his
horizons. And then, then, when he saw that I worked harder,
so much harder. And that I was happy, even. When he saw
it, he cut, he cut all salaries in the company. You know, they
didn’t get it much. They didn’t get that it was for their own
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good. Their good. I tried to explain. Explain. And one day
they waited. For me. After work. And beat the shit out of me.
So finally something. You know. Finally. My effort. My effort
started to bear delicious fruit. My God. That was something.
And then, one day, my boss comes to me. And he says again:
MAN WITH THE FACE OF THE BOSS: Hey, you, we could lower
the costs, more. No?
MR.M: And I say: “Sure, boss, sure. We could, boss. Yes. Great idea.”
And the boss shone with happiness, again. And says:
MAN WITH THE FACE OF THE BOSS: I thought so. I thought.
So. We could. Yes. We could.
MR.M: And I said: “Sure, boss. Sure we could. But if I may, suggest,
something. For example Franta, here, Franta is slacking, you
know. And grumbling. He’s grumbling all the time, boss. So
I thought that I might do his work, alone. Work a bit longer,
but for the same money. What do you reckon?” And my boss
again looked like a happy man. And he said:
MAN WITH THE FACE OF THE BOSS: I would be lost without
you.
MR.M: And Franta was sacked. His fault, you know, and he shouldn’t
have lied at that time, you know. About the leftists. Also his
fault. But it wasn’t enough, not enough. Because the agency,
our agency, had to be, you know, competitive. And then the
crisis, the crisis came. Not enough commissions, you know.
A crisis. Bad, bad crisis. I’ve always imagined the crisis, you
know. I’ve always imagined the crises, as Dominatrix Laura.
DOMINATRIX LAURA: We must arrange a safeword. Fill in
a questionnaire. To satisfy the customer. To satisfy him. What
do you prefer?
MR.M: (Laughing heartily) Crisis, you know. And so one day I say to
my boss: “I’ve got a new idea, a great new idea. A Great Idea.”
MAN WITH BOSS’s FACE: Fire away, I’m all ears.
MR.M: Sack everyone, you know, let them have trade licences,
licences, you know, and then, employ them. Again. And you’ll
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save, boss, you’ll save a fortune, boss, my dearest boss. Social
insurance, health insurance, you know. And lower salaries. You
can give them lower salaries. Will you give me a sugar lump,
will you? And he started laughing, laughing like the happiest
man in the whole world. And he gave me a lump of sugar.
And I, I neighed, neighed with joy. Neighhhhhhhhhhhhh. And
snorted. With optimism. Happily. Phrrrrr. And everyone was
sacked. Me too. And employed again. You know boss, my dear
boss, I’ve got an idea. One more idea. Idea.
MAN WITH THE FACE OF THE BOSS: Yes? (Another sugar lump.
More happy neighing.)
MR.M: And I recommended to him not to take back the spoiled
ones, the most picky employees. Not perspective ones. And
I suggested other people, from the community. The BDSM
community. I’ve persuaded them. That the world is no good.
It’s not as we imagine it. It must change. They got it. Got
it. The safeword and such bullshit, it’s nothing to them. No
spanking, bondage, latex. It’s just for kids. For kids. Happiness,
true happiness, is elsewhere, the truth is out there. Just go for
it. The truth, you know. And they began to work for us. Cause,
you know, you know, any asshole can work in an ad agency.
17.
And there came prosperous times in the agency.
MR.M: And the agency was thriving. Blooming. Happy times they
were. The agency was prospering. The boss was satisfied,
happy, even. And we, we too, we too were happy. A good mood.
Everywhere. Moaning, gasping, sighing. So many sighs. Of
happiness, of course. Laughter. Happy laughter everywhere.
From the windows singing was heard, even in the streets. So
much joy. That workplace. Very merry. The merriest in the
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world. The merriest of all the workplaces in the world. The
merriest advertising agency we were. And cheap, too. And
with such atmosphere, the commissions were streaming. We
worked hard, with effort. At first eight hours. Then twelve.
Then sixteen hours. Those were the days, wonderful days. And
Janette, promising, beautiful, very beautiful Janette. And how
good she was.
JANETTE: I can’t, no, I can’t any longer. This. I can’t stand this.
This pressure. Terrible pressure. Sixteen hours. Sixteen hours.
Everyday. And only short sleep. No life. No private life. I can’t
any longer. A day off. I wanted a day off. And you know what
he said? To me? You know? Fuck off, he said. (Her moaning
gradually changes into delightful sighs.)
He told me: fuck off, bitch. Cunt. Slut. Zero. Fuck off.
That’s what he said. To me. And now Fiat. This Fiat. A new
idea? What should I suggest? For this Fiat. Aaah. What?! I’m
at my wit’s end. The end. My boss will kill me. Kill me. Me.
Punish. Punish me terribly. Unless I have an idea. But what?
What? What should I suggest? That’s the end, end, end. Aaaah!
(She begins to tremble in a great burst of orgasm.) Vivat,
Fiat! Vivat, Fiat! Vivat, Fiat! (She faints. Unconscious, she
still shivers with sexual pleasure.)
MR.M: And she had it. The claim. The slogan. For the campaign. The
headline even. Vivat, Fiat! Oh, Janette. Sweet Janette. A great
future ahead of her. Future. She knew how to enjoy herself.
Enjoy her work. Creative. The best. She was. At it. Better,
better than me she was. Janette. A pure miracle. And most
importantly, she was a proof that my work is getting on well.
My way, my way is right. She was the proof. I loved her. Me.
I loved Janette. Sweet. Too sweet. Platonic love, obviously. It
couldn’t be otherwise, you know. It wouldn’t work. You know.
She liked punishment. And me too. So who would punish,
you know? It wouldn’t work. That’s clear. There were enough
punishments anyway. There. Especially in the room. The
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motivation room. That’s what we called it. The motivation
room. My boss got the idea. He didn’t like it at first. But then,
how he enjoyed that. The motivation room. His idea. The
so-called motivation room. M.R. we called it. The stadium,
higher level meeting room, you know. And there, there was
always someone screaming, someone crying. And strokes
could be heard. Cane strokes. Or paddle strokes. The boss
liked to play table tennis. Sometimes even whipping could
be heard. Chains rattling. You know, and the rack, oh yes, the
rack was screeching. What else. I’ll play it to you. I recorded
it, you know. For home listening. What else is there to listen
to, you know? (He plays the recording. From his mobile phone,
dictaphone, or whatever. Wailing, howling, begging etc. is
heard.)
So everyone was excited. About it. About M.R. For
brainstorming, for example. Or for punishment. For punishing.
When somebody got an idea, a good idea. So for it. When he
did a good job. So then, the motivation room. The boss was
great, simply wonderful. How he could motivate people! He
didn’t look it, at first. Not at all. So many great ideas occurred
in the M.R. So many. For example,… you must know this one.
For example: “Loosen up!” it was his own idea. When Kamil
was all excited, excited for it, the boss pretended not to know
the reason. And Kamil started to tie himself, on his own. And
the boss was cruel, terribly cruel, he said, it was the cruellest
punishment ever. No motivation. He said: “Loosen up!” And
Kamil turned pale, gave a sigh, a terrible sigh of pain. The
worst pain. Internal pain, you know. And the boss was happy,
suddenly. Because he recognized, that yes, yes, he found what
he was looking for. And then, finally, Kamil got it. Terrible.
He got hooks. In his skin, you know. So happy, he was. So
happy. We could hear him. Down. Down in the cellar. Maybe
even the accounts. Maybe in the streets. It mixed with the
singing, you know, happy singing, from the windows. Very
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often singing could be heard from our windows. All windows.
I’ve got a recording. Somewhere. Here. (He plays the recording
of happy singing from the agency’s windows. I recommend for
example sentimental country songs, 1980s electronic pop etc.)
So he enjoyed it. A lot. At that time. Kamil. He really did.
Or me. For example, I got an idea. When the boss wasn’t giving
me enough attention. He didn’t want to. At all. No motivation.
Didn’t want any. Terrible. It was terrible. I was crawling on my
knees. Hugging his legs. And he was pulling away, just pulling
away. And I was telling him, Janette can go, why only she can
go to M.R.? Why not me? Why is it not like in the past? As it
used to be. And he said.
MAN WITH BOSS’s FACE: Why do you, you shitface, think you
deserve motivation? Why?
MR.M: But, boss, I’m naughty. Very very naughty. I deserve it.
Motivation. My salary seems to me too low. Working hours
too long. Too long.
MAN WITH BOSS’s FACE: And you think that’s enough?
MR.M: Please, boss, please, my dear boss, you know, even men have
their days.
MAN WITH BOSS’s FACE: You see. It works. See, it works.
MR.M: It worked. It did. A headline was created. And off we went.
To motivate, you know. He didn’t raise my salary, no. He knew
I wasn’t interested. That’s not it. Not it. The boss. He was an
authority, really. I even had pins and needles. Always in my
scrotum. It sometimes happens to me with authority. When
I meet an authority, you know. Or Peter. Him too. He was
getting ideas in this way. When he was on the rack. Who
wouldn’t be excited? And the boss had a teasing mood. And
Peter. (He laughs.) He was good too. With the boss. One day.
One day he even suggested to found the unions. You know,
the unions. (He is laughing his head off.)
The unions! For basic human rights, like. That they are not
kept. He was good with the boss, he was. And the boss, then
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had a teasing mood. He was teasing him on the rack. Teasing
terribly. And Peter was screaming. So much. He was so tense.
So tense. Then the boss asked Peter. As Peter was saying. You
know. He asked.
MAN WITH BOSS’s FACE: How much do you think I’m going to
tighten you?
MR.M: And Peter exclaimed. In his happiness, at that moment. He
exclaimed. I’ll play Peter’s part now. You know. I hope, you
get it. So Peter exclaimed: “Yes, boss, yes, much more than
I think.” That was it. Another headline. More than you think.
And now I must point out that this sentence is important.
Because you are going to hear this sentence later. And when
I’m thinking about that, that beautiful time, I realize that,
I realize that I haven’t done it. For a long time. What I’m
here for. I haven’t done it… For a long time, I haven’t been..
protesting, protesting. So I will, now. So. That’s why I’m here.
Right now.
18.
Mr.M is protesting again just to remind us why he is here.
MR.M: And I protest! Protest! Protest! Why? Because! That’s why
I’m here. To protest. Against theft. Against this theft as well.
I protest. Because they’ve stolen. I’ve been robbed. Of my life.
My future. No consideration. Didn’t have any. Trampled. The
human rights. Basic. My basic human rights. I won’t have it.
I won’t have it this way! No! No! And now we can go on.
403
19.
Mr.M announces that something fundamental has happened.
MR.M: Those were the days. Beautiful days. They were. Really. I had
a feeling. A feeling that a part of my work had been done.
Had come true. Really. Good work. Yet, to be honest, to be
honest, you know, then, it wasn’t enough. Not at all. It was
too little. Too little. And I, I had a dream, again. Again, again,
I had a dream.
20.
Mr.M has another dream.
(Mr.M. in harness is again trotting flawlessly. On the coach box sits
a Man in a mask with a big question mark instead of the face of the
boss.)
MR.M: All the time, all the time I was trotting freely, trotting joyfully
at nights. Flying like a bullet. On my racecourse. My designated
racecourse. Trotting. All the time. But something, something
wasn’t as it used to be. In the past. Different. Something was
different. I didn’t have a good feeling, I didn’t have any kind
of good feeling. No tickling. In my underbelly. Always tickling
in my underbelly. No wet mornings. No. Not as wet as in the
past. You see, something happened. Something was wrong.
It wasn’t right. Not even the whipping was as it used to be.
So nice, you know. And then, then in one dream. I turned my
head. Like this. I turned my head like this. And finally. And…
have you realized that? Yes, have you? I turned my head, one
night. And what I see? That man. The man who used to be
my boss. So far. My boss, from the agency. On top. On the
coach box. Suddenly he wasn’t my boss. Suddenly he didn’t
have… No, not at all. He was suddenly absolutely faceless.
404
Again. Absolutely. And it was. It was suddenly. Suddenly it
was a really big question. And that question was a sign, too.
It was a sign. And I knew. I knew what sign. What’s the sign.
I knew what it meant. I knew. It was a sign to move on. To
move on further. I must go further. And this realisation, my
realisation, really pleased Mr. Horse. A lot. It pleased him so
much that he said, he said to me, heartily, with inner joy, true
joy.
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Fuck, man, you’re an even bigger
horse than me. You’re such a great horse that it saddens me. In
comparison with you I’m imperfect, fucking imperfect.
MR.M: A song he composed. From joy. For me. He’ll sing it now.
21.
The Anthropomorphic Horse sings a song for Mr.M.
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE:
Horses are your one love only,
Without them you will be lonely,
Of surrender you are able,
For the lovely smell of stable,
A paradise for horses you want to create,
I will help you because I am your mate,
Without clinking of the horse shoes,
Your happiness you always lose,
You are staying with me because,
You heart has always belonged to a horse.
You do not bother to run for water,
No interest in a fording place,
You rather learn how to graze,
Then you break into a trot,
405
And with an awful fear I am shot,
“I am a horse like you”, I hear,
You whisper that in my ear,
You make that promise because,
You heart has always belonged to a horse…
(Btw. This text should be sung to the melody of Vera Martinova’s “Srdcem
jsi zůstal u koní” (Your heart stayed with horses), an awful country
song from the period of normalization after 1968, the incredibly
stupid lyrics have been adapted slightly.)
22.
Mr.M set out into the world. On a mission.
MR.M: So I set out into the world. I had to, you know. Simply had
to. A mission. I was on a mission. A task. It wasn’t enough that
little bit that had been accomplished. It must be spread. It. You
have to see the whole picture. The broader picture. Because
the agency, just one ad agency, that’s not enough. Really,
that’s not enough. Nothing. On the other hand, even other
agencies, it began to spread among the agencies. Ad agencies.
When I think of that. It was beginning to be nice, everywhere.
Similarly nice. Motivating, etc. Everywhere they began to
improve the conditions. Employee’s conditions. Perhaps
because of the…the hand. Of the market. Invisible hands. The
spreading was actually also invisible. But noticeable. Silently,
as if. Noticeable. But it wasn’t enough. No. The world must
be changed. The whole world. And then I had to improve my
dream. Improve my nights. To go with a swing. Again. As it
used to. So I was trying. Job interviews. Various job interviews.
In other companies. For example, here, in KB Bank.
406
MAN WITH THE MASK OF KB BANK H.R.OFFICER: But you
have no, no qualification, you know. No qualification. For this
job. In our bank.
MR.M: I do, I really do. I have the best qualification.
MAN WITH THE MASK OF KB BANK H.R.OFFICER: But not
in a bank. You haven’t worked in a bank. Ever.
MR.M: May I have a question? May I?
MAN WITH THE MASK OF KB BANK H.R.OFFICER: Yes. Well,
yes. You may.
MR.M: Motivation programs, do you have any? Here?
MAN WITH THE MASK OF KB BANK H.R.OFFICER: Well,
five weeks vacation. The salary, starting salary, for you.
Around twenty thousand. Around that. Gross income, that is.
Company vacations, sometimes. Maybe. Well, yes. But, you,
you have no, no experience. At the counter. No experience.
No, it won’t be possible. No.
MR.M: But I, I don’t need so much, no. Not so much. How could
you, how could you only offer this to me? I don’t get it. Why
so much?
MAN WITH THE MASK OF KB BANK H.R.OFFICER: What?
What? Whaaatt?
MR.M: Why a vacation? A company vacation? Why? Nonsense. Why
five weeks? What for? I don’t get it. I really don’t. Twenty?
Twenty thousand? Are you serious? You must be joking!
MAN WITH THE MASK OF KB BANK H.R.OFFICER: I know,
it is not much, not too much.
MR.M: It is! It is too much. Pointless. Absolutely pointless.
MAN WITH THE MASK OF KB BANK H.R.OFFICER: Really?
And how much, how much would you like. How much?
MR.M: I think, around five, five thousand, if it’s not too much, for
you. Even less is fine. And a vacation? I can’t ask for it. No.
It’s not possible. I’d be ashamed. No.
MAN WITH THE MASK OF KB BANK H.R.OFFICER: I see,
well. You have the job.
407
MR.M: It was all going smoothly. It worked. Everywhere. Doors
opening. Immediately. Accepted immediately. Beautiful.
Beautiful it was. Their eyes. Sparkles in their eyes. Joyful
sparkles appeared. Started to glow. Beauty, true beauty. To
see it. As in Kaufland, for example. There too. I went there
too. Because I heard, I heard that they wanted to strike. Go on
strike. You see? To strike. For better conditions, or whatever.
The conditions they requested, you know, unbelievable! I was
just amazed. Just amazed. Fucking amazed. Higher salaries,
like. Shorter working hours. Less overtime. And to be paid for
overtime, even. The overtime. People just don’t understand.
Really. They are dumb. They don’t understand. What’s true
happiness. Their happiness. Really. One wouldn’t believe it.
I had to go there, obviously. To explain it to them. What it’s all
about. What it is about. Happiness. Money is not happiness.
And I don’t even mean those who just live on welfare. Receive
welfare. They would just guzzle, all the time. Just guzzle.
Gluttons. Plasma TVs, dishwashers, washing machines,
fridges, cars even. They’d want to buy. For the welfare. And
trips to the sea. All the time. For the welfare. They really don’t
understand what happiness is. That’s obvious. Isn’t it? It is not
possible like this. And so I went there. To Kaufland. The boss
was great. Really, he was.
MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: You
must be joking, you fuck?!
MR.M: Tough he was, very tough. The boss. Really. I had pins and
needles, again. In my scrotum. It sometimes happens like that.
Like this. When I meet an authority. A real authority. But this
one. My God, he was tough. I knew right away that we would
understand each other.
MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: Listen,
you fucker, I’ll take you, okay. But you’ll be on alert for the
whistle. When I whistle like this. (He whistles.) You’ll run
here. Immediately. Is that clear? Wiping. You will be wiping,
408
everything, everything. Eating from the floor, we will be able
to eat from the floor. As you’ll be wiping at the whistle. At the
whistle. I’m telling you. When I whistle, you’ll be here right
away. With a mop. With a mop.
MR.M: Sure, yes, I understand. Sure.
MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: And
no full time. Just part time you’ll get. But you’ll work full time.
Is that clear?! That’s the way we do it here. Is that clear?
MR.M: (More and more excited.) Yes, yes, sure.
MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: And
then maybe… Maybe when you wipe well, maybe, you may be
promoted. To the shitheads at the checkouts. Or the cunts at
fruit and vegetables. Or to the bitches at meat. Or the whores
at the chemist’s.*
MR.M: Yes. Yes. To the whores. Yes. To the shitheads, I’ll be fine
with the shitheads.
MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: Are
you making fun of me, you fucker? Or what?
MR.M: No, no, really. No. I’m not.
MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: Ok,
ok. We have this habit here. A ritual. For newcomers, you
know. To lick my boots. To know who’s the boss here. Is that
clear?
MR.M: Yes, sure. Absolutely, Sure.
MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: Come
on!
(Mr.M is licking his boots in ecstasy.)
* Although it might seem unbelievable, this passage is inspired by real events. Similar
conditions and vocabulary were described in one article about Kaufland. „‘That’s very
steep. At checkouts there are c…, at counters there are bitches, in the store idiom, cretins
and retards… in the storage d..‘ rememers X. and she blushes.“ (Denik.cz, 17 April 2010,
http://jablonecky.denik.cz/podnikani/prace-v-retezci-jen-pro-otrle20100416.html.)
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And do not dare, do not dare to join the fucking unions. Then
not with the mop, no. With you. Me. Me with you. Will wipe
the floors, with your fucking face, the entire hall. You fuck!
MR.M: (In ecstasy.) Yes, yes, the entire hall. Yes. And have you
noticed? Have you seen the little sparkles, of joy. In his eyes.
Yes? That was something, wasn’t it? So I immediately joined
the unions.
23.
Mr.M meets the authority of his dreams and is in ecstasy.
The audience is experiencing the ecstasy too.
MR.M: Here, I’d like to put the record straight, a bit. You know,
things, like. You must understand, you know, that I am no
fucking unionist, no. Although I was elected, you know, to
be the leader. You know, the union leader. Local unions. You
know. But, let’s leave it for later. Now, I’d like to… tell you,
something. Something that, you know… should be said. In
a broader context. You know, politics. Sure, politics. I’ve never
been interested. No, never. But suddenly, suddenly, it became
important. So, you know. Simply, you know. How shall I begin.
Well, there was a crisis, you know. A crisis.
DOMINATRIX LAURA: We must agree on a safeword. Fill in the
questionnaire. To satisfy the customer. What do you prefer, then?
MR.M: (Laughing again.) A crisis, you know. A terrible crisis. Banks
were going bankrupt. Then states went bankrupt as they were
saving the banks, you know. Debts, bankruptcy, humbug, you
know. And then I had a dream again.
(Again the man with the face of the boss of Kaufland, on the coach
box.)
Good dreams they were. Again. Sort of. You see? Do you
see, the change? Well, yes. Yes. A different person on the coach
410
box. A boss, sure, too. But the one from Kaufland. How good
he was with the whip. At whipping, you know. I could trot
freely. Pure joy. And then. All of a sudden. Suddenly.
(The man on the coach box changes his mask for the face of Miroslav
Kalousek, Czech Finance Minister.)
You see? This change? You see? The face, new, brand new.
All of a sudden. And back again.
(The boss of Kaufland again.)
A face. A new face began to jump in my dream. The coach
box, I mean. And into my dream. In my dream. At first,
I didn’t understand. I was saying, “Who the fuck is that? Who
is it?” And I said to myself, “Where have I seen him?” Such
questions. Such questions in my head I had. But when he
cracked the whip, that was something. Really. So wonderful to
trot. To gallop. Freely. Such beauty. And I didn’t know, didn’t
know why? Who is he? From where? Do I know him? From
where? And he always, always cracked the whip. Cracked
it. As if I heard some silent word. A silent word. Cuts, cuts,
cuts. The whip was making cuts. No cracking, cutting. As if,
in my dream, on my back. Sometimes even I had a feeling.
I had. That it is not a whip. But a pen. A very sharp pen.
Sharpened even. On my back. It was so beautiful, you know.
And then I met him. Met him. On TV. When I was wiping the
floor, in the electronics department. In Kaufland. With the
motherfuckers at electronics. I didn’t watch TV otherwise.
I don’t have time. Do you? I had six jobs, you know. Only.
I had to pay the rent. Social and health, insurance. You have
to toil. When you earn a thousand or two, only. And also the
charity. You donate some money. From time to time. To Bill
Gates, sometimes to the Rockefellers. Or Bakala, Kellner,
steel magnates, you know. Because they need more money.
Time for TV? Nonsense. Why time for TV? Or politics? For
elections, why? But then. Then it was different. That was really
something. Really something.
411
MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: The cuts will affect
all sections, except the Ministry of Defence. If we don’t do
anything, the deficit won’t be 5,3% GDP, as we promised to
our Czech and world public in our convergent programme,
but cca 5,8 GDP.
MR.M: Beauty. Sheer beauty. You see? You see? Even the world
public. He spoke like a book, he did. And how good he was
with the whip. So good.
MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: And then finally
comes the third phase, the announced system reforms, such
as the reform of pensions, welfare, tax reform and many
more. These reforms require brand new legislation, whose
preparation and approving will take a long time. I suppose that
the Parliament will discuss the required laws in the year 2012.
(Mr.M. is almost in ecstasy.)
MR.M: No. No. Sooner. Sooner. Right now. Let it be now. Right now.
MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: By similar
parametric changes, because this is not a system change, we save
approximately 11 billion crowns on welfare in the year 2011.
MR.M: Yes, yes. Save, Mirek, save! But not only 11 billion, but 20! 30
billion! And make system changes! System changes!
MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: We need to save 12
billion. That’s one percent of the budget. And each household
knows that it is possible to save one percent of the budget.
MR.M: Yes, it is! It is! Mirek. Yes, I know. But that’s not enough,
Mirek! Oh yes, Mirek. That was his name.
MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: With the current
system of mandatory expenses we are directly heading
downwards. The Greek way.
MR.M: Yes, you’re right, Mirek. That’s not possible. No Greece! No
Greece! My God, no!
MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: If we want to
maintain the excellent level of Czech healthcare, we must be
able to finance it without borrowing tens of billions every year.
412
MR.M: No, we mustn’t do that. No. No. No borrowing! No borrowing!
We will manage. Without borrowing. And we will save more,
more!
(Mr.M. is in ecstasy is rolling about on the floor, he is jumping and
levitating.)
MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: No one is the sole
bearer of truth.
MR.M: Yes, you are, Mirek, you are! Sure, you are! Teasing. You just
want to tease me, again, don’t you? Just teasing!
MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: I believe that
raising taxes for the high-income brackets in the time of crisis,
and in our case also after the crisis, leads only to another
recession.
MR.M: Yes, it does. Yes! It does!
MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: There is only
a certain amount of money. If we spend it on mandatory
expenses, we cannot afford to spend it on investments. You
cannot eat what you spend. We either spend or invest.*
MR.M:(In absolute ecstasy.) We can’t spend, Mirek, no, we can’t.
Mirek. Oh! Stop, Mirek, stop. Stop it! A postal order. I received
a postal order. And he signed it. In my post box. A huge debt.
How much we owe. Everyone of us. And HE signed it. And
I, when I looked at it, you know, I just pissed myself. Pissed
myself with fear.
MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: There are more
of us than you think!
MR.M: Oh no! No! This too! Yes! No! No! Yes. Not you. Not you! You
authorities! Authorities! More of us! Us! Us!
MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: There are more
of you than you think!
MR.M: The safeword! The safeword! Adele. Not Adele! Cassandra!
No! Not her either. So fuck, what are you fucking children
* These are authentic statements of Mr. Kalousek.
413
called?! (Totally exhausted. With pleasure, obviously.) You
Catholics! You naughty Catholics!
24.
Mr.M has realised that his mission is possible.
(Mr.M is totally exhausted with pleasure he has just experienced.)
MR.M: The nights. These nights. Simply impossible to describe.
You know. A totally new dimension. Yes, it was. You know.
I wasn’t, as I realized, the only one. There was one more. Also
a Catholic. Naughty Catholics! As they have their Christ. On
the cross. But no, not them. Strange. But the other one also
wasn’t bad. But he was more feeble, sort of plain. Just compare.
(Man on the coach box with the face of Petr Nečas, Czech Prime
Minister, with an impotent expression.)
MAN WITH THE FACE OF MR. NEČAS: Gee-up!
(He cracks the whip feebly. It just spanks feebly. Maybe not even this.)
MR.M: Shameful, just shameful. But Mirek, on the contrary.
MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: Geeeee-up!!!!!
MR.M: What a sound! That’s something! Something completely
different. Even pins and needles in my scrotum. You know, in
my scrotum. You too, right? You feel it too? It is impossible
not to feel it. This. Okay, then. Well, yes. They were a team.
They still are! But Mirek. Mirek is simply number one. And
what’s most important, most important, is that I realized that
I am not alone. No, not at all. “There are more of you than you
think.” Yes, more of us. Us! And won. We won the elections.
Thirty-six percent. Thirty-six! And in Prague! In Prague it was
fifty-one! Fifty-one percent! That was something! That was
a message about my mission. That it is not impossible. My
mission. My mission is possible. There are more of us than you
think. That’s it. Really. Don’t be ashamed. Don’t be ashamed
414
because of this. My dear citizens of Prague. It’s in us. Yes,
it’s in us. That’s it. Only some of you, some of us, still don’t
know about it.
MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: Geeee-up!!!!!
MR.M: (Begins to trot and gives a long sigh of pleasure.) Aaaaaaaaah!
25.
Mr.M. continues stronger than ever before.
MR.M: You see. You understand. Why shouldn’t anyone understand,
this, right. Easy, you know. I had to, simply, had to join the
unions. I had to. What else. No, not only, not only because
of the wiping, not only that. Wiping the entire floor with my
face. My face. Well, a bit, yes, sure. But the main thing was, it
was something. Something different. Something higher. They
didn’t understand where their place is. You know. And for
their good, their own good, they needed an explanation. They
even wanted to strike. Well, yes. To strike even. Do you get it?
So I joined them. I joined the unions.
UNION LEADER: We’re glad. Really glad to have you. Now. With
us. That you’ve decided to join us. Because things are getting
tough now. Knives are out for us! Well yes, they are after our
throats. After us, unionists. And people are leaving, they
are leaving us. They’d rather leave us to have peace. You see.
Peace. Nonsense. There won’t be any peace. Like slaves. They’ll
be like slaves. Slaves.
MR.M: Sure, like slaves. Nonsense. Sheer nonsense.
UNION LEADER: So it’s good. It’s good that you are joining us. I’m
glad that you’ve joined us. We need people. Intelligent people.
Educated. And you even have the school leaving exam. Good.
The others are just a rabble. From Ukraine. Or Romania,
Slovakia. They are not into unions. No, they’re not. They don’t
415
care. They are after us. Even some of our members don’t care.
Totally. Not you. You’re a real man. Really. I appreciate it.
A good man. Here are just women, stupid women. I appreciate
it. I really do. A Vice-Chairman. What do you think? Would
you like it? The Vice-Chairman of the unions?
MR.M: Oh yes, great. It’d be great. And so I became the ViceChairman. And the people suddenly started to come to me.
Secretly. They were telling me, for example, when I was wiping.
SHOP ASSISTANT: So, how is it goin’, Mr. Vice-Chairman?
MR.M: Thank you, fine.
SHOP ASSISTANT: You know, Vice-Chairman. I have kids, you
know. They’re sick, you know. And that bastard doesn’t want
to give me a day off. Fucking bastard! Our boss, I mean. Says
I have no right. No right he says. What should I do? What
should I do? It’s torture. Torture. I am at work and I’m dying.
With fear, you know. Worried sick about the kids. What
should I do? My husband. He’s working too. During the day.
And my mother is not well, too bad. What should I do? What?
MR.M: Well, sister…
SHOP ASSISTANT: I’m not your sister.
MR.M: Sorry, sure. I got it from being with the Catholics. Perhaps.
From them. You must understand, the boss. He means well.
Really he does.
SHOP ASSISTANT: What?
MR.M: Has it ever occurred to you that the boss has his kids too?
Even your boss. He has children. Small, helpless, and their
mother, very sad, she died. Isn’t it sad? It is, very sad. And he
must be here. Six orphans at home. Six! Orphans! And three
of them are sick. Seriously sick. Plague, cholera, cancer. Such
diseases. And he is here. He must take care of us. Take care
of everyone. He worries, all the time, just worries. About us,
about the orphans. And you blame him. For stupid things. Be
honest. Stupidities.
SHOP ASSISTANT (Starting to cry.): I didn’t know that. I didn’t..
416
MR.M: You see. You see. Wrath. Human wrath. You see what it’s like.
See! Everyone is selfish. Just thinks of himself. And the other?
His pain? Doesn’t exist. No. Everyone would just feather his
nest. And exploit the others. The others? Them? What do you
know about them? Nothing. You know nothing!
SHOP ASSISTANT: I didn’t know that. (She bursts into tears.)
Stupid of me, to blame him. To blame him for … and he, he,
instead…
(She runs away in tears.)
MR.M: Young mothers, you know. They’re oversensitive. Well,
and then I was speaking at the meetings. You know. And
I was elected, as the leader, you know. In Kaufland. I became
popular. Very popular.
(FORMER) UNION LEADER: People! Don’t you understand?
Shits, he treats you like shits. And you trust him. Like a herd
of vermin. Vermin. You’re stupid. You are all stupid.
MR.M: You know, the former Union Leader was a bit angry. Very sad,
he was. That he is no longer the leader. But people understood.
SHOP ASSISTANT: What’s the problem, former leader? He speaks
well. What’s your problem? You just grumble, all the time. You
see everything in bad light, all the time.
(FORMER) UNION LEADER: Shut the fuck up, you bitch! You
don’t understand anything at all.
SHOP ASSISTANT: I do, I do understand. But you, you don’t.
(FORMER) UNION LEADER: You don’t understand!
SHOP ASSISTANT: You don’t understand that our boss, he has six
orphans, six orphans at home. They’re sick. He must take care
of them. The general director, of Kaufland, is on a wheel chair.
A paralytic. A quadriplegic. There are many people like that,
in Kaufland, in the headquarters. Don’t you find it stupid? To
be against them? Like this? You should look after them. Look
after them. What do they have from life? You. You are healthy.
And them? Poor souls. We work for them. So that they have
417
at least something. You should understand. You really should.
It’s important. To be humane. Humane.
MR.M: You know, people started to understand, sort of. To
understand that grumbling is for nothing, for nothing. And
that suffering is right. The right way. And we even went to
the boss. To give him our proclamation. He was screaming
at us, you know. At first. But when he heard. When he heard
that there’d be no strike and that we understood how poor
Kaufland is in the crisis. On the market. Crisis etc. That he has
debts. And that we, for the children’s sake, give up anything.
He was so excited he gave us a hug. Us. Well, suddenly he was
happy. It began to look nice, there. Some of the weaker ones,
left, when they lowered the salaries, sometimes. Somewhere
else. Or at check-outs, or at storage, some died. But they died
in happiness. And the others knew that it is for the future,
as Mirek said, because the future is important. No wasteful
spending. They knew they brought the sacrifice. There is no
other way. Because the crisis. Is bad, very bad. Bad. And no
one is to blame, no. Maybe some leftists. Perhaps. And then,
some of them, in my opinion, began to enjoy it even.
26.
Mr.M reveals his simple recipe for life.
MR.M: It was joy. Pure joy. With people like that. To meet them
everyday. Really. But mainly, mainly I was enjoying myself.
My God, I really was. In the past, it had never occurred to
me that a man could be so happy. That something like this
is possible. You know. To experience. Not even in a dream.
I was toiling in the ad agency till I was exhausted, all the time,
more and more. Then dashed off to Kaufland, right away.
To wipe the floors. Then to the bank. To the counter. I also
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worked as a sales representative, for Vodafone. Was running
from flat to flat with the new tariffs, forcing people to buy
better tariffs. They were always worse than the old ones, that
was the point. No convenience, no convenience for them, that
is bad for them. It wasn’t so great. No, smaller convenience.
Smaller and smaller. To make them understand. What’s true
satisfaction and meaning, yes, the meaning of life, you know.
Simultaneously I was distributing leaflets, before the elections.
And I was persuading, explaining to people that they should
vote. Yes, yes, we can have a more cost-saving state. And
sooner than you think. Because of tradition, responsibility,
prosperity. And suffering. These are the pillars, basic pillars
of prosperity. The beauty of suffering. As cheap as possible.
No squandering. Not like Greece. That’s most important. Not
like Greece. And also who they should vote for, you know.
I was telling them. They should vote for Mirek’s party, you
know. With this nice old granddad, this mascot. What was his
name. Schwarznegger… or Schweineberg… Heinekken or…
something like that. You know, Mirek did very well when he
chose him. I was also distributing Peter’s leaflets. He’s such
a simpleton, but his programme is good. Almost the same
as Mirek’s. So I was doing all this. All this. And also, not to
forget, the job at the building site was also very nice, very nice.
I was pretending to be a Ukrainian. Because the Ukrainians
always do well, really well. On building sites. Their salaries
need to be lowered, a bit. They earn too much. That’s obvious
also. Well yes, I was doing fine, just fine. But only this one
little problem. That I had too many jobs, you know, a bit too
much, to do, you know. Well yes, only part-time jobs, but still.
None of them were full-time jobs, none. But I worked as if it
were full-time. But still. I didn’t sleep, no, no time for sleep.
There was no time, but there were no dreams either. Actually,
I began to miss, Mirek, you know. In my dreams. Because
Mirek was really good, in my dreams, very very good at it.
419
Not that I was unhappy, no. I was very happy. But not enough
strength, I didn’t have enough strength. But I had my will,
will, you know. To overcome this. And where there’s a will,
there’s a way, as I was saying to everyone. In Kaufland, in KB
Bank, on the building site. There is a way. Always, there is
always a way. And so. And so there was a way, even for me.
Later. It was so simple. So simple that it hadn’t occurred to
anyone. Almost. Very simple. How to manage everything. And
to have two or three hours of sleep. Two or three hours. It was
simple. Absolutely simple. I just made my day longer. I made
it last for 48 hours. It was so simple.
27.
Mr.M’s effort is appreciated. He has been nominated.
MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: (He
whistles.) Come here, you fuck.
MR.M: …called one day, with respect, the boss from Kaufland.
MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: Listen,
you arsehole. You’ve been nominated. For Kaufland. For the
H.R. Olympics. Human Resources, you know, you’re going.
MR.M: What? What’s that?
MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: Have
you been asked anything, you fuck?!
MR.M: No, no, I haven’t.
MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: So
shut the fuck up!
MR.M: (He is excited) Aaaah.
MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: You’re
flying tomorrow. To Singapore. You’ve been nominated as
the greatest dickhead who could manage it, you know. Big
companies have nominated their greatest employees, greatest
420
dickheads, and sent them there. Under the patronage of U.N.
and U.N.I.C.E.F. But it’s only for the developed countries,
where the children could labour again. The states had given
some grants. Television companies too, CBS, NBC, BBC, also
NOVA. You’ll even be on NOVA TV. They’ll make a reality
show, about it. You’ll be in it. So, tomorrow. You’re flying. Is
that clear?!
MR.M: Yes, boss. Yes.
MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: Come
here, now. I’ll wipe the floor, the entire hall, with your fucking
face, you unionist cunt. (He gives him a friendly punch on the
back and starts laughing.)
MR.M: (Sighing excitedly.) Yes, yes.
28.
Mr.M has a bad premonition.
MR.M: And so I flew. I just did. Because you must listen to orders,
you know. You must. Obviously. The boss said, “You’re flying!”
And I did. What else. That’s obvious. But it wasn’t… It wasn’t
entirely good, you know. There was something wrong. You
know. I was looking forward to it, yes. But. A premonition.
I had a strange premonition. That something bad, something
bad is going to happen. To me. And that although I’d enjoy
myself, and I really could enjoy it. The Olympics. But that in
the end, it wouldn’t be so good. So that was my premonition.
But in the morning, I got on the plane. And flew to Singapore.
29.
Mr.M is driven by an enormous power, perhaps it is
the power of the universe.
421
MR.M: Immediately, immediately after I arrived in Singapore,
I immediately forgot. About the premonition. Such fame.
So many cameras. There were so many. And the press. TV
presenters. Politicians. Everyone. Everyone was there, you
know. So many human resources. From all over the world.
Russians, Japanese, Brits, Germans, some blacks, Chinese.
The whole world, you know. The whole world gathered there.
Beauty. Pure beauty. As if the whole world could understand
each other now. No more useless quarrels. No. Not at all. As
if everyone could make an agreement. And right from the
airport. Right away, I was enjoying myself. It. With scourge.
They were rushing us. In the vans and then to the press
conference. There. There it was also nice. Very nice. They
asked us. They asked questions. For example.
RANDEEP RAMESH: Randeep Ramesh, The Guardian. And don’t
you mind being treated like dirt?
MR.M: And I always said. No, on the contrary. Well, it is the nice
thing, about it, you know. And them? They were simply
amazed. Or, for example.
WOLF BLITZER: Wolf Blitzer, CNN. Are you ready for this? For
what’s ahead of you? Because it seems that it won’t be easy.
MR.M: And I was about to answer, but the other guy was faster.
Such a small, sinewy Chinaman. He said that we are ready.
Because he had been practicing. And that The Party and great
China will give him strength. Terrible, isn’t it? Such nonsense.
I was empowered by something else. Something completely
different. And I knew right away, right away I knew, that it
wasn’t going to be easy with this Chinaman. No. And it began
right after the press conference.
Just take the accommodation, for example. It wasn’t easy
for some people, you know. Not for me, obviously, not for me.
A piece of cake, for me. They took us to the hotel. But it was
somewhere in the outskirts of Singapore. To some cells, small,
narrow cells. We were sleeping on a concrete floor. And the
422
cockroaches and rats, there were so many. Really. Even I got
scared, a bit. But, on the other hand, I was enjoying myself,
when they kicked us into the cells. Sure, I was enjoying it.
I did. But, you won’t believe it, only in the first round, the
accommodation was the first round, you know, some gave
up. Fifteen people gave up. Actually everyone from western
Europe. Plus the American. Queer fish, you know. These
Europeans. And Americans, the Americans too. Weird. And
we were locked for two days there. In there. And the pigswill
they were giving us. As if someone took a shit in it. Well,
it was very nice there. And the third day, they took us out.
And immediately I saw that out of sixty of us, there were only
thirty. Immediately only thirty. And it was just the first round.
The Chinaman was there too. Obviously. The Party and great
China were helping him, you know, so why wouldn’t he do it?
And then, right away, the second round. This time to
a hypermarket. A huge hypermarket. It was as huge as a ..
as a… it was just so huge. They took us to the check-outs.
Immediately. All of us. And said that we should ring up the
goods. The fastest was the winner. And that we should be
ringing up for 24 hours. The whole day. Without a break.
Without food or drink. Or the WC. You know, it was
something, something, for me, you know. Something for
me. But the best part, I didn’t know till I sat down. We all sat
down. Then it began. They put the beepers, or what do you call
them, on maximum volume. 150 decibels, at least, somebody
said. Then, you know, it was really loud. No joke. It was no
joke. I even pissed myself a bit. With pleasure, obviously, you
know. With pleasure. No one noticed. Luckily. Because, you
know, they had it really well thought out. You know, nine of us
dropped out within the first hour. The first hour. Some even
fainted. Some just got up and ran away. Away they ran. They
couldn’t even catch them, so fast did they run. Sissies, you
know. But the Eastern Europeans held on. Sort of. They sort
423
of held on. All except the Polish woman. And also the Asians,
obviously, they did well, except the Japanese guy. Japan, it is
not the real Asia, you know. Everything was going well. People
were dropping out or collapsing. And then the Polish woman.
That was a little complication. There’s the rub, as they say.
She suddenly jumped out of her chair. And started to scream.
Terrible screaming. I got scared, really. She ran straight
into an enormous, really enormous, column. And smashed
her head to pieces. I had a hard row to hoe because of her.
Because I watched her and I had to catch up. Catch up with
the Chinese swine. He was toiling real hard. But I got him.
Finally I got him. Because you know what? Because I realized
for the first time something I hadn’t known before. In the past,
you know, that when something hurts, something hurts, such
as ears, for example, at the check-outs, or a bladder, urinary
bladder, because we weren’t allowed, no, not even a drop.
So when something really hurts, then, it, really, gives you
strength, actually. Terrible strength. The more pain, the more
strength I have, you know. So I was speeding up, more and
more. Because of the loss caused by the Polish woman, and
her brain, on the column, I managed to catch up. Faster and
faster. The pain was so great that I was, actually, you know,
feeling pleasure. As never before. You can’t compare it with
Kaufland. Or the ad agency, no way. It was weak. Just nothing.
But there, at the check-out, when the Chinaman with his Party
and great China was far behind me. I realized. I realized that
the power, the power of suffering, the pain that is streaming
from suffering, that it is not only from suffering, but from
the cosmos, it is the power of the universe. It originates in
the universe. And so suddenly, suddenly I won, a sweeping
victory it was. The second round. Everyone, everyone at
once, suddenly wanted to know where the Czech Republic
actually is. And I said that it’s in the heart of Europe. There it
is. A small, tiny country. But the people are great, truly great.
424
Because they know how to use the mysterious, enormous
power, of the universe. We know how to use it. We are good
at such things. And we want, mainly, we desire, to know. And
therefore we know. Also we vote for Mirek with the granddad,
that, Schanzenstein, and Peter as well, you know, we vote for
them.
30.
Mr.M had to work really hard eventually,
because it’s no joke with great China.
MR.M: And so it went, you know. There was something everyday.
There were eighteen of us. From the supermarket. Decreasing,
you know, decreasing. They had it really well thought out for
us, you know, I’ll say this for them. It was really tough. The
next day we had to pull the wagons. Alternative power, you
know. The little girl from Africa, somewhere, she dropped out.
From Zambia or Ethiopia or something. She couldn’t move
it an inch with the wagon. And the next day, into the mines.
To dig coal with jackhammers. Really deep it was. Heat, you
know, forty degrees and five tons of coal we were supposed
to mine. Dying like flies, they were. And that bastard, that
fucking Chinaman, was catching up, you know. In mining, you
know. I wasn’t good at it, at mining. And he won, the bastard.
And I was working fucking hard, my sinews were breaking,
you know. My hands tingling. Because of the jackhammer,
you know. Even at night I was still vibrating. Blood on hands,
streaming, you know. As I was loading the coal. Beauty, pure
beauty. It was tough. A huge battle. It seemed that there’d be
a battle. Between the small Chinaman and me, a small Czech.
A small Chinaman from a really great China, fucking big, you
know. What he could bear, unbelievable. I began to respect
him, you know.
425
The assembly line. It was next. How fast it was. It cut the
Ukrainian’s head. And the arms of the Brazilian guy too, just
under his shoulders. He was funny. Just stood there. Without
his arms. Like a fountain, or something like that, he looked,
the ones we have, you know, the fountains on squares. Sort of.
But ours are made of stone, obviously.
And then. Total decrease, you know. Absolute decrease.
Just two of us, after that discipline. After that. That Olympic
discipline. Russia. Morocco, Thailand, Lithuania and others.
Other countries. Dropped out. All of them. At this discipline.
The liquidation of waste, toxic waste. We had to. No tools,
you know. They gave us no tools. Not even instructions.
Why tools, right? Too expensive. The employer does not
have money for it, you know, the crisis etc. Very poor they
are, all of them. They just put a barrel in front of me. Still
smoking it was. And bubbling. Get rid of it! But how? What
was I supposed to do? So I started to eat it. Guzzle it. Drink
it up. What else? I had a momentary feeling that I was
dissolving. Just dissolving. And that fucking Chinese idiot, he
aped it after me, fucker. Eating it he was, and drinking it up.
That shit. The others rather withdrew. Or they were eaten,
like, you know. It dissolved them. You know, like porridge,
he looked, the Romanian guy. Or the Russian. He lasted
long, that one. Before turning into porridge. Not to mention
that they were measuring and testing, you know, everything
that was falling from us, you know, shit, vomit, you know.
As we were shitting and vomiting, they were measuring the
toxicity. How we managed to eliminate the toxicity. And so we
eliminated, and eliminated. The Chinaman and me. Not the
others. Although they were aping, too. And so, so only I stayed
with the Chinaman. Only one point, one point ahead of him.
Drama, fucking drama it was. Whole nations watching TV. So
silent they were, the nations. Such drama. So dramatic it was.
426
31.
Mr.M is experiencing a terrible crisis.
MR.M: And then, then it was, you know. The D-day. The most
important day. Of the decision. Who. Which of us. Me or the
Chinaman. The Chinaman or me. Fucking hard, you know,
very tough. The last round. A show, it was a show. Sponsored
by Nike. The company, Nike. They lent us their factory. For
the last round. It was free. Because the sewers were holding
a hunger strike. At that time. 13 hours was too much for them.
Every day, you know. So they took us there. When they brought
the hungry sewers out from the factory, I don’t know why they
had to hold the hunger strike in the factory. Why not at home.
You know, the sewers. So they brought us there. The Chinaman
and me. From the hotel. Or what was it? We were frozen, as
we were sleeping on the concrete. Stomach aches. From the
shit they gave us. And the toxic waste, a bit, too, that we were
eating the other day. Cameras everywhere again. Cheerleaders
also, half naked. We were supposed to sew pockets. Sew some
pockets. It didn’t seem so hard. No, it didn’t, at first. And in
the audience, there were all the big shots, you know. Kings
and presidents. Directors. Corporate directors. There were
speeches, you know. About how important the Olympics are.
Because people will see. That where there’s a will, there’s a way.
As I was always saying too. This. So we had to sew the pockets.
On trousers. So many. For five days. The contest was for five
days. 23 hours a day. To make them see. The lazy sewers. From
Malaysia, or somewhere. That it’s possible, that there is a way,
when there’s a will. One hour of sleep is enough. Sure, why
not? And suddenly, suddenly I saw Mirek. On the tribune.
Peter was there too, with the expression of his, you know, as
always, he looked as if he was smelling something terrible.
Well, that’s him, you know. But Mirek, he was there. That was
the most important. For me. My heart even, started thumping.
427
All the beauty, you know, all the beautiful things, I experienced
with him, I recalled everything. And a new power, new power
entered into me and I felt suddenly, that, that I mustn’t lose,
just mustn’t lose this battle.
And then we sat. At the sewing machines. And a starting
shot. Three, two, one, go! And off we went. You know,
I hadn’t done it before, so there was a little problem. Even
the Chinaman didn’t seem too good with the machine. So at
first, it started slowly. The limits, we couldn’t keep up with the
limits. No way. And every hour, for all the pockets we didn’t
manage, an electric jolt in the back of the chair, you know.
I always contorted myself. Absolutely. Wonderful, beautiful,
it was. And the first day it ended in a tie. The Chinaman
was perhaps two or three pockets ahead. But the limits, we
managed to keep the hourly limits. At the end, of the day,
you know. Both of us. 130 sewn pockets. Per hour, you know.
It’s not easy, you know. And at six a.m. we lay down under the
machines and had a short nap. After an hour. Another shot.
And the machine was on. The needle was moving so fast. As
if it were racing. One pocket, ten pockets, one hundred and
fifty pockets. A gong at the end of the hour shift. My fingers
hurt. Awful pain, you know. And my back. It hurt like hell too.
And then the power, again, from the universe. It was entering
me. But also the Chinaman. He also was getting power from
somewhere, as if. From his Party, probably. From where else?
Because he didn’t look to be, like me, you know. He was more,
like, stubborn, you know. He looked a bit fanatical, you know.
Like that he must, despite the suffering. Terrible suffering.
Although he even couldn’t straighten his back in the evening.
On the floor. Not even able to fall asleep. With pain. That
he, like, doesn’t realize the beauty of it. The beauty of work.
Sometimes I glanced at the tribune. But Mirek, he was not
there anymore. It wasn’t good, anymore. Because, you know,
I was disappointed, a bit. A support, you know, I needed
428
support. And there was none. No. Suddenly. The Chinese
swine, suddenly he was ahead of me. The second day, thirty
more pockets than me. The third day even more. Because,
you know, I sewed my fingers. And my eyes, you know, were
swollen, they were. The dust, you know, probably. They hurt.
But it was beautiful. Obviously. I couldn’t see much. Nothing.
So swollen were the eyes. Like this. (His eyes become swollen.)
But I solved it. I managed it, because, you know, I had matches.
In my pocket. By accident. And so I put them between my
eyelids. Swollen eyelids. Like this. And I went on. On. On. But
the Chinaman was still ahead of me. More and more. At the end
of the day. The third day, he was 300 pockets ahead. Terrible.
Terrible. And when I went to sleep, on the floor. Sad. Very
sad I was. Really. To win. You know, it was impossible to win.
I thought. And fell asleep, very, very, restless sleep. And then…
32.
Mr.M is in doubt about his horse identity.
The Anthropomorphic Horse tells him not to have doubts.
MR.M: You know. Sometimes I have a feeling. That I am not enough
horse. That it is beyond my strength.
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Yeah, I know this.
MR.M: That perhaps it is too much for me, you know.
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Yeah, it happens sometimes.
MR.M: And that fucking Chinaman is going to win.
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Well, you know, these Chinese.
Small, but skilful. But, old mate, I’m telling you, they might
look it, a bit, but they are no horses, no. They really aren’t.
They don’t know what their real strength is. They don’t know.
MR.M: Really?
429
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Come on, I was joking. The
Chinese toil hard as horses. You have no chance.
MR.M: What?
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Well, you don’t.
MR.M: And I do, you bet!
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Bullshit. You don’t have
a chance.
MR.M: I’ll show you. I’ll show you that I have a chance. I will rip the
Chinaman’s arsehole, you’ll see. Because I have something he
does not have.
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Really?
MR.M: I have my mission. I have cosmic power. I have my Czech
Republic. I have my Mirek. And he doesn’t have Mirek, the
Chinaman. And I have my day! My working day! My 48-hour
work day.
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: You see. Now, you’re ready.
Because you have your natural working day.
MR.M: Yes, I know, now. I am ready.
33.
The Anthropomorphic Horse sings a victorious tango
and dances with Mr.M.
ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE:
So far you’ve got, my dear.
Many were shot, you’re still here.
Now the task you’ll complete,
My well-built black stead.
Rice is not grass,
And pain is not fame,
Party and China can kiss your ass.
430
Refrain:
You have your working day, of course,
You see, you’re a beautiful horse.
You know the origin of your power.
You know how to build a tower.
34.
Mr.M gets his second wind.
MR.M: After this dream, after this dream, when the shot was fired,
I jumped up and I knew. I knew I was going to win. Because
I suddenly had something the Chinaman didn’t have. I had my
day. My 48-hour day. And the Chinaman didn’t. And when
we finished sewing on the fifth day. It was the seventh day for
me, you know. When we finally finished sewing. 500 pockets
more. 500 more I had. Although my hands were sewn crisscross. Here, here, and here. Sewn criss-cross. Yet. 500 pockets
more. And the Chinaman. He just dropped down silently and
died. No fucking use. His Party was of no fucking use. Great
China. For nothing. And I. I was the champion. The winner.
The greatest winner. The flourish of trumpets. People were
throwing confetti in the air. Women were stripping from their
bras. Bras in the air. Cheerleaders. Everyone was shaking hands
with me. The General Director of Kaufland did arrive, on his
wheelchair. Pretending illness he was. Pat me on the back.
The Secretary General of the U.N., pat me on the back and
shook my hand. The Secretary General of U.N.I.C.E.F too. He
was sorry only because, because no child won. But he shook
my hand, heartily. Congratulated me. Well done boy, he said.
That I toil like a horse. I can toil like a horse. Yes, like a horse.
Finally. Mirek. Even Mirek shook my hand. And pat me on my
back. Imagine! Even Mirek. And we had a photograph taken,
431
together. Wonderful. And then he signed the photograph. For
me. Sheer beauty! Fucking beauty. The most beautiful beauty!
But all wasn’t as it seemed. The premonition, you know.
The premonition. I had. It was right.
And I protest! Protest! I protest because no human being
should be treated like this, like dirt. Like dirt, like shit. No,
it’s not possible. And I protest! Protest! Protest!
35.
Mr.M in an undeserved hell.
MR.M: And then. Then. My life turned into hell. They made hell out
of my life. A villa, a huge villa, I won. In Monte Carlo. On the
Riviera. With a swimming pool. With servants. A limousine.
They took me everywhere in a limo. Showing me. As the best
employee. Public discussions. Autographs. They were showing
me. Exhibiting me. Accommodation in luxurious hotels, you
know. And when the unions, the unions wanted to lynch me,
you know, people in the streets, they gave me bodyguards.
I wanted to get back, you know, I thought I would just get
back to work. Because there was so much, so much that must
be, done, you know. But they said no. No way, forget it! That
I “had done my bit”, I “showed the others the right way”. And
that till the end of life I could just do nothing. Just enjoy the
luxury, you know. Don’t have to move a finger anymore. Not
even to move a finger. How I wished, oh how I wished, the
bodyguards would, you know, would not pay attention, and
I could slip away. In the street. To be beaten by the unionist,
you know. Fucking angry they were. To be kicked by them.
But no, nothing. Well, I still could change the world. I still
could. But for whom? For whom, fuck! When I couldn’t enjoy
432
it, couldn’t. No. What use of such world? They brought me
to companies, to factories. And they were saying, see, how
far he got? You can too. Be like him. Even you. If you work
hard. As he did. As he did. Twelve, sixteen, thirty hours a day.
You can do it. This. And then audience with the politicians.
With Mirek, for example. He even, he even said, to me, such
nastiness:
MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: Welcome to the
club, mate. You did just fine.
MR.M: That’s what he said, he did. To me. Mirek. Terrible, isn’t it?
Awful, just fucking awful. In the club. I was in the club. But
in the wrong one. Not the one I wanted, you know, not the
one I wanted to be in. Never wanted to. I wanted something
completely different, my whole life. Something different.
Not to lie on the beach. Why do nothing? Why have your
ass driven in a limo? Or in Maseratti. What for? I don’t want
it. I just don’t. And then the dream. No more dreams. The
dreams have disappeared. Well, actually they haven’t. But,
nothing, you know, nothing. Absolutely nothing.
(An empty buggy appears behind Mr.M. The whip lies on the floor.)
So sad they were. The dreams. So sad. No more freedom.
No gallop in the countryside. Unleashed. No whip. Not even
the cutting of the sharp pen. Absolutely nothing. Nothing.
Absolute, total, ultimate, nothing.
(He breaks down. He is silent for a long time. And then quietly.)
I just protest! I protest! Protest! Protest! Protest! Protest!
Protest! Protest! Protest! Protest! Protest…
THE END
433
Milan Uhde
(1936)
Milan Uhde is Moravian writer,
dramatist and politician. He grew up
in a family where both parents were lawyers. In 1958 he graduated in
Czech and Russian studies at the (now) Masaryk University in Brno.
He became an editor for the important Brno monthly for literature,
art and criticism Host do domu (published 1954-1970). In 1972, his
name was placed on the list of banned writers. He wrote plays under
the names of other writers (most frequently for the theatre Divadlo
na provázku in Brno), published his work in samizdat, and also
worked with foreign theatres and radio and television companies.
Milan Uhde was one of the first signatories of Charta 77. In 1989
he and other dissidents founded the publishing house Atlantis, and
he became its editor-in-chief. In 1990 he became the second postNovember, 1989 Minister of Culture. In 1992 he qualified as a Senior
Lecturer at the Janáček Academy of Performing Arts in Brno. From
1992 to 1996 he represented the ODS (Civic Democratic Party) at
first in the Czech National Parliament and then, after the division of
Czechoslovakia on January 1,1993 in the Chamber of Deputies. On
June 29, 1992 he was elected Speaker of the House.
In 1998, he retired from active politics and returned again to
his writing profession. His earlier work was republished by Atlantis,
however he did not hesitated to throw himself into new projects. For
his latest play Miracle in the Black House (Zázrak v černém domě,
2004), staged by Divadlo Na zábradlí, he was awarded the Alfréd
Radok Award 2007 for Best Czech Play of the Year. His awards also
include Egon Hostovský Award and Tom Stoppard Award for the
script of Lord of the Little Flames (Pán plamínků, 1977).
434
LIST OF PLAYS (selection):
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
Král Vávra,1964; première 26. 2. 1964, Večerní Brno, Brno
Výběrčí,1966; première 26. 3. 1990, Divadlo JELO, Prague
Balada pro Banditu, 1975 (written under the name of the
theatre director Zdeněk Pospíšil); première 7. 4. 1975, Divadlo
na provázku, Brno
Pohádka máje, 1976; première 23. 3. 1976, Divadlo na provázku,
Brno
Pán plamínků,1977
Velice tiché Ave, 1981; première 15. 5. 1990, Reduta, Prague
Zvěstování aneb Bedřichu, jsi anděl, 1986; 18. 10. 1989, Malé
české divadlo, Praha (rehearsed reading), première 21. 6. 1990,
Divadlo F. X. Šaldy, Liberec
Prodaný a prodaná, 1987 (written under the names of Petr
Oslzlý and Peter Scherhaufer); première 28. 1. 1987, Divadlo na
provázku, Brno
Zázrak v černém domě, 2004; première 9. 3. 2007, Divadlo Na
zábradlí, Prague
Nana, 2005; première 2. 4. 2005, Městské divadlo, Brno
•
TRANSLATED PLAYS (selection):
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
Komedie s Lotem: German – Kommödie mit Lot
Svědkové: English – Witnesses, German – Die Zeugnisse
Výběrčí: French – Le Percepteur, German – Die Kassierer
Parta: French – L’équipe, German – Der Trupe,
Zubařovo pokušení: German – Zahnarzt in Versuchung
Modrý anděl: French – L’ange bleu, German – Ein blauer Engel,
Italian – L’ angelo azzurro
Balada pro banditu: Polish – Ballada dła bandyty
Zvěstování aneb Bedřichu, jsi anděl: German – Die
Verständigung oder Friedrich, du bist ein Engel
435
•
Zázrak v černém domě: Catalan – Miracle a la casa negra,
Croatian – Čudo v kući jada, English – The Miracle at the Black
House, Russian – Čudo v čjornom dome
436
Milan Uhde
THE MIRACLE
AT THE BLACK HOUSE
A Comedy in Two Parts
Translated by David Short
For their help with work on the text the author is grateful to Zdeněk
Hedvábný, who was the play’s literary adviser until his dying day, and
to Jolana Součková, Richard Erml and Ladislav Smoček.
This play is copyright and subject to protection under the Copyright Act.
This work may be used solely for dramaturgical purposes in association with
a production of it.
Any other use, in particular its duplication or making it available to third
parties, is subject to the sanctions of §152 of the Penal Code. In the event of any
intent to produce or otherwise use the play, you undertake to seek performing
rights to the work from Aura-Pont s.r.o.
All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the Aura-Pont Agency
Radlická 99, Praha 5, 150 00, Czech Republic, www.aura-pont.cz
Address for correspondance: Veslařský ostrov 62, 147 00 Praha 4
437
Characters:
Father, (Dr. Eduard Pompe), aged 80
Mother, (Dr. Heda Pompe, with maiden name of Polák), aged 78
Šárka, (their daughter), aged 48
Dušan, (their son), aged 54
Klára, (his wife), aged 48
Ivan, (the Pompes’ younger son), aged 50
Tatyana, (his wife), aged 28
Neighbour, (Mr. Křenař), aged 70
438
Part 1
“With almost any tale about a miracle it is generally clear that the
teller learned it only from hearsay. In my case, I was there myself. It
happened on the synagogue steps. A woman carrying a dead baby in
her arms dashed up to the rabbi: ‘Perform a miracle, Rabbi. Bring
him back to life.’
The miracle-working rabbi raises his eyes to the heavens and uttered
the magic words. The bystanders stood there rigid with excruciating
tension.”
“And the baby? Did it come to life?”
“No.”
“So there was no miracle.”
“Obviously. But I was there myself.”
An old joke.
(Enter Neighbor. He walks down the auditorium aisle wearing
dungarees and a work shirt and carrying a scythe over one shoulder;
he is whistling something out of tune in the manner of tone-deaf
people. He heads for the stage, but then just props his scythe against
the side of the proscenium and turns off through a side door. As his
whistling fades the curtain rises.
Setting: The hall of a family house, designed in the style of 1930s
Functionalist architecture. Four doors lead off it: starting from the
left, the door to the downstairs bathroom and toilet (door 1); next to
it the door into the main body of the house (door 2); next, the door
to the cellar and workshop (door 3); then, furthest to the right, the
front door from the street and garden (door 4). Flush with the wall
between doors 2 and 3 is the white-painted door of a wooden built-in
cupboard. Above the set hangs a chandelier of a severe, geometrical
shape. At the front of the stage stands a coffee table and three chairs,
also strictly Functionalist. The cupboard door, all the other doors and
the furniture show signs of having been in use for about fifty years,
439
they are scratched and dingy. Beneath the ceiling and in the corners
are visible stains left by rain leaking through the roof.)
DUŠAN: (Unlocks door 4, pops the key in his pocket and enters the
hall.) No one around. Just as I expected.
KLÁRA: (Follows him in, quietly.) Good morning. (Puts a finger to
her lips.) They’re still in bed.
DUŠAN: (Opens door 2 and calls inside.) In the name of the law!
KLÁRA: Don’t shout.
DUŠAN: (Shouts.) Aufmachen! Geheime Staatspolizei!
KLÁRA: (Under her breath.) “Don’t start feeding foie gras to the
canary.”
DUŠAN: What? For the hundred-and-tenth time of telling: I didn’t
know the foie gras had gone bad.
KLÁRA: Yes, you did. You just didn’t want to keep the bird. You said:
No canary! And I know why. First, because it flew in uninvited
and was an illegal resident. Second, because you didn’t want
to look after it. But mostly because you wanted to upset me
and the children. Then it was up to me to smooth things over
and convince them what a good father you are.
DUŠAN: And aren’t I?
KLÁRA: Listen, let’s go home. You can’t do this.
DUŠAN: I am good. Like never before.
KLÁRA: Like last time. The family demon’s getting to you.
DUŠAN: You mean the Gestapo thing? All right. I admit it. It was
silly. No more Gestapo.
KLÁRA: And no more trying to impress.
DUŠAN: I won’t.
KLÁRA: You won’t forget why they invited us.
DUŠAN: The inheritance.
KLÁRA: They’re being conciliatory. They’ll tell you as much over
breakfast.
DUŠAN: And I’m to pretend that all’s well.
440
KLÁRA: And tell your father you’re sorry for what you said last
time. Will you?
DUŠAN: Mostly because you want me to.
KLÁRA: I thought you wanted to. But if I’ve got it wrong …
DUŠAN: Don’t worry. What we agreed still holds.
KLÁRA: And what if your dad pretends not to recognize you and
says “Good morning, Ivan lad”?
DUŠAN: That’s what I’m expecting.
KLÁRA: And if he asks: “Do you need something?”
DUŠAN: I’ll be furious. Because it means: Don’t expect anything
from me.
KLÁRA: See. There’s no point.
DUŠAN: There is. I’ll hold myself in check. I can cope.
NEIGHBOUR: (Knocks on door 4 from outside, opens it and stops
in the doorway.) G’d mornin’, Minister. Madame. I’m the
neighbor.
KLÁRA: We’ve met before. (Nudges Dušan, who is lost in thought.)
Dušan.
DUŠAN: Of course, Mr. Křenař. But I’m not a government minister
anymore.
NEIGHBOUR: I know, Minister. But I can’t stand to see it. People
keep asking how things are.
DUŠAN: Bad, Mr. Křenař. In due proportion with what we’re like.
NEIGHBOUR: (Hears footsteps the other side of door 3, quickly.)
Well, I won’t intrude. (Leaves through door 4, closing it behind
him.)
FATHER: (Enters through door 3, sees Dušan and Klára.) Good
morning, Ivan lad. What is it? Has something happened?
KLÁRA: Good morning, father. How are you?
FATHER: (Ignores Klára and addresses Dušan.) Do you need
something?
DUŠAN: We’re precisely on time. Nine to the minute.
FATHER: (He has heard: Fine day, innit.) Yes, yes, glorious. But then
it is the end of June.
441
DUŠAN: (Parodying his father.) One week after the equinox.
Daylight’s waning. The days are getting shorter. Autumn
round the corner and swallows gathering on the wires.
KLÁRA: Dušan.
FATHER: (As if he hasn’t heard and has lost the thread.) Good, good.
Listen, have you got a spanner? A twenty-two. Or a wrench.
DUŠAN: (Again imitating his father’s manner.) Good, good. It’ll be
Christmas soon.
KLÁRA: Dušan, stop it.
FATHER: Handy little wrench. (He is holding a wrench.) Won’t grip.
You haven’t got one, have you? (He puts the wrench down on
the table; makes to leave by door 3.) Never mind, I’ll file it
down. Luckily I’ve got a file. (Exits through door 3, closing it
behind him.)
NEIGHBOUR: (Looks in from door 4, remains in the doorway.) I tell
you, Minister, you’re not going to leave things as they are, are
you? You are going to do something about it, aren’t you?
DUŠAN: Me, Mr. Křenař? I’m out of it.
KLÁRA: Darling, Mr. Křenař isn’t talking about politics.
NEIGHBOUR: Your father’s in good shape. For an eighty-year-old.
But enough is enough.
DUŠAN: Has he been repairing things again?
NEIGHBOUR: Yesterday morning. My wife comes dashin’ in, oh my
God, she says, ’e’s up on the roof. Wi’ a paintbrush. I tells ’im:
Doctor Pompe, you should said. My son’ll fix it for ye. Cheap,
and he’ll give you a guarantee.
KLÁRA: That’s very kind of you, Mr. Křenař.
NEIGHBOUR: That’s all very well. But he sent me packin’. I says’
I’ll tell on ye. But ’e says ’e’s got ’is safety ’arness on. But I’m
tellin’ ye: if he slipped and broke ’is neck, we’d feel ourselves
blame. (Hears footsteps behind door 3, exits by door 4, closing
it behind him.)
FATHER: (Enters through door 3, closing it behind him. He is carrying
a large file; he picks up the wrench and ostentatiously checks
442
it to see if he can file the defective thread into shape.) Like
a sword. Pre-war job this. Genuine Solingen steel. (Leaves by
door 3, closing it behind him.)
MOTHER: (Enters through door 2, walking with difficulty.) Children!
I thought you might change your minds. (Embraces her
firstborn son, shakes hands with Klára, speaking the whole
time.) It’s been so long since we saw you. Two years. I’ve kept
imagining it. Sunday, like in the old days. We’ll have breakfast
together, then go up to Medlán. Like when you were little. Up
the hill to the little chapel. Everything will be sorted out and
it will be all right. But there’s a complication. He’s left.
DUŠAN: Who? Pavel? Why? And when?
MOTHER: In the night. Like a boy. He took the baby with him.
DUŠAN: But why? Why?
MOTHER: Because it’s a bastard. Like its father. It runs in the family.
DUŠAN: Pavel isn’t a bastard.
MOTHER: Are you going to argue about it? Please don’t start.
DUŠAN: How’s she taken it?
MOTHER: Šárka? Bravely. She’s making breakfast. But you know,
she did love him.
(Klára is leaving by door 2.)
MOTHER: (To Klára.) Are you going to give her a hand? Just don’t
mention Pavel. Let’s keep her mind off it.
DUŠAN: Mother, the truth now: has it come back again?
MOTHER: What? No, she’s all right. I’ve told her: Šárka, you mustn’t
have another breakdown. You’ve got obligations. – I more
afraid what Daddy will do.
DUŠAN: He seems quite normal.
MOTHER: Except that last night – said he wanted the car keys.
I asked him: Where are you going? And he says: That’s my
business. So I says: No keys. I know what he’d do.
DUŠAN: Goodness! Who to? Pavel?
MOTHER: Don’t underestimate him. He admires the Germans, but
where the family’s concerned he’s like an Italian.
443
DUŠAN: So what would he do? Shoot him with that old gun of his?
FATHER: (Enters through door 3, closing it behind him.) Snap! The
handle. (He holds up the file with its wooden handle cracked.)
It’s split.
MOTHER: Won’t you come and join us, Eddie?
FATHER: Of course. I’ve got a spare one. (Leaves by door 3 and
closes it.)
DUŠAN: Were you counting on him to stay with her?
MOTHER: With Šárka? He promised he would.
DUŠAN: Until he found out what’s wrong with her.
MOTHER: She’s run down. When she had her first breakdown,
I asked him: What’s going to happen now, Paul? Divorce? And
he says: Catholics don’t get divorced.
DUŠAN: But there are limits to what even Catholics can take.
MOTHER: Are you taking sides with him?
DUŠAN: I’ve never been in his situation. It’s not for me to judge him.
MOTHER: Your father and I do.
FATHER: (Enters through door 2. He is holding his left hand, from
the index finger of which, blood is dripping to the ground.) It
slipped. The swine.
MOTHER: Heavens, Eddie. What a mess you’ve made of yourself.
FATHER: It came loose. The vice. I can’t figure how. It’s old. And
German. The hacksaw went straight into my finger.
DUŠAN: (Looking at the wound.) Right through to the bone.
MOTHER: (Cries out.) He keeps doing this. Why does he have to
go cutting things?
FATHER: What a liberty. Criminal.
MOTHER: (Screams.) You must get to hospital.
FATHER: Why? The finger’s had it. If I’m going to get blood
poisoning, I’ll get it anyway.
DUŠAN: (Opens door 2 and shouts.) Klára!
KLÁRA: (She comes in through door 2, sees what has happened and
reacts quite calmly.) Pop out to the car. First-aid kit.
(Dušan runs out through door 4 closing it behind him.)
444
FATHER: (Sits down by the table.) If I faint, just remember, I will not
go to hospital. I shall die at home.
DUŠAN: (Returns by door 4, closes it behind him, bringing the firstaid kit.) Gauze? Cotton? Stop the bleeding?
KLÁRA: (Opens the first-aid kit, takes out a disinfectant spray.)
Don’t waste time asking questions. (Sprays the injured finger.)
FATHER: (It obviously stings.) I feel ill.
MOTHER: He’s like a child. Has to keep playing games.
ŠÁRKA: (Enters through door 2, doesn’t even notice what’s going
on and earnestly addresses Dušan.) Tschüss, du. Ich danke
dir herzlich für die Gelegenheit, ein paar Probleme des
Nibelungenlieds mit dir zu behandeln. Erstens: Ich hab’ eine
Studie gelesen über die Beziehung zwischen Kriemhilde und
ihrem Mann. Meine Frage lautet:
KLÁRA: Bandage.
ŠÁRKA: Sind die Theorien von Freud und von seinen Schülern
nicht fähig, einen Text wie das Nibelungenlied glaubwürtig
zu interpretieren?
KLÁRA: Scissors.
ŠÁRKA: (To Dušan.) I’d like an answer, damn you!
DUŠAN: Not now.
ŠÁRKA: Not even if I ask nicely? To me it’s a matter of principle:
Can an utterly modern, analytical viewpoint be applied
to the Nibelungen? An Old-German epic arises out of
a completely different system of values from our own. Are
Kriemhilde’s motives for murder different from a modern
woman’s?
MOTHER: (To Klára.) What are you doing with that?
KLÁRA: Tying a bow.
MOTHER: (Dubious.) What is it?
KLÁRA: Almost the same as stitches.
MOTHER: And oughtn’t he to have it stitched?
KLÁRA: Yes, he ought.
ŠÁRKA: (To Dušan.) I think it ought to be possible.
445
MOTHER: Did you hear that, Eddie?
ŠÁRKA: (To Dušan.) Are you going to talk to me or not?
DUŠAN: (To Šárka.) I’m no expert on Germanic Studies. Or
a philosopher.
ŠÁRKA: (To Dušan.) It’s a general problem, not specialist. Even
a lawyer must have a view.
KLÁRA: There. (She has finished the dressing.)
FATHER: And will I be able to work with it like that?
KLÁRA: Certainly not, Daddy. Not until the wound heals.
MOTHER: And not then either. This was your final warning. Next
time it’s hospital for you.
FATHER: Horse piddle? What good would that do?
DUŠAN: (To his mother about his father.) His hearing’s getting worse
and worse.
MOTHER: His hearing’s as it always has been. (She shouts in
Father’s direction so that he can’t deny hearing it.) He’s playing
the buffoon. But it’s going to stop. I’m going to grab all his old
junk and throw it out.
FATHER: My German wrench! Just you dare. Will you get me
another one?
MOTHER: The times I’ve begged him, children: Let’s get a man in
and it’ll be over and done with.
ŠÁRKA: You’re not paying attention, Dušan. I would maintain that in
analyzing any work all methods are admissible. Take Derrida
and his Deconstructionism – very liberal, methodologically
speaking.
DUŠAN: Thank goodness for one word of common sense. I’ll pop
over and get him.
ŠÁRKA: (To Dušan.) Who? Derrida?
MOTHER: (It is not clear whether she is speaking to Dušan or Šárka.)
Wait.
ŠÁRKA: Any little thing is more important than I am.
MOTHER: Eddie, I do wish you’d admit you’re not up to it. The
house needs a complete going over. The roof leaks. The taps
446
drip. For fifty years everything’s been rusting and decaying.
Dušan can see to it.
ŠÁRKA: And who’s going to see to my needs?
MOTHER: (To Father.) You’re no handyman. So?
FATHER: Only an idiot would throw a German wrench away.
ŠÁRKA: Is anyone listening? Who’s going to see to my needs? No
one.
DUŠAN: Calm down.
ŠÁRKA: Words, words, words. That’s all you’re good at. Offer
a helping hand, no, you won’t. But I have a solution. A radical
one. (She leaves by door 2, leaving it open.)
DUŠAN: Sarah, don’t be silly. (Makes to follow her.)
MOTHER: (To Dušan.) You’re calling her Sarah again? Why?
KLÁRA: (To Mother.) He likes making others happy. But it won’t be
long now. (To Dušan) Eh, Dušan? (To Mother.) And he’ll talk to
Daddy. (To Dušan.) But no more foie gras. Nicely. (She leaves
following Šárka through door 2, closing it behind her.)
DUŠAN: (Standing facing his father.) Dad.
FATHER: (Says nothing.)
MOTHER: Please, Eddie dear, talk to him.
FATHER: (Silence.)
DUŠAN: Little Daddy.
FATHER: (Silence.)
MOTHER: That’s what he called you when he was only knee-high.
Why won’t you answer him?
FATHER: (Silence.)
DUŠAN: Oh, my poor little Daddy.
MOTHER: (To Dušan.) He’s terrible. There’ve been times when
he wouldn’t speak to me for six months on end. (To Father.)
Eddie, it was you who wanted me to invite him. What did you
want? To show him you’re still angry? And are you going to
be angry for another year?
DUŠAN: Two years.
447
MOTHER: (To Father.) I don’t understand you. What he called you
was so nice.
FATHER: That was from Diderot. A paraphrase. That’s what Jacques
said to his master. Being condescending. From a sense of
superiority. What’s nice about that?
MOTHER: (To Dušan.) Goodness, he’s so stubborn. The nights I’ve
spent crying because of him! I hoped I’d wring at least two
words out of him: ‘Don’t cry’. Do you think it worked? Not
a bit of it. He punished me by calling it blubbering. Yes, he
didn’t say ‘cry’ or even ‘weep’, just ‘blubber’. My own mother
once said: ‘That man of yours, Hedi, I don’t think he’s really
human. How can you love him?’
IVAN: (Calling from off-stage.) Open up in the name of the law.
(Enters through door 4, closing it behind him.) Police.
MOTHER: Ivan, come in. Where’s Tanya? And Baby Peter?
IVAN: Outside. Being fed. You know, that ritual. And how’s Šárka?
Better?
MOTHER: Holding up.
IVAN: What’s this? (Inspects the bloodstains on the floor.)
DUŠAN: (Under his breath.) Joe, tell us a joke.
IVAN: You been slaughtering a pig?
DUŠAN: Hoorah! I knew he’d come up with a good one.
MOTHER: (To Dušan.) Won’t you say hello to your brother?
DUŠAN: Had I known, I would have stayed at home.
MOTHER: If you’d known what? That Ivan was coming? He’s as
much right to be here as you.
DUŠAN: Of course he does. I was just rehearsing the past conditional
in a complex sentence. Hätte ich es gewusst, wäre ich zu Hause
geblieben.
IVAN: (To Mother.) Tell him to get knotted.
MOTHER: What has happened to you two? For twenty years you
were inseparable. Making fun of your parents, you were good
at that. So start acting like brothers again.
DUŠAN: It isn’t going to be easy.
448
MOTHER: Stop being difficult. And you stop calling him Joe.
DUŠAN: Shouldn’t that have been his name? After Stalin?
MOTHER: Keep your wisecracks for Klára. Though you wouldn’t
dare.
IVAN: Leave him, Mother. He’s just stupid.
DUŠAN: But not stupid enough to fraternize with a secret agent.
IVAN: Do I have your permission, Mother, to smack him in the face?
MOTHER: (To Ivan.) Just you dare! (To Dušan.) And Dušan, I won’t
have you saying that. Ivan was never an agent.
DUŠAN: Sorry. I admit it. Compared to him a secret agent is a man
of character.
FATHER: (Has been following this dialogue and breaks into the
conflict between the brothers, as if it were unpleasant to him.)
Have you got a spanner, Ivan lad? A twenty-two?
IVAN: (Turns away from Dušan and the tension eases. He bellows at
Father as if he were deaf.) What for?
FATHER: You haven’t got one, have you?
IVAN: I’ll bring one next time. Okay?
FATHER: Bouquet? What on earth for? A wrench would have come
in handy though. Have you got a wrench at least?
IVAN: (Bellowing.) Do you need it right now?
MOTHER: Don’t promise him anything, Ivan. This can’t go on.
IVAN: Has he been plumbing again?
MOTHER: Just look. He’d hardly started and almost bled to death
on us. (To Father.) We’re not going to be here much longer,
Eddie. So why not spend at least our last few years like civilized
people?
FATHER: Your mother, Ivan, was quite a good lawyer once. But
otherwise she understands nothing.
MOTHER: She would like a kitchen, a bathroom and a laundry
where she could cook, bathe and do the washing. And this
absurd desire has not been fulfilled, nor will it ever be. To say
nothing of the garden. Grass three foot high.
449
FATHER: Can you repair a mower? No. I can. So you’ll have to wait
till I can get round to it. You can’t cut grass with clacking jaws.
IVAN: The same old song.
DUŠAN: I’ll nip round to the Křenařs’. Shall I?
FATHER: (To Mother.) If you let that person with a scythe inside this
house, if you say as much as one word to him, I won’t answer
for the consequences.
MOTHER: See? Did you hear that? This is what you left me in. This
is what I have to live with.
IVAN: No need to dramatize. Plumbers are two a penny. If Křenař’s no
good, just pick up the phone.
FATHER: In case I haven’t made myself plain: I will not have
outsiders in the house.
IVAN: Because they’re all botchers?
FATHER: They pass on tips to burglars. We’d be cleaned out inside
a week.
IVAN: Sorry, Dad, but that’s utter nonsense.
DUŠAN: It’s also nonsense that Křenař is no good. Just say the word,
Mother, and I’ll fetch him. (Makes an obvious move towards
door 4.)
FATHER: (Sits down at the table, clasps his hand to his heart.) What
did he say?
MOTHER: (To Dušan and Ivan.) Do you know what? Keep your
advice to yourselves. (Her determination has been undermined
and she has been overcome by compassion for Father.) Are you
all right, Eddie?
FATHER: (Gripping his chest with both hands, in a feeble voice.)
It’s nothing.
MOTHER: (Reaches in her pocket, takes out a tube of tablets, gets
one out for Father; to Dušan and Ivan.) His heart. (To Father.)
Here.
IVAN: What’s he on?
MOTHER: Lanatoside
DUŠAN: A placebo.
450
FATHER: What did he say?
MOTHER: That it’ll make you feel better.
FATHER: Liar! He said placebo. As if there’s nothing wrong with
me. As if I’m faking it. Tachycardia. Systolic murmur. So I’m
a hypochondriac, am I? Thank you! Thank you very much!
MOTHER: Take it easy, dear. (To Dušan and Ivan.) Daddy’s got agerelated cardiac ischemia. He can work on the house and he
doesn’t need outside help.
TATYANA: (Peeps in through door 4.) Sweetie, quickly.
IVAN: Yes, sweetie. (Runs out after her through door 4, closes it.)
MOTHER: What’s the matter? Is Baby Peter ill as well?
DUŠAN: No, he’s just puked.
MOTHER: Poor mite. How do you know?
DUŠAN: He always pukes after being fed.
MOTHER: Now then, we always spoke nicely about your Mark.
What did we call him? Bird of the South. Yet he squawked like
a crow. So either speak nicely about my other grandchildren
or say nothing.
DUŠAN: He hasn’t puked then? He has. And I don’t see that my
saying so is not nice.
MOTHER: Stop it, or I’ll tell Klára.
IVAN: (Enters through door 4, holding a wet nappy that hints clearly
at its unpleasant contents.) He guzzles as if he hasn’t eaten for
three days. (Enters door 1 without closing it.)
DUŠAN: Does he always clutch at his heart when he wants to get his
way? I thought he waved his pistol about. Kept it in his bedside
table, didn’t he? Why?
MOTHER: It was to protect me. During the war. In case they ever
came to get me.
DUŠAN: Would he have fired at the Gestapo?
MOTHER: He was brave. His whole family kept on at him: ‘Don’t
stay with the Jewish girl, Eddie, or you’ll end up in the
concentration camp as well.’ But he stood his ground and said:
451
‘I won’t divorce her.’ – That’s how it was, so leave it. Or I’ll tell
Klára you’re snooping again.
FATHER: (Still leaning back on his chair, having had his eyes closed
as if asleep.) Do you think we’re going to get any breakfast
today, Hedi?
MOTHER: (Makes to go through door 2 and calls.) Šárka!
IVAN: (Comes out of door 1, holding the nappy, rinsed of its unpleasant
contents and wrung out.) Did we used to puke like that?
MOTHER: I don’t remember.
IVAN: Children keep puking up to the age of two. (Leaves by door
4, leaving it open.)
DUŠAN: (Half-reciting.) They have an acute sense of that which we
sense but weakly: that the world is fit to make you puke.
MOTHER: (To Dušan.) Monster. (Calls after Ivan.) Have you tried
putting him on a diet?
DUŠAN: That wouldn’t be them. They’re stuffing him full again. To
teach him self-control.
MOTHER: You do have to have the last word, don’t you? (Leaves by
door 2 and calls out.) Šárka, where’s that breakfast?
FATHER: The Germans have the very word for this case: unbehilflich.
MOTHER: Pardon? Who’s unbehilflich?
FATHER: Speak up! (To Dušan.) I can’t understand a word she says,
Ivan lad.
MOTHER: (Shouting.) I do the cleaning. I do the shopping. I do the
washing. I sometimes don’t have the time to cook.
FATHER: Exactly. Unbehilflich.
MOTHER: Stop saying that. Or I’ll say something. And in front of
the children.
FATHER: Unbehilflich.
MOTHER: It’s my own fault. For fifty years I’ve had to listen to
it. ‘Helpless’. Except in German so the children wouldn’t
understand. Do you remember when you said it first?
FATHER: Poppycock.
452
ŠÁRKA: (Enters through door 2, closing it behind her.) So I’m helpless,
am I?
MOTHER: Šárka, sweetheart, are you going to give us something
to eat?
ŠÁRKA: For twenty years I’ve been invited to Heidelberg to present
my habilitation thesis. And here I am, making breakfast.
It’s enough to drive the dead insane. Helpless.
KLÁRA: (Enters through door 2, speaking so quietly that the others
can’t hear.) Come along now, please. It’s on the table.
MOTHER: (To Šárka.) You’ve got a child. So the thesis has to stand
aside.
ŠÁRKA: Did you hear that, Dušan? I have to stand aside. Always
me and only me. It’s too much. Tell me what I must do, for
goodness’ sake. Tell me.
KLÁRA: I hope you’ll let us have breakfast, Dušan.
DUŠAN: (Has not heard Klára; very gently.) But Sarah, it should be
obvious.
KLÁRA: Dušan, didn’t you hear me?
MOTHER: (Referring to Dušan.) Yes, he did. But venom must out.
(She wants to lead Šárka away.) Don’t listen to him. And don’t
let him twist your name.
ŠÁRKA: (Still addressing Dušan.) I know what’s obvious. No
Heidelberg. The clinic.
DUŠAN: You should have been there long ago.
FATHER: What did she say?
ŠÁRKA: (Throwing herself to the ground.) No.
MOTHER: Thanks, Dušan, thanks for a lovely Sunday.
KLÁRA: (Half to herself.) “Don’t feed foie gras to the canary.”
MOTHER: And you, Klára, don’t go egging him on.
DUŠAN: (To Mother.) Klára isn’t to blame. You don’t know the story
of the canary and the foie gras.
MOTHER: Klára knows what I mean. If she’s got something against
us, she doesn’t have to force it onto you.
453
ŠÁRKA: (Lying on the ground.) No voluntary hospitalization. I’ll
refuse to sign.
FATHER: What did she say?
ŠÁRKA: If you have me locked up, I’ll kill myself.
MOTHER: Come, come, sweetheart. Calm down. (Tries to raise
Šárka.) Please help me someone. (Klára tries to help, but
Šárka resists.)
IVAN: (Enters through door 4.) He’s guzzling like a bottomless pit.
But I bet he’ll bring it all up again. (Sees Šárka, who is still on
the ground.) Šárka dear, what’s the matter? What have they
done to you?
ŠÁRKA: (Referring to Dušan.) He’s so inconsiderate, Ivan. A brute.
(Ivan raises her and props her up.)
IVAN: (Raising Šárka, strokes her.) Never fear, Šárka dear. I won’t let
them take you. To the doctors’ or to the prosecutor.
DUŠA: Pompe and Pompe, Solicitors. Chartered Advocates for
Widows and Orphans.
ŠÁRKA: (Having heard Dušan’s comment, she explodes in his face.)
He understands me. You are a monster. Whose idea was it
that I should be locked away? Who hauled me off there first?
You, and only you. And I begged and begged: Let me rest, let
me sleep for a couple of days. But you kept on and on: put
her in the madhouse. I understand. It’s the inheritance you’re
worried about. The house. This heap of bricks. And anyone
who could destroy someone else over a shitty heap of bricks
is who should really be put away.
MOTHER: Hush, Šárka.
IVAN: (Begins to lead Šárka out through door 2, but on the way pops
through door 1, leaves the nappy in there and closes door 1.)
That’s right. (Signals to Father and Mother that he’s only saying
it in order to calm Šárka.) Come along, lie down and take one
of your pills.
ŠÁRKA: (Interrupts him.) I’m not going to take any goofballs.
IVAN: Let’s have a little talk.
454
ŠÁRKA: No point. I won’t. (They exit through door 2.)
KLÁRA: (Follows them out without speaking.)
FATHER: What did she say?
MOTHER: Stop pretending you didn’t hear.
FATHER: (Cupping his hand to his hear.) Who isn’t here? Ivan?
MOTHER: You’re leaving me to handle this alone again?
FATHER: But he is here. Or isn’t he? (Heads towards door 3.) Ivan.
MOTHER: The situation’s changed.
DUŠAN: Changed? Šárka mustn’t be left alone. Or she’ll do herself
another injury.
MOTHER: Like what? What do you think she did?
DUŠAN: Not much. Just slashed her wrist.
FATHER: (Coming back from door 3.) What did he say?
DUŠAN: (Shouting.) She’ll slash her wrist like in Heidelberg.
FATHER: (Leaving through door 3.) Poppycock.
DUŠAN: (Shouting after Father.) Was it me who went to fetch her
back, or you?
MOTHER: Don’t leave us now, Eddie.
KLÁRA: (Enters through door 2, carrying a tray with breakfast on
it: scrambled eggs, tea, coffee, toast, butter, jam, cheese, ham,
frankfurters, apples, oranges, bananas, tomatoes and gherkins,
and sets it down on the coffee table.) Here it is. Bon appétit!
FATHER: (He has seen Klára, but again acts as if he hasn’t noticed
her. He exists through door 3, closing it behind him.) Heidelberg.
Slashed wrist. Pure poppycock.
MOTHER: (Shouting.) Where are you going, Eddie?
FATHER: (Calling from behind closed door 3.) To work.
MOTHER: (Shouting in despair in the direction of closed door 3.) You
said we’d all have breakfast together. Eddie!
FATHER: (Calling up from the depths of the cellar through closed
door 3.) Hedi!
TATYANA: (Calling from behind door 4.) Ivan! (Ivan doesn’t respond,
Tatyana calls louder.) Ivan! Ivan!
455
IVAN: (Runs in through door 2, pops through door 1 and collects the
nappy, heads for door 4.) Yes, sweetie, coming!
MOTHER: (Opens door 3 and calls down.) Why are you doing this,
Eddie? Be a good boy, you know you can be. (Loud and severe.)
Your breakfast’s waiting.
FATHER: (Calling up from the depths of the cellar.) Who’s fainting?
DUŠAN: (To Mother.) At least you eat something.
MOTHER: (As if not seeing the food.) You’re just trying to frighten
us, Dušan, aren’t you?
DUŠAN: How? Suggesting she’s going through it again? Can’t you
see, she is having a relapse.
MOTHER: Don’t try to play the doctor.
DUŠAN: Is she still stuffing herself with pineapple?
MOTHER: Shouldn’t she?
DUŠAN: In Heidelberg she did it with the lid of a tin of pineapple.
(Mimics slashing of wrist.)
KLÁRA: This foie gras is working a treat, Dušan. But I warn you –
you’re taking a chance. (Leaves by door 2.)
MOTHER: (Referring to Šárka.) It was overwork, the doctors said.
DUŠAN: Before she did it. Afterwards they said manic depression.
MOTHER: What they put in the report was overwork.
DUŠAN: Only so they’d let me on the plane with her. Otherwise
they’d have had to put on a special Red Cross flight. And there
wasn’t one available.
MOTHER: She failed her exam. That’s why she had her breakdown.
DUŠAN: On the contrary. She fell ill, that’s why she failed and then
she did it. Then she was ill again and started neglecting the
baby. Then again and she quit her job. And now a fourth time,
and Pavel’s cut and run. If you’d admitted she was ill and had
her treated in time, he’d never have left her.
MOTHER: Didn’t he tell you? He’s found someone else.
DUŠAN: Pavel? After what he’s had to put up with Šárka, it’ll be
a while before he even looks at another woman.
456
IVAN: (Enters through door 4, holding a nappy full of something
unpleasant.) There’s no stopping the lad! If I were to puke the
way he does I wouldn’t eat for days. But he just goes on and on.
MOTHER: Tell him, Ivan
IVAN: The Minister? Stuff him! (Heads towards door 1.)
MOTHER: (To Dušan.) He knows her.
DUŠAN: Who? The woman Pavel’s been seeing behind Sarah‘s back?
I’d like to see her for myself.
MOTHER: Come to court.
DUŠAN: You’re suing him?
MOTHER: We can’t let him keep Markéta.
DUŠAN: If anyone’s taken any care of her, then it’s Pavel.
MOTHER: We’re going to make sure he can’t take care of her any
more.
DUŠAN: Sarah’s even less likely to.
MOTHER: She’s no worse than any other mother. And for the last
time of telling: stop calling her Sarah. I know why you do it,
and I forbid it.
DUŠAN: Entrusting a baby to a psychotic is tantamount to murder.
IVAN: (Returning through door 1.) We’ll prove that he’s the psychotic.
And a womanizer.
FATHER: (Putting his head round door 3.) I thought I could hear you
Ivan. High time you put in an appearance. (To Mother.) How
long’s it been since he was here? A year? Where’s Tanya? And
how’s baby Peter?
IVAN: (Somewhat ill-at-ease at Father’s questions, which seem
crazy.) Great! He’s fine. They both say hi.
FATHER: Bless them. So glad they’re on a high. That’s the spirit.
MOTHER: (To Ivan.) He’d have to have his little joke, even if the
bailiffs were at the door. (To Father.) Stop being silly now. Eat
something.
FATHER: (As if only now spotting the breakfast spread on the table.)
Is this real, or am I seeing things? Do you know how a German
457
says he’s feeling wolfish? Ich habe einen Wolfshunger. (Leaves
by door 2.)
MOTHER: God give me strength! (Shouting.) Where are you off to
now?
FATHER: You shouldn’t need telling. After fifty years.
MOTHER: No scenes before we eat. Please, not today.
FATHER: What scenes? Pathogenic organisms remain active even
on Sundays. Regrettably. (Leaves by door 2.)
TATYANA: (Off-stage behind door 4.) Ivan!
IVAN: Yes, sweetie. (Runs to door 4.)
DUŠAN: Mother, is that that girlfriend again?
MOTHER: Whose?
DUŠAN: I mean the bitch that testified at his divorce.
MOTHER: There was no bitch at Ivan’s divorce.
DUŠAN: So you say. I know how much he paid her. If you use her
again, I’ll testify in Pavel’s favour myself.
MOTHER: Against your own sister?
DUŠAN: Against you all. I’m not going to let another murder pass.
MOTHER: What other?
IVAN: (Enters through door 4 bearing a nappy covered in sick.)
He’s throwing up like a geyser. And gorging himself like
a veritable glutton. (Leaves by door 1.)
MOTHER: Listen here, Dušan. Are you saying we murdered
someone?
FATHER: (Enters through door 2 and sits down at the breakfast
table.) This looks marvellous. (Calling out.) Thank you, Šárka.
(In a speaking voice.) Like at a food fair. (Pours himself some
coffee, tastes it.) Unfortunately it only looks it. (Gets up and
leaves.)
MOTHER: Don’t be nasty, Eddie.
FATHER: Any woman knows that breakfast is not served cold.
MOTHER: But you’ve been doing your damnedest to let it go cold.
FATHER: Yes, m’lud. I’m a thief and a murderer. I deserve the
ultimate sentence.
458
MOTHER: You’ve been slopping around in there for two hours.
FATHER: If you want to be rid of germs, you have to scrub for ten
minutes.
MOTHER: You’re tormenting the last few people who still love you.
Enough’s enough. From tomorrow I refuse to cook.
FATHER: Thank goodness! A miracle. I thought we’d never live to
see the day. (Leaves by door 3.)
MOTHER: Really? You just wait. Klára. (Klára comes in through
door 2.) Don’t even think of reheating it. He can go without.
KLÁRA: And you, Mum?
MOTHER: No, thanks. I’ve lost my appetite.
KLÁRA: (Gathers onto the tray all the things she had previously laid
out for breakfast. Dušan, who is devotedly and clumsily trying
to help almost sends a saucer flying.) Leave this to me. Have
you spoken to your father yet?
DUŠAN: Of course.
KLÁRA: Don’t lie to me, canary-fancier.
DUŠAN: I told him: Forgive me, father. I have sinned before thee and
before God. He shed a tear and we fell into each other’s arms.
According to the Gospel, he should now kill a fatted calf.
KLÁRA: In short, you offered him some foie gras.
MOTHER: What is it with you and foie gras? Did you have a canary?
KLÁRA: Dušan can tell you.
DUŠAN: Poppycock.
MOTHER: Goodness, who’s with Šárka?
DUŠAN: Joseph. (Runs through door 2.)
MOTHER: Ivan! Dušan! Is she all right?
DUŠAN: (Calling from door 2.) She’s locked herself in.
MOTHER: Oh God, where?
DUŠAN: (Calling.) Same as usual. (Banging on a door somewhere
inside the house.) Sarah!
MOTHER: Saints preserve us! Ivan!
IVAN: (Running in through door 4.) She was in the kitchen. Perfectly
calm.
459
MOTHER: In the kitchen. With all those utensils. Thank you. And
now she’s in the bathroom. Make sure we can get to her.
IVAN: Something to pick the lock with. (To Mother.) Do you hear?
You haven’t got anything? Then it’s going to be tricky.
MOTHER: (Praying.) Dear God, dear God.
IVAN: (To Mother.) A drill. Haven’t you got one of those either?
KLÁRA: It’s on a security lock. (Calmly carries on loading the tray.)
And leave Mum alone. Praying helps.
IVAN: To get into heaven. But we need to get into the bathroom.
KLÁRA: If you prayed you might hit on something.
IVAN: Like what?
KLÁRA: Like how to go about getting her to open the door to you.
(Tray in hand, makes to leave by door 2.)
MOTHER: It’s a punishment, Klára.
KLÁRA: Don’t be afraid. She won’t harm herself.
MOTHER: Has she confided in you?
KLÁRA: She’s got fear in her eyes, but not death. (Leaves by door 2.)
DUŠAN: (Shouting off-stage, but he can be heard through door 2,
which is open.) Stop acting like a stupid cow, Sarah, and open
up!
IVAN: (Closing door 2 after Klára, to Mother.) “But not death.”
Doesn’t she piss you off, too?
MOTHER: Language, Ivan. I’m not used to that sort of language.
IVAN: Admit it. You can’t stand her.
MOTHER: Klára? It’s more that she doesn’t like us.
IVAN: I can see through her. I know what she’s after. She’d make short
work of us if she could. Like with Dušan. What did he used
to be like. A great guy. And a first-rate judge. And what’s she
turned him into? A fanatic. A militant half-wit battling against
a stupid regime. Instead of a judge a store minder.
MOTHER: And since the revolution a government minister.
IVAN: And a lousy one at that. A standing joke. And what he’s missed
out on in the way of law he’ll never catch up now.
MOTHER: She’s ambitious.
460
IVAN: Bollocks. An old witch. Now I realize why they used to burn
’em.
DUŠAN: (Shouting from the depths of the house.) Open up, Sarah,
or I’ll bash the door down.
MOTHER: (Shouting in fear.) Šárka, stop tormenting us.
FATHER: (Entering through door 3, carrying a broken vice.) Right,
Hedi, give them to me.
MOTHER: It’s looking bad with Šárka, Eddie.
FATHER: The car keys. (Puts out his hand.)
MOTHER: You going somewhere? Where?
FATHER: Out for a Sunday booze-up. Where d’you suppose I’d go
when my vice is in two pieces?
MOTHER: It’s been like that for twenty years.
FATHER: Dvořák can weld it together for me.
MOTHER: For the how manyeth time?
FATHER: (Holding his hand out again.) The keys.
MOTHER: Fetch him that jack, will you, Ivan, or I’ll go mad.
IVAN: Jack?
MOTHER: Jack, screwdriver, anything to put an end to this
performance.
TATYANA: (Calling from behind door 4.) Sweetie!
IVAN: Yes, sweetie! (Runs to door 4, calling back to Mother.) The
wrench. I’ll go and fetch it. (Closes the door behind him.)
FATHER: You refuse? All right then. (Heaves the vice onto his
shoulder, staggers, drops the vice on the ground.) Damn! Last
time it was light as a feather. I’ll risk it then. On foot, since
you insist.
MOTHER: I don’t insist. (Takes the keys from her pocket and tosses
them to Father.) Where you’re concerned I’ve stopped insisting
as of this hour.
FATHER: Schopenhauer? Persist if you will. A great thinker, but
it’s tough going. I don’t think you’ll understand him. (Looks up
to check Mother’s response, picks up the vice, leaves by door 4
and closes it behind him.)
461
DUŠAN: (Entering through door 2.) It’s like a fortress door. The
architects should have foreseen this.
MOTHER: Any response?
DUŠAN: (Shaking his head.) I just hope she’s alive.
MOTHER: (Screaming.) Šárka, you’ll be the death of me! Šárka! (To
Dušan.) What now?
DUŠAN: In a normal family they’d call the locksmith.
MOTHER: Your father’s gone to see him. Though you could hardly
call us a normal family.
FATHER: (Returning through door 4, to Dušan.) Ivan lad, I’ve got
a wee problem.
DUŠAN: Go see a urologist then.
MOTHER: That’s no way to speak to your father.
DUŠAN: So he should speak properly to me.
MOTHER: But you know what he’s like.
DUŠAN: All right then. (To Father.) What problem? Same as usual?
(Calls.) Baby Peter, the mo-mo’s hurt itself. It won’t start.
Come and help.
FATHER: What Peter’s that?
DUŠAN: Ours. He’s clever. Peter! (To “baby Peter”.) Come along
now, don’t be shy. (To Father.) Great little chap, eh? (To “baby
Peter”.) Say: “Hi Grandpa!” Nicely now. (Pause for “baby Peter”
to respond; to Father.) Surprised, eh? (To “baby Peter”.) And
now, Peter, in German: “Grüss Gott”. (To Father.) How’s that
for pronunciation!
FATHER: He’s already talking? At four months?
DUŠAN: (To “baby Peter”.) Grandpa’s being nasty, Peter. Wave byebye and we’ll go home.
MOTHER: So silly, the pair of them. Makes you weep.
FATHER: (To Dušan.) What did she say? What heap?
DUŠAN: This big one. Inter-war. Heap of bricks. Blackened. Like
in a fairy-tale.
FATHER: (To mother.) What did he say?
DUŠAN: Baby Peter? Says he can’t understand what’s going on.
462
FATHER: It’s like this, Peter lad. (Addressing Mother.) Some people
turn the tap off too tight. Asking, begging them not to do
it, it’s pointless. Fatal. You know, femme fatale. Then in four
or five weeks the washer’s done for. If I decide to replace it
I have to turn the water off at the mains. The stop-cock’s down
in the cellar. It needs a 22-millimetre spanner. (To Dušan.)
He’s a bright lad. He knows what I’m on about.
DUŠAN: Everyone knows what you’re on about: an excuse to
terrorize us on a Sunday.
FATHER: What did he say? Won’t you give me a hand, Ivan lad?
KLÁRA: (Comes out of door 2.) He will, Dad. He’ll give you a pushstart. Go on now, Dušan.
DUŠAN: That’s ridiculous!
FATHER: (As if he hasn’t heard.) It’s nothing.
DUŠAN: He’s not going to make a fool out of me.
KLÁRA: More foie gras for the canary.
DUŠAN: All right, all right, I’m going. (Leaves by door 4.)
FATHER: (Leaves by door 4.) Incidentally – should I get myself some
breakfast in the pub? (Closes door behind him.)
MOTHER: He won’t come round.
KLÁRA: Dušan? It’ll take a miracle. I hope Dad wasn’t being serious
about the pub.
MOTHER: No way. They burn the fat and overdo the pepper.
KLÁRA: So let me fix him something.
MOTHER: Breakfast? No, it’s my turn.
KLÁRA: I’d be glad to.
MOTHER: (Looks quizzically at Klára.) Why don’t you and I ever
have a talk? I remember when you first came to us: in love and
happy. Why did it change?
KLÁRA: You all thought I was setting Dušan against you.
MOTHER: And weren’t you? He sees what you want and goes and
does it.
463
KLÁRA: Except his eyes are bad. And he can’t see the most
important things at all. (Cocks an ear.) That you Šárka? (To
Mother.) She’s unlocked the door.
MOTHER: I didn’t hear anything. Did she say something?
KLÁRA: She’s crying.
MOTHER: (Shouts.) Šárka, be sensible. If you don‘t stop that, you
know where you‘ll end up. (Behind door 2 a lock clicks.) What
was that?
KLÁRA: (Calmly.) She’s locked herself in again.
MOTHER: Dear God!
KLÁRA: I’ll fetch her. But I must ask you for one thing.
MOTHER: I know. Not to say anything.
KLÁRA: (Leaves by door 2, closing it behind her.)
MOTHER: Dear lord, almighty God.
TATYANA: (Enters through door 4 and closes it.) Good morning,
mother. I hope nothing can get at him in there.
MOTHER: At baby Peter? Don’t worry. Dušan and Ivan have often
slept there safely enough.
TATYANA: He’s lying there like Mowgli.
MOTHER: In our jungle. The electric mower’s no good and Daddy
refuses to get a petrol one. The exhaust fumes are carcinogenic.
Is he better now?
TATYANA: Baby Peter? He’s fine. He fell over. And I’m like the Beast
in the fairy-tale. Human for an hour.
MOTHER: Quite honestly, Tanya, I’d rather fall down and never
wake up again.
TATYANA: Because of Šárka? You know what she ought to do? Find
herself a man.
MOTHER: Goodness no. She’s fanatically faithful.
TATYANA: But it’s you who keep her that way. I’d have cheated on
Pavel the day after the wedding.
MOTHER: You don’t know him well enough. He used to be different.
He loved her.
464
TATYANA: How could you tell? Did he bring her flowers? Or
chocolates?
MOTHER: You’re right there. He wasn’t one for tokens.
TATYANA: When was the last time he kissed her? In your shoes I’d
be glad he’s gone.
MOTHER: But now she’ll be alone to her dying day.
TATYANA: Let her get out and meet people. Her Mr. Right is out
there somewhere.
MOTHER: Don’t forget she’s fifty. You’re talking miracles, and they
don’t happen.
TATYANA: My gran got married for the third time when she was
sixty-three. And for love. You need to chill out and stop
watching her. None of that ‘Šárka, how come you were still
out at midnight?‘ or ‘He spent the night in your room?’ – Let
her live.
MOTHER: But there’s Markéta, she’s the main thing.
TATYANA: A kitten of fourteen. She’ll be glad of the freedom. And
if her mum’s happier, they’ll have more fun together.
DUŠAN: (Enters through door 4, closing it behind him.) Hello there,
my gorgeous sister-in-law.
TATYANA: Hi to you, big brother-in-law.
MOTHER: Has he left?
DUŠAN: You could say so.
MOTHER: I was hoping you’d go with him.
DUŠAN: He fended me off.
MOTHER: And you let him. Don’t say anything. I know. You won’t
lift a finger to meet him half way.
DUŠAN: Yes your honor, Judge. I’m a patricide.
TATYANA: To what do I owe that mode of address?
DUŠAN: To thyself. You look fantastic.
TATYANA: Since you’re so gracious – would you mind explaining
something?
DUŠAN: Depends what.
TATYANA: You know what I mean.
465
DUŠAN: A chapter from the History of the Pompes’ on request.
Which do you fancy?
MOTHER: I’m not going to listen to this. (Leaves by door 4, closing
it.)
TATYANA: What’s Ivan done to you?
DUŠAN: Let’s not go there.
TATYANA: He was afraid. Were you never afraid?
DUŠAN: A thousand times. And if it weren’t for Klára, I’d have
ended up like him.
TATYANA: So why won’t you make up?
DUŠAN: He’d have to admit to himself what he did.
TATYANA: And what did he do? He was pro-Russian. My parents
as well. You favoured the Americans, or whoever paid you.
Sorry, but that’s how I see it. The Americans won. Does that
make my dad a scoundrel? Does it make Ivan a bad person?
DUŠAN: He ratted on his brother. Even the real spooks thought that
pretty disgusting.
TATYANA: He’d had three children. They wanted to sack him
because of you. But he wasn’t an agent.
DUŠAN: As a party member he reported on me to his chairman.
He’s not in the secret police files. Never went near the police,
but to me he’s an informer.
TATYANA: He never harmed you. He knew nothing about you. Just
trivial stuff.
DUŠAN: Like that my father had disinherited me. They made
something of that. And who did they get it from?
TATYANA: Not from Ivan.
DUŠAN: Who knew that the old Pompes had altered their wills? My
brother and sister.
TATYANA: I’d swear on Baby Peter’s life that he didn’t pass it on.
DUŠAN: I’m sorry, Tanya. I understand, you love him. (He has
noticed Mother coming back in through door 4.) But how
about a different chapter. We had an uncle; he was with the
partisans, the pride of the family. They shot him.
466
MOTHER: (Leaving door 4 open.) Bless him. He’s asleep. Like a little
angel.
DUŠAN: (About the uncle.) He ought to have a plaque on this house.
I wonder why there isn’t.
MOTHER: Dušan mixes the living with the dead just to blacken
the family name. (To her second daughter-in-law.) See that?
He’s smiling. It makes him feel good.
DUŠAN: Instead of a plaque there’s this cupboard. A magical one.
All the others in the house have had their locks broken. Prized
open by the Red Army. Only this one is okay. The eighth
wonder of the world: Dad repaired it. I do wonder what’s in it.
MOTHER: Yes, my brother used to live here. Then one day he said
good-bye and left.
KLÁRA: (Enters by door 2 with Šárka, who is carrying a large, bulging
bag, which she sets down on a chair.) Hi, Tanya. It’s going all
right now, Mum.
MOTHER: Šárka! Thank God! (Embraces her.)
TATYANA: Hi, sister-in-law. How’s things?
ŠÁRKA: I humbly thank you. ‘Tis well. ‘Tis well. ‘Tis well.
DUŠAN: She doth quote the classics. Hurrah!
ŠÁRKA: (Still quietly, but not quite naturally.) Yes. I apologize. To
you, Mum, and to you, Dušan.
MOTHER: You’ve nothing to apologize for.
ŠÁRKA: I do. I lost my self-control. But as Shakespeare has it:
‘If Hamlet from himself be ta’en away,
and when he’s not himself does wrong Laertes,
Then Hamlet does it not; Hamlet denies it.
Who does it then? His madness. If ‘t be so,
Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong’d;
His madness is poor Hamlet’s enemy.’
(To Dušan.) Was that right?
DUŠAN: Top marks!
ŠÁRKA: I’ve got a favour to ask: If I needed to leave, would you
drive me?
467
DUŠAN: Any time. Say the word – and we’re off.
ŠÁRKA: You know what then? (Picks up her bag.) Let’s go now.
MOTHER: Šárka dear, shouldn’t we wait for Daddy?
DUŠAN: I can’t see why.
MOTHER: I wasn’t asking you. I know what you think.
DUŠAN: And I know what he thinks. (Clasps his hand to his heart,
parodying Father.) Okay, let her go, to those charlatans. But
on your head be it.
KLÁRA: Mother’s right, Dušan. (A knock on door 4.)
MOTHER: Come in.
NEIGHBOUR: (Enters through door 4.) Excuse me, madame.
Minister… Doctor Pompe’s…
MOTHER: (Frightened.) What’s he done? Where is he?
NEIGHBOUR: At the bottom of the hill.
MOTHER: Has he crashed? Is he in one piece?
NEIGHBOUR: He ran out of petrol. He wants you to take him some.
Just a bottleful. Good bye. (Leaves by door 4.)
KLÁRA: Dušan, quick. (Running after the Neighbour.) Mr. Křenař,
wait a minute.
MOTHER: Run along, Dušan, and tell him: ‘I’m sorry, Dad.’ You’ll
see. He’ll come round. Just don’t say anything about Šárka. I’ll
tell him myself.
DUŠAN: No good’ll come of it, but I’ll go. (Leaves by door 4.)
MOTHER: If only I knew how to tell him.
ŠÁRKA: (Still speaking unnaturally, half reciting.) Don’t worry,
Mum. I’ll tell him: Daddy, I’m sick. It runs in the family. On
your mother’s side.
MOTHER: Don’t say that. Who told you? Dušan?
ŠÁRKA: I knew it without him. Klára says it’s nothing for me to be
ashamed of. But why are we the ones to be afflicted.
MOTHER: Didn’t she explain?
ŠÁRKA: You don’t love her.
MOTHER: But I do.
468
ŠÁRKA: You don’t. You envy her her happiness. I also envy her for
that.
TATYANA: She doesn’t look very happy though.
KLÁRA: (Enters by door 4, closing it behind her. She is carrying
a wrench, but fairly unobtrusively, more trying to hide it from
sight.) Šárka, will you help me?
TATYANA: (Šárka not responding yet.) I’m quite good with my
hands too.
KLÁRA: Come on then. (Makes to leave by door 2.)
ŠÁRKA: Why did she stop coming to see us? I remember. Daddy
used to shout: ‘You don’t exist for me. Get out!’ And Dušan:
‘You soaped the hangman’s rope for him. Now you’re using the
same soap to wash your hands.’
MOTHER: (Not listening to Šárka.) What was that in her hand?
TATYANA: (Pausing in door 2.) A wrench. (Leaves by door 2, closing
it behind her.)
MOTHER: What in God’s name for? What for? (Calling.) Klára!
KLÁRA: (Appearing in door 2.) Yes, mother?
MOTHER: Don’t make things even harder for me. Don’t try anything.
KLÁRA: (Wrench in hand.) Of course not. This is just in case. The
thread’s ripped to shreds. It’ll pack up any minute. (Disappears
through door 2.)
MOTHER: What did she say? Who’s packing up? (Listens.) Dear
God!
(Father enters through door 4, closes it, sees Šárka’s bag and abruptly
goes through door 2.)
MOTHER: Eddie, now I really do have to talk to you.
FATHER: (Returning.) There’s nothing to talk about.
MOTHER: Dušan’s been telling you things.
FATHER: Dušan? (Points to Šárka’s bag.) I’m not blind. So you’re
sending her to the death chamber? Good. (Disappears behind
door 2.)
DUŠAN: (Enters through door 4.) As expected. He wasn’t in. Mr.
Dvořák. What’s up mother? You unwell?
469
MOTHER: (Calling.) Eddie! (To Dušan.) He’s leaving. He’s going to
move out.
DUŠAN: He’s playing games. Blackmail.
MOTHER: I’ve seen it all before. “I’m just taking the essentials. I’ll
send for the rest in due course.” Then I was laughing on the
other side of my face.
DUŠAN: I don’t understand why you let him go.
MOTHER: You don’t understand anything.
ŠÁRKA: Why won’t Daddy let me go to hospital?
DUŠAN: Because they’d make you get divorced as an acute mental
case. The court would award Markéta to Pavel and one day
she would inherit part of this house. Get it? A piece of this
damned house would pass to Pavel’s family. And one day they
might get the whole thing.
MOTHER: Don’t say ‘damned’.
ŠÁRKA: (To Dušan.) That’s a lawyers’ speculation.
DUŠAN: But then dad is a lawyer. And an outstanding one at that.
He proved it once. On me. I hadn’t even been locked up and he
made sure that – once they’d put me inside and my property
became forfeit – I couldn’t inherit even part of this cursed
house.
MOTHER: It’s not cursed. We’ve lived in it for fifty-five years, and
it’s been good. Even you liked living here. It was only after your
wedding that you took against it. I remember how hurt I was.
Your Mark was two and never set foot in the house. You took
turns walking him up and down the street. He still couldn’t
talk properly and was already shouting: ‘It’s black, it’s a black
house.’
DUŠAN: He was right.
MOTHER: He was only repeating what you’d told him.
DUŠAN: A child can tell. It is black.
ŠÁRKA: (Confused, as if only now making sense of what’s being said.)
It didn’t strike me as black. Not until today.
470
(Klára and Tatyana come in through door 2, carrying breakfast on
trays; they lay it the table.)
MOTHER: He’s not going to eat, Klára. He just won’t have breakfast
with the rest of us.
KLÁRA: Let’s wait and see.
(Father enters through door 2, leaving it open; he is carrying an
overnight suitcase.)
ŠÁRKA: Don’t leave, Daddy. Please don’t go.
FATHER: I’m just taking the essentials. I’ll send for the rest in due
course. (Moves slowly towards door 4.) Good bye.
MOTHER: Off you go. Off with all of you. I won’t be here either. If
I knew how, I wouldn’t be at all.
(Šárka runs at the door of the closed cupboard and bangs her head
on it as hard as she can. Everyone looks on in amazement and Šárka
does it again. Klára leaps towards Šárka, puts her arms round her
and tries to deflect her from any further acts of self-destruction. Šárka
resists, but Klára has gripped her firmly and tries to soothe her like
a baby.)
KLARA: Šárka. Don’t. Hush now, hush.
(Šárka continues to offer resistance, but slowly lets herself be soothed,
with Klára embracing and stroking her.)
MOTHER: What’s she doing, Eddie.
FATHER: Leave her alone. Otherwise you really will drive her round
the bend. Is that what you want? All right, take her to those
charlatans. But it is on your head.
MOTHER: Her pill. She hasn’t taken her pill.
DUŠAN: Aspirin. Works wonders. Give her a couple.
MOTHER: Tanya. They’re in the kitchen. The white pillbox, the
yellow ones. And some water, she needs to take them with
plenty of water.
(Tatyana runs towards door 2.)
KLÁRA: (Calling after her.) Not water. There’s some tea. Don’t turn
the tap on.
471
ŠÁRKA: (In tears.) I don’t want a pill. I don’t want anything. I don’t
want to live.
TATYANA: (Shrieking off-stage, the sound coming in through open
door 2.) Help! Flood!
MOTHER: Tanya! Eddie! – Someone go and see. (The sound of
running water hitting the floor can be heard.)
TATYANA: (Shouting off-stage.) It’s Noah’s flood!
FATHER: Oops! She’s dashed the thread on the tap.
DUŠAN: (As if to himself, but so the others can hear.) At last!
A miracle in the black house.
KLÁRA: (Indicating to Dušan for him to take over looking after
Šárka.) Come here, Dušan. But no foie gras. (Gets up, Dušan
sits down next to Šárka on the floor and Klára hurries off
through door 2.)
DUŠAN: (Nursing Šárka.) Suddenly a spring gushed in the
wilderness. There’s no foie gras in the legend.
KLÁRA: I should hope not. (Disappears through door 2.)
MOTHER: None of this touches you, Eddie?
FATHER: No, I’m not here. I’ve never been here.
DUŠAN: (Having noticed that the cupboard door has loosened,
tries to open it.) No sign of Zadok the priest here, or people
rejoicing with great joy, and yet the earth is rent.
KLÁRA: (Runs in through door 2, leaving it open; with wrench in
hand she runs through door 3 without closing it, calling to
Dušan as she passes through.) Cut the foie gras. You’ll drive
him away.
MOTHER: (To Father.) This is ridiculous, Eddie. Ludicrous. What
are you waiting for? Off you go. And don’t come back. What
are you staring at? I’ve had as much from you as I can take. Go.
FATHER: (Taking fright.) What did she say? It’s rusted up. No one
can shift it.
DUŠAN: (Concentrating on the cupboard door, which he succeeds in
releasing) Open, Sesame, damn you.
472
(Šárka exploits Dušan’s distraction, pushes him aside, disentangles
herself from him, gets up and runs through door 2, shutting and
locking it.)
DUŠAN: (Still sitting helplessly on the floor.) Sarah!
FATHER: There’s nothing wrong with her. It’s all that philosophizing.
I told her: ‘Do law.’
MOTHER: Tanya, grab her.
TATYANA: (Unlocks door 2 and comes in through it.) Fat chance.
She’s got the strength of a man.
(From inside the house another door bangs, then another, and a key
is heard turning in a lock. Only then does everyone realize that these
sounds have been against a background of silence. The sound of water
has stopped.)
DUŠAN: (Opens the cupboard. An unfinished brick wall is slowly
revealed behind it.) Memorial plaque à la Pompe. There was
a door here once, sister-in-law. At the outbreak of war it was
behind that door that our brave uncle – the partisan – hid.
And by the way, he wasn’t a partisan, that’s just a post-war
fiction; he was a solicitor and a Jew. His wife divorced him
in ’41 and the concentration camp loomed. You could only
cross the border if you’d got money, and he hadn’t got any.
He begged his sister and brother-in-law, but they didn’t have
any either. They’d have to sell the house. But that would have
been a pity. So he headed for the border as best he could. To
his death. The house gave him up voluntarily.
FATHER: (Still with his overnight case in his hand by door 4.)
Poppycock!
KLÁRA: (Wrench in hand, enters through door 3, closes it, looks
round; to Tatyana.) Is she in the bathroom, or the kitchen?
TATYANA: Bathroom. Double-locked.
KLÁRA: (To Dušan.) Dušan. (Moves towards him as if to strike him
with the wrench.) You evil, rubbish-spouting Vill-an.
DUŠAN: Sorry. Really, I am.
473
KLÁRA: No you’re not. You’re glad. (Indicates with her left hand
that Dušan’s nostrils have flared.) Like a dog on the scent.
DUŠAN: If you’re talking about Sarah, I didn’t let go of her
deliberately.
KLÁRA: Of course not. And the canary helped itself to the foie
gras. (She indicates that she is going to grip Dušan’s nose in the
wrench.) But you’ve gone too far.
MOTHER: Klára, what are you doing?
TATYANA: You’ll rip his nose off.
FATHER: Voluntarily. Given him up. Pure poppycock.
KLÁRA: He deserves to have something else ripped off. (Drops
the hand with the wrench and heads for door 2, closing the
cupboard door on the way, far enough to conceal the brick wall;
to Tatyana.) Help me clear up, will you? Come on. (Tatyana
follows her out, Dušan as well, but Klára turns on him.) Not
you. I don’t want you.
IVAN: (Enters by door 4, holding the wrench; to Father.) The sword of
the Nibelungs. Genuine Solingen steel. (Looks round, sees the
breakfast and the open cupboard.) You’re not having breakfast,
are you? And what about the investigating officer? Has he
charged you yet? Don’t let me disturb you. Bon appétit!
END OF PART 1
Part 2
(Same scene, same characters and same time as at the end of Part 1.)
FATHER: Good morning, Ivan lad. Have you brought Tanya? And
what about Baby Peter? (Picks up the wrench.) Of course
it’s not your true Solingen steel. (Puts the wrench down among
the cups and plates.) Are you hungry? Mind you, I wouldn’t
recommend this – it’s been re-heated. And gone cold.
474
DUŠAN: My wife serves food fresh and hot.
FATHER: Re-heated and cold.
DUŠAN: (Bellowing.) Fresh and hot.
MOTHER: (Firmly, in order to deflect the clash that is looming.) Stop
it. You, Eddie, are facing a far more serious problem.
FATHER: Of course. (Puts down his case.) How are we going to get
any water for the next four weeks?
IVAN: (To Father.) Why four?
FATHER: Because if they don’t have a genuine Bosch (He pronounces
it ‘bosh’.) tap fitting – and they won’t, and I won’t make do with
anything else …
DUŠAN: How daft to go buying something from a shop that doesn’t
have it.
FATHER: … it takes four weeks for it to come from Germany. What
did he say?
DUŠAN: It‘s not pronounced ‘bosh’, but ‘bos-ch’.
FATHER: What did he say?
IVAN: (Gestures dismissively.) He’s being stupid.
DUŠAN: The famous painter of fantastical scenes, Hieronymus
Bosch (He pronounces it ‘bos-ch’), was not, as anyone with
any education knows, German, but Dutch.
FATHER: (To Dušan.) Listen, Ivan lad, have you got a water tank?
DUŠAN: A water tank? How many do you need? Ten?
FATHER: Have you?
DUŠAN: A whole bedroom-ful. And more in the living-room and
kitchen.
FATHER: Bring one then. To be on the safe side. In case Bosch
comes up to my low expectations. Now you see me. Now you
don’t. (Makes to leave by door 4.)
DUŠAN: Always the same when something really matters.
FATHER: What did he say? (To Mother.) If Dušan turns up, remind
him who Mr. Křenař is.
DUŠAN: Who?
FATHER: A scoundrel. An extortionist. A kraut.
475
DUŠAN: A kraut, no less.
FATHER: (To Mother.) As for Šárka, we promised her something.
(Sets off through door 4.)
MOTHER: (Calling after him.) Don’t forget the essentials. It looks
as if you’ll be sending for the rest later.
FATHER: (Returns to his case, but gestures dismissively, leaves it
where it is, leaves through door 4, not closing it behind him.)
KLÁRA: (Enters through door 2, looking anxious and terrified;
a draught blows open the cupboard door that conceals the
brick wall.) She’s not answering, Mother. She’s gone and done
something to herself.
MOTHER: All right, run and get him, Klára. Hurry.
(Klára runs out through door 4, leaving it open.)
IVAN: Who? The neighbour? Dad’ll thank you for that! (Closes the
cupboard door, but the draught blows it open again.) She can
see through doors. Klára – kláravoyant.
DUŠAN: One point for word-play. Josef ’s on form.
IVAN: Mother, if he calls me ‘Josef ’ one more time, I’ll smash his
face in.
MOTHER: Please, Dušan.
DUŠAN: What’s your problem? Josef ’s a perfectly normal name.
Much more honest than your twitchy Slavonic Ivan, or Dušan.
Grandpa Polák from Boskovice was a Josef. Josl. Regrettably
a Jew.
IVAN: Say, Mother, why do you make such a secret of our being
Jewish? These days some people make themselves out to be
Jews who aren’t.
MOTHER: Don’t you start.
DUŠAN: Whether or not we are Jews, that is the question.
IVAN: Everyone thinks we are.
DUŠAN: What everyone thinks isn’t always true. The evidence?
Mother survived the war at home.
IVAN: Because Father kept her. He didn’t divorce her. The action of
a real man.
476
MOTHER: Do change the subject, will you?
IVAN: (To Mother.) Is it still taboo? All right, I’m sorry.
DUŠAN: We’re Jews on our mother’s side. Not our father’s though.
But there’s another version. She maintains we’re not Jews even
through the maternal line. There are documents to prove it.
IVAN: Really? Where?
DUŠAN: Ask to see them. But watch out. I tried it. Almost two years
ago to the day. And what happened? He slung me out.
MOTHER: A different father might have nearly killed you.
DUŠAN: And what had I said? That he’d sent his brother-in-law
before the firing squad. Wasn’t it true? It was.
(Klára enters through door 4, followed by the Neighbour with his
toolbag slung across one shoulder; he is talking to Klára, who shuts
the door behind him.)
NEIGHBOUR: Absolutely, Missus. Any lock can be opened. As
burglars will tell you. G‘morning Mrs. Pompe. Where is this
miracle lock?
MOTHER: My husband fitted a German one, Mr. Křenař. So it
couldn’t be drilled out.
NEIGHBOUR: German, German. We’ll have it out in no time.
(Follows Klára through door 2, followed in turn by Dušan.)
IVAN: I don’t agree with this, I warn you. (Enters door 2 and closes
it behind him)
MOTHER: Lord God, succor Thy servants. (Prays silently, to the
sound of an electric drill, which then stops.)
DUŠAN: (Enters through door 2, leaving it open.) Done.
MOTHER: Holy Mary, how is she?
DUŠAN: The fun’s over.
IVAN: (Arriving through door 2, leaving it open.) What did I say? The
lock’s done for – false alarm.
DUŠAN: She’s taken some pills. Half a tubeful.
IVAN: Meant to take them. Nothing to worry about.
(Mother rises.)
DUŠAN: Don’t go. She’s throwing up.
477
IVAN: Rubbish. She hasn’t got anything to throw up. She’s being
neurotic.
NEIGHBOUR: (Entering through door 2.) All done, Mrs. Pompe. If
there’s anything else, just say the word. I was thinking… yeah, I’ll
just fetch it. (Notices Mother’s fear and leaves through door 4.)
IVAN: I wish he weren’t such a creep.
DUŠAN: (To Mother.) Will somebody finally tell me what you’ve got
against him?
IVAN: Father knows what he knows. That’s good enough for me.
DUŠAN: Is it because he could have helped and didn’t?
IVAN: Who help who? And when?
DUŠAN: During the war. He asked for twenty-five thousand.
MOTHER: (To Dušan.) Where did you get that from?
IVAN: I don’t understand.
DUŠAN: I got a poison-pen letter. Křenař and his father were part
of a train crew. Right through the war. They worked the main
line into Slovakia. For every Jew they got across the frontier
they’d ask for twenty-five thousand, payable in advance. But
our uncle, the partisan, didn’t have the money. Do you think
anyone lent it to him? Guess.
KLÁRA: (Enters through door 2, leading Šárka with one arm round
her shoulders. They are followed by Tatyana.) Šárka’s made up
her mind. Get a move on, Dušan. We’re going.
ŠÁRKA: Write to Heidelberg for me. The end of an illusion. There’ll
be no doctorate.
MOTHER: Don’t say that. You can write yourself.
ŠÁRKA: Why? It won’t change anything. I’m a wreck.
KLÁRA: No you’re not.
ŠÁRKA: A disgrace to the family. Wherever you look, prizewinners,
doctors, ministers, and among them this reject. This
degenerate.
TATYANA: All I’ve got is my school cert. Passed by the skin of my
teeth. So what am I? Ivan says: the worst typist at the District
Court.
478
ŠÁRKA: You’re a mother. And me? A walking disaster area. Please,
don’t make me. I’m not up to it.
MOTHER: Who’s making you do what?
ŠÁRKA: I can’t look after myself, let alone her.
MOTHER: Don’t you want Markéta? That’s the first I’ve heard of it.
All right. You shan’t have her.
ŠÁRKA: You say that now. But in five minutes you’ll be saying
something different. They’ll saddle me with her. The judge’ll
be bribed.
DUŠAN: Who by? Dad?
ŠÁRKA: Ivan mostly.
DUŠAN: I hope you’ll get the main say.
ŠÁRKA: It’s all very well for you to talk. They can’t get at you. But
I’m dependent on them.
TATYANA: What on earth are you saying?
IVAN: Who’s been putting ideas in your head?
ŠÁRKA: I know everything. It’s all become clear.
IVAN: You’re just repeating what you’ve heard others saying.
TATYANA: You’re not going to give the girl up, are you?
ŠÁRKA: Please, take me away. Straight to the place where I belong.
(Picks up her bag.)
NEIGHBOUR: (Knocks on door 4 and steps inside.) I had one at
home. (Points to a set of chrome-plated kitchen taps.) None of
your Bosch stuff. Myjava. Second-hand. But it’ll do for a while.
I’ll fit it – if Dr. Pompe will permit me.
KLÁRA: No thanks, Mr. Křenař. We’ll manage.
NEIGHBOUR: Really? Are you a plumber then?
KLÁRA: Untrained, but experienced.
NEIGHBOUR: As you will, madame. Here’s the washers and some
tow. And some vaseline to finish it off. (Puts the tap unit, pot
of vaseline and tow down close to the table.)
KLÁRA: You needn’t worry.
479
NEIGHBOUR: And one more thing: old pipes don’t like changes in
pressure. When you turn the water off, then open it up again,
they’re apt to burst. Just so as you’re not surprised.
MOTHER: Thank you, Mr. Křenař.
NEIGHBOUR: (To Klára.) Ah, and that other matter, missus. You’ll
put in a word for me?
KLÁRA: Rest assured.
NEIGHBOUR: If you need anything else, I’m in. Just give us a shout.
(Leaves by door 4, closing it behind him.)
DUŠAN: Right then, let’s get going. (Leaves by door 4, Šárka and
Klára set off after him.)
IVAN: (To Šárka.) I’m disappointed in you, Šárka. I thought you
loved Markéta.
ŠÁRKA: (Stops by door 4, comes back, Klára with her.) And don’t I?
IVAN: You’re being selfish. You want to be alone. But you’ve never
been alone. Once you know what it’s like, you’ll be sorry.
TATYANA: (Watching the effect of Ivan’s words on Šárka.) Don’t be
nasty to her, Ivan. Talk to her nicely.
IVAN: They’re not giving you good advice. Neither the minister, nor
the sainted Klára. You’ve forgotten what it’s like in hospital. But
I remember. They called us out of the blue: She’s in a coma. The
professor kept banging on in Latin. Said it was an exceptional
kind of breakdown. Treatable, if a bit risky. We should say our
good-byes. You were lying there, motionless, temperature of
forty-one. That didn’t happen from one moment to the next.
They tried all manner of things on you, then they gave up for
a while and started convening panels. Dad saw through them.
They’re all charlatans. You’d be better off staying at home.
KLÁRA: You’re wrong, Dušan. You’re not telling her everything.
(Louder.) Dušan.
TATYANA: (To Klára.) He’s right.
IVAN: (To Klára.) It’s mostly you who hasn’t told her everything.
You’ve left the main thing out: the crazy treatment they used
on her. And that they’ll use the same again.
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ŠÁRKA: What? They’ll give it me again? No, not that. It’s banned
in America. Electric-shock therapy. You haven’t had it. They
smear your temples with something, attach electrodes – and
bang! Then you come round and you don’t know who you are
or where you are. You don’t have bad thoughts, but you don’t
have good ones either. Utterly vacant, utterly abandoned. Like
a newborn baby. You start shouting. It makes you dreadfully
anxious.
DUŠAN: (Entering through door 4.) Come on then, Sarah, and stop
twittering.
ŠÁRKA: Why did you call me Sarah?
KLÁRA: (To Dušan.) Thanks, you’re a pal. Foie gras at just the right
moment.
ŠÁRKA: It’s to remind me I’m Jewish. Why? Ivan’s right. I’m going
to have another think.
KLÁRA: Shock treatment’s the only way to release Jessing’s catatonia.
IVAN: Mother, don’t let Klára go to work on her.
ŠÁRKA: I’m not catatonic.
DUŠAN: Just as the textbooks say.
KLÁRA: Stick to the weather, will you, Dušan?
ŠÁRKA: Why? So as not to upset me? I’m perfectly calm. (Pointing
to the food on the table.) Is anyone joining me? (They all stand
there looking awkward.) I see, you’re waiting for Daddy. But
I can’t wait. My stomach’s in knots. (Scans the table.) Is there
a knife?
KLÁRA: (Hands Šárka a table knife.) Here you are.
ŠÁRKA: A sharp one.
MOTHER: Klára.
ŠÁRKA: We’ve got at least five.
KLÁRA: Sorry. I couldn’t find a single one.
ŠÁRKA: I get it. You don’t want me to do myself an injury. But I’m
not going to. Yes, I was mortified when Pavel left. And if I’ve
given you a fright, forgive me. But I will pull myself together
and get on top of it. Do believe me. Don’t humiliate me by
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watching me all the time. I’m not lying, I’m hungry. Klára,
please. (Holds out her hand.)
IVAN: Did you hear that, sister-in-law?
TATYANA: But she’s being quite sensible.
IVAN: So are you going to give her one or not? Mother.
MOTHER: You know, I think Ivan’s right, Klára.
KLÁRA: I don’t think so, and anyway I don’t know about the knives.
IVAN: Someone’s hidden them.
KLÁRA: So the same someone can go and get them. I’m not playing
hunt-the-thimble.
DUŠAN: So, Mother, for the last time of asking: is Sarah going to
hospital?
MOTHER: Your father and I promised she wouldn’t go against her
will. I see no reason to break that promise.
DUŠAN: Okay then. (Leaves by door 2, immediately returns, carrying
five sharp knives, which he tosses onto the table among the
food.) From now on Josef is in charge of treatment.
IVAN: (Steps up to Dušan and without warning knocks him to the
ground with a blow to the chin.) Is that enough? Or do you
want more?
MOTHER: Leave him, Ivan.
DUŠAN: (Picking himself up.) Don’t worry. He’s got reason to be
angry. Unlike you, he remembers that story. Dad would tell it
to us when we were kids. Josef was a court bailiff. Whenever
his boss saw him, he’d say: Josef, tell us a joke. Josef ’s jokes
weren’t all that funny, but this was his boss’s feeble attempt to
mask the fact that Josef was half-pissed. And it went on from
morning to night.
IVAN: (In a low voice.) You bastard. (He makes to kick Dušan as he
struggles to his feet.)
TATYANA: (Blocks his way.) No, Ivan. You might make him think
the cap fits. (To Dušan.) Did you want, big brother-in-law, to
get me thinking that Ivan used to have a drinking problem?
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I know all about it. But he’s cured. He hasn’t touched a drop
in five years.
MOTHER: I should hope so, Ivan. Otherwise it will kill you.
DUŠAN: No harm in hoping. But I can tell. This morning he had
two shots, and another two when he went to get the wrench.
Now he’s due for round three.
KLÁRA: (Wiping the blood from Dušan’s torn lip.) Foie gras with
a surprise.
IVAN: Except that Tanya didn’t swallow it. (To Dušan.) Get out!
DUŠAN: It’s not for you to kick me out. Come on, Klára, we’re going.
(Klára doesn’t react.) We’ll meet again in less happy times.
MOTHER: Don’t leave, Dušan. We haven’t said all we need to yet.
DUŠAN: (Coming back.) On the contrary. This is a house of death.
KLÁRA: Please, Dušan, do cut the foie gras.
(Šárka leaves by door 2 carrying a plate of food, but no one notices.)
DUŠAN: (He has not heard Klára; to Mother.) Twenty-five thousand.
If you’d sold it, you’d have got ten times as much.
MOTHER: I couldn’t. The law wouldn’t let us.
DUŠAN: He wouldn’t let you. He threatened to divorce you. And
you gave in to him.
MOTHER: Was that in that poison-pen letter as well?
DUŠAN: It was always like that. In thirty-eight your parents begged
you not to go to America with him. Without you they didn’t
feel they could cope. You were their salvation. But you didn’t
want to. The house would have had to be sold. Three years
later it was the same thing with your brother. (To Tatyana.)
Thirty-five years later another round. They came. The entire
family. Josef in the lead (Indicating Ivan.), along with his
wife. But she was taken ill and fled. Do you know why they
came? So that I would give up my inheritance. They said the
Communists would lock me up and my property would be
forfeited to the state. Including the third of the house that was
mine. Do you still believe they’re keeping Šárka at home for
her own good, and that it’s for Markéta’s good that they want
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to go to court? Poppycock! They know very well what’s wrong
with Šárka and where she belongs. But it’s all about the house.
It’s only ever about the house. And I, idiot that I am, came in
the belief that they might have changed. Ridiculous. I’m going
to no one’s funeral. Good bye. (Leaves through door 4.)
TATYANA: (To Ivan.) If that’s how it was, sweetie, it’s crazy.
IVAN: He’s crazy.
TATYANA: Do you know how it was?
MOTHER: Dušan, come back here, at once.
DUŠAN: (Comes back.) Are you staying, Klára?
KLÁRA: A couple of hours, a couple of days maybe.
DUŠAN: There’s no point. Has she pulled the Tsvetaeva thing yet?
And La Dama del Alba? No? It’ll come – then she’ll slash her
wrists. You won’t be able to watch her all the time, then you’ll
get the blame. They’ll make you an accomplice to murder.
There’s no point even trying to help those as won’t help
themselves.
KLÁRA: There’s no helping you. Go alone.
DUŠAN: Not without you, oh no.
KLÁRA: How many have you got? (She picks up the Neighbour’s tap
set and looks at the table.)
MOTHER: Kitchen knives? Five.
KLÁRA: There are only four here. She’s taken one. (Quickly leaves
by door 2).
MOTHER: But she’s calm. (Leaves by door 2, then calls from the
other side.) She’s just resting.
DUŠAN: So she’ll have her rest, then you’ll see. (Stands there a while,
looks at his watch, then leaves by door 4.)
TATYANA: Now you can tell me: what’s the truth?
IVAN: About the house? I don’t know. I don’t want to know. As it
says in the Old Testament: The shame of thy father shall thou
not uncover.
TATYANA: You know what I’m asking about.
IVAN: I haven’t been drinking, honest.
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TATYANA: You’ve been very edgy ever since this morning. You let
me drive. That’s the first time since we’ve been together. Why?
IVAN: Because they brought us all together for this reconciliation.
But there’s some ulterior motive to it. I can sense it. And
I can’t stand it.
TATYANA: So take a swig. I know there’s something bothering you.
(Reaches inside his breast pocket and pulls out a small flask.)
Take a swig, but you must see the doctor tomorrow.
IVAN: It hasn’t happened in five hundred years, and won’t happen
for another five.
TATYANA: You’ve had a relapse. You must phone the clinic.
IVAN: All right then. (Has a drink and puts the flask back in his
pocket.) Trust me. I will phone.
KLÁRA: (Comes out of door 2, takes the wrench with her through
door 3.) Šárka’s fallen asleep. Fast asleep like after a fit.
TATYANA: (Waits for Klára to disappear behind door 3 and close it
behind her, then opens door 4 and looks out.) Asleep. But I’m
worried. What if he’s sick?
IVAN: Baby Peter? Don’t be silly. What d’you mean, sick?
TATYANA: Apparently Marek also used to get convulsions while
eating.
IVAN: Why ‘also’? (In the direction of door 3.) Have you been talking
about it to her? You can’t take any notice of what she says.
Convulsions! If anyone has convulsions, then it’s her.
KLÁRA: (Comes out of door 3 carrying the wrench.) Water’s back on.
IVAN: I’m warning you, sister-in-law, you’re not going to play first
fiddle in this house.
KLÁRA: Mother let me fit the Myjava taps.
IVAN: When Dad gets back you’ll have to watch out. But more
important than that: stop trying to set Tatyana against me.
KLÁRA: Have I been doing that?
TATYANA: (To Ivan.) Please, sweetie, stop it, this minute.
485
IVAN: (To Tatyana.) Sorry, sweetie. If Baby Peter’s off colour, I’ll be
able to tell. (Calling.) So, Mother, this meeting. Is it going to
begin?
MOTHER: (Coming out of door 2.) After breakfast.
IVAN: This is the first family conference with breakfast. So there
won’t be any discussion.
MOTHER: All right. I’ll tell you now. Daddy and I are going to alter
our wills. Dušan will inherit just like the rest of you. Provided
only that he shows some regret.
IVAN: When he does, I hope you’ll let me know.
MOTHER: You can count on it.
KLÁRA: But Dušan doesn’t want to inherit, mummy. We both agree.
MOTHER: He doesn’t want a share in the house? Why?
KLÁRA: It ought to go to Šárka. All of it.
IVAN: Brilliant idea! And what about me?
KLÁRA: You and Dušan are earning good money. But the Nibelungs
won’t give Šárka a living.
IVAN: I’ve got plenty for her too.
MOTHER: Wait a minute. You’re paying for three children. All Šárka
can hope for is an invalidity pension.
KLÁRA: Suppose she carries on like today. Will you be living with
her?
IVAN: Like hell I will!
MOTHER: Look at it sensibly, Ivan. Once Daddy and I have gone,
she can have a tenant upstairs. The house will provide for her.
There could even be enough for a nurse.
IVAN: So the cat’s out of the bag. So you want me to pack up and go.
How nicely contrived.
MOTHER: There’s been no contriving.
KLÁRA: The idea only came to Dušan and me this morning.
IVAN: You do realize what you’re condemning me to. Eking my life
out in a tower block. If you do disinherit me, I’ll challenge it
in court.
486
MOTHER: No one’s going to disinherit you. You’ll merely cede your
share to Šárka.
IVAN: (Ironically.) Voluntarily.
KLÁRA: What do you think, Tanya?
TATYANA: It’s for Ivan to decide.
KLÁRA: You don’t have an opinion?
TATYANA: I don’t want to talk about it now.
IVAN: That, sister-in-law, is our last word on the subject. Understand,
Mother?
(The sound of breaking glass is heard from inside the house.)
MOTHER: She’s awake. Šárka! (Moves towards door 2; to Klára.)
What was it?
KLÁRA: (Overtaking Mother, runs out through door 2.) She’s smashed
a glass.
TATYANA: Listen, sweetie. Would you really sue your parents?
IVAN: And I’d win. I’ve got right on my side.
TATYANA: But the house is theirs. They can give it to whoever
they want.
IVAN: That’s what Klára said when they disinherited Dušan. And he
was stupid enough to listen to her.
TATYANA: Stop shouting. It’s a lovely house. It would be best if
Šárka got it.
IVAN: Forgive me, sweetie. Kindly leave it to me.
TATYANA: I understand. You’re fond of it. But I wouldn’t live
here. And I hope you’re fonder of me. (Listening.) Baby Peter.
(Leaves through door 4.)
ŠÁRKA: (Comes in through door 2.) Believe me, Klára. There’s nothing
wrong with me.
KLÁRA: Put it back then.
ŠÁRKA: The knife? It’s where it should be.
KLÁRA: Don’t try it, Šárka. I won’t permit it.
ŠÁRKA: Speaking purely academically: by what right? It’s my life.
Suppose I’ve had enough?
KLÁRA: It’s not just yours.
487
ŠÁRKA: Who else’s then? My parents’? They won’t mind outliving
me. They’ve known worse.
KLÁRA: If you weren’t ill, I’d say you were an ignorant, spoilt brat.
ŠÁRKA: For not honouring my father and my mother? Tell me: do
you honour them?
KLÁRA: Of course.
ŠÁRKA: Father Pompe and Mother Pompe? I don’t see why. Because
the priest told you to?
KLÁRA: God has dealt hard with them. I have to admire them.
ŠÁRKA: Admiration’s all very well when there’s nothing wrong with
you. Whereas night after night I play back my life. And theirs.
And what do I see? A family of monsters. People like that
shouldn’t be born. But if they are, they shouldn’t have children.
KLÁRA: Thank God you can’t do anything about that.
ŠÁRKA: But I can do something. Mother. (Mother enters slowly
through door 2.) Do you remember that old fairy-tale? Come
and read it to me. You know the one: “It’s Good that Death
Is.” No, no, don’t worry. I’m just conducting a philosophical
disputation. Why are you looking at me like that? Are you
looking for it too? I don’t need it. Here it is. (She takes out the
kitchen knife and plunges it into door 2, then goes out through
door 2, closing it behind her.)
MOTHER: What do you think about her?
KLÁRA: She’s terribly, terribly sick.
MOTHER: Or spoilt. Hysterical. Wicked. But well.
KLÁRA: I think she’s pretending.
MOTHER: Oh Lord, my mother did that. When she was at her worst,
she claimed to be feeling marvelous. And we swallowed it.
KLÁRA: (Opens door 2, looks inside and listens, then closes it.)
She’s writing something. You’re an odd family.
MOTHER: Do you mean flawed? Yes, my mother-in-law was
a manic depressive. After Eddie and I got married, she twice
tried to hang herself. I wasn’t so helpless in those days. I found
a clinic. A really good one. Discrete. But Eddie wouldn’t hear
488
of it. “Mum’s perfectly okay.” She lived with us. We kept an eye
on her. She tyrannized us.
KLÁRA: Dušan says she was killed by the Germans.
MOTHER: Just before the war, it was. I was six months pregnant and
feeling like I couldn’t go on. So I said: “This isn’t going to work,
Eddie. It’s her or me.” He says: “Dr. Polák”, yes, like when I was
single, so I’m standing in front of him with this belly and he
says: “Dr. Polák, you have opted for divorce.” And I says: “Dr.
Pompe, you may send your solicitor.” I didn’t mean it, nor did
he, but I got my way. We got Mama into an institution. Three
years later the Gestapo burst in and gave everyone lethal
injections. He’s hated me ever since.
KLÁRA: I think he still loves you. (Opens door 2, listens and looks
inside, then closes it.) But in a strange way.
MOTHER: He grew up without a mother. Brought up by foster
mothers. He refused to get married. But I wanted him.
Desperately. I had myself baptized because of him. He
reminded me a bit of Harold Lloyd. But he was brilliant.
as a lawyer He lectured at the university. Everyone was
impressed. I wheedled all the family savings out of my parents
and built a house. Even as a child he wanted a house of his
own. I decided to make his wish come true with the house
I bought him. There was a grand wedding followed by great
retribution. There’s only one thing I couldn’t come to terms
with: that it’s affected Šárka as well. I didn’t want to see that
it was hereditary, and I don’t want to see it even now. But I’m
not entirely blind. Unfortunately.
ŠÁRKA: (Pops her head out of door 2.) Old maid, blind as a bat, what
do you think I’m playing at? Round and round I run and run,
now you catch me if you can. (Closes the door.)
MOTHER: She’s been eavesdropping on us.
KLÁRA: Will you help me get her into the ambulance?
489
MOTHER: She carried on like this after she came back from
Heidelberg. Insisted she wouldn’t go voluntarily. They had to
strap her up.
KLÁRA: The three of us, you, me and Dušan, we’ll be a match for
her.
MOTHER: I promise I’ll do whatever you ask, lass. But the minute
I clap my eyes on Eddie, the minute I hear his ‘What did she
say?’, any promise might fly out of the window.
(The sound of breaking glass is heard.)
KLÁRA: At least we know what she intends to use. (Pulls the knife
out of door 2.)
MOTHER: Yes, Klára. I’m so helpless. Please don’t abandon us.
(Klára crosses herself, leaves by door 2 and closes it behind her.)
FATHER: (Enters door 4.) Two months. Yep. Two months to deliver
them. Scandalous! I said: “Could it be an employee of Bosch
telling me this?” And they went: “This is a hypermarket. Go
to Vienna, for one thousand schillings they can be yours.” Pay
three times over the rate for a set of taps – do I look as if I’m
made of money?
MOTHER: Calm down, Eddie. Wash your hands. (Leaves by door 2.)
FATHER: (Following her out.) You’ve got water? Has Ivan brought
that tank?
ŠÁRKA: (Comes in through door 2, heading for door 4.) Have you
read Marina Tsvetaeva?
KLÁRA: (Quickly following her in through door 2.) Some of the
poems.
ŠÁRKA: My favourite is “Back Home After Years Away”. “Sister
mine, this house is full of hiding-places. Playing like children…
A beautiful lie./ Seek me, catch me – you won’t. Now I’m
where you’ll never find me.” Nice, isn’t it?
(Father enters through door 2.)
MOTHER: (Following Father in through door 2.) Eddie, don’t. (To
Klára.) What did she say?
KLÁRA: Nothing good.
490
ŠÁRKA: She wrote it and hanged herself.
MOTHER: Dear God.
FATHER: I decide what I can and can’t do. (Picks up the wrench
from the table.)
KLÁRA: (To Šárka.) Come on now, let me have it.
ŠÁRKA: What this time?
KLÁRA: You know.
ŠÁRKA: Are we playing forfeits? What do you want me to do as
a forfeit? An act of confession? Fat chance! (Runs out of door
2.)
MOTHER: What’s she got?
KLÁRA: A piece of glass. (Runs out through door 2, closing it behind
her.)
MOTHER: Oh God! Listen, Eddie, there’s something much more
important here.
FATHER: (Leaving through door 3.) Of course. You’ve been acting
behind my back.
MOTHER: I meant well. It’ll do for a couple of months. As a stopgap.
FATHER: (Comes back.) Not for one minute! That Myjava thing has
to go. It’s also important where you got it from. I bet Křenař
has got something to do with this. Who fitted it? Him too?
(Mother shakes her head.)
FATHER: Who then? Who took the liberty?
MOTHER: Me. (Stands in front of door 3.)
FATHER: You and who else! Out of my way!
MOTHER: Only if you promise not to take it off again.
FATHER: Křenař can go and shove it somewhere.
MOTHER: And I can lug water around in buckets. Like in ’45.
That’s what you’d like. You can’t wait.
FATHER: At least you won’t forget. (Takes a step towards mother,
who is blocking his way to door 3.)
MOTHER: In short, you haven’t forgiven me.
491
FATHER: Take good note: taps must not be tightened by force.
Repeat it.
MOTHER: But we’re in this together. I offered you the house. And
you accepted it.
FATHER: For the last time I’m asking: who fitted it? Who was out
to make me look stupid? Who had the sheer impertinence?
All right. I’ll find out.
MOTHER: Please, Eddie, leave her alone.
FATHER: What did you say?
MOTHER: You’ve insulted her quite enough. You can’t stand her.
You’ve infected me too. You haven’t spoken to her in years.
Why? I’ll tell you: Klára is your conscience. When Dušan was
in trouble, she stood by him. But when I was faced with the
concentration camp…
FATHER: Poppycock!
MOTHER: … you had a pistol on your desk and were writing a letter
of farewell. In secret, but so I wouldn’t find it.
FATHER: Whinge, whinge. Can’t understand a word.
MOTHER: And when I did find it – what did you suggest? That we
should die together. You put the pistol down in front of me and
said: “Don’t be so helpless. Shoot.” – You knew I couldn’t. The
fact that we had a son never crossed your mind. You packed
your little case. “I’m just taking the essentials. I’ll send for the
rest in due course.” That’s why I did it. That dreadful thing.
FATHER: Sob story. You’ve spun me that one ten times before this.
MOTHER: Never. Not once have I put that dreadful thing into
words.
FATHER: Ten times. Nay, a hundred times!
MOTHER: Never! Because if the children heard, they’d never want
to see you again. But if you don’t stop this, if you carry on
being obnoxious to Klára, if you drive her away like you’ve
driven away anyway who’s ever been here…
FATHER: Cut the tragedy. (Pushes Mother aside, leaves by door 3,
leaving it open.) I won’t do anything. I’ll just undo it.
492
MOTHER: I will say it. Do you hear, Eddie?
FATHER: (Calling, off-stage.) I can’t hear, Hedi.
MOTHER: What are you doing in there?
FATHER: (Off-stage.) Working.
MOTHER: You’re relying on me not saying it. But you’re wrong. This
time I will. (Leaving by door 2, cries in desperation.) Eddie!
FATHER: (Off-stage, parodies Mother’s intonation.) Hedi!
MOTHER: Evil, evil as the Devil. (Leaves by door 2, closing it behind
her.)
FATHER: (Comes in through door 3, closing it behind him.) Myjava!
After the barbarians desecrated a church, it had to be
reconsecrated. (Wrench in hand, goes out through door 2.)
ŠÁRKA: (Enters through door 2, dithers neurotically as if not knowing
where to go; to Klára.) Do you speak Spanish?
KLÁRA: (Following her in through door 2.) Not a word.
ŠÁRKA: Dušan can explain the significance of the dama del alba in
Andalusian folklore. She arrives between four and five in the
morning. Relief, liberation, peace.
KLÁRA: Wait. Who is she then?
ŠÁRKA: Wouldn’t you like to know! But it’s a secret. And do stop
spying on me. Leave me alone. (Runs out of door 2.)
KLÁRA: (Calling urgently.) Dušan! (Runs out after Šárka.)
IVAN: (Runs in through door 4, carrying a vomit-stained nappy, runs
through door 1, is away briefly, then runs back in, this time
without the nappy.) Shit! (Shouts.) Sister-in-law. Is it back on
or not? Do you hear me? The water.
FATHER: (Enters through door 2.) You’ll have to go to the tank, Ivan
lad.
IVAN: I’m going mad. Mother. I’m covered in puke.
MOTHER: (Comes in through door 2.) Please, Eddie, do be sensible.
FATHER: What do you me want to do?
MOTHER: Stop acting silly. At least while the children are here.
FATHER: And turn the water on? Not a chance.
MOTHER: For five minutes. Ten.
493
TATYANA: (Calling off-stage.) Sweetie! We’re ready!
IVAN: Yes, sweetie. (To Father.) You’ve really upset Tanya, Dad.
Lighten up.
FATHER: Are you against me too, Ivan?
KLÁRA: (Comes in through door 2, in a hurry, carrying two empty
jugs, calls.) Dušan.
MOTHER: Where are you going?
KLÁRA: He’ll bring some. (Louder.) Dušan.
MOTHER: Some water?
KLÁRA: We’re going to need it. They offered me some without
being asked.
MOTHER: Who? The Křenařs? I hope you’re not going to bring us
to this, Eddie.
FATHER: What did he say?
IVAN: Don’t trouble yourself, sister-in-law. It’s not worth it, Mother.
Not on our account anyway. (Turns to leave by door 4.)
TATYANA: (Calling off-stage.) Sweetie, are we going or not?
IVAN: I’ll have a wash at home. (Calling.) We’re going. (Leaves by
door 4.)
KLÁRA: (Listening.) Šárka!
MOTHER: Are you going to let them leave, Eddie? You’re determined
to spoil it.
FATHER: What toilet?
MOTHER: Tyrant! Turn the water on, or you’ll have me to answer to.
FATHER: Okay. Ten minutes. But turn it on yourselves. Do you
know how? No, you don’t.
MOTHER: Klára, have you still got that hand-jack?
KLÁRA: Just a minute. (Listening at door 2.) Šárka! (The silence
alarms her.) Dušan! (No answer forthcoming, so she runs out
through door 2 with the jugs in her hands.)
FATHER: So, Hedi, next time don’t lie. You can’t even call a wrench
by its proper name, let alone handle one. I knew at once who’d
been messing with my handiwork.
494
MOTHER: She’s a little miracle, Eddie. I wish you could see that.
She’s the only one on earth who’s kind to us. (Calls.) Klára! Is
anything wrong?
KLÁRA: (Off-stage, from the other side of door 2.) Don’t worry, mum.
FATHER: Coming from her it’s inconsiderate, from you
it’s irresponsible. The pipe’s old, it needs sensitive handling.
At all events, no outsider should ever have laid hands on it.
(Wrench in hand, leaves by door 3.)
(After a brief pause, we hear the sound of a powerful stream of water
hitting the ground.)
MOTHER: Saints preserve us!
FATHER: (After another brief pause runs in through door 3, wrench
in hand; he is soaking wet. A stream of water gushes through
the open door after him; he closes the door.) What did I say?
She’s ruined it. The way she treated it, it’s gone and burst. And
I, fool that I am, tried to oblige you. Now you’ve had it. Me
too, unfortunately.
MOTHER: Oh God! (To Father.) Don’t look at me, Eddie. I didn’t
want this. Something told me it was going to be disastrous.
I begged her: Klára, don’t touch anything. But she’s terrible.
Doesn’t stop to think first.
FATHER: It served for fifty years, and would have done another fifty.
Pre-war quality. Finest Solingen steel. All it takes is one allknowing ignoramus, and it’s done for.
MOTHER: Can’t it be stopped?
FATHER: The water? Just you try. When it’s gushing in your face.
Under huge pressure. No one could stop it.
MOTHER: How about phoning the water company?
FATHER: They don’t care about accidents on domestic property.
MOTHER: Klára!
KLÁRA: (Off-stage.) I’ll be right there, mum. Five minutes.
MOTHER: Lord God, what hast Thou sent against us?
FATHER: You ain’t seen nothing yet. There’s worse to come. The
foundations will get waterlogged.
495
MOTHER: Mr. Křenař!
FATHER: The house will start breaking up from below ground. Until
in the end it collapses. We’re going to be spending our twilight
years in some refuge.
NEIGHBOUR: (Enters through door 4.) Dr. Pompe. If you’ll permit
me…
MOTHER: He’s qualified, Eddie.
FATHER: (Hands him the wrench.) It doesn’t matter… It’s all over
anyway.
NEIGHBOUR: Leave it to me. It won’t take long. (Enters door 3,
the stream of water, which has continued to pound against the
door, bursts towards him.)
FATHER: He won’t succeed. I don’t believe in miracles.
(The stream of water subsides. Quiet.)
NEIGHBOUR: (Enters through door 3) Fifty-five years. That pipe.
Hasn’t got the stamina we have. Nowadays they’re made of
plastic. They’ll last an eternity. So, like I always say: If you’re
interested and Dr. Pompe trusts us enough to do the job…
(Tries to return the wrench to Father.)
MOTHER: Eddie?
FATHER: (Takes the wrench.) You’re asking me? Trust him? I don’t.
I don’t trust anyone or anything. I’m done.
MOTHER: We are interested, Mr. Křenař, and we do trust you.
NEIGHBOUR: I’ll have my son stop by. (Leaves by door 4.)
MOTHER: (Calls.) Klára. (To the others.) Something’s happened.
FATHER: One moment. Everyone in here.
IVAN: (Enters through door 4, sees the water damage.) What on
earth…? Reminds me of the Titanic.
FATHER: Now’s not the time for cynical jokes.
(Tatyana having changed her clothes enters through door 4.)
FATHER: Or fashion parades.
IVAN: I apologize for her not coming covered in puke.
FATHER: Quiet! Take this down: one two-inch inlet pipe. Seamless,
threaded at both ends. Length six metres. Steel. Tell him that.
496
Him or his son. Or whoever you get in. I’ve given up. It’s too
much for me. Incidentally, Hedi, you can tell your wondrously
kind daughter-in-law that when I am speaking to everyone,
that means her too, so she should have the decency to be here.
MOTHER: (Calls.) Klára! (To the others.) Something’s happened in
there. Klára!
KLÁRA: (Off-stage). Nearly there, mum. One minute.
FATHER: What did she say? Never mind. I’m used to being ignored.
For over fifty years I’ve been protecting this house against
destruction. Now you’ve let destruction in by the front door.
My fight is over. I have one condition only: I don’t want him
trotting along with his scythe. Even without that I know
death’s only round the corner. After today I’m even more
certain. I’ve had my say. If anyone has anything to say to me,
remember I can’t hear, nor do I want to. I have just died. Good
night. (Picks up his little case, leaves by door 2 and slams it
behind him. The cupboard door that has concealed the brickedup entrance swings open for good.)
KLÁRA: (Enters through door 2, calm and collected.) She scratched
herself, but it will be okay.
MOTHER: Heaven be praised. (Heads for door 2.)
KLÁRA: She asked to be left alone. She doesn’t want to speak to
anyone.
MOTHER: Will you drive her, Ivan?
KLÁRA: I’ve sent for an ambulance.
MOTHER: (Calls.) What can you have been thinking, Šárka? Haven’t
we all loved you?
KLÁRA: (To Mother.) Shhhh.
TATYANA: (To Ivan.) She could have bled out. We could have killed
her.
IVAN: You’re exaggerating. (Tatyana reacts with a gesture of
irritability.) Sorry!
497
KLÁRA: She left some messages. You’re not to prevent Pavel looking
after Markéta. And when they disinherited Dušan, no one
asked her opinion.
MOTHER: Oh God, dear God. We’ll make it right.
TATYANA: We will. (Whispers something to Ivan.)
IVAN: Later, sweetie. We’ll think about it when things have quieted
down.
TATYANA: Sorry, sweetie. If you care for me, speak now. No? Then
I will. (To all.) Ivan agrees.
IVAN: (To all.) It’s a solution of sorts. (To Tatyana.) Was that all
right, sweetie?
TATYANA: The house shall be Šárka’s. Is that right, Ivan?
IVAN: Of course, sweetie. Just don’t get carried away.
NEIGHBOUR: (Enters through door 4, carrying a canister.) Some
water. And there’s an ambulance outside.
(Enter two paramedics with a stretcher.)
KLÁRA: Good morning, gentlemen. This way. (Takes them through
door 2.)
IVAN: We’ll take our leave now, mother. Tanya’s not feeling well.
Good bye. (Leaves by door 4.)
MOTHER: Ivan, Tanya. Lord, what a day it’s been!
TATYANA: Bye bye, mum. (Calls to say good bye.) Šárka!
(The two paramedics enter through door 2 with Šárka on the stretcher;
she has both wrists bandaged and a tourniquet above her right elbow.)
ŠÁRKA: (In a faint voice.) Forgive me. Next time. Next time.
MOTHER: What did she say?
KLÁRA: (Enters through door 2, carrying Šárka’s bag.) She’s in
depression. It’ll be all right.
TATYANA: ’Bye, Klára. (Leaves by door 4.)
MOTHER: Šárka. I’m so helpless. Someone ought to go with you.
KLÁRA: I’m going, mum. (Hands the wrench to the neighbor.) Thank
you, Mr. Křenař.
NEIGHBOUR: Don’t mention it. Let’s not go into it now. But when
you’ve got a minute…
498
(The paramedics stretcher Šárka out through door 4, the neighbour
accompanies them out.)
KLÁRA: Good bye, mum. One more thing: tomorrow your weeds
are going to be shedding their seeds all over the neighbours’
flowerbeds.
MOTHER: Good bye, Klára. I shall pray for you.
KLÁRA: He doesn’t mind doing it for you. I mean Mr. Křenař. He
wants to keep the noise down, so he’ll take his scythe to them.
(Moves towards door 4.) Will you let him?
MOTHER: And where’s Dušan? What did you say? Of course, let
him cut them back. Farewell.
DUŠAN: (Comes in through door 4, bumps into Klára) Can I give
you a hand, Klára?
(Klára doesn’t respond, passes through door 4 and closes it behind
her.)
DUŠAN: (Opens door 4.) Klára! (Closes door 4; bites his lip.) Hell!
She is rattled.
MOTHER: You went out to eat, didn’t you?
DUŠAN: I was getting terrible hunger pains.
MOTHER: I know the feeling. But I couldn’t get angry. I was afraid.
For myself, but mostly for you.
(Father part-opens door 2 and listens through the gap.)
MOTHER: If Eddie had divorced me, you’d have joined me in the
gas chamber. And he was insane with fear.
(Dušan, spotting Father in door 2, signs to Mother to stop or tone it
down.)
MOTHER: No, no, you have to know. I knew he was going to sue
for divorce; his confessor warned me. That’s why I did it. Sued
my own parents. At the trial I pointed to them: That isn’t my
father. That isn’t my mother. Both confirmed it. They bribed
the expert witness. His statement said: this person exhibits no
Jewish racial characteristics. They found two people prepared
to recognize me as their illegitimate daughter. It was explained
that my parents had taken me from them to bring me up.
499
A nice story, eh? They invented it themselves, then swore to it.
I can still see them – that star on their coats and a summons
to join the transport in their pocket – listening to the verdict.
This said that I was not a Jewess. Do you still want to see it?
When I showed it to Eddie at the time, he said: “You shouldn’t
have done it, Hedi. It’s a sin.” Yes, I should have kicked him out
after the war. We weren’t a family, it was hell.
(Father disappears from door 2, closes it, it clicks shut.)
MOTHER: (Turns towards door 2, opens it.) Eddie? (Closes door 2.)
Did he hear me?
DUŠAN: (Nods)
MOTHER: Never mind. That’s how it was. At least you’ll be saved
the trouble of poison-pen letters. (A shot rings out from inside
the house.) Lord Jesus Christ! (She collapses.)
DUŠAN: Dad! (Runs through door 2.)
MOTHER: No. No. Please don’t let it be! Lord God, be with us, we
pray.
FATHER: (Enters through door 2, looks crushed.) Stop shouting,
Hedi. I can’t hear anything anyway.
MOTHER: Goodness gracious, Eddie, who was that shooting?
FATHER: An ol’ gunslinger.
MOTHER: Thank You, Lord. Eddie, I didn’t want to… I didn’t mean
it.
FATHER: I did. Parabellum 7-65. German. In perfect working order.
DUŠAN: (Enters through door 2, quietly.) He’s shot a hole in his
collar.
MOTHER: Lucky he had a bad aim.
FATHER: His aim was good. He dropped it at the last moment.
Couldn’t go through with it.
MOTHER: Eddie! (Embraces Father.)
DUŠAN: Dad. Can you hear?
MOTHER: Yes, he can. Tell him nicely.
DUŠAN: I’ve been a fool. Please forgive me.
FATHER: (Turns to Dušan.) Put it there. (Offers him his hand.)
500
MOTHER: Praise be!
FATHER: (Still holding Dušan’s hand in his own.) When all’s said and
done, we haven’t done each other any harm, have we, Ivan lad?
(Their hands part, he leaves through door 2.) Where’s Tanya
and Baby Peter? You must bring them with you next time.
MOTHER: Please, Eddie, don’t start. (To Dušan.) He drives me mad.
Can you understand him? He’s a mad comedian.
DUŠAN: And I beg you too: if you can find it in you, forgive me.
MOTHER: Say no more. Go and find Klára. Go down on your knees
and beg her forgiveness. And mend your ways. Or you’ll lose
her.
DUŠAN: Take care of yourself. – Oh yes, the house keys. (Takes
them from his pocket.) Dad wanted them back.
MOTHER: Not any more. You keep them. Suppose we missed the
doorbell.
DUŠAN: (Puts the keys back in his pocket; calls out.) Good bye, dad.
(Silence. Dušan slowly leaves by door 4.)
MOTHER: He needs to digest it. You can have a talk next time. Then
we can go out for a drive. To Medlán. Up the hill to the little
chapel. Like when you were small. Everything will be sorted
out and it will be all right. (Sets off through door 2.) Eddie, are
you going to have some breakfast at last?
(Before Mother disappears through door 2, Neighbour moves to the
front of the stage, collects his scythe from the side of the proscenium
and strides off through the auditorium carrying it across his shoulder.
A light glimmers on the blade and the Neighbour whistles a melody
just as out-of-tune as at the start. In the meantime the curtain falls.)
THE END
501
Petr Zelenka
(1967)
Petr Zelenka graduated in
scriptwriting and dramaturgy from
the Film Faculty of the Academy of Performing Arts in Prague. He
made his debut as a director in 1993 with a film about punks, Visací
zámek. In 1997, he had the première of his most highly awarded film,
the episodic film Buttoners (Knoflíkáři), which won the prestigious
Czech Lion award for best script, direction and film. The popular
film Loners (Samotáři, 2000) was also based on Zelenka‘s script.
He was awarded main prizes at the International Film Festivals in
Karlovy Vary and Moscow for his recent films Year of the Devil (Rok
ďábla, 2003) and Tales of Common Insanity (Příběhy obyčejného
šílenství, 2005). In 2008 his newest film The Brothers Karamazov
(Bratři Karamazovi) premiered. He made his debut in the theatre
with translations of plays by Michael Frayn. His debut as a playwright
and, for the first time, a theatre director was with Tales of Common
Insanity, which in 2001 won the prestigious Alfréd Radok Award for
play of the year. His latest play, Coming Clean (Očištění, 2007) was
commissioned by the famous Narodowy Stary Theatre in Cracow,
Poland. Currently, he is writing a new play for the National Theatre
Prague – Endangered Species (Ohrožené druhy, 2011).
LIST OF PLAYS:
•
•
Příběhy obyčejného šílenství, 2001; première 16. 11. 2001,
Dejvické divadlo, Prague
Odchody vlakov (inspired by Michael Frayn’s Chinamen), 2003;
première 3. 2. 2004, Divadlo Astorka – Korzo 90, Bratislava
(Slovakia)
502
•
•
•
Teremin, 2005; première 17. 11. 2005, Dejvické divadlo, Prague
Očištění, 2007; première 27. 10. 2007, Narodowy Teatr Stary,
Cracow (Poland)
Herci (a new version of Departures of Trains), 2008; première
13. 3. 2008, Divadlo Ta fantastika, Prague
TRANSLATED PLAYS:
•
•
•
•
Příběhy obyčejného šílenství: Croatian – Priče o obyčnom
bezumlju, English – Tales of Common Insanity, Tales of Ordinary
Madness (USA), Flemmish – Histories van alledaagse waanzin,
French – Les Petites Histoires de la Folie Quotidienne / Histoires
de la folie ordinaire, Hungarian – Hétköznapi őrületek, Italian
– Storie di ordinaria follia, Polish – Opowieści o zwyczajnym
szaleństwie, Russian – Slučaji zaurjadnovo sumasšestvija,
Slovene – Zgodbe vskdanje norosti, Slovak – Príbehy obyčajného
šialenstva, Spanish (Latin America) – Historietas de locura
ordinaria, Spanish (Spain) – Locuras Corrientes, Romanian –
Povestea unei nebunii oisnuite
Odchody vlakov: English – Departures of Trains, German – Im
Falschen Film, Polish – Odjazdy pociągov
Teremin: English – Theremin, German – Theremin, Russian –
Teremin
Očištění: English – Coming Clean, Polish – Oczysczenie
Romanian – Purificare Russian – Očiščenije
503
Petr Zelenka
COMING CLEAN
A Play
Translated by Štěpán S. Šimek
This play is copyright and subject to protection under the Copyright Act.
This work may be used solely for dramaturgical purposes in association with
a production of it.
Any other use, in particular its duplication or making it available to third
parties, is subject to the sanctions of §152 of the Penal Code. In the event of any
intent to produce or otherwise use the play, you undertake to seek performing
rights to the work from Aura-Pont s.r.o.
All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the Aura-Pont Agency
Radlická 99, Praha 5, 150 00, Czech Republic, www.aura-pont.cz
Address for correspondance: Veslařský ostrov 62, 147 00 Praha 4
504
Characters:
Jack Gorsky, a writer; in his late forties or early fifties
Monica, his wife; in her forties
Kasia, Monica’s sister; in her twenties
Andrew, Jack’s publisher; about fifty
Alana, Andrew’s wife; a lawyer in her forties
Martha, a TV show host; about fifty
Program Director, Martha’s husband; in his fifties to early sixties
The Make-Up Girl, in her twenties; she also plays Winona Ryder,
and later in the show, she becomes the new TV show host
Batko, former Catholic priest; in his sixties
Nicolas, young boy; about nine to eleven years old
Paul, Jack’s neighbor, the father of Nicolas; in his forties
Eve, Paul’s wife, Nicolas’ mother; in her late thirties, early forties
Policeman / Young Man On The Street
Production Assistant; in her thirties.
Studio Audience
Setting: The action of the play takes place in a contemporary TV
studio, which also functions as various other interior and exterior
locales in which the play unfolds. The furniture and the props used
in the play should be able to transform to the individual settings
smoothly and without any major interruptions.
505
ACT 1
Scene 1: Confession
(Andrew’s apartment. Andrew is fussing about with a camera; he
may even be setting up some photo studio lights. The equipment is
quite rudimentary, and the whole set-up looks rather amateurish.
Jack is sitting in a chair in the middle of the room looking like a dental
patient.)
JACK: Should I change?
ANDREW: (Shaking his head.) Don’t worry, that shirt’s fine.
JACK: How about I stand by the window?
ANDREW: The picture’s supposed to be “at work.”
JACK: Maybe at the desk?
ANDREW: Just stay where you are. (Andrew starts circling him with
a lamp.) I’ll put you in a sort of a Newton light.
JACK: Shouldn’t we just hire a real photographer?
ANDREW: I know how to take pictures.
JACK: Sure, but you’re not a photographer.
ANDREW: As your publisher, I know what’s best for you.
(Jack is quiet.)
By the way, you’ve got a book signing at the Luxor next
Monday at five.
JACK: No problem. I’ll be there.
ANDREW: I’ll put you in a cozy little corner there. (He starts taking
pictures.) Why don’t you try sitting at the desk. (Jack sits at the
desk.) Hmm…
JACK: Pretty bad, eh? I’ve always looked awkward, except when I sat
at the desk. I used to look good at the desk. Now not even
there.
ANDREW: You’re still in great shape. (Andrew continues
taking pictures.) : I love that story of yours about the guy
who’s convinced he got AIDS from some Indian prostitute…
(He takes another picture.)
506
JACK: Hmm…
ANDREW: …and then one day he finds out that he’s clean. So,
naturally he wants to throw a party, but he cannot tell the
truth to his wife because the whole time he’s been sleeping
with her as if nothing happened. So he makes up a story
about celebrating his promotion at work. (He takes another
picture.) He invites tons of people, all his friends and so on,
and everybody knows the real deal, and they congratulate him
for being alive, and his wife is jealous because he’s got all those
great friends who wish him all the best in his career, even
though it doesn’t really seem to be a big deal. (He takes another
picture.) And everybody waits for the truth to come out one
way or the other, but what happens is something completely
different. For some reason the word around the water cooler is
that the guy just threw a party because of his promotion, and
people at his work start whispering about it, so that in the end
he actually does get a big time promotion, and he becomes the
Secretary of Agriculture…
JACK: … of Culture.
ANDREW: The first day he gets to his new office, there is this young
assistant with long legs, and all that sitting by the computer.
He offers to take her out for lunch, and she immediately
agrees. And that’s the end. I love this story. (Andrew continues
taking pictures.)
JACK: Not good, eh?
ANDREW: You seem a bit tense. Relax.
JACK: I’ve have trouble sleeping lately.
ANDREW: I read about how Kratochvil did a photo shoot with
Dylan in the eighties. For some reason Dylan demanded
that Kratochvil roll around in the mud in front of him. So he
did. They went to the Central Park where Kratochvil would
roll about in mud and Dylan would shoot him with a reflex
camera. Then they switched places. Maybe you’d like to do
507
something like that? Something that’d make you a bit more
relaxed?
JACK: Come on Andrew, we’ve known each other for thirty years.
ANDREW: Exactly. And that’s why I can see that you’re cramped.
What’s going on?
JACK: I did something horrible… (Andrew waits with anticipation.)
I raped a little kid.
ANDREW: What??!! … When?
JACK: Last Monday.
ANDREW: Who knows about it?
JACK : Just you.
ANDREW: What kid?
JACK: Do you know Paul and Eve?
ANDREW: You mean your neighbors?
JACK: Their son – Nicolas.
ANDREW: Jesus Christ! That boy’s not even ten yet!
JACK: Actually, he turned eleven in January.
ANDREW: What about his dad?
JACK: He doesn’t know.
ANDREW: What do you mean, he doesn’t know?
JACK: I drugged him… he was spending the night with us. He doesn’t
remember a thing… He had a bit of a stomachache in the
morning, but everybody thought that he just ate something
bad.
ANDREW: How did you “drug” him?
JACK: With a pill.
ANDREW: What PILL??!!
JACK: Who the hell cares what pill!!!
ANDREW: And… What happened next? Are you telling me you
just picked up the sleeping kid brought him to bed and raped
him??!!
JACK: I did it on the sofa.
ANDREW: On your sofa??!!
JACK: Yes.
508
(Andrew is at loss of words. Taking pictures is now of course out of
the question.)
ANDREW: This is not good, Jack.
JACK: Of course I know that it’s not good!!! Andrew, I’ve known
the boy for years. He sings in the youth choir; he’s extremely
bright; he’s got those wide blue eyes…
ANDREW: What about Monica?
JACK: She doesn’t know.
ANDREW: What do you want to do?
JACK: I’ve no idea. I’m completely at a loss.
ANDREW: Did you come?
JACK: What?
ANDREW: I’m asking you whether you came.
JACK: What sort of a question is that?
ANDREW: If I’m going to help you, I need to know exactly what
transpired.
(Andrew’s wife Alana comes in.)
ALANA: How is it going? Hi Jack.
JACK: We’re coming along. Hi.
ALANA: Did you offer him anything? (To Jack.) Would you like some
coffee?
JACK: No thanks. I was just about to go.
ALANA: I was trying to tell Andrew to hire a photographer, but he
wouldn’t do it. He’s being awfully cheap with you.
ANDREW: Alana, would you please let us work.
ALANA: Well, I’m so sorry for keeping you.
(She leaves, a little ticked off. Jack gathers his belongings and is about
to leave as well.)
ANDREW: Where are you going?
JACK: Listen Andrew – forget about it.
ANDREW: Forget about what?
JACK: I made it up, OK. I’m writing a story about a guy who raped
a little boy, and I needed to try something out on you. I’m
sorry you took it seriously.
509
ANDREW: Bullshit.
JACK: No really. Come on, you know me don’t you?
ANDREW: That’s exactly it. There were too many details. One
cannot just come up with something like that on the spot.
JACK: I’m a writer.
ANDREW: Sure, but not that good a writer.
JACK: What are you implying?
ANDREW: If you were such a hot commodity I wouldn’t be taking
picture of you for a free weekly handed out by the homeless
in front of the train station.
(Beat.)
JACK: OK.
ANDREW: I’m sorry.
JACK: You’re right.
ANDREW: So, what do you want to do?
JACK: I don’t know. I guess I should turn myself in.
ANDREW: Promise me that you won’t tell anybody until we figure
something out
JACK: OK.
(Jack leaves. Alana enters. Andrew is lost in his thoughts.)
ALANA: Did something happen?
ANDREW: No, why?
ALANA: He looked completely miserable.
ANDREW: He’s got some problems.
ALANA: He looked like he killed someone. (Andrew manages a forced
laugh.) Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?
ANDREW: It’s nothing.
ALANA: Are you hiding something from me?
ANDREW: What…?
ALANA: All I want is for you to communicate with me. Is that too
much to ask?
ANDREW: Oh for crying out loud, Alana! Please don’t start again.
510
ALANA: You used to not hide anything from me. We used to do
things together. You used to be interested in what I was
thinking.
ANDREW: Jack started smoking again, … and he’s afraid Monica
will find out. That’s all.
ALANA: You don’t need to tell me, if you don’t want to.
ANDREW: I just told you. (Andrew is about to leave. Alana stops him.)
ALANA: Andrew.
ANDREW: Yes.
ALANA: I’m sorry.
ANDREW: No, I’m sorry.
(They exit. Music: Talk show theme.)
Scene 2: TV Studio
(As the music starts playing, the walls of the apartment part (or fly
up) revealing a real TV Studio. We are in the midst of a live broadcast
of a talk show entitled “Coming Clean.” In the center is a little table
with two or three chairs around it; on the sides are benches with about
twenty studio audiences members, and two cameramen behind their
cameras. Today show’s guest is Father Batko, a character inspired by
the real-life Catholic Priest Eugene Drewermann . He has a sense of
humor, great charisma, and he is equally at home giving a lecture as
talking with his patients as a therapist. The talk show host is a very
nice lady Martha.)
MARTHA: Good evening to our studio audience and to our viewers
at home…Tonight’s guest is Professor Josef Batko. Good
evening professor.
(Applause.)
BATKO: Good evening.
MARTHA: I don’t think that the professor needs any introduction.
I’d just like to remind you, that he is one of our leading
511
contemporary theologians, whose differences with the
Catholic Church, and some of its representatives caused him
to be stripped of his priesthood and fired from his position as
a professor at the theological seminary in 1996.
(Music: Talk show theme.)
MARTHA: Professor, this year you turned sixty-five, and you
decided to give yourself a little present for your birthday…
BATKO: Well, a rather large present.
MARTHA: Absolutely, you’re right. And… will you tell us what sort
of a present it is?
BATKO: I decided to leave the Catholic Church.
(Pause. Tentative applause growing more enthusiastic as Martha
encourages the audience. There is a real sense of spontaneity to it.)
MARTHA: Is that that easy? You can just say to yourself that you’re
quitting the church and … that’s it?
BATKO: Of course not. It is a rather complicated bureaucratic
process, but what is important is the moment of decision.
Actually there are two important moments. The moment
when I got the idea to do something, and the moment when
I publicly formulated it; in other words, the moment of
voicing, of making public.
MARTHA: And you have decided to make it public precisely today
right here in our studio, on our show “Coming Clean.” And we
want to thank you for your courage and your honesty.
(Applause. Music: Talk show theme.)
MARTHA: What was it that led you to such a – dare I say – drastic
decision. Surely it wasn’t just your personal disagreements
with the Cardinal…
BATKO: Of course not. You know, I sincerely believed that I could
build an imaginary bridge between the Catholic Church, in
other words between the teachings and the body of Jesus
Christ, and the spiritual needs of the common people. But
obviously I did not succeed.
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MARTHA: Why not? Is the Church refusing to engage in such
dialogue?
BATKO: It was more of a mutual misunderstanding.
MARTHA: What is it that you don’t like about the Catholic Church?
BATKO: There are certain things I disagree with.
MARTHA: Specifically…?
BATKO: I’d say that the last drop in the bucket was Pope
Benedict’s reaction last year to the events in Rwanda.
MARTHA: Remind us what happened there.
BATKO: The Catholic Priest Anthanase Seromba, who in 1994
participated in the genocide of two thousand Tutsis, was
found guilty by the UN International Court of Justice and was
sentenced to fifteen years in jail. The Pope’s official reaction
to this judgment was that “the Holy Church cannot be held
responsible for the deeds of individuals acting in her name.”
MARTHA: Is that what he said.
BATKO: Word by word.
MARTHA: That means that Father Seromba wasn’t stripped of his
priesthood, that he can still give the holy communion, can
receive confessions, and so on, whereas you, whose only
“offense” was to actually talk about his crimes, have been
stripped of all those privileges. That’s absurd, don’t you think?
(The studio audience visibly and audibly agrees.)
BATKO: What’s more at issue here is the fact that the Catholic
Church hasn’t yet taken a clear position against genocide. And
let me remind you that the twentieth century was a century of
genocide. Did you know, for example, that up until his death
in forty-five, the Vatican used to send birthday telegrams to
Hitler?
MARTHA: I didn’t know that.
BATKO: Because nobody ever talks about such things. But I do talk
about them, and I will do so in the future. Because if it is true
that today we are witnessing the rise of moral relativism then
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I’m sure that the Church carries a great deal of responsibility
for it.
MARTHA: And do we really witness moral relativism.
BATKO: Francis Fukuyama would call it “befuddled morality.”
(Theme music. Possibly applause.)
MARTHA: Truth is truth, and life is life, but no matter what…
let’s continue. I’d like to remind our viewers that the
fundamental nature of this program is the public confession
of the studio guest on one hand, and the understanding, or
rather the forgiveness by the audience on the other. Here,
a guest appears in front of the audience in order so that they
can come clean. What do you think about that, as a former
priest and confessor yourself?
BATKO: Such dialogue is of course mutually beneficial. The problem
is that the audience is not in the position to actually dispense
absolution.
MARTHA: So you’re not opposed to the notion that such intimate
matters should appear on TV?
BATKO: What’s intimate about morality? Personal hygiene may be
an intimate matter, but certainly not morality.
MARTHA: I agree.
BATKO: The whole world proclaims that each person is defined
by their acts. But those acts in themselves have a double
nature; they are relative. There is a great difference between
an individual act, which is publicly discussed, and the same
act, which nobody talks about. Moreover, some acts are so
personal – in the terminology of contemporary physics,
quantum-like – that they can only be realized at the very
moment when we formulate them in public. For example the
loss of faith.
(He pulls a priest collar from his pocket and places it on the table in
front of him. Music. Applause.
Batko enters the make-up room, he washes his face in the sink and
sits down in an armchair. He is tired. The make-up girl (24) starts
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taking off his make-up. In the meantime, the audience is leaving the
TV studio.)
MAKE-UP GIRL: That was awesome.
BATKO: I got quite sweaty out there.
MAKE-UP GIRL: I should have put more face powder on you.
BATKO: I don’t think that was the problem.
MAKE-UP GIRL: Are you looking for like an assistant?
BATKO: Why?
MAKE-UP GIRL: Or maybe a secretary, you know like somebody
to have around.
BATKO: I already have a secretary.
MAKE-UP GIRL: This is an OK gig, but I don’t want to spend the
rest of my life pottering in this dirt, you know what I mean?
(By “dirt” she means the mascara she’s taking off Batko’s face.)
BATKO: Absolutely.
MAKE-UP GIRL: The way I see it, I could do better.
BATKO: Absolutely.
MAKE-UP GIRL: Or, I’ll just give you my number, and you’ll call
me if you like need something. Deal?
BATKO: OK.
MAKE-UP GIRL: If you need like totally anything.
Scene 3: Leukemia Foundation
(City Street. Enter Kasia, dressed in a nice uniform-like dress, carrying
a donation box. She is approaching passers-by, collecting donations
for a children’s leukemia foundation. Donors receive a little lapel pin
or a sticker for their donation.)
KASIA: Hello, please help fight children’s leukemia. Hello, please…
(Batko approaches her.)
BATKO: I’ll take one. (He puts some money in the donation box, Kasia
puts a pin on his lapel.)
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KASIA: The children thank you. (Batko exists. A well-dressed young
man approaches Kasia, smiling.)
YOUNG MAN: I’ll have one too.
KASIA: The amount is up to you. (The young man puts a rather large
bill into the donation box. Kasia smiles, and puts a pin on his
lapel.) The children thank you.
YOUNG MAN: My pleasure. (He continues smiling.) Nice tits. (Kasia
is taken aback. She takes a few steps back, then she turns and walks
away, continuing to solicit donations.)
KASIA: Hello, please help fight children’s leukemia… (The young
man calls after her.)
YOUNG MAN: Miss! (Kasia turns towards him. He comes closer.) I’ll
have another one. (Kasia holds up the donation box away from
her body. He puts another large bill in the slot.)
KASIA: The children thank you. (The young man waits for his pin.
Kasia hesitates, but knowing she has to do it she starts putting it
on his lapel again.)
YOUNG MAN: I want to fuck you. (He grabs her arm. Kasia struggles
to free herself.)
KASIA: Leave me alone.
YOUNG MAN: You stupid fucking cunt, I gave you a hundred! So
behave accordingly you bitch! (The young man tears the pins off
his lapel, throws them violently at Kasia, and leaves. Kasia stands
alone on the street. She slowly starts taking off her uniform.)
Scene 4: Two Sisters
(The scene transforms into the living room of Jack and
Monica’s apartment. Enter Monica.)
MONICA: How are you? Would you like some tea?
KASIA: No, thanks. Is Jack here?
MONICA: No, he’s downtown somewhere.
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KASIA: He said he needed a picture of himself for the papers.
I brought some over for him.
MONICA: May I? (Without waiting for Kasia’s go-ahead, Monica
begins to look through the photographs.)
MONICA: My god, those are the pictures from France with mom
and dad still. They must be like fifteen years old. Where on
earth did you dig them out? (She is laughing.)Wow, and here
you are in that impossible swimsuit of yours. You were fifteen,
and you could never understand why no boy would ever look
at you, but you’d go on wearing that impossible swimsuit.
(Kasia starts crying.)
MONICA: What is it? What happened? I’ve nothing against that
swimsuit. (Through her tears, Kasia indicates that that is
not the issue. She can’t find a tissue, and Monica gives her her
handkerchief.)
KASIA: Time flies so fast! (Monica starts to comfort her. Maybe she
embraces her, or she may stroke her head.)
MONICA: Oh, come here my darling little girl. Some boyfriend left
you again, is that it?
KASIA: I’m so happy to have you guys. To have you, and Jack, and…
MONICA: And we are happy to have you. But Kasia… Kasia!
KASIA: Yes?
MONICA: You need to find a real boyfriend.
KASIA: Thank you, but I don’t want to.
MONICA: I understand how someone wouldn’t really feel like
dating, especially if their last boyfriend killed himself, but you
need to show some effort.
KASIA: John wasn’t my boyfriend.
MONICA: Sure. You must not feel responsible for his death in any
way whatsoever.
KASIA: I don’t feel responsible for it.
MONICA: Just because he jumped out of a window a week after
you split.
KASIA: A month.
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MONICA: Exactly. It was his problem, not yours. So, there’s no need
to cry about it, is there? (Kasia wipes her eyes.)
KASIA: I quit the job for the leukemia foundation.
MONICA: Praise the Lord.
KASIA: But the children need the money!
MONICA: Come on Kasia. The children will probably never see the
money anyways. Most of those endowments are nothing more
that fronts for tax evasion.
KASIA: You’re always so negative.
MONICA: All I want is for you to be happy.
KASIA: I don’t want to be happy.
MONICA: But you must be happy. If you don’t want to be happy…
then you’ll be… awfully unhappy.
KASIA: It’s easy for you to talk. You’ve got Jack who loves you, you’ve
got a son who’s in college in England…
MONICA: Yes, I know I do have it all. But you could have it too. (She
fetches a photograph, and shows it to Kasia.)
KASIA: What’s that?
MONICA: A picture.
KASIA: Who is it?
MONICA: An engineer .
KASIA: (Suspiciously.) How do you know him?
MONICA: He’s… He came by…
KASIA: He just “came by?” Is he one of Jack’s friends?
MONICA: Not really. It was job-related. He came to read the gas
meter.
KASIA: READ THE GAS METER??!! (Monica is deeply insulted.)
MONICA: So what? I talked with him. He’s intelligent, he’s single,
and he wants to date. He’d be perfect for you. Here’s his
number, you should call him.
KASIA: I don’t appreciate you offering me to strangers!
MONICA: He’s not a stranger! Sit down! (Kasia reluctantly sits down.)
You know very well that you are in no position to be choosy.
You’re thirty years old, you have no skills, you’ve never had
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a normal job, and your former boyfriend committed – well,
we all know what he committed. Mom and I had always hoped
that maybe in the end you’d be a success. But at the same time
we both knew that we were hoping in vain.
(Kasia is about to leave, but Monica doesn’t let her go.)
Wait. Here’s a number of a friend of mine. She’ll get you a job. (Monica
writes a number on a little piece of paper.)
KAISA: And what will I do? Read gas meters?
MONICA: She’s a production assistant on a TV show. Promise me
you’ll call her. (Kasia takes the paper slip.)
MONICA: And one more thing. (Pause.) No more charity work, OK?
(Enter Jack.)
JACK: Hi Kasia. How are you doing? Hi Monica.
KASIA: (Kasia is clearly in love with Jack.) Hi. I’m fine. (Jack kisses the
both on their cheeks.)
MONICA: Kasia brought you some old pictures.
KASIA: You said you needed them for some magazine.
JACK: Oh yes. Thanks. (Kasia is very nervous. Without paying much
attention, Jack casually thumbs through the photographs.)
KASIA: (Apologetically.) I’m wearing that impossible swimsuit.
JACK: You’re right. That’s really funny. (He laughs.)
KASIA: Well, I’ll be going. Bye.
JACK: Bye. (Kasia leaves.)
MONICA: There’s some sausage in the fridge for you.
JACK: Thanks. How’s Kasia?
MONICA: Same as always. She quit her job again. Sometimes I think
that people like her just aren’t fit to live in this world.
(Monica leaves for the bathroom, where she has already filled the sink
with water. She begins to wash her hair in it. Jack cannot see her. He is
standing in the middle of the room thumbing absentmindedly through
Kasia’s pictures. Monica dips her head under the water in the sink.)
JACK: Monica, I need to tell you something. I raped Nicolas. Paul
and Eve’s son. When he was spending the night last week.
(Silence. Jack is waiting, breathing hard. Monica raises her head
519
from the sink, and works the shampoo into her hair. Then she dips
her head in the water again.) If you want to leave, I understand.
(Silence. Monica raises her head from the sink. Jack is quiet.
Monica dips her head in again.) I’ll turn myself in. But I wanted
you to be the first one to know. (Monica raises here head from
the sink. She overhears the last words: “to know.”)
MONICA: Jack!
JACK: Yes?
MONICA: Be a sweetie and hand me the towel.
JACK: Did you hear what I just said?
MONICA: If you’re talking to me, then I can’t hear you. (She comes
out of the bathroom holding the paper box of L’Oreal hair coloring.)
You always talk to me when my head is under water. What did
you want?
JACK: Well…
MONICA: The directions are in French, and I don’t know how long
I should leave it in. (She gives the box to Jack.)
JACK: Are you coloring your hair?
MONICA: I need to do something with it. I wouldn’t want to
embarrass you at the awards.
JACK: Yes… you should leave it in for about twenty minutes…
that’s what it says… (He gives the box back to her.)
MONICA: You look awful. Is something wrong?
JACK: I’m sick, Monica.
MONICA: It’s the bug. It’s going around.
JACK: Not that kind of sick. It’s inside me.
MONICA: If you’re not sure what it is, just take some Tylenol. You’ll
feel better.
JACK: Sure. That’s a good idea.
Music. Blackout. Lights up.
Scene 5: Luxor
520
(Jack and Andrew are sitting alone at a little table. There is a little
stack of his last book, a collection of short stories. On the wall behind
them is a modest sign: “JACK GORSKY: CHARADES.” Further down
the wall is a much bigger banner for J.K Rowling’s latest Harry Potter.
There is a very long pause where nothing happens. Let us enjoy their
embarrassment.)
ANDREW: The plan is simple. I’ll swear that you were at our place
that night.
JACK: But you were at our place – with Alana.
ANDREW: Alana will say anything we want. She’s completely loyal.
You were home earlier, and then you drove to our place. I had
to discuss something with you regarding publicity for your
book. OK? You got wasted, and you returned home in the
morning – by cab. I know a taxi driver who’ll swear to that.
JACK: Andrew, that will never work.
ANDREW: Of course it will!
JACK: Yesterday I almost told Monica.
ANDREW: Jesus Christ! Didn’t I tell you not to tell anybody?! Did
you get rid of the pills?
JACK: What pills?
ANDREW: The ones you drugged the kid with. Throw them in
the trash somewhere far away from your place. Destroy the
evidence. And stop seeing that kid.
JACK: I don’t know about that.
ANDREW: You’ve got a better idea?
JACK: I’ll go to the police.
ANDREW: Sure. I’ve heard that before.
JACK: They may want to keep me there… so I meant to ask you
whether there’s still something more I should do for you;
I don’t know – some interviews, or whatever…
ANDREW: Oh, shut up.
JACK: I wouldn’t want to somehow renege on my commitments to
you because of this whole thing.
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(Enters Girl. She picks up one of the books, looks at it briefly and then
puts it back on the table.)
GIRL: Sorry. Wrong table. (She leaves.)
JACK: You’ll have problems. It’s obviously not a bestseller.
ANDREW: Stop it.
JACK: There’s no other way. Actually, you should report it. It was
a crime and you know about it. That makes you an accomplice.
ANDREW: You want me to turn my friend in?
JACK: And how can you be sure that it won’t happen again?!
ANDREW: It was a momentary lapse! A short. You’re overtaxed.
That’s all! OK, so you were bored, and you wanted to try
something new. Big deal. The real victim here isn’t the kid,
but you. You’re simply a product of the crisis of our society.
Just like the rest of us. It’s like in that story of yours about the
guy, who’s so bored with his wife that he decides to kill himself
so that something interesting would finally happen at home.
But his wife doesn’t even notice, and the mortuary guys who
come to pick him up are bored too because this is the tenth
time a boring suicide by popping pills has happened that day.
“Mr. Boring’s Pills”
JACK: But this isn’t a story. This is real!
ANDREW: So?
JACK: I’ll turn myself in.
ANDREW: You’re a writer nominated for the Nike Book Award, and
the only thing you can think of is to go and turn yourself in?
Don’t get me wrong, but you’re an idiot.
JACK: And what else should I do?
ANDREW: How the hell should I know? In any case, there is
x-number of other methods how to come out with it. Since
you obviously seem to be hell-bent on blabbering it out.
JACK: Should I go to the tabloids?
ANDREW: Why tabloids? You could say it on some serious TV
show.
JACK: What show?
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ANDREW: “Coming Clean” for example. That one is made for you!
JACK: You’re out of you mind!
ANDREW: If nothing else, it’d help your book to sell.
JACK: That’s disgusting.
ANDREW: Yes. It’s disgusting. But that’s the world we live in.
Besides, on a show like that you could also explain.
JACK: Explain what?
ANDREW: Why you did it. What made you do it.
JACK: But I don’t know why I did it.
ANDREW: Well, maybe you’d find out.
JACK: Fuck you.
ANDREW: Why do you think Kate Moss let herself be caught
snorting coke? Because she doesn’t know how to lock
bathroom doors?
JACK: How should I know? Because she’s an addict?
ANDREW: Her agent told her to. And he was right, because
that’s what made her famous.
JACK: Sure. But that’s a completely different world.
ANDREW: And what about Polanski? And Winona Ryder?
JACK: What about Winona?
ANDREW: Do you really believe that Winona Ryder couldn’t afford
to buy two pounds of tomatoes? Or how do you explain her
need to shoplift in Safeway?
JACK: Come on. You cannot compare Winona Ryder’s shoplifting
with what I did. There is a pretty big difference between the
two.
ANDREW: Yeah? What difference? Come on tell me.
JACK: You can’t tell the difference?
ANDREW: I’m asking you, what’s the difference?
JACK: Pretty big one. I’m not Winona Ryder! Come on, Andrew,
be real!
ANDREW: No. You are Winona Ryder, buddy. You are Winona
Ryder before she started shoplifting. You’re Kate Moss before
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she shoved a rolled hundred-dollar bill up her nose in the
recording studio.
JACK: But they are actors. I have a certain moral code.
ANDREW: You fucked a ten-year-old boy!
JACK: Eleven!
ANDREW: And-a-half!
JACK: And is this why you treat me like a pervert?
ANDREW: Come on, you know I’m kidding.
JACK: And what if I am a pervert, what then?!
ANDREW: If you really are a pervert, then shut up and get lost.
(Blackout / Lights up.)
Scene 6: Charades
(Jack’s and Monica’s apartment. The two couples are playing
Charades. Jack is in the middle of performing his pantomime. The
other three participants are trying to guess the movie he’s portraying.)
PAUL: Wajda’s “Canal.”
JACK: Nope.
MONICA: “And God Created Woman.”
JACK: Nope.
EVE: “La Dolce Vita.
JACK: Nope.
PAUL: Is it a European movie?
JACK: No. American.
MONICA: We agreed that we’d only do European films.
JACK: Sure, but you can’t pantomime European films.
That’s impossible.
PAUL: OK. We give up.
EVE: No way. Let’s keep going.
PAUL: And do you know what it is? We give up.
JACK: “Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea.” (Demonstrates.)
You see. Twenty thousand – leagues– under – the sea
524
(Everybody discusses, how it is possible that they couldn’t figure
out what it was?)
EVE: And this…(She demonstrates.) … was what?
JACK: An octopus.
EVE: That was an octopus?
JACK: Nicolas is good at this. Why didn’t you bring him?
PAUL: We left him with my folks over the weekend.
EVE: He seems to have caught some bug at school. Vomits all the
time.
JACK: Is that so? I’m sorry. Say hi to him for me.
Now it is Eve’s turn to perform. She sits down in a chair
facing the others, and she spreads her legs wide. Jack stares at
the sight. Paul is looking at Jack, Jack looks back at him and
smiles. Monica is also smiling. They are all friends after all.
JACK: “As Good As It Gets?”
EVE: Wrong.
MONICA: “Inner Life”
EVE: Wrong again. (Eve shakes her head. She takes off her panties.
Everyone is a bit taken aback.)
PAUL: Cut it out, Eve.
EVE: “Cut it out, Eve” is not it.
PAUL: Stop it, Eve.
EVE: “Stop it Eve” isn’t it either.
MONICA: “The Purple Rose of Cairo?”
EVE: No. It’s “Basic Instinct.” Duh!
(Eve throws her panties at them. Paul grabs her by the arm, pulls her
off the chair and sweeps her to the floor.)
PAUL: I don’t like the way you flirt with my friends.
EVE: And I don’t like the way you tell everyone you meet that I want
to sleep with them.
PAUL: And don’t you?
EVE: If I wanted to sleep with someone, I wouldn’t ask your
permission.
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PAUL: No doubt about that. (Eve throws a glass of wine in his face. He
retaliates. Both are wet and surprised at how fast the situation
escalated. Jack and Monica try to calm them down.)
JACK: Cranberry juice anyone?
EVE: That’d be nice. (Monica leads her away.)
MONICA: Come on. (They leave, but maybe they’ll stay at the back
of the stage, talking silently to each other. Jack goes to the kitchen.
Paul follows him.)
PAUL: I apologize for Eve. We shouldn’t have come tonight.
Nobody’s interested in our crisis.
JACK: I don’t mind.
PAUL: If it weren’t for Nicolas, we’d have been divorced years ago.
No question about that.
JACK: Oh well… Listen Paul… I… I need to tell you something…
It’s about… It’s about Nicolas…(Jack is about to confess, but Paul
beats him to it.)
PAUL: Jack, somebody raped Nicolas.
JACK: What?
PAUL: It’s true.
JACK: (Feigning surprise.) Ah… Eh… How could that happen?
PAUL: I have no idea. (Pause.) Probably on his way to school.
JACK: Jesus Christ!
PAUL: I’ll kill the guy who did it. They will find him sooner or later.
What do you think?
JACK: Hmm.
PAUL: My entire world collapsed in front of my eyes, Jack. I’m forty
years old, my marriage is in shambles, I hate my job, and now
some monster raped my son. RAPED him!
JACK: Did you tell anyone?
PAUL: No. The only people who know are the doctor who examined
him, and the police. (Hearing the word “police,” Jack freezes in
terror.)
JACK: You went to the police?
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PAUL: I didn’t. But the doctor called them. They’re required to
inform them about those things.
JACK: And Eve?
PAUL: She knows nothing. We don’t talk. It’s awful. Do you think
I should tell her?
JACK: I guess so.
PAUL: I know what she’ll say. That it’s my fault! (He says it in a way,
which seems to suggest that it indeed was his fault.)
JACK: It’s not your fault.
PAUL: Tell me one thing. But don’t lie!
JACK: Yes?
PAUL: Did you sleep with Eve?
JACK: Paul!
PAUL: I know she likes you.
JACK: I couldn’t do something like that to you.
PAUL: Sure. That’s what one always says. But nobody ever believes
it. (Jack shakes his head.)
PAUL: Eve’s not bad in bed. But it’s not worth the trouble afterwards.
JACK: Absolutely.
PAUL: So nothing happened between you two?
JACK: Nothing.
PAUL: Absolutely nothing.
JACK: No.
PAUL: Kneel down and swear that you didn’t sleep with her.
(Normally Paul wouldn’t force a friend to swear to something like
that, but he is already a bit drunk. Jack hesitates.)
Kneel down! (Jack smiles. He does not move.) GET THE FUCK
DOWN!!
JACK: (Kneels down and swears.) I swear that nothing happened
between me and Eve.
PAUL: (Paul collapses next to him and hugs him.) I need you to talk
to Nicolas.
MONICA: (Monica enters.) What’s going on? Jack? Did you lose
something?
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JACK: I did.
MONICA: When you find it, come and join us. Eve just came up
with a great movie. (Eve enters. She too is quite drunk by now,
and she assumes that Jack kneeling on the floor is pantomiming
the name of some other film.)
EVE: “Karol: A Man Who Became Pope.” By Battiato…
(Music. Blackout / Lights up.)
Scene 7: Jack and Nicolas
(Jack and Nicolas are standing in front of a giant aquarium –
probably created by a rear projection – looking at fish. Nicolas is
a great boy. He is on the threshold of adulthood, but he’s still a child.
His voice hasn’t broken yet. He has a bag of potato chips.)
JACK: Do you like dolphins?
NICOLAS: Totally.
JACK: This was a great idea to come here. (A turtle or a dolphin swims
by.)
NICOLAS: Mr. Gorsky, I know why they wanted you to take me out.
JACK: Is that so? Why?
NICOLAS: So that they can fight.
JACK: Your dad wanted me to talk to you.
NICOLAS: About what?
JACK: It’s about the bug you caught last week. You know the one
that you had to skip school for.
NICOLAS: Only on Thursday. On Friday I went again.
JACK: (Doesn’t know what to ask. Actually he’s inquiring about what
Nicolas knows. And about who else knows.) Did you have
a stomachache?
NICOLAS: I’m fine now.
JACK: That’s a good thing. And, what did the doctor say?
NICOLAS: He and my dad were whispering to each other
JACK: But he didn’t say anything?
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NICOLAS: He said that children are our future.
JACK: That is true.
NICOLAS: But I’m not a child.
JACK: Absolutely. (He looks at Nicolas. Nicolas offers him a chip. He
too has problems to deal with.)
NICOLAS: Will mom and dad get divorced?
JACK: I hope not.
NICOLAS: They have a crisis.
JACK: Oh well…
NICOLAS: Maybe because it doesn’t work in bed. (Jack is taken
aback. However, Nicolas evidently doesn’t have a clear idea what
that phrase means.)
JACK: You think so?
NICOLAS: Yeah. But mom is good in bed.
JACK: How do you know?
NICOLAS: Dad told someone from his office. I heard him.
JACK: I see. (Nicolas is thinking. Another sea creature swims by.)
NICOLAS: But maybe dad isn’t good in bed.
JACK: I’m sure he is.
NICOLAS: (Looking at Jack intently.) So why are they having a crisis?
JACK: Everyone has a crisis sometime.
NICOLAS: But you don’t, do you?
JACK: No.
NICOLAS: I’m sure you’re good in bed.
JACK: Oh no, not me. (Jack takes a few steps away from Nicolas to look
at another aquarium.)
NICOLAS: Mr. Gorsky?
JACK: Yes?
NICOLAS: I skipped school on Friday too.
JACK: Why?
NICOLAS: I was scared. Me and my friend, we did something bad.
JACK: What did you do?
NICOLAS: Our frog died.
JACK: Your frog?
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NICOLAS: We were trying to find out how high it can jump.
JACK: Frogs can jump pretty high. Three feet, no problem.
NICOLAS: Ours jumped ten feet.
JACK: You’re kidding me.
NICOLAS: Because we helped it a bit.
JACK: How?
NICOLAS: With this board we found. (He shows a batting motion.)
And then it died (Beat.)
(It’s pretty bad what we did, Mr. Gorsky, is it?)
JACK: Yes. It’s very bad. You must never ever do that again!! Is that
clear??!! (Nicolas hangs his head. The message is clear, and for the
first time in his life he has pangs of conscience.)
NICOLAS: Please don’t tell anybody.
JACK: I won’t.
NICOLAS: It will be our secret. (Jack nods. Nicolas grabs his hand and
puts a round chip around his finger as if it were a ring. Then he
walks away to continue watching the fish. Jack watches him from
some distance, when his phone rings. It is Andrew.)
ANDREW: Hi. Can you talk?
JACK: Yes. Hi.
ANDREW: Everything’s set. The cab driver will say anything we
want.
JACK: Andrew, I’ll do the show.
ANDREW: What show?
JACK: “Coming Clean.”
ANDREW: You’re kidding, right?
JACK: No. I’ve made up my mind.
(Blackout / Lights up.)
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Scene 8: Ratings
(A TV station office. Martha and her boss, who is also her husband,
the Program Director They are in a middle of a conversation about
the next installment of “Coming Clean.”)
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Who’s that guy?
MARTHA: An excellent novelist. You never heard of him?
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Never.
MARTHA: He’s pretty well known.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: What did he do?
MARTHA: He fell in love with a little boy.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: And apart from that?
MARTHA: He’s got a novel coming out.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: In other words, an intellectual.
MARTHA: He’s an interesting person.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Sure. Like that DJ who decided to burn
a million Dollars.
MARTHA: He did burn them.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: But nobody saw him do it! All we saw was
him talking about it.
MARTHA: Look, Gorsky’s been nominated for the Nike Book
Award. An award plus conflicted conscience – that’s exactly
what we need.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: I’ll tell you what we need. We need
ratings. At least ten percent.
MARTHA: Otherwise, what?
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Otherwise they’ll cancel us.
MARTHA: They’ll put us in another time slot, that’s all.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Same thing.
MARTHA: But you’ll fight for us, won’t you.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: I won’t.
MARTHA: Why not?
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: People are already shouting nepotism
because we’re married.
531
MARTHA: You know that’s not true. You’ve always been hard on
me, and never cut me any slack. But we’ve got something
special here, darling.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: There are hundreds of shows like this all
over the world – darling.
MARTHA: I want Jack Gorsky.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Fine. But it’s your head that rolls.
MARTHA: Absolutely.
(Both leave.)
Scene 9: TV Studio II – Getting Ready
(A TV studio is gradually set up on stage. The following scene
fragments have a cinematic rhythm; they alternate quickly, sometimes
they overlap; they may even be simultaneously staged at times.
The production assistant, a woman 30-50 years old, is giving Kasia
instructions for her new job as an assistant.)
PRODUCTION ASSISTANT: Okeydokey honey, so at quarter too,
you’ll herd them into the studio. You seat the short ones in the
front OK? Folks who’re over six feet or have an afro must not
sit in the front, and guess why not? Because if they do, that
camera boom over there will cut off their head. And that is
something we don’t want to happen, do we?
KASIA: Yes. No.
(In another part of the stage we see Jack, holding a little briefcase, and
calling his friends to remind them to watch TV tonight.)
JACK: … Hi, this is Jack. I wanted to tell you to make sure you
watch TV tonight. Channel two. At eight… “Coming Clean.”
(Who’s on?) That’s a surprise. (You.) No, not me… (He’s laughing.)
What would I do there? But anyhow, make sure you watch it.
(How are you otherwise?) I’m fine. I’m insanely busy.
(Jack hangs up. He’s completely worn out, and he needs a drink.
He’s clutching his briefcase. The focus goes back to the TV studio.)
532
PRODUCTION ASSISTANT: If you see someone in something
striped, you send ’em back to change. Because, why? Because
that makes the picture wavy. If someone wears white, same
deal. If someone has a Mickey Mouse T-shirt you send ‘em
to change. Because, why? Because we don’t have the rights. If
someone has a swastika on their shirt, you…
KASIA: …send them back to change.
PRODUCTION ASSISTANT: Good girl. Now, run along.
The production assistant locates Jack, and leads him into the makeup room, where we already see Martha sitting in a chair
talking on the phone, while the make-up girl applies her base.
In the meantime, Kasia is letting the Studio audience in, she
seats them on the studio benches, and perhaps helps them to
change.
MARTHA: (Speaking in the phone.) Can we talk about with this later?
I need to be on air on less than five minutes.
PRODUCTION ASSISTANT: (To Jack.) I’ll leave you here for the
time being, and fetch you later. (To Martha.) Martha, Mr.
Gorsky’s here.
MARTHA: (Hangs up abruptly and turns to Jack.) Mr. Gorsky, hello.
JACK: Good afternoon.
MARTHA: Well, are you excited? (Jack doesn’t seem to be too excited.)
When you hear me say: “ Mr. Gorsky – good evening,” you’ll
come straight in, and sit down at the table with me. OK? The
production assistant will show you where to go exactly.
JACK: Sure.
(She leaves. Jack sits down in the make-up chair.)
MAKE-UP GIRL: You’re like totally pale. What’s going on?
JACK: It’s nothing. I’m fine. (He clutches his briefcase in his hands.)
MAKE-UP GIRL: You can like totally set the case down.
(At the same time, the studio audience is being “warmed up.” The
production assistant is rehearsing their reactions. She holds up
different cue cards with signs such as, “Aahh…,” “Yes,” “Laughter,”
“Nooo…,” etc.)
533
JACK: Excuse me. (Jack is nauseous. He jumps up from the chair
and vomits in the bathroom. Then he takes out his phone, dials
a number, and talks to Monica.) Hi, Monica?… …I’m just calling
to make sure you watch TV tonight. Channel Two… That talk
show. It’s … going to be interesting…(Studio audience reaction
– warm up.) I’ll be back later. I’m meeting with Andrew. (Studio
audience reaction – warm up.)
…sure… he says hi too… good… I’ll let him know. Ok bye…
I love you too. (Studio audience reaction – warm up. Jack hangs
up. He feels horrible.)
(Lights change. Music: Theme music for “Coming Clean.” The focus
shifts back to the TV studio. This time, however, we see the studio
form another vantage point: The real theatre audience is now sitting
opposite the studio audience as in a three quarter stage configuration.
Martha stands in the middle of the studio ready to start.)
RECORDED VOICE: Stand by! (Red light comes up on one of the
cameras. The production assistant goes back to cue Jack’s entrance.)
PRODUCTION ASSISTANT: This way, Mr. Gorsky.
(The theme music fades out.)
MARTHA: Good evening to our viewers at home and welcome to
“Coming Clean.” And of course good evening to our studio
audience as well… Our guest tonight is Mr. Jack Gorsky…
Mr. Gorsky, good evening. (Jack staggers into the middle of the
studio, clutching his briefcase in his hands.)
MARTHA: I don’t think that Mr. Gorsky needs any introduction. I’m
sure that everybody knows his short stories, his novels… his…
JACK: A novel.
MARTHA: Correct. A novel.
JACK: I only wrote one novel.
MARTHA: Correct. But you wrote a number of short stories. Is
that true?
JACK: Yes. More short stories.
MARTHA: Well then, good evening.
JACK: Good… (His voice fails him.)
534
MARTHA: Mr. Gorsky. You’re cutting an awfully sad face, almost
tragic.
JACK: I apologize. But for me this is a tragedy.
MARTHA: Don’t apologize. There is a good reason this show is
called “Coming Clean.” You’re our guest, we love you, and
I believe that you deserve applause for joining us tonight.
(A honest and welcoming applause. Jack gathers his courage a bit.)
MARTHA: We just recently talked about your relationship to TV in
general. You don’t watch it, and you don’t trust it.
JACK: I don’t.
MARTHA: And tonight I’ll try to prove to you that on TV, and
especially on a show like this, one can talk about anything.
We will discuss a crime, a crime, which you committed, and
for which you’ll face legal consequences.
JACK: Yes.
(Theme music. The make-up girl quickly dabs some more powder on
Jack’s face. The production assistant removes the suitcase from his lap.
That throws him completely off balance.)
MARTHA: At this point, I’d like to remind our viewers that the
fundamental nature of our program is the public confession
of the studio guest on one hand, and the understanding, or
rather the forgiveness by the audience on the other. Here, the
guest appears in front of the audience in order to come clean.
So, Jack, let me cut straight to the chase. You’ve fallen in love
with an eleven-year-old boy, correct?
JACK: Yes.
MARTHA: Did you know him well?
JACK: Yes.
MARTHA: Did it catch you off guard?
JACK: Completely.
MARTHA: Why do you think it happened?
JACK: I’ve no idea.
MARTHA: But it was the first time something like that happened
to you. Correct?
535
JACK: Yes.
MARTHA: You’re a writer, an artist. Maybe you just wanted try out
something, find some inspiration.
JACK: No. That’s not what I wanted. I think it’s horrible. I’d like to
apologize to everybody for what I did. (He stands up.) To my
wife, to my son, who’s in college in England, my publisher, and
also to my neighbors…I’m sorry. (He sits down.)
(Theme Music. Applause.)
MARTHA: Mr. Gorsky, evidently you’re surrounded by people who
love you, yet you chose to commit a crime that places you
squarely onto the margins of a civilized society. Do you realize
that?
JACK: Yes. No.
MARTHA: But that’s what you did. Of course, there’s nothing new
about this story. A person, who’s got everything, suddenly
decides to give it all up. It doesn’t matter whether he drives his
car over the edge of an abyss or does what you did. It’s all the
same. (Jack gets up and is about to leave. Martha holds him back.)
MARTHA: But the fact that you came here today proves that you’re
a decent human being, who’s ready to accept responsibility for
his deeds. What do you think? Are you a decent human being?
JACK: I think that I’m a pervert.
Theme Music. Humongous applause.
MARTHA: Truth is truth, and life is life, but no matter what… lets
continue. When did you first get the idea?
JACK: What idea?
MARTHA: When did you get the idea to start something with that
boy?
JACK: I saw him sing with the youth choir.
MARTHA: But until that time you weren’t… you’ve never had
thoughts like that.
JACK: Never.
MARTHA: OK. So, tell us the whole story.
JACK: About two days before it happened, we had some friends over.
536
Scene 10: Flashbacks
(Enter Monica, Paul, and Eve. There is a noticeable tension between
Paul and Eve.)
MONICA: How’s Nicolas?
PAUL: We’re very proud of him. They made a CD with the choir.
(He gives Jack a CD.)
MONICA: Children are our future. (To Jack.) Let’s hear it.
JACK: Not now. We can listen to it later.
EVE: Good idea. All he does is showing off with it wherever he goes.
(To Paul.) Do you really need to constantly shove it down
everybody’s throat?
PAUL: I don’t shove it down everybody’s throat.
EVE: Jack’s not interested. OK?
JACK: I’m interested.
EVE: Paul simply loves to impose on people. (To Paul.) You impose,
that’s all you do
PAUL: Eve, stop it!
JACK: (To Martha.) I just didn’t feel like listening to it right then. (Eve
sighs. She loathes her husband.) Beer anyone?
PAUL: That’d be nice.
(Jack goes to the kitchen.)
JACK: (To Martha.) I went to the kitchen. The boy’s mother followed
me.
(Eve follows him to the kitchen.)
EVE: My god, I hate him! Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the
night, look at that ugly mug of his, and I feel like putting a hot
iron on it. You think they’d put me in prison if I did that?
JACK: They may. (Eve presses her body against his and begins to violently
kiss him on his mouth. Jack frees himself from her.) Ehmm…
EVE: I want to make love to you. Let’s go to my office. Nobody’s there
right now.
JACK: We can’t do that Eve. What about Monica? Besides, Paul’s my
friend.
537
EVE: Screw ‘em. For once in my life I want to have the right to think
about ME! Is that so bad?! Do you find me attractive?
JACK: You’re a beautiful woman. (She tries to kiss him again. Jack
continues resisting.) I’m sorry.
(The studio audience applauds. Eve doesn’t hear it.)
MARTHA: So you conducted yourself like a good husband.
JACK: I don’t know about that
EVE: (Straightening her skirt.) This will stay between us, OK?
JACK: Sure.
EVE: It will be our little secret. (She’s about to leave.) One more thing:
Could Nicolas spend the night tomorrow?
JACK: Sure. Why?
EVE: Paul and I are planning to have a “quiet little talk” about
a divorce. I’m afraid it won’t be pretty, and I don’t want Nick to
be around when we scream at each other. He’s still a child, and
something like that could mess him up for the rest of his life.
JACK: Absolutely.
EVE: (Quoting Monica.) “Children are our future.”
JACK: Sure.
EVE: I want to have a child with you.
JACK: That’s very nice of you.
EVE: Fuck off!
(The studio audience applauds. Eve leaves. So does Paul. Theme
music.)
MARTHA: What happened next?
JACK: Next evening, they brought over… their son.
(We hear a toilet flush. Enter Nicolas.)
MONICA: (To Nicolas.) Did you wash your hands
NICOLAS: Yes.
(Nicolas lays down on the floor and begins to play computer games
on a laptop. He is completely immersed in the gaming, and he doesn’t
pay any attention to the following conversation.)
MARTHA: At that time, did you already know what you were about
to do?
538
JACK: No.
MARTHA: But earlier you told me that you did make some
preparations.
JACK: I prepared a little.
MARTHA: How did you prepare?
JACK: I crushed a couple of Ambiens.
MARTHA: You mean sleeping pills.
JACK: Yes. (Jack empties a bottle of pills and crushes them with a knife
on the table next to Martha.)
MONICA: (Reacting to the sound.) Are you cooking something, Jack?
JACK: (To Monica.) No. I’m just cracking some nuts.
MARTHA: (To Jack.) So it was just you, your wife, and the boy?
JACK: No. My publisher and his wife stopped by.
MARTHA: What did you talk about?
JACK: The crisis of the Western civilization.
Enter Andrew and his wife Alana. We discover the company
in the middle of the conversation. They are all a little drunk
already, the discussion seems to be an animated one, and
all in all it looks like an interesting gathering.
ALANA: (To Andrew.) You must be completely out of your mind!
So go and live in Cuba if you find communism so irresistible!
ANDREW: Careful there – I’m not defending communism; all I’m
saying is that it was the last idealistic society on the Earth.
ALANA: Idealistic in terms of what? In terms of the Gulag?
ANDREW: In terms of its defining itself by a certain transcendental
notion, which was based on faith rather than on rational proof.
ALANA: By what notion?
ANDREW: By “historical necessity.”
ALANA: But that was an error.
ANDREW: True. But still, it was an ideal, which was driving the
entire communist society forward. But at the moment when
that ideal lost its meaning, the whole Soviet Empire folded
like a house of cards. Without a single shot fired, mind you.
ALANA: And what about Romania? Plenty of shots fired there.
539
JACK: Chocolate mousse anyone?
ALANA: No thanks.
MONICA: They were drained economically, that’s all. They ran out
of bread, so to speak.
ALANA: Exactly. They ran out of mousse.
ANDREW: (To Monica.) That’s not true. The Soviet Block could
have hung on for decades more, if it had only been about the
economy.
MONICA: Well, I’m not so sure about that…
ANDREW: Of course it could have. But the thing is that they lost
their sense of purpose. That’s why they perished. And the
contemporary western democracy will fold too, if it doesn’t
manage to somehow replace its disappearing ideals of freedom
and scientific progress with something new.
ALANA: You’re completely neglecting the economic factors.
ANDREW: Because even the strongest society cannot exist without
an ideal that drives it forward.
MONICA: How about the pursuit of happiness? That’s an ideal.
ANDREW: That’s not enough.
ALANA: (To Jack.) Jack what’s your take on that? Are you part of
this or what?
JACK: I think that our incessant striving to pursue happiness at all
cost is actually the proof that this society is dying.
ALANA: (To Jack.) You’re an awful pessimist. (To Jack and Monica.)
When did you last have sex?
MONICA: What does it have to do with this?
ALANA: Guys who don’t fuck enough always think the whole
world’s in crisis
ANDREW: Alana! (He’s pointing towards Nicolas.)
MONICA: (To Alana.) And you? When did you two have sex the
last time?
ALANA: That my dear, I can tell you pretty exactly. What year are
we in now? … (She pantomimes thumbing through an imaginary
calendar…)
540
JACK: (Talking about Nicolas.) He’s not listening. (To Nicolas.)
Nicolas, are you listening to us?
NICOLAS: (Not listening, playing his computer game.) Sure.
JACK: Playing war?
NICOLAS: It’s an awesome game Mr. Gorsky
JACK: I’m glad to hear it, but you need to go to bed.
NICOLAS: Not yet.
MONICA: I say that everybody has the right to be happy.
JACK: Having the right to happiness is one thing, but being obliged
to be happy is another. Today’s society demands that you be
happy. But how do you deal with a happiness that’s in direct
opposition to societal norms?
MONICA: Like what?
JACK: Like a kleptomaniac, who must steal in order to be happy. Or
an exhibitionist who, in order to be happy must flash people
in a park.
MONICA: But that is something completely different.
JACK: Why? Once a society declares happiness as its ideal, it has the
obligation to live up to it no matter what. That’s all I’m saying.
ANDREW: I think you’re mixing two different things – happiness and
entertainment. One of the reasons that the society is in crisis
is because it has succumbed to the tyranny of entertainment.
MONICA: And what’s wrong with that?
ANDREW: It begins to be wrong at the moment when you start
looking at everything through the prism of its entertainment
value. Take personal relationships for instance. Imagine the
moment when we four stop seeing each other simply because
we won’t find it entertaining any longer.
ALANA: What’s wrong with that?
ANDREW: Everything! A friendship shouldn’t be based on whether
my friend is entertaining or not. Same with marriage.
ALANA: Same with the laws.
ANDREW: Absolutely. We are more than willing to accept immoral
behavior just because it’s entertaining. And by the same token
541
we tend to ignore some pretty important societal phenomena
– simply because they are not entertaining.
ALANA: OK. So, what do we do with it?
ANDREW: We need to learn how to be bored. How to be unhappy.
We must stop entertaining ourselves.
MONICA: So what books would you publish then? Boring ones?
JACK: He already does – mine.
ANDREW: Maybe none at all.
MARTHA: (To Jack.) What happened next?
JACK: Then everybody got quite drunk, and the discussion turned
more personal
ALANA: So you’re unhappy with me?
ANDREW: I’m speaking generally.
ALANA: Speak concretely.
ANDREW: I’d stay with you, even if I were unhappy with you.
ALANA: I’m happy with you.
ANDREW: So am I.
ALANA: Bullshit. You just said that you were unhappy with me. And
I have the right to know why.
ANDREW: You should stop drinking now.
ALANA: Are you ashamed of me?
ANDREW: Only when you drink too much.
ALANA: If you’ve replaced your “historical necessity” with being
ashamed of your wife, then you are an asshole.
JACK: Maybe – in the words of Hegel – throughout history we’re
always doomed to achieve something different from what we
set out to do.
ALANA: Shut up Jack! I’m asking Andrew whether he’s unhappy
with me. And if he is, I demand an explanation as to why.
ANDREW: I think it’s time for us to go. I’ll call a cab.
(They leave, continuing their discussion all the way to off stage.
Applause. Jack and Monica are alone with Nicolas.)
JACK: Ice cream anyone?
MONICA: That’d be nice
542
Jack leaves for the kitchen. He prepares two portions of ice cream,
pulls a little metal box with the crushed pills out of his pocket,
and he mixes some of it in the ice cream.
JACK: (To Martha.) I went to the kitchen and mixed the sleeping pills
in the ice cream. (He calls to Monica and Nicolas.) It’s coming!
(Nicolas is on the floor in front of the notebook, continuing to play
his games. Every so often he punctuates his actions with muted
exclamations.)
NICOLAS: Bang!… Your’ dead!… Shit…
MONICA: Mind your language, Nicolas!
NICOLAS: I’m sorry Mrs Gorsky. But I really kicked his ass… Sorry…
MONICA: (Calling to Jack in the kitchen.) Or you know what Jack,
I don’t feel like ice cream. Get me a glass of white wine instead,
would you?
(Jack quickly does away with Monica’s ice cream, he pours a glass of
white wine, empties the sleeping pill powder into it, and stirs it. Then
he places the ice cream and the glass of wine on a tray, and walks
back into the living room.)
JACK: (Exaggeratedly merrily.) Voila! Heeerrrreeee it comes!
ALANA: Thanks.
NICOLAS: Zoom… This is an awesome game, Mr. Gorsky.
JACK: Have some ice cream. (Nicolas looks at the ice cream.)
NICOLAS: I don’t like vanilla.
JACK: I see… So, what can I get you?
NICOLAS: I don’t need anything.
MONICA: Leave him alone and come and join me.
JACK: Are you sure, you don’t want anything?
NICOLAS: No. Thanks.
JACK: (Pointing to a plate.) The cabbage roll’s really good.
MONICA: Leave him alone. Obviously, he’s not hungry so don’t
force him.
JACK: If he doesn’t eat properly he won’t amount to anything in life.
What do you want to be when you grow up? A sailor? Well,
my friend, you’ll never be one if you don’t eat well.
543
NICOLAS: I don’t want to be a sailor.
JACK: But you want to be something, don’t you? What do you want
to be?
NICOLAS: A surgeon.
JACK: There you go. And without proper food, you won’t even
become a surgeon. When did you last eat today? School
lunch? Right now it’s what – nine? That’s eight hours with no
food. That’s not acceptable. I don’t want to hear any more from
you, OK. Or we won’t be friends any longer.
MONICA: What’s got into you Jack? If he’s not hungry, then he’s not.
When he wants something, he’ll ask, won’t you Nicolas?
JACK: Monica would you please stay out of this?! This is something
just between us guys. (To Nicolas.) What do you say Nick?
NICOLAS: (Completely immersed in the game.) Crazy! I like totally
got him! Mr. Gorsky, can I download it to my PC tomorrow?
JACK: No problem.
NICOLAS: Awesome. (Jack grows nervous. He’s thinking hard.)
JACK: How ’bout a smoked salmon sandwich? Would that work?
NICOLAS: (Absently.) OK.
(Jack leaves for the kitchen again to make the sandwich. He’s working
fast, and just to make sure, he puts even more pill powder on it. In
the meantime, Monica yawns, and eventually gets up and is about to
leave. She can barely stand up straight.)
MONICA: (To Nicolas.) Well, I’m going to leave you two alone. I’m
sure you and Jack will manage without me, right?
NICOLAS: Sure thing.
MONICA: I made your bed in the guest bedroom. You know what
to do, don’t you?
NICOLAS: Sure thing.
MONICA: You’re a big boy. (She strokes his head, and calls to Jack.)
MONICA: Night!
(She bends down to straighten the sofa cover, but at that moment
she stiffens, and falls asleep in an unnatural position. Nicolas is so
544
immersed in his game that at first he doesn’t notice her. Jack comes
back with the sandwich on a plate.)
JACK: Voila! Heeerrrreeee it comes!
(He puts the plate on the floor in front of Nicolas, and notices Monica.
He inconspicuously checks how deep she’s sleeping. He pokes her,
but very discreetly so that Nicolas won’t notice, but it appears that
Monica is sleeping like a corpse. Finally Nicolas notices her.)
NICOLAS: Did something happen to Mrs. Gorsky?
JACK: No, nothing at all. Why?
NICOLAS: She’s sleeping kinda funny.
JACK: No, no, that’s how she always sleeps.
NICOLAS: Wow! I could never fall asleep like that… Mr. Gorsky?
JACK: Yes?
NICOLAS: I know why I have to spend the night here.
JACK: You don’t like it here?
NICOLAS: No, that’s not it. You’re nice.
JACK: Nicolas, you really don’t need to be here if you don’t want to.
(He turns to Martha.) I said to him: “You really don’t need to
be here if you don’t want to.”
NICOLAS: Dad’s sleeping in the car in the garage. He’s scared that
mom will do something to him in his sleep if he stays in bed.
(Jack pushes the plate with the sandwich closer to him, picks it up,
and smells it.)
JACK: Hmmm… Smells nice.
NICOLAS: Is it OK if I eat it tomorrow?
JACK: OK. But I don’t know if it’ll be any good tomorrow. Look how
nice it smells… Hmmm….
(Nicolas finally takes a bite. He slowly chews on it, and he obviously
likes the taste.)
JACK: Well, what do you think?
NICOLAS: Awesome.
JACK: Pretty good, eh?
(Nicolas takes another bite. The studio audience applauds. Then he
falls asleep still lying on the floor in front of the laptop. He props up
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his head with his fist under his chin, stares at the screen for a little
while longer, and then, his head sinks. Music.
Jack shakes him – nothing. For a while he stands over him, and
then he picks him up and brings him onto the sofa. He sits down
between Nicolas and his sleeping wife, and after a while he turns to
Nicolas. However, he imagines that Monica is observing his actions,
so he puts a napkin over her face. Then he turns to Nicolas again,
but the presence of his – albeit sleeping – wife makes him nervous.
He decides to get rid of her, and begins to move her somewhere else.
It is an exhausting and physically awkward labor, since Monica is
completely limp. When he is in the middle of the room, his cell phone
rings. He hesitates, but after a while he answers it, while trying to
support Monica’s limp body with his leg.)
JACK: Hello?
ANDREW: Hi, it’s Andrew.
JACK: Hi.
ANDREW: Are you in the middle of something?
JACK: No, no. It’s fine.
ANDREW: You’re out of breath. Are you OK?
JACK: I’m just moving some books, that’s all.
ANDREW: Oh… I thought that you and Monica were “working out”.
(He laughs.)
JACK: Hmm.
ANDREW: I just talked to Michael Dworsky. We arranged an
interview in the Street Roots. They need some recent picture
of you.
JACK: Great.
ANDREW: Could you come over on Thursday, so I can take some
pictures of you?
JACK: Sure.
ANDREW: Jack.
JACK: What?
ANDREW: Hang in there.
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Jack hangs up. He’s standing in the middle of the room, stiff, looking
like a corpse.
MARTHA: And what did you do next?
JACK: Then I did it.
MARTHA: You sexually gratified yourself over the sleeping
boy’s body?
JACK: No.
MARTHA: So what did you do?
JACK: (Softly.) I raped him.
MARTHA: I beg your pardon?
JACK: I raped him.
MARTHA: Could you repeat it more loudly please?
JACK: I RAPED HIM.
(Theme music. The studio audience applauds. Lights change, and the
audience is leaving the studio. Spotlight on Kasia. She has seen the
entire show, but Jack has not seen her. She too is leaving.)
Scene 11: Jack in the Make-Up Room
(Jack is sitting in a chair in the make-up room where the make-up girl
is removing his make-up. Despite everything, Jack is quite relaxed; one
could even say that he’s in good mood.)
JACK: Did you watch it?
MAKE-UP GIRL: Considering how freaked out you were before,
you managed pretty good.
JACK: The audience was fantastic. I felt that they really listened to
me.
MAKE-UP GIRL: Like totally. You charmed the hell out of ’em.
JACK: And how about you? Would you forgive me?
MAKE-UP GIRL: I guess so.
JACK: You know, when I get home tonight, my wife will be gone.
I guess she’ll be staying with her mother. My neighbor will
want to kill me, and they’ll probably call the police. So, these
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may be my last moments of freedom. But I’m glad I came here
today.
MAKE-UP GIRL: (Finishing with him.) Done. (Jack gets up.) Can
I give you my number? Just in case you like need something
sometimes.
JACK: Like some face powder in prison for example?
MAKE-UP GIRL: (She doesn’t understand the joke.) I don’t want to
do this till I die, if you know what I mean. (Jack takes her card.)
JACK: Absolutely. Till you… I die… I get it.
Scene 12: Coming home
(Jack is sneaking into his apartment. Monica is sitting in an armchair
silently, thinking. When she moves Jack is so startled that he almost
falls down.)
JACK: (Anxiously.) Hi.
MONICA: Hi. You want some dinner?
JACK: Well… no. Thanks… Did you watch TV?
MONICA: I did.
JACK: And…?
MONICA: I must say that it was… really interesting.
JACK: Interesting?
MONICA: I think that the things they talked about are really
important.
JACK: Who they?
MONICA: You know, we constantly bitch about the TV, but
when they finally show something really important, I mean,
something that truly makes you think, nobody even notices.
Do you know that man?
JACK: What man?
MONICA: That priest?
JACK: What?
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MONICA: Oh… I thought you knew him since you called me to
watch him. But the way he put the collar on the table; that felt
a bit too staged.
JACK: I didn’t see it. (A phone rings interrupting them. It is Paul. To
Monica.) Sorry. (In the phone.) Yes?
PAUL: (On the phone in another part of the stage.) Hi, it’s Paul.
JACK: Hi.
PAUL: We just saw it… really, incredibly interesting… Even Eve
thought that it was great… So, we just wanted to say thanks
for the tip.
JACK: That’s OK.
PAUL: Jack…
JACK: What? (To Monica.) It’s Paul.
PAUL: The police have a clue. They did a blood test on Nick.
JACK: (He’s pretending that they are talking about something different
for Monica’s sake.) Aha… You don’t say.
PAUL: They found traces of some substance…
JACK: Great idea.
PAUL: What do you mean, “great idea?” It looks like the guy drugged
him with something.
JACK: There you go. That’s great. Well, say hi to Eve. I’ll say hi to
Monica too. Good (He hangs up. To Monica.) Paul says hi.
MONICA: Thanks. (Jack sneaks to the bathroom. He turns on the water
faucet so that Monica wouldn’t hear him, and dials a number.)
JACK: ANDREW!!!
ANDREW: (On the phone in another part of the stage.) Hi. I was just
about to call you. How did it go?
JACK: It wasn’t aired live.
ANDREW: What?
JACK: They aired an interview with some priest, something about
a collar or something.
ANDREW: Did they?
JACK: It wasn’t live. They tape it, and air the edited version some
other time.
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ANDREW: Whether it’s live or not makes no difference. What did
you talk about? Did you talk about it?
JACK: Yes.
ANDREW: God…
JACK: It ended up not being as bad as I thought. I apologized to
everybody. To you too.
ANDREW: That’s nice of you, thanks.
JACK: But I thought they’d air it right away!
ANDREW: Hmm.
JACK: Could you call somebody and find out what’s going on?
ANDREW: I’ll call them tomorrow.
JACK: Why can’t you do it today?
ANDREW: All right. I’ll see what I can do. (Jack hangs up.)
MONICA: Jack? Are you taking a bath?
JACK: No… I’m just splashing about a bit. (Jack comes back to the
living room.)
MONICA: I was thinking that tonight we could have a nice evening
together. Just you and I. (Monica looks seductively at him.
However, for obvious reasons Jack is not in the mood.) When
I think about all those priests who’re not allowed to have sex…
I don’t know, but I can’t help feeling terribly sorry for them.
(Jack’s phone rings. He’s about to pick it up, but Monica snatches
it away from him.) Ignore it.
JACK: It may be important. I’m sure it’s Andrew.
MONICA: Andrew, Andrew. Always your Andrew! Why does he
call at half past nine at night? Just because he doesn’t need
any privacy doesn’t mean that he can’t respect yours. (Monica
sits down on the sofa. The phone rings again. Jack picks it up.
It’s Andrew. Jack goes to the bathroom.)
JACK: What did you find out?
ANDREW: (On the phone in another part of the stage.) This is the deal,
Jack: It wasn’t a live broadcast.
JACK: I fucking know that IT WASN’T A LIVE BROADCAST! But
when is it’s going to be aired?!
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ANDREW: Probably sometime next month.
JACK: Probably?! They aren’t sure?
ANDREW: Evidently it depends on lots of different things.
JACK: What things?
ANDREW: They want to time it with the Nike Awards. Which is not
a bad idea, really. Also because of ratings, they need to make
sure that it doesn’t air against something else. Which is not
a bad thing either.
JACK: So what does it mean?
ANDREW: It means that the final decision is in the hands of the
program director.
JACK: But I need to know where I stand!
ANDREW: I told them that you had an emotional investment in
the show.
JACK: I don’t care about their show! I want to know what will happen
with me!
ANDREW: Somebody from the TV will be in touch. (Beat.) Jack?
JACK: What?
ANDREW: Jack, I’m not really sure whether going on that show was
a wise thing to do, but it’s quite possible that in the end we may
get something out of it. I’ll have them print a few thousand
copies more, just in case.
(They hang up. Jack returns to the living room.)
MONICA: What did he want?
JACK: Nothing important.
MONICA: Was it about the Award?
JACK: Yes. No.
MONICA: Jack. Don’t worry. I’d love you even if you don’t win it.
JACK: That is nice of you.
MONICA: (Seductively.) I’ll wait for you in bed.
JACK: Will you have some wine?
MONICA: That’d be nice.
(Jack goes to the kitchen. He pours a glass of wine for Monica, and is
about to pour some of the sleeping pill powder into it. He’s looking for
the box, but it’s not there. He panics.)
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JACK: Monica, did you see a little metal box with a lid somewhere.
MONICA: (From the bedroom.) No.
JACK: It’s only that it was here, and now it’s gone.
MONICA: Maybe that cop that came by earlier put it somewhere.
JACK: A cop??!!
MONICA: Oh yeah, I completely forgot. Some cop was looking for
you.
JACK: What did he want?
MONICA: Nothing important. Apparently some car got stolen
last week on our block, and he wanted to know if we saw
something.
JACK: And you left him alone in the kitchen??!!
MONICA: Why not? He just took some pictures from the window.
He’s a policeman. (Beat.) Or, you think that he wasn’t
a policeman?! That’d be awful Jack. You can’t trust anybody
nowadays.
(Jack finds the box. It’s sitting on the kitchen counter but in a different
place from where it was originally. He examines the content, trying
to find out whether some powder was taken or not. Then he resigns
himself to the fact that he’s been found out. It is as if suddenly
everything that happened came crushing down on his head. He pours
a full tablespoon of the powder into the glass, stirs it, and drinks it in
one gulp. His phone rings.)
KASIA: (On the phone in a different part of the stage.) Jack?
JACK: Hi Kasia.
KASIA: Jack, I know everything.
JACK: Everything what?
KASIA: I need to see you. I was there. In the studio.
Kasia hangs up.
Music. Blackout.
INTERMISSION
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ACT 2
Scene 13: Ratings and Divorce
(Enter Martha and her husband, the Program Director.)
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Seven and half percent. Do you know
what that means? It’s over.
MARTHA: People liked it.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: What people?
MARTHA: Everybody.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: I watched it. But I really didn’t need to
watch it, because it was a radio play. Every other channel
runs action movies, and car chases, and shoot-outs, but
when I switch to ours, all I see is some guy sitting there and
blabbering. He may be saying interesting things, but I don’t
give a damn, because I don’t have the time to connect with
him. OK. So he’s a priest who lost his faith. Good. But if
that’s the case, I also want to see a guy he baptized up there
with him.
MARTHA: But that’s not what this is about.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: I’ll tell you what this is about. It’s about
entertaining the viewer. Show me what his wife has to say
about it, show me what his children think!
MARTHA: He’s a priest! He doesn’t have children, for crying out
loud!
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: OK. So he doesn’t have kids. But you
know exactly what I’m talking about.
MARTHA: No, I don’t.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: I want to see interaction. But the only
thing I see is some driveling geezer and you, sitting opposite,
and repeating your truth is truth, and life is life… nonsense
ad nauseam.
MARTHA: You can’t stand me, can you?
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: I’m talking about the show.
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MARTHA: But this isn’t the Jerry Springer Show. And you know
why not? Because neither you nor I are Jerry Springer.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: And that’s exactly the problem!
MARTHA: Do you really want the guests to beat each other up?
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: No, I don’t. But if you have a cheating
wife, I want to see her husband’s reaction! I want to see his
mother in law, want to hear her take on it!
MARTHA: But I don’t interview just any Tom, Dick, and Harry.
I question personalities.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: I want to see Tom, Dick, and Harry
become personalities.
MARTHA: That’s TV fascism.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Do you know what your problem is? That
instead of loving the TV viewer, you love the TV itself.
MARTHA: That’s the same thing, isn’t it?
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: It’s not. The viewer is God. TV is the pits.
MARTHA: Some TV is.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: No. Every TV.
MARTHA: No. Television isn’t some anonymous thing. There’re
people behind everything. And if those people aren’t good
the results won’t be good either. But decent people will always
produce good shows!
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: There’re no decent people working in
television.
MARTHA: So you’re not a decent person? I’m not? Don’t you
understand that what we’re doing here is important, that it
has meaning? (Beat.) Do you want somebody else to host it?
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: I want a divorce, Martha.
(Blackout / Lights Up.)
Scene 14: Kasia’s Confession
(We are on a flat roof of an apartment building. Night. Stars.)
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JACK: Were you there?
KASIA: Yes.
JACK: How did I look? Like an idiot, eh?
KASIA: (She says nothing, then.) When are they going to show it?
JACK: I don’t know. I know absolutely nothing.
KASIA: When Monica leaves you, I’ll take care of you Jack. Because
when she finds out, she is going to leave you. She won’t
understand why you did it.
JACK: Something like this is beyond understanding.
KASIA: I understand it. You’re looking for love, Jack.
JACK: But why can’t I look for it in a normal way.
KASIA: Keep looking for it. This is about your soul, not about
little boys. Come on, you’re not a pedophile; you’re a healthy
person. (Jack doubts it.) You know, after John jumped out of
that window, I went to his funeral. And his dad was awfully
nice to me. He brought me home in his car, and he asked me if
I needed anything. And I kept thinking to myself that it had to
be a terrible blow especially for him, because John was his only
son, and that maybe they’d think that it was all my fault, even
though that’s not true. But they both seemed so incredibly
brave, him and his wife. But then he started calling me. He’d
say that he was feeling terribly lonely, that he was missing
Johnny incredibly, that it was all much worse than he thought.
I felt awfully sorry for him. We met a couple of times, just in
a coffeehouse, and we talked. And then he started pressuring
me to sleep with him.
JACK: God…
KASIA: He insisted that it was my duty. He said I owed it to him,
because I was the reason his only son killed himself.
JACK: That’s sickening.
KASIA: But I kept telling myself that maybe he was right. That
maybe somehow I really do owe it to him.
JACK: Why didn’t you tell us?
KASIA: I can’t talk about things like that with Monica. Can you?
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JACK: So what happened?
KASIA: In the end I went to a hotel with him. He said that it would
only happen that one time, and that we’d never see each other
again. So we went up to a room. I insisted that we discuss the
whole thing beforehand. How it would be done, who would
be where, and so on. So we did. Then we took off our clothes,
and climbed into bed. But somehow …it didn’t work. So we
just like…
JACK: …stroked each other.
KASIA:…yeah, stroked each other. It ended up not being as horrible
as I thought it would be. Then he brought me home in his car.
Two days later I got a call from his wife. He told her that he
had an affair with me. He made up a bunch of lies about me,
and his wife even called the police on me on some trumped
up charges. It was awful. They even found out about it in the
retirement home where I was working, and the community
board there voted to fire me, because they said they didn’t
want to have somebody with “questionable morals” work
there. (She breaks down. She’s exhausted. Jack strokes her hair.)
Time flies so fast. (She gently puts her hand on Jack’s)
(Music. Blackout / Lights Up.)
Scene 15: War Room
(Alana’s and Andrew’s apartment.)
ANDREW: It’s perfect. We are on a roll. We got’em.
JACK: We got whom?
ANDREW: The TV. You’ve got them by the throat.
JACK: I thought they had me by the throat.
ANDREW: Nope. You’re squeezing the life out of ’ em.
JACK: How did I manage that?
ANDREW: I talked about it with Alana, and she thinks that things
are going in the right direction.
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JACK: What?! You talked about it with Alana?!
ANDREW: I didn’t tell her anything. All she knows is that we wanted
to use the show to promote your book, and that they bailed
out on us.
JACK: Do you really need to drag other people into this?
ANDREW: Alana is an excellent lawyer.
JACK: What do we need a lawyer for?
(Enter Alana, carrying a stack of legal books. She pulls out a cigarette
and lights it. She seems to be in top form, sharply dressed, animated,
in control.)
ALANA: Hi Jack. And congratulations.
JACK: Thanks. For what?
ALANA: I think we have a case.
JACK: What case?
ALANA: We’ll sue them.
JACK: You want to sue the TV?
ANDREW: That’s exactly what we want to do.
ALANA: I think we can to force them to air it. Or to at least offer
you some financial compensation.
ANDREW: It’s not about money.
ALANA: It’s not, I know. But the main point is to force them to
start taking you seriously. If nothing else, it will make Jack into
more of a public figure.
JACK: I don’t want to be a public figure.
ALANA: The main point is that they don’t play fair. Television is
a monster that thinks it can get away with everything. And
they’ll keep on believing it until someone finally speaks up,
and tells them in no uncertain terms that what they are doing
is immoral.
ANDREW: Exactly! TV owes us a lot, and now it’s payback time.
It’s time to clean house.
JACK: What does it owe us?
ANDREW: They owe us back all the people, who in the old days,
under different circumstances used to buy and read for
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example your books, but who now don’t have the time to read,
because all they do is stare into that idiotic box, and watch
their demented shows. We’ll force the television to work for
us. Just like David Copperfield did.
JACK: What does David Copperfield have to do with that?
ALANA: You know why they didn’t air it? Because you’re not famous
enough for them; because you didn’t win the Nike Award. But
they failed to notice one little thing: the contract they made
you sign was bad.
(Alana notices how nervous Jack is. She offers him a cigarette.)
JACK: No thanks. I don’t smoke.
ALANA: No need to be ashamed in front of me. Go on.
ANDREW: I told her you started smoking again, and that you were
hiding it from Monica.
JACK: Aha…?
(Jack doesn’t understand what’s going on. Alana offers him a lit
cigarette. He takes a drag. He doesn’t like it at all, but he goes on
smoking mechanically.)
ALANA: Ahh. Nice, isn’t it. Tastes good, eh? (Jack coughs.)
It’s a textbook case of fraud in the inducement.
JACK: Fraud in what?
ANDREW: They lied to you. It wasn’t a live broadcast.
JACK: But nobody promised that it’d be live.
ALANA: Maybe. But at the same time nobody told you that it
wouldn’t be.
JACK: But that’s not their fault that they didn’t know what I was
thinking.
ALANA: They should have let you know beforehand. Legally, you’re
not obliged to inform yourself whether the show is live or not.
JACK: Can I please ask you something? Let’s drop it.
ALANA: Wait! You suffered mental anguish.
JACK: No. I didn’t.
ALANA: (To Andrew.) Did he suffer, or didn’t he?
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ANDREW: He did. (To Jack.) When you called me that night, you
were losing it.
JACK: I was fine.
ANDREW: You were spent. You were gasping for breath and you
could barely talk. You almost choked.
JACK: That was the water. I run the faucet, so that … I just run the
faucet.
ALANA: You were filled with anticipation, and then “bang!” You
deflated like a balloon. Ever since then you don’t eat, you don’t
sleep… You look awful.
JACK: I look normal.
ALANA: You really look terrible.
ANDREW: We know a doctor who’ll certify that you suffered posttraumatic-shock, and that you look awful.
(Phone rings in another room. Alana leaves to pick it up.)
JACK: Andrew.
ANDREW: Hmm.
JACK: There’s… well, something happened… I’m not sure if
it’s important, but… I slept with Kasia.
ANDREW: With whom?
JACK: With Monica’s sister.
ANDREW: And what does it have to do with this?
JACK: I don’t know. I just thought you should know.
ANDREW: Thanks.
JACK: I have a strange feeling about it all.
ANDREW: Does Monica know?
JACK: No. Monica was asleep.
ANDREW: What you mean “Monica was asleep?!” Are you drugging
your own wife with sleeping pills? Are you?! That’s a felony.
JACK: What’s so bad about that?
ANDREW: What sort of a person are you anyway? Sleeping with
your sister-in-law.
JACK: Just once.
ANDREW: Raping little boys.
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JACK: Just one.
ANDREW: Why the fuck did you need to drag me into this?
JACK: And why did you need to drag me into this?
ANDREW: I tried to help you. But you’re behaving like an idiot.
That’s the end, Jack. It’s over.
(Andrew is referring to their friendship. He leaves.)
Scene 16: Kasia Wants s Confession
(Jack remains seated. He’s now in his apartment. Kasia is in another
part of the stage, calling Jack on the phone.)
KASIA: (From another part of the stage.) Are you trying to back out?
But I won’t let you.
JACK: Well…
KASIA: I have the tapes of the show.
JACK: You know what? I’m busy right now, so why don’t you call
another time?
KASIA: You promised you’d tell her everything.
JACK: Tell what?
KASIA: About us. That we are in love. That we have a relationship.
JACK: I never promised anything like that.
KASIA: Then I’ll tell her.
JACK: Kasia…
(Kasia already hung up. She’s dials Monica’s number. Monica’s phone
starts ringing. It is in the pocket of her jacket, which is lying on the
sofa. Jack throws himself at it; tries to remove it from the pocket and
attempts to turn it off. He doesn’t know how to do it, but after a short
struggle he manages. Monica, holding a glass of wine, comes out of
the bedroom. She is extremely sleepy.)
MONICA: Did the phone ring?
JACK: No. Not at all. On the contrary. (She goes back to the bedroom
offstage. Her phone begins to ring again. Jack picks it up.) Stop it!
KASIA: (From another part of the stage.) I want to talk to Monica.
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JACK: She’s not at home.
KASIA: I’m at the front door, Jack!
JACK: Good, but we’re not home. We’re at this restaurant…
Jack imitates the sounds of a restaurant by striking a teaspoon on
a cup.
(The doorbell rings. Jack is at loss what to do. Monica enters from the
bedroom.)
MONICA: Did the doorbell ring?
JACK: No. Not at all. (The doorbell rings again.)
MONICA: Come on Jack, somebody’s ringing, I can hear it. You
really should have your ears checked again.
JACK: I’ll get it.
MONICA: Oh, forget about it. I’ll do it.
(She walks towards the front door, but she keeps falling asleep and
repeatedly waking up on different pieces of furniture, such as the
table, the chair, etc. It is a long and awkward journey, but eventually
she falls asleep on the floor for good. In the last moment, Jack manages
to slip a pillow under her head.
More ringing and banging on the door.)
KASIA: (Behind the door.) Open up!
(Jack opens the door, and Kasia bursts in. She doesn’t look good, and
she is holding several Beta tapes with the recording of Jack’s confession
in her hands.)
KASIA: Monica! (She is trying to wake Monica up. She talks to her,
shakes her, etc. but to no avail. She goes to the kitchen sink,
dips a sponge in the water and begins to wring the sponge in on
Monica’s face.)
JACK: What are you doing??!!
KASIA: Monica, I have to tell you something. Jack and I have
a relationship. We love each other. He promised me he’d
divorce you.
JACK: I never promised that.
KASIA: You did! You asshole! Then why did you sleep with me? (She
throws the sponge at him.)
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JACK: Kasia, get a hold of yourself! Jesus…!
KASIA: We’ll leave for England.
JACK: That’s ridiculous.
KASIA: And what if I do something to myself? It will be your fault.
JACK: Please be reasonable.
KASIA: But you don’t have any conscience, do you? You drug your
own wife with pills. That’s also a felony. (Pointing to the Beta
tapes.) And what if I bring this to the police?!
JACK: Good. Bring it to the police! Bring it to them!!
(Kasia empties a vial of pills on the table in front of Jack.)
KASIA: Come, we’ll swallow them together. Swallow it! For
god’s sake, swallow it! I love you, you… you asshole.
JACK: LEAVE ME IN PEACE, EVERYBODY!!!
(Jack turns over the table violently, and everything crashes on the
floor. Kasia stops dead, and then she slowly leaves.)
Scene 17: Winona Ryder
(Jack stands still surveying the mess on the floor. Then he bends over
and picks up one of the pills. He puts it in his mouth. Then another, and
another…
Music.
Winona Ryder, played by the make-up girl appears far upstage. She
carries several huge high-end department store shopping bags, and
possibly a bag with two pounds of tomatoes. She speaks perfectly
conversationally, perhaps her voice is amplified by a body-mike.)
JACK: Winona, hi!
WINONA: Hi Jack. How are you?
JACK: Not too bad.
WINONA: That’s great.
JACK: Listen Winona, I meant to ask you something: That thing
in Safeway… I mean in that boutique… how was it? Did you
really steal something?
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WINONA: It was just a little joke. Nothing happened.
JACK: So, you didn’t steal anything?
WINONA: No.
JACK: I’m glad.
WINONA: It was made up. Just like your thing with Nicolas.
JACK: No. That really happened.
WINONA: No. It didn’t.
JACK: You don’t think so?
WINONA: If it had really happened, you would have been punished,
don’t you think?
JACK: I tried to get punished.
WINONA: I know you’ve been worried about it.
JACK: Yes. I have.
WINONA: You should stop worrying now.
JACK: Really? You think I should?
(Music is interrupted by a knock on the door. Winona disappears.)
Scene 18: The Policeman
(Enter Policeman.)
POLICEMAN: Mr. Gorsky! Are you OK?
JACK: Oh. I was just watching television. I must have fallen asleep.
POLICEMAN: (Shaking Jack’s hand.) Detective Kazinsky. Good
evening.
JACK: Ah… yes. Good evening.
POLICEMAN: The door was open, so I came in. You left the door
ajar.
JACK: Yes, yes… of course.
POLICEMAN: I came to tell you that we closed Nicolas’ case.
JACK: Of course. Just give me a minute, I’d like to collect a few
things.
POLICEMAN: We know who did it.
JACK: I understand.
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POLICEMAN: It was the choirmaster.
JACK: Who?!.
POLICEMAN: The conductor of the boy’s youth choir.
JACK: But that’s impossible.
POLICEMAN: To be completely honest, it wasn’t that surprising.
JACK: It wasn’t? Did he confess?
POLICEMAN: Not to this case in particular, but he pleaded guilty
to about fifteen other felony counts of child molesting. Mostly
girls, though. They were in shock, and many of them couldn’t
even recall the rapes. It’s going to be a major case… What is
a society that rapes its own children going to come to? (Jack
is silent, he can’t answer the question.) He’s been doing this for
more than twenty years. Can you believe that in a number of
cases, he even had intercourse with the mothers of his current
victims when they themselves were minors?
JACK: Is that true?
POLICEMAN: We’re like rats. When we over-populate we turn into
monstrous brutes.
JACK: You think that that’s the problem – over-population?
POLICEMAN: (Shrugs his shoulders.) It may be. (Beat.) You know,
for a while there, I suspected you.
JACK: Is that so?
POLICEMAN: I thought that you drugged the boy when he spent
the night. I’m a cop – that comes with the territory I guess. In
any case, I always feel a little guilty when I suspect an innocent
person. I’m sorry. (He pulls a book out of his briefcase.) I’d like
to ask you a favor. Would you autograph your book for me?
Actually, it’s for my nephew.
JACK: With pleasure. What’s his name?
POLICEMAN: Christopher.
JACK: How old is he?
POLICEMAN: Fifteen.
JACK: Oh. He’s a big boy already. (Jack autographs the book with
a flourish.)
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POLICEMAN: Thanks. (As he is leaving he finally notices Monica on
the floor.)
POLICEMAN: What’s that?
JACK: That’s my wife.
POLICEMAN: Is she alright?
JACK: Oh yeah. She had a headache, so she just lied down a bit.
POLICEMAN: Does she always sleep on the floor?
JACK: It’s because of her back.
POLICEMAN: She’s sleeping deep. For a while there I thought she
was dead.
JACK: “Comes with the territory,” eh? (The policeman smiles.)
POLICEMAN: Well, then. All the best to you. And once again
I apologize for the intrusion.
JACK: That’s OK.
(The Policeman almost steps on the Beta tapes on the floor next to
Monica.)
POLICEMAN: You’ve got some tapes on the floor. Do you need
them? (He picks them up and hands them to Jack.)
JACK: Oh yes. They are…tapes… Thank you.
(Jack takes the tapes form the policeman. The policeman leaves. Jack
is stunned. He doesn’t seem to realize what has hit him. He sits down
on the floor next to Monica. He starts talking to her in a very soft voice.
He touches her hair, and noticing that it is wet, he begins to dry it with
a napkin. He is reminded of how beautiful she is, and he strokes first
her face, then her breasts. He unbuttons her shirt…
Blackout / Lights Up.)
Scene 19: Happy End
(Jack’s and Monica’s apartment. It’s a beautiful sun-filled morning.
Jack is eating breakfast, reading the papers, and his general demeanor
is cheerful. Monica, dressed in her nightgown enters from the bedroom.
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She seems a bit wobbly, and has a slightly sheepish smile of a girl who
did something naughty and funny.)
MONICA: Jack… Good morning.
JACK: Good morning, darling.
MONICA: I slept wonderfully.
JACK: So did I.
MONICA: Of course I remember everything, but I wanted to ask
you about one teeny-weeny little thing: I have a feeling, that
we… that you…with me… you and I together… well… did we?
JACK: We did.
MONICA: (She throws her arms around him.) You’ re my darling.
(Their “crisis” is over.)
Scene 20: A Job Offer
(The lobby of a TV studio building. The Program Director is sitting at
a piano, playing. Jack approaches him.)
JACK: Mr. Birnbaum?
(The program director stops playing, gets up and welcomes Jack.)
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Good afternoon. Zack Birnbaum.
JACK: Jack Gorsky.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: I’m reading your stuff, it’s quite good. I’m
sorry the NIKE thing didn’t work out. You have a feeling for
human weakness, Mr. Gorsky. The kind of people you write
about are exactly the sort of folks we need on our shows.
JACK: They are all made up.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Correct. But still, they’re real folks. Right
off the street.
JACK: You know, had it been up to me, I wouldn’t have sued at all.
I’m here to apologize, and to somehow find out how to make
it right again.
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PROGRAM DIRECTOR: You don’t need to apologize. Actually, I’m
glad you did sue. If nothing else it helped to shake things up
a bit here, which, frankly, was badly needed.
JACK: I see.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: What did you talk about on that show?
JACK: You didn’t see it?
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Unfortunately not.
JACK: About this and that. Mostly about love.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: I’ll be straight with you: We’ll probably
never air it. (Jack sighs a sigh of relief, which the program director
misinterprets as a sign of disappointment.) It’s not your fault.
We’re in process of changing the entire structure of our
programming. “Coming Clean” is finished.
JACK: May I ask you why? Were the ratings low?
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: No. It wasn’t about the ratings.
JACK: Oh, I thought that it’s always about the ratings.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Not at all. Ratings are not important. You
know what low ratings are good for? To get rid of shows we
want to get rid of.
JACK: So why did you get rid of “Coming Clean.”
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: It had low ratings.
JACK: I see.
(He is about to leave.)
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Also, because I’m getting a divorce. And
for other reasons too. It’s not easy for me either. I’m like the
pianist from that story of yours, with the alcoholic wife, who
keeps hiding her bottles inside the piano. He gets a divorce,
but then, his instrument just doesn’t sound as good as it used
to, and he can’t understand why.
JACK: “Mr. Christopher’s Bottles.”
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: That one. Do you know what had the
highest ratings in the history of television?
JACK: I don’t.
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PROGRAM DIRECTOR: The first Gulf War in ninety one! More
than a billion people watched it! But it’s a bit of an ethical
dilemma. Should we be starting wars only because they have
high ratings? What do you think?
JACK: Well… I don’t know.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Mr. Gorsky. We’re launching a new
show in the original “Coming Clean” slot. Something like the
Jerry Springer Show. Aggressive, live broadcast, DVDs on
the shelves the next day, and all that. I know that you had
certain expectations in regard to your appearance on “Coming
Clean,” that you wanted to use it to promote your book, etc,
etc… Well, I completely understand that you’re upset, and I’m
deeply sorry that it didn’t air. So… I’d like to make up for it,
and… I have a proposition for you: Work for us.
Scene 21: TV Studio III – Getting Ready
(TV studio. The technicians are setting up for a TV Show called
“Wet Sponge.” The set is being built; the stagehands are bringing
buckets filled with water, sponges, etc. Just like she did with Kasia,
the production assistant, is giving instructions to her new assistant.)
PRODUCTION ASSISTANT: Okeydokey honey, so at quarter
too, you’ll herd them into the studio. You seat the short ones
in the front OK? Folks, who’re over six feet or have an afro
must not sit in the front, and guess why not? Because if they
do, that camera boom over there will cut off their head. And
that’s something we don’t want to happen, do we?
ASSISTANT: No.
PRODUCTION ASSISTANT: If you see someone in something
with stripes, you send ’em back to change. Because, why?
Because that makes the picture wavy. If someone wears white,
same deal. If someone has a Mickey Mouse T-shirt you send
568
‘em to change. Because, why? Because we don’t have the rights.
Now, run along.
(Simultaneously, we see Jack and the new talk show host, the former
make-up girl rehearsing for the second installment of the new show.
Behind them, the studio audience, about twenty young people, taking
their seats.)
JACK: You must never stop talking, OK. If you run out of things to
say, you’ll repeat the refrain.
MAKE-UP GIRL: “PEOPLE ARE PITIFUL AND THEIR LIVES
ARE PATHETIC.”
JACK: Good. If a guest mentions the word “bed,” you’ll say the bed
refrain.
MAKE-UP GIRL: “Better to start it in bed then to end it there.”
JACK: Exactly. If somebody yells: “Show your tits!”
MAKE-UP GIRL: I’ll show my tits.
JACK: No. No tits today.
MAKE-UP GIRL: OK.
JACK: I’ll throw the first sponge from off stage. (He asks the production
assistant for a sponge.) Ela, a sponge! And you’ll say, what?
MAKE-UP GIRL: “Nice try. But next time, aim better.”
JACK: OK. Let’s do it.
(Simultaneously, the production assistant is warming up the audience.
Music – New Talk Show Theme.
The make-up girl enters dressed scantily, and provocatively. She has
a body mike on and she moves freely around the studio.)
MAKE-UP GIRL: Good evening. Welcome to the second segment
of our awesome show, “Wet Sponge.” (Applause.) The show
is aired live, so at home, you’ll see like totally everything that
happens here on stage. We won’t hide anything from you,
and we dig out all the dirt there is. OK? (Applause.) Tonight,
we’ll have Sasha here. She slept with her boss, and got some
nasty STD from him; he promised her he’d get a divorce, but
he didn’t do it, and when she asked for a pay raise, he called
the police on some cooked-up charges that she stole a fax
569
machine, which was of course a big fat lie. And you know
what? It was exactly the same fax machine on top of which
they did it like tons of times during work hours, so, anyway, it
didn’t work that good anymore, ha…ha…ha… but who cares.
(The audience reacts.) So tonight, for Sasha, it’s payback time,
and she wants to tell all. But we have a little surprise for her,
because we also invited her husband, who’s like a professional
shot-putter, or a boxer, or something, and – get this, because
it’s like totally awesome – he doesn’t have the slightest clue
about the affair! Wow!!! So, we’ll watch his reaction… and I bet
you that we’ll have some “interesting” entertainment tonight,
here on “Wet Sponge.”
(Theme music, Applause.)
MAKE-UP GIRL: So, again, I want to explain, that what you all have
there next to your seats are sponges, you know the sponges like
the normal sponges they used to have in schools to wipe the
blackboards, like maybe some of you still remember. Yeah…
and in the buckets there is water. And your assignment is, that
if at any time you like see something that you don’t like, at any
time you disagree with something or somebody, that you take
a sponge, dip it in the water, and throw it at the thing you don’t
like. Like at me for example, or whatever.
(Jack throws a sponge, misses on purpose.)
MAKE-UP GIRL: Awesome. But next time, aim better! We don’t
want you to be a nice audience. We want you to be an audience
who reacts; who gets nasty when it’s necessary; an audience
that has like an attitude because… because… PEOPLE ARE
PITIFUL AND THEIR LIVES ARE PATHETIC
(Theme music. The make-up girl moves aside and talks to Jack in low
voice. Lights change, and we see Martha, carrying a cardboard box
– she appears in another part of the stage, the backstage of the TV
studio. She has come to collect some of her belongings. The production
assistant holds her back.)
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PRODUCTION ASSISTANT: I’m sorry Ms. Martha, hi, but you
can’t go there now. (She points to the blinking red sign “SILENCE.”)
MARTHA: I’ll just quickly sneak through to get to the office on the
other side.
PRODUCTION ASSISTANT: There’s no office there.
MARTHA: Of course there is. I’ve been coming to that office for
the past ten years.
PRODUCTION ASSISTANT: I can’t let you in now, honey. You
have to wait for the commercial break. In five minutes.
(The theme music is over. The make-up girl returns in front of the
camera. Lights change.)
MAKE-UP GIRL: And you know what? I pretty much understand
what Sasha did. I started on the casting couch too. I slept
with the program director. (Applause.) Once, we like did it
right here in the studio. I mean not like during a show or
something, but “after work hours” as they say. That’s how I got
this awesome job. (The audience laughs, applauds.) I don’t have
a problem with that. Do you?
AUDIENCE: No.
MAKE-UP GIRL: In any case, it’s better to start it in bed than to end
it there, right? I mean that’s what my grandma used to say, and
then she like died of bedsores. Ha…ha…ha.
AUDIENCE MEMBER: Show your tits! (Laughter. But the make-up
girl knows that she must not react to this.)
MAKE-UP GIRL: TV is awesome. I mean, when it finally tells the
truth. And the truth is that PEOPLE ARE PITIFUL AND
THEIR LIVES ARE PATHETIC. (Applause.) The lady who
like hosted the show we had before, she also slept with the
program director. But she was his wife, so it doesn’t count.
Then he like kicked her out. She was drinking. She was also
too old.
(Martha is shocked. she is about to run away, but suddenly something
breaks within her, and she runs onto the studio stage, and throws the
cardboard box at the make-up girl, who falls down to the ground.)
571
MARTHA: Show your tits! Show your tits!
(The audience begins to applaud wildly, whistle, etc. The production
assistant is about to intervene, but Jack gestures wildly for her to hold
back. The make-up girl gathers herself. Silence.)
MAKE-UP GIRL: That’s not Sasha. This is Ms. Martha, the lady
I just talked about. She’s been working here for like thirty
years, and it looks like she came to pick up her stuff today.
MARTHA: You’ll also have to come and pick up your stuff one day.
MAKE-UP GIRL: Because she wasn’t good enough, she worked bad.
What do you think?
(The audience starts throwing wet sponges at Martha. At first they
throw only a few sponges, but gradually there are more and more,
until Martha is completely drenched. Some of the sponges hit her in
her face.)
(Music, Lights Fade Out.)
Scene 22. The Celebration
(At a party to celebrate the new TV show.)
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Come in, come in, please… have some…
(He’s offering finger food, wine, etc. to the guests.) The whole thing
with the sponges is amazing Jack. Where did you get that idea?
JACK: To tell you the truth, I don’t know.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: (Addressing the other guests.) This guy’s got
incredible ideas. “Aggressive camera!”
JACK: “Insidious camera”
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Check this out: He came up with the idea
that behind the camera that’s shooting the audience, that from
underneath it, things can attack, or shoot something, or spray,
or overrun the audience.
JACK: We’re constantly telling the audience to not be afraid of
the camera, but this is going to be exactly the opposite. The
572
“insidious camera” becomes an enemy that could ambush
them at any time.
PAUL: That sounds great. I hear your ratings are through the roof.
PROGRAM DIRECTOR: It’s the most watched “talk show” in
the last ten years. (The program director klinks on a wine glass
with a knife to get everyone’s attention.) Ladies and Gentlemen,
please allow me a few words. What does a contemporary
TV viewer look like? It’s a person who’s got only twenty-four
hours a day at his disposal. Minus sleep, personal hygiene,
food, bicycle riding, sex,(he puts his arm around the makeup girl) newspapers, movies, listening to music, and browsing
the net. In addition, there are some people who also need to
go to work. (Laughter.) And it is only during the little time
that remains, that such a person can make a decision for how
long – if at all – he or she will become our viewer. Today, we
don’t need to fight for his money any longer; we only fight for
his TIME. Jack Gorsky is a man, who has won that battle for
time, because he managed to entertain the viewer better, and
especially FASTER than anyone before him. He came to us
from the realm of literature, but he instinctively understood
where the real power of television lies. Namely in that it shows
our transgressions exactly here and now. Hic et nunc. Ladies
and Gentlemen, Jack Gorsky!
(Applause. Everybody toasts to Jack, and they demand that he too
say a few words.)
JACK: This morning I went to the store to buy some rolls, and people
there were talking about the “Wet Sponge.” First there were
just two women discussing it, and then some student, who
obviously didn’t know them, joined in. Well, it turns out that
everybody in that store, including the checkers had seen it.
And everybody had some opinion about it. And I was just
standing there, and I was thinking to myself that…well, I was
simply so moved by it that I just started to cry right there.
I even knocked over a can of tuna, but nobody noticed because
573
they were all completely engaged in the passionate discussion
about the show… So I took the can so that I could show it to
you. (He pulls a can of tuna fish out of his pocket).
PAUL: Is that it?
JACK: Yes. I didn’t pay for it. Nobody even noticed when I walked
past the register.
MONICA: You stole a can of tuna?
JACK: I did.
MONICA: Bravo!
JACK: Thanks to our show. It’s an amazing show, and I’d like to thank
you all. Zach, Anita, my wife, to everybody.
(Applause. Everybody toasts to him. Monica hugs him, and kisses
him.)
PAUL: Congratulations. And thank you for talking to Nicolas.
JACK: How is he doing?
PAUL: He’s spending the night at some friends of ours.
JACK: Say hi to him.
MONICA: I’m so proud of you.
JACK: I love you.
MONICA: Let’s go home.
JACK: OK. Wait for me downstairs. I just need to get some things
from the office.
(The program director leads people out. Everybody is gradually going,
and before they leave, they congratulate Jack once again.
Light Change.)
Scene 23: Confession In a Dark Studio
(Jack is now alone in the TV Studio. In the back we see the remains of
all the props used during the entire play, including the furniture from
scenes in the characters’ homes. It is as if the whole story we have just
seen was some sort of a TV show. Jack ponders the items, and some of
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the pieces seem to make him reflective. Suddenly a voice comes from
a dark corner. It is the former priest Batko.)
BATKO: Do you have a light?
JACK: Of course. (He lights a cigarette for him.) Shouldn’t you go
home?
BATKO: I was just remembering how I once sat in this studio as
a guest. I got a bit lost in my thoughts.
JACK: I heard about it. Do you regret what you said?
BATKO: Today, I’d put it differently. (Beat.) Did you know that the
woman, who hosted that show tried to kill herself recently?
JACK: You read the tabloids?
BATKO: Sometimes. (Beat.) How about you?
JACK: A while ago, I wanted to write a short story about a man who
confesses to a crime on a TV show.
BATKO: What crime?
JACK: That he raped a little boy.
BATKO: I see.
JACK: He regrets what he’s done. He wants to turn himself in, but
his agent persuades him to tell it on TV, on a live show.
BATKO: His agent?
JACK: Yes. He’s a singer. Not a very successful one, but still, he’s got
an agent.
BATKO: Go on.
JACK: So he goes to that studio, to that show, and admits to
everything. He wants to face it like a real man, and he’s also
a bit curious about the punishment he’ll receive. And of
course he is incredibly scared. But despite his heavy heart and
trepidations, it actually turns into a rather pleasant afternoon.
The host is very kind, the audience roots for him, they applaud,
and everything is really nice. Yet he also realizes that from that
moment on, his life has fundamentally changed. Except, when
he comes home afterwards, he finds out that the show wasn’t
aired live, that it was taped. He calls the TV to find out when
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it would be shown, but nobody knows. And suddenly he finds
himself in a terrible conundrum.
(Batko smiles briefly. He guesses the plot of the story.)
BATKO: They never air it.
JACK: No. Because the show gets cancelled. But his agent decides
to sue the TV for “fraud in the inducement.” The TV station
doesn’t want any legal problems, and as compensation they
offer him a job hosting a new talk show. He takes it, and
realizes that it’s exactly what he is good at. He becomes
immensely successful, and so does the show.
BATKO: And?
JACK: That’s it. End of story.
BATKO: And what’s the point?
JACK: The point is that nobody ever finds out. The man lives happily
for the next thirty years.
BATKO: But people would find out in the end. Even if the show
never aired. You said there was a studio audience.
JACK: There was. But nobody cares, because he’s not famous
enough. And after a while they forget.
BATKO: And his family, his friends?
JACK: They don’t know anything.
BATKO: What about the girl, his wife’s sister?
JACK: Did I mention some sister of his wife?
BATKO: Yes.
JACK: She leaves for England, because she can’t stand it here. She
suffers pangs of conscience, but the raw reality of living in
England brings her back to life. She works as an au-pair,
but she’s got no money, and sometimes she shoplifts – just
like Winona Ryder. When she gets caught, she blames it on
“psychological instability.” The court assigns her a psychologist,
who runs some tests on her and she ends up telling him the
whole story. Her description of what happened is the actual
bookend of the story.
576
BATKO: But such a person would have to admit to it. He couldn’t
bear to live with what he did. Sooner or later he starts longing
to tell someone, to confide in somebody, to come clean.
JACK: Maybe not. He’s already over it. It was a crisis, and he
overcame it. He doesn’t have the sort of moral need that would
compel him to deal with it anymore.
BATKO: But if that person lacks such moral imperative, then it’s not
worth to write about him.
(This catches Jack’s attention.)
JACK: Is that so? You may be right.
BATKO: Think about it.
(Batko gets up and leaves. Jack stands still for a moment; then he takes
a sip of wine, and leaves as well.
Blackout.)
THE END
577
Vladislava Fekete
(1973)
Vladislava Fekete studied dramaturgy
at the Academy of Performing Arts
in Bratislava, where she also defended her dissertation in 2009,
and externally leads courses in Methodology (theatre poetics from
Antics to nowadays). She is the author of television and radio
scripts, and coordinates theatre workshops and symposiums. She is
a director and dramaturge, and cooperates with theatres in Slovakia
and abroad. She translates contemporary Serbian drama and theory
to Slovak (Jovan Hristić, Biljana Srbljanović, Nebojša Romčević,
Milena Marković, Milena Bogavac, Maja Pelević and others.) She
has been director of the Theatre Institute Bratislava and director of
the festival of contemporary Slovak and world drama Nová dráma /
New Drama, since 2006, and coordinates the activities of the Theatre
Research Centre and the projects, A History of Slovak Theatre and
A History of Slovak Drama. Her play Brief Connections was awarded
with the Alfred Radok award for the best play of 2009.
LIST OF PLAYS:
•
Krátke spojenia, 2008; premiére 6. 5. 2009, Jihočeské divadlo,
České Budějovice
TRANSLATED PLAYS:
•
Krátke spojenia: English – Brief Connections, German – Kurze
Verbindungen
578
Vladislava Fekete
BRIEF CONNECTIONS
Translated by Zuzana Flašková
This play is copyright and subject to protection under the Copyright Act.
This work may be used solely for dramaturgical purposes in association with
a production of it.
Any other use, in particular its duplication or making it available to third
parties, is subject to the sanctions of §152 of the Penal Code. In the event of any
intent to produce or otherwise use the play, you undertake to seek performing
rights to the work from Aura-Pont s.r.o.
All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the Aura-Pont Agency
Radlická 99, Praha 5, 150 00, Czech Republic, www.aura-pont.cz
Address for correspondance: Veslařský ostrov 62, 147 00 Praha 4
579
Characters:
Her
Him
Lil’
Dara
Boro
Milija
Mum
Gary
Azra
Estate Agent
Srđan
Stranger
The play is set in the present. The past is marked in green. The past
and the present intertwine. Not only in our memories.
580
I.
(There will be a lot of stage directions throughout the script. Don’t let
it shock you, if such a thing is still possible…
She is sitting and crying, but that’s just fine, lots of women cry these
days, and no one knows about it. I, for one, try not to cry, or at least
not in front of others. (There has already been a play that starts like
this … but then, so many things in life begin or end with tears. So
let’s not worry about it too much.) She is sitting on the floor with piles
of clothes strewn around Her. A bottle of wine sits in one hand and
a glass in the other, untouched, and somewhere there is also an old
phone that She probably got from a flea market. It’s beautiful, big and
shiny, like a black exclamation mark. She has just finished talking on
her mobile.)
HER: Does your mum know that you’re calling me?
LIL’: No.
HER: You know it costs to call abroad?
LIL’: I’m calling from MY mobile. It’s new.
HER: And who’s paying for it?
LIL’: Dad.
HER: Oh, so… it doesn’t matter.
LIL’: The landline would be cheaper than a mobile.
HER: What’s that noise?
LIL’: I was flushing, in the loo.
HER: What are you doing there?
LIL’: Have a guess.
HER: Honey, are you alone?
LIL’: No, I’m not, but I am alone in here. They can’t hear me.
HER: Honey, hold on, I’ll call you back!
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II.
(She thinks for a moment and then dials, from the landline. She
always calls home from the landline. She doesn’t know why; no reason
in particular. No one picks up. She tries again… nothing. She dials
again.)
HER: Listen, muppet, why didn’t you pick up?
LIL’: I didn’t know who it was. Why did you call from a landline? Are
you at work…saving money?
HER: (Ignoring her questions.) I told you I’d call you back.
LIL’: I don’t have this number. Just your mobile. Mum said not to
accept calls from unknown numbers.
HER: Not to what?
LIL’: Not to pick it up, Jesus!
HER: Okay. Why did you call?
LIL’: Just to see how you are.
(She hesitates for a moment. Doesn’t know what to say. Kids can ask
difficult questions. She sips her wine, just in case. She might need
some strength.)
LIL’: Are you there?
HER: Yes.
LIL’: So, how are you?
HER: What d’you mean?
LIL’: Are you happy?
(She fights back the tears. Lil’ is calling her in not exactly a good
moment for answering those kinds of questions. She finishes her
wine. She likes good wine. Who doesn’t? I, too, like to spoil myself
with a bottle of good wine now and then. Never mind the cost.)
LIL’: Your love life… How are the men there? The same as here?
HER: The same as everywhere.
LIL’: Mum says the same.
HER: How about your dad, is he in touch?
LIL’: He got me a computer.
HER: What was wrong with yours?
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LIL’: Nothing.
HER: What will you do with two of them?
LIL’: Nothing. I’ll keep one in my room and we’ll put the other in
Mum’s bedroom.
HER: But she’s got already got one.
LIL’: So we’ll have three of them. We can connect one to the internet.
You know, viruses…and I can get on Skype…and we can talk
for free.
HER: Do you miss him?
LIL’: Not really. He was a dick.
HER: You shouldn’t say that.
LIL’: Mum said…and how about you, have you met a nice dick?
HER: Did she say that?
LIL’: She says all men are dicks.
HER: Why did you call?
LIL’: I’ve told you, to see how you are.
(She hesitates for a while. But hesitation doesn’t really work with kids.
They can tell.)
HER: Just for that? And how is school?
LIL’: Stupid question, innit? You know I’m a clever clogs.
HER: Yeah…
LIL’: You’re not getting any younger …
(This is too much. Every question adds insult to injury. She’s flustered,
and the wine isn’t helping.)
LIL’: How about kids? Don’t you want any? Haven’t you heard about
the biological clock? Yours must be ticking faster than the
speed of light.
HER: Thanks, Miss. Having you is more than enough.
LIL’: It’s not the same. You see me three times a year. That’s not
enough. You could come more often.
(She knows that Lil’s is just asking big questions that she must have
picked up from the adults, but still she’s getting more and more
confused by the conversation, forgetting that She’s talking to a fifteen
year old girl.)
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HER: Drop it. You know I don’t have much time.
LIL’: And I do? Nobody does these days. I do piano, gymnastics,
French … and then school as well.
HER: I go to the gym twice a week, have English and – surprise,
surprise – I work, too.
(She feels a bit better, but only for a moment.)
LIL’: You can’t speak English? Every moron can speak English!
HER: Well I’m not a moron.
LIL’: Have you bought a flat yet?
(She feels awkward again.)
You need to take these things seriously. If you want to stay
there, you need to think about your future.
HER: What shall I bring you when I come?
LIL’: (Right away, without thinking, though apparently that’s not why
she called.) Is the latest Harry Potter out yet?
HER: I don’t know… maybe.
LIL’: God, you’re useless! Check it on the web and let me know.
Promise?
HER: Promise.
LIL’: So, I’ll be waiting for you.
HER: Can I talk to your mum?
LIL’: She went out with a new mate of hers. A BOYFRIEND!
A LOVER!
(After a brief silence, pleading, like a child.) Can I come? To visit you?
Please, please!
III.
(She’s sitting thinking. The conversation beforehand has left her
properly shaken. I guess She didn’t expect that, at least not coming
from Lil’. An hour or two pass by. The time is not important. In the
meantime She tidies up her rented flat. It’s quite large and light with
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loads of books and plants. She ‘s giving it a proper clean, washing
all the dishes from last week. She’s not singing or listening to music.
It’s quiet. Suddenly the intercom buzzes, and again. She doesn’t react.
She carries on cleaning. She turns the radio on, then the washing
machine and the TV too… All together they make a proper racket,
but still it won’t silence the beep of an incoming text on her mobile.
She texts back without hesitation and keeps cleaning. The phone rings
– it’s her mobile.)
HIM: Why didn’t you open?
HER: I’m not at home!
HIM: You know you can’t lie.
HER: And?
HIM: What was that abrupt text all about?
HER: I don’t have time. I’m working.
HIM: You know you can’t lie.
HER: And?
HIM: Don’t you think we should talk?
HER: No, I don‘t!
HIM: So what are you thinking about?
HER: That I want to be on my own.
HIM: For how long?
HER: For long enough.
HIM: And what exactly will that do?
HER: Nothing. It’s been at least six months since ANYTHING has
been done.
HIM: Don’t forget that tomorrow is the do. You promised you’d join
me. I can’t go on my own. They would talk. I can’t stand them
asking. You’re still my girlfriend, at least in public.
HER: Find a new one. I’m busy tomorrow.
HIM: You know you can’t lie.
HER: And?
(Suddenly, the phone rings. The pretty, black, shiny one. Like an
exclamation mark. Not her mobile, since She’s still talking to him on
her mobile.)
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HIM: Someone’s calling you. Who is it?
HER: How should I know?
HIM: You know that no one uses the landline anymore. Why don’t
you cancel it?
HER: Better I cancel you.
(She cuts him off, even though it’s a bit awkward, especially for the
other side, but not every phone call is a pleasure, as we all know…)
IV.
(The black shiny phone keeps ringing. She’s wondering whether to pick
it up. It’s one too many phone calls in a day… She picks it up the
moment it seems it’s about to stop…)
HER: Hi Milija.
MILIJA: How do you know it’s me?
HER: Because I do. Only three people have got this number. The
little one called already. The only one left is Mum, and she
never calls first. She texts me to say how she is, and where she
feels pain, and to report all the local gossip. Then she waits
for me to call her. Maybe she’s saving money. God knows…
MILIJA: Is this a good moment?
HER: For you, always.
MILIJA: Don’t tell me that you’re in a bad mood. Not you!
HER: Imagine, even I can be in a bad mood.
MILIJA: Honey, I’m fucked. Gary dumped me.
HER: He was a cunt, fucking cook.
MILIJA: Not all men are cunts.
HER: Yes they are.
(She smiles, perhaps remembering what the little one said just
a moment ago…)
MILIJA: But he was the cunt of my life.
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HER: I’ve told you that practically all cooks are gay. The only ones
who beat them statistically are dancers. I’m talking serious,
long-term, empirical research!
(Her comment is met with a positive and noisy response.)
MILIJA: You’re fab, you know?! You always drag me out of my misery.
HER: I know, but that’s not gonna help me.
MILIJA: Honey, what am I going to do? Who’s gonna cook for me?
(Laughter that has nothing to do with a sense of humour…)
HER: You can eat out, in pubs. It’s cheaper, I’ve done my maths, and
it’s much more comfortable. No messy dishes and dirty nails,
and no fucking boring grocery shopping; no stress that you’ll
burn the plastic chicken.
MILIJA: Gary was the best.
HER: And so was John before him, Michael and Milorad. The last
one is always the best one.
HER: Remember what we said when we were leaving…
MILIJA: This place is tough. No one gives a shit about immigrants.
HER: And this one isn’t?
MILIJA: At least you could speak the language when you got there.
HER: You’re wrong, my dear. They looked at me like I was a zoo
animal. Only I was better at Ypsilons.
MILIJA: At what?
HER: Y griega. Nothing.
MILIJA: Greek what?
(They are obviously enjoying the conversation. They are old mates,
and they miss each other. They are a thousand miles apart…)
HER: Dunja got married, she emailed me.
MILIJA: Stupid cow. To that moron?
HER: No, to a different guy, also a moron.
MILIJA: Have you split up with another guy yet again?
HER: If you don’t succeed as a scientist you can consider a career
in fortunetelling. Milija – The Fortune Teller, sounds great.
Post some adverts, and you’ll have the British on their knees.
MILIJA: Are you still blonde?
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HER: What do you think? How long is it since we last saw each
other?
MILIJA: Five years… long time.
HER: Why don’t you come?
(Silence.)
Do you think we ‘ll ever go back home?
HIM: Which home do you mean? There have been quite a few.
HER: Srbsko. Serbia. Republika Srbija…
(Milija is quiet. Perhaps he’s thinking. It’s not a sin. People do think
sometimes. It happens to me too.)
MILIJA: Do you remember the sociologist? He failed us both twice.
HER: The sports sociologist. Sure. I won’t forget him till the day I die,
or even longer …
MILIJA: He died. I read it on the web.
(The news makes her a bit upset. She has never been into sport,
apart from going to her local gym, but still, death is always moving,
regardless of the circumstances.)
HER: I didn’t like him.
MILIJA: But he wanted you to join his department. You were
the only one happy to plough through the third edition of
his masterpiece, ‘General Sociology with a Focus on Sports
Sociology at Secondary Schools in Serbia’. You actually read
the whole thing. If you didn’t lie, that is.
HER: I felt sorry for HIM. Can we change the topic?
MILIJA: I went to Poland.
HER: And you couldn’t drive a few miles down the road to boring,
fucking Bratislava?! Now you’ve pissed me off!
MILIJA: Do you think I’m made of money?! It was a scholarship.
HER: Fuck you. It’ d have been the first time we wouldn’t have had
to share the same bed!!! I’m renting a bigger flat now.
MILIJA: Bigger flat, bigger problems.
HER: No flat, no problems. But I do miss you, do you know that?!
You’re the only man I can say this to.
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MILIJA: Cause I am gay, so you’re safe. You know I won’t give you
any heartbreak or any other shit.
HER: I really miss you…
MILIJA: You’re strange. What’s wrong with you? Is everything OK
at work?
HER: Don’t you have anything more interesting to say?
MILIJA: Dad was killed!
(Pause.)
Five years ago. Nobody told me!
(God knows why the line cut off right then. Maybe it’s the distance. She
hesitates for a moment, not sure whether to dial his number, but she
gives up. She waits a bit, to see if he calls back, and when the phone
doesn’t ring, She realises that Milija won’t call either. She sits on the
sofa, opens a book and tries to read. She’s enjoying the silence. Then
she goes and sits at her computer.)
HER: I knew it Milija, I did. Forgive me.
(She is crying.)
V.
(Boro comes in, with a huge box in his hands. He’s a policeman but
he’s off duty now. He’s still carrying his gun. He has it all the time. He
doesn’t feel safe without it. It gives him security. We all need some sort
of security., but I would never go that far.)
BORO: Lil’, look what Daddy got you.
LIL’: Yah.
BORO: Guess what it is!
LIL’: A computer.
BORO: How did you know?
LIL’: The box.
BORO: Aren’t you happy?
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LIL’: You got us one just like that two months ago. Is this a storage
room?
BORO: This one is more powerful. You’ll see.
(Boro is still holding the big box, and it’s getting uncomfortable. He
looks awkward and funny. Like every parent, he wants to impress his
child, especially after leaving her for his new life. He keeps checking
for his gun as he struggles not to drop the box. It’s a tick – one that
will never go away.)
LIL’: Okay, I’m off to French.
BORO: Aren’t you happy to see me?
LIL’: You’ve asked that already.
BORO: I asked about the computer.
LIL’: Mum will be happy to see you.
(Little girls can be pretty cynical, particularly when they’re in a bad
mood. Lil’s sits on the floor and, ties her laces while she looks up at
her dad.)
Since when do they sell computers in old boxes?
(Boro feels embarrassed by her question. Should he come clean and
tell his child that he’s ‘bought’ her his old computer because he gets to
keep the new laptop he’s just bought himself?)
BORO: The box may not be brand new, but the computer is like new!
LIL’: (In French.) Up yours, moron! Fuck you and your new laptop!
BORO: What? I don’t understand! Your English is impressive.
(Boro is trying to be funny. Or maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s never heard
French before.)
LIL’: I’m off.
(Dara appears at the door. She’s a beautiful woman. Well, or at least
she would have been, if it wasn’t for certain unpleasant experiences
that have taken their toll on her looks.)
DARA: (To Lil.’) Are you still here?
BORO: (Thinking she’s talking to him, and immediately going on the
offensive.) Don’t forget that this flat still belongs to me too, so
I can stay here as long as I want.
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DARA: As far as I’m concerned you can DIE here. Lil’, after the class,
straight home, okay?
LIL’: (In French.) But you’ll get rid of this one by then, right?
DARA: (In French.) No worries, I’ll sort it out.
BORO: So now you made sure she speaks the language too, so that
I can understand fuck all. That’s just great, and what’s it good
for anyway? Who exactly uses foreign languages round these
parts?
DARA: Certainly not you. Foreign weapons, more like.
BORO: Sure, mock me all you like, Miss Professor! If it wasn’t for
me handing you money you’d hardly survive on your crappy
teacher’s salary.
DARA: Every day I pray to God at least three times to thank him for
all the wars in the world – so that you’ve got something to do
and get well paid for.
BORO: You didn’t mind before.
DARA: Before, everything was different. Now go. I’m expecting
someone.
(Boro sees this as a challenge to argue.)
BORO: Don’t tell me you still have some interest?
DARA: Oh, sorry, I forgot to tell you. I’ve put on at least 15 kilos for
starters, as I’ve completely given up on things, especially on
life. Is that what you wanted to hear?
(Lil’s is singing a French song, and pretending that her parents’
argument doesn’t bother her, but it does. Every child suffers when
their parents fight, even if they are exes. She makes as if to leave. Just
as she is by the door, she abruptly turns and lets out a loud, sudden
“Wham!”, scaring Boro. His tick kicks in. He drops the box, it falls
down with a noise, he pulls out his gun and aims at her.)
DARA: Boro!
LIL’: Boro!
(Lil’s hides in the loo. She locks herself in and does what she always
does in these situations. She calls her.)
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VI.
(She is sitting at her computer and starts crying. It’s the second time
today. She can’t write. Then She gets a text. She looks at her watch.)
HER: Mum!
(It’s her mother. She gets in touch every day at seven pm. Sometimes
She ignores her texts but that means risking a second text, and then
a third…)
The text: How are you? I rearranged the living room & am
on a new diet! Must shed 5 kilos by summer. 
(She knows, this is ‘really important’ and ‘needs to be discussed’ so she
moves to the phone. The beautiful, black shiny one. She’s ready for the
monologue. But before that She saves the text she was working on. She
might get back to it one day…)
HER: Hi, it’s me.
MOTHER: Who ME? How about saying your name politely Missus,
or is it still ‘Miss’?
HER: Mum, drop it. It’s obvious it’s me.
MOTHER: You don’t care about me, right?
HER: I do, but I was so busy at work.
MOTHER: Always the same; the same old excuse, always working,
and do you do anything else apart from working? Could you
maybe let me know any interesting details from your rich
social life?
HER: Come on Mum, that’s a bit much, don’t you think?! You’re
exaggerating just a bit…
(She doesn’t manage to answer… She listens passively till the end of
the conversation. Not that She wouldn’t have anything to say but…)
MOTHER: Imagine, the neighbours’ dog was run over. You know,
the Alsatian.
(She didn’t have a clue about the neighbours having a new dog. After
fifteen years She hardly remembers the old one.)
I felt sorry, though I was scared of it too. When I came
home late at night I always had to steer clear of their gate. They
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would always say it wasn’t dangerous but you know, Alsatians
can go nuts, and we have little kids playing in the street. What
if he’d jumped over the fence and mauled one of them? Then
what? Nobody seemed to be bothered about it. And this friend
of mine, she had her book launch yesterday. She wrote another
book, about the past. I think she’s making things up. I’m sure
she’s not spending time in the archives studying. I never see
her there. She’s going from one visit to another, gossiping,
I mean. She never gets bored of that. This one will be full of
vague information, just like the others. Anyway, I am sure no
one will read it. It’ s lucky there was a programme on her on
TV. She’s big now, an acknowledged writer. She’d better … The
old Slovak teacher died. You know, the one who taught me and
then you. He must have been really old. I don’t think he was
ill. Do you remember? No one ever listened to him, poor man.
The funeral is tomorrow. Shame you can’t go. You should.
(She wouldn’t go even if she were in the country. She hates funerals,
dogs, poetry and politics.)
Listen! You won’t believe this! A friend of mine, not the
one with the book, another one, a close friend… she has gone
completely bonkers! She got involved in politics. I don’t get
it, POLITICS! They actually talked her into joining the party,
so now, wherever she goes, she’s promoting them. She has
changed. I think the pensioners here just get bored. I guess
because they have no money. What is she gonna do, what is it
good for? Now she has no time, apart from politics. We don’t
hang out any more. What if anyone sees me with her. They
will think I’ve joined the party too…and I haven’t told you yet
which party she’s campaigning for. I don’t want to say it over
the phone. What if we are bugged? I’ll tell you when you come
home. So, when are you coming?
(She tries to answer but doesn’t get a chance.)
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And the electricity has gone up again. How will I pay the
bills? Just now it was the water and gas and now, for a change,
electricity. This state is a thief.
(She wanted to say that it’s more or less the same shit everywhere, but
She knows She won’t get a chance to get a word in.)
We’ll go on strike. I mean, not me personally. It won’t sort
anything, and never did. We didn’t work for a week, and then
the next two we had to work from dusk till dawn. There’s a new
TV series, a national production. It’s quite decent. The one
that you like is in it too. You know, the one you always fancied.
I can’t remember his name now. Tall, dark, handsome. I read
he left his wife and kids, and moved in with his lover. Men in
their fifties, that’s what you get. They can leave the wife and
kids and just start over again … and you? Are with someone,
finally?
(Silence. Pause. Her mum waits for the answer. She knew that sooner
or later this would come up, but it always catches her unprepared,
and She knows too well that her mum won’t leave it till she gets an
answer.)
HER: I don’t know.
MOTHER: What you mean you don’t know? You don’t know if
you’re seeing someone?
HER: I don’t.
MOTHER: You’re pretty, smart, intelligent, you should finally find
someone. Something serious.
HER: I don’t know.
MOTHER: Don’t know what? If you’re pretty or if you’re on your
own (?) and what was wrong with that poor guy you brought
home last time?
HER: I don’t know.
MOTHER: I thought you were getting serious, since you introduced
him to us, and he stayed for three days: breakfast, lunch,
dinner …, breakfast, lunch, dinner …, breakfast, lunch, dinner
… my dear!
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HER: It wasn’t serious. I told you we were friends, and I did give you
money for the food.
MOTHER: Why don’t you try with that one … what was his name?
He’s still single. Last time he was asking about you. I think
he still has a thing for you, and he was decent… what was his
name? He started to teach at the school. The kids love him!
HER: Mum, I am not there! I live in a different country, 600
kilometres away.
MOTHER: But you make it sound as if it was at least 6000. That’s silly.
All of you ran away to different places. There is no one here.
The other day I read in the papers that we suffer from the
highest brain-drain in the region. Ah, I didn’t tell you, our
neighbour is in hospital. The one who lives across from the
neighbours with the dog. The dead dog, I mean.
(Thank God, the relationship discussion is over! Her mother keeps
reporting on what’s new and what isn’t. She moves to her computer
with the phone in her hand and starts typing. Her mother keeps
talking and talking…)
VII.
(A small flat on the outskirts of Birmingham. It looks like student
accommodation, though the ‘student’ living in it has long graduated.
He just hasn’t thought of moving out yet. Where to? And what for?
And who can afford it anyway? And this is not a bad place, with lots
of light, full of books, plants and dirty dis. Milija is sitting on the sofa
and facing him is Azra, his older sister. They don’t look very happy.)
AZRA: How are you gonna tell mum?
MILIJA: I’ll stand up and announce it: “Dear mother, I’ve got
something to tell you. I am gay. I mean, homosexual.”
AZRA: Forget it. That would kill her.
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MILIJA: If she survived you having a bastard child who she now
dotes on like the happiest grandma of all time, she’ll survive
this too.
AZRA: You’re being cynical.
MILIJA: I’m being cynical? You opened your legs for the first
UNPROFOR guy you stumbled across and I’m being cynical?
AZRA: That child was born out of love!
MILIJA: Yep, international love equals better genes. Is that what you
really meant to say? Well, yeah, at least we’re not all sleeping
with each other. Is she pretty?
AZRA: It’s a boy, Milija. I have a son! That’s the least you could
remember. A boy to carry on the family name.
MILIJA: You see, I knew I could rely on you for that. I’m not sure I’ll
ever have a son. Or a daughter.
(He’s teasing her and he’s enjoying it.)
AZRA: You’ve changed. You weren’t like this before.
MILIJA: Dear sister, I’ve been away from home for 15 years. It’s not
my fault that I can’t go back.
AZRA: But people are coming back.
MILIJA: And running away again.
AZRA: We’ve got a big house, and a garden. You always liked it there.
Look at where you’re living now.
MILIJA: I like it like this. WE like it like this. Gary and I like it like
this.
AZRA: That’s why you didn’t want us to come.
MILIJA: You couldn’t.
AZRA: But then, after they opened the borders, you still never
invited us.
MILIJA: Because I knew how you would react.
AZRA: Does anyone know?
MILIJA: Know what?
AZRA: That you have a …, that you are …
MILIJA: That I am what?
AZRA: You know.
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MILIJA: Yes, people know. WE don’t have to hide in a shelter, it’s not
like back home.
AZRA: How about taking time out to think about it, and in the end
you might even meet a nice girl. One of us!? I’ve read that
you’ve got plenty of local community clubs here. Why don’t
we go and have a look?
MILIJA: Azra, I don’t want to change. I love him.
AZRA: Does he love you back? Isn’t he just using you? Does he have
a job?
MILIJA: Yes, he does.
AZRA: I suppose you can’t tell me what it is that he does.
MILIJA: He works at Uni, in the canteen.
AZRA: At the canteen? You’re with a cook?
MILIJA: Would you prefer a thief or a murderer? I know. A soldier.
UNPROFOR, ideally. That’s more up your street.
AZRA: Screw you. Come home with me. I bought you a ticket. Here.
MILIJA: Azra, you came here, without asking and now you’re
hassling me. In my own place. In my home.
AZRA: This is not your home! Your home is there!
MILIJA: Whatever. I live here, and I like it here.
AZRA: This is worse than a bad dream! I never dreamt I’d find you
like this and with somebody like that. I came to tell you that
mum needs you, because…
MILIJA: And dad? Don’t tell me he’s transformed into a liberal, gay
rights activist, fighting for the legalization of gay marriages?!
AZRA: … dad was killed.
(Pause.)
Five years ago! (After a brief silence.) It’s over. Don’t imagine
it’s not.
(Just as she finishes writing, her mother finishes talking.)
MOTHER: You’re not listening to me! Why do I bother talking to
you?!
(And she puts the phone down. Finally!)
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VIII.
(Now she really doesn’t know what to do. It’s late evening and it’s dark
outside. She’s thinking and after a while she takes some stuff out of
the fridge for dinner. Something light. She shouldn’t eat so late, it’s not
right. Definitely not for women over thirty. She wouldn’t want to end
up like Dara. She brings the fitness ball and stares at it. When the
food is ready, (some microwavable ready meal), she sets the table for
two, sits on the ball and stares at the plates. Though she’s been on her
own for a while she keeps setting the table for two. she doesn’t want
to eat on her own. She doesn’t enjoy it that way, and, to be honest,
it’s also a matter of habit. You know what I mean. Anyway, the food
doesn’t look that great. It looks awful, actually. The intercom sounds.
It must be Him. She holds back the tears. She opens the door. He looks
gorgeous, as usual.)
HIM: Who called you?
HER: When?
HIM: When I was talking to you.
HER: Don’t know. I didn’t pick up.
HIM: You can’t lie.
HER: And?
HIM: You’re not looking bad.
HER: You meant to say I look good?
HIM: I meant to say what I said.
HER: In case it was a compliment, thank you.
HIM: Do you have something to eat?
(She shows him the table. He notices the two plates.)
HIM: Are you expecting someone? The one who called you while
you talked to me?
HER: It’s the low-carb diet. One plate with proteins, the other with
veggies.
(Now it comes in handy that she cooks for two. For herself and another
person who is not there: it’s a good habit. After all, it wasn’t such a bad
idea. He’ll never believe her that She wasn’t expecting anyone.)
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Did you come to eat?
HIM: I came to tell you I’m leaving you!
HER: It was me who left you this afternoon. If my memory serves
me right. And the same thing yesterday afternoon, and, now
I come to think of it, six months ago!
HIM: If it’s over the phone, it doesn’t count.
HER: So leave me…alone.
HIM: I have a child.
HER: Yeah, on a remote control?
HIM: I’m serious. I wanted you to hear it from me.
HER: Congratulations!
HIM: It’s a girl.
(Pause. She’s one.)
HER: They say love rats always have daughters. So it’s true. And it
means you were cheating on me. Is that what you’re actually
trying to tell me?
HIM: No. I didn’t.
HER: Ooh, so in that case she’s not your daughter. Your lover number
two has presented you with somebody else’s love child, what
a bitch! That’s pathetic. Does your wife know?
HIM: You’re pathetic.
HER: Since I’ve been with you, you mean.
(She sits at the table and starts eating. She looks calm.)
HIM: So what will happen with us now?
(This is getting too much but she still looks calm.)
HER: We can get married and live together till death do us part!
(He leaves, she sits at the other plate. Starts eating the meal. It’s weird
but she’s not crying. I think I would.)
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IX.
(The phone rings? What’s the time? Oh, not again, it’s…)
ESTATE AGENT: Good afternoon.
HER: Good evening.
ESTATE AGENT: Apologies for calling so late but I didn’t get
a chance before. I was snowed under, fortunately.
(He’s trying to be funny, but he’s the only one laughing at his joke. He
hangs on and then continues.)
I found your email. You’re looking for a flat. Congratulations!
HER: On what?
ESTATE AGENT: On your new place. That’s the best investment…
property.
(Another joke, again without the desired response.)
HER: I haven’t bought anything.
ESTATE AGENT: But you’re planning to.
HER: I’m not.
(The Estate Agent starts feeling a bit awkward, uncomfortable, but he
puts it down to his tiredness.)
ESTATE AGENT: But you did call me.
HER: I sent you an email.
ESTATE AGENT: You left your contact details and a phone number.
HER: I didn’t think you’d call back. You know what men are like.
ESTATE AGENT: But I’m not like them.
(He laughs. It’s getting really awkward. The Estate Agent feels really
awkward now.) So, young lady, what are we looking for?
HER: Well, I am not young anymore …
ESTATE AGENT: Well, miss, what can I do for you?
HER: Marry me.
ESTATE AGENT: Any time.
HER: Are you free tomorrow? And the next day I move in. And my
housing issue is sorted.
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ESTATE AGENT: Can I call you tomorrow? You don’t seem to
be in a good mood today, and I’ve called quite late actually,
apologies.
HER: I won’t be in the mood for getting married tomorrow.
ESTATE AGENT: Well, we can try some other day then. Maybe
you’ll feel like getting divorced and we can sort your housing
situation again.
(She is quiet for a while. And she bursts out laughing. This was fun.
Well, she might buy a property, with her earnings she could afford
a bigger dog kennel and that’s not really appropriate, you see.)
X.
(She checks her emails. She has a new one from her Mother.)
MOTHER: (Mail.)
Imagine, the neighbours’ dog was run over. You know, the
Alsatian.
(She didn’t have a clue about the neighbours having a new dog. After
fifteen years She hardly remembers the old one.)
I felt sorry, though I was scared of it too. When I came
home late at night I always had to steer clear of their gate. They
would always say it wasn’t dangerous but you know, Alsatians
can go nuts, and we have little kids playing in the street. What
if he’d jumped over the fence and mauled one of them? Then
what? Nobody seemed to be bothered about it. And this friend
of mine, she had her book launch yesterday. She wrote another
book, about the past. I think she’s making things up. I’m sure
she’s not spending time in the archives studying. I never see
her there. She’s going from one visit to another, gossiping,
I mean. She never gets bored of that. This one will be full of
vague information, just like the others. Anyway, I am sure no
one will read it. It’ s lucky there was a programme on her on
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TV. She’s big now, an acknowledged writer. She’d better … The
old Slovak teacher died. You know, the one who taught me and
then you. He must have been really old. I don’t think he was
ill. Do you remember? No one ever listened to him, poor man.
The funeral is tomorrow. Shame you can’t go. You should.
(She wouldn’t go even if she were in the country. She hates funerals,
dogs, poetry and politics.)
Listen! You won’t believe this! A friend of mine, not the
one with the book, another one, a close friend… she has gone
completely bonkers! She got involved in politics. I don’t get
it, POLITICS! They actually talked her into joining the party,
so now, wherever she goes, she’s promoting them. She has
changed. I think the pensioners here just get bored. I guess
because they have no money. What is she gonna do, what is it
good for? Now she has no time, apart from politics. We don’t
hang out any more. What if anyone sees me with her. They
will think I’ve joined the party too…and I haven’t told you yet
which party she’s campaigning for. I don’t want to say it over
the phone. What if we are bugged? I’ll tell you when you come
home. So, when are you coming?
(She tries to answer but doesn’t get a chance.)
And the electricity has gone up again. How will I pay the
bills? Just now it was the water and gas and now, for a change,
electricity. This state is a thief.
(She wanted to say that it’s more or less the same shit everywhere, but
she knows she won’t get a chance to get a word in.)
We’ll go on strike. I mean, not me personally. It won’t sort
anything, and never did. We didn’t work for a week, and then
the next two we had to work from dusk till dawn. I’ve got
more news, but I’ll tell you all about it when you call. A kiss
and a hug, Mum.
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XI.
(Milija is on his own in his flat in Birmingham. He springs into action.
He wants to surprise his boyfriend the cook by making him dinner.
A lovely idea! He opens the fridge and closes it. He weighs up his
options. No, he won’t order a take away pizza. A decadent thought
briefly crosses his mind. He takes a frozen ready meal out, and shoves
it into the microwave. He starts setting the table for two. He pays
attention to details. The candles, the wine, the flowerpot. No time to
buy flowers. He puts on some Yugo pop music and waits, and waits.
Then he picks up a book and pulls an old photograph out of it. It must
be a photo of his dad. He’s doesn’t look at it; he just holds it in his
hand. Finally Gary turns up, with flowers in his hand.)
GARY: These are for you.
MILIJA: (Looking very pleased, putting away the flowerpot and
arranging the flowers in a vase.) What are we celebrating?
GARY: The split?!
MILIJA: I wasn’t good to her. Azra doesn’t deserve it. She’s a good
sister. Pathetic, as sisters are, but we used to be close.
GARY:
(Wants to talk about something else, but there will be time.) Has she
gone?
MILIJA: Yeah, two minutes ago. We didn’t exactly part on good
terms.
GARY: What did she want?
MILIJA: Me to come back home.
GARY: So why don’t you go back?
MILIJA: Back?
GARY: Home.
MILIJA: My home doesn’t exist anymore. It disappeared from the
map.
GARY: But not from your mind.
MILIJA: I made dinner. It’s no culinary masterpiece but the box says
it’s organic. You know, organic farming, ecology and all that.
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(He was trying to be funny. Everyone is trying to be funny these days.)
GARY: I ate at work.
MILIJA: Was it organic?
(The last time he tries to make him laugh. He knows there won’t be
another chance…)
GARY: I think you’ll never stop thinking about your home., and
you’ll never feel good here.
MILIJA: But I do, this feels like home.
GARY: You’ve just said it, “LIKE home.”
MILIJA: Gary, I know that Azra offended you, but that’s the way she
is, you know, a bit tactless. She doesn’t know anything else
apart from her village. She never travelled anywhere. This was
the first time, and the last one too.
GARY: Azra is right. We ARE different, and we come from different
time zones.
MILIJA: It’s not funny, you know.
GARY: I’m not trying to be funny.
MILIJA: Trouble at work? Come on, we can get through this like
we always do. I don’t earn much, but it’s enough to take care
of the two of us.
GARY: Can you change the music?
MILIJA: Why? I want to listen to it …
GARY: All we ever play is this sentimental crap of yours.
(Milija goes to the stereo and turns it off. Obviously, it’s not him who
has the upper hand. He looks at the CDs, but doesn’t know what to
play. He doesn’t have any other music apart from his ‘sentimental
crap’.)
Your sister has a point.
MILIJA: Azra was just exaggerating. She can’t imagine being
uprooted from one country and then settling in another.
It’s something she can’t understand.
GARY: You’ve lived here for 15 years and you don’t have anyone.
MILIJA: I’ve got you.
GARY: That’s not enough, don’t you see?
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MILIJA: It’s enough for me, and I thought it was for you too.
GARY: The best thing for you would be to go back home. It’s okay
now. I read about it in the paper.
(Gary doesn’t understand that he’s being a merciless bastard. Milija
starts to see it.)
GARY: I’ll give you back the money I owe you. You’ll have enough for
the flight and you’ll find somebody. I’m bored of it being just
the two of us, and your music – I can’t stand it, and the news
from YOUR homeland. In the last few years I have learnt more
about Bosnia than I have ever known about Britain. Without
ever setting foot there.
MILIJA: You should have told me you wanted to go.
GARY: There? Thanks, but no thanks.
MILIJA: Is it a problem for you that I’m from Bosnia?
GARY: Not for me, it’s a problem for you.
MILIJA: What should I do?
GARY: I think it’s too late for that. Go back home. I think you need
it. How long is it since you last saw your dad?
(Milija knows that Gary doesn’t know anything but he still won’t
forgive him.)
MILIJA: Dad was killed.
(Gary leaves, without saying a word. Without packing his things.
Well, not that he has lot of stuff to take. Actually, he has nothing
worth taking. It seems that he has no memories worth keeping either.
Milija sits at the table set for two. He takes the flowers out of the vase
and puts them in the bin. He sits at the table and immediately stands
up again. He lights a candle and puts the photograph of his dad on
the plate. He sits opposite, puts on some folk music and starts eating.
After a while…
Milija dials the long, familiar number. He knows it by heart. Whenever
he needs to be cheered up he knows who to call. But She doesn’t pick
up. The phone keeps ringing, twice, three times … Just as he is about
to hang up…)
HER: Ciao Milija.
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MILIJA: How do you know it’s me?
HER: Cause I do. Only three people have this number …
XII.
(Boro didn’t pull the trigger. But it was close. Dara is still in shock. She
can’t open her mouth, which is something of a miracle in her case…
As it is in most women, for that matter. Lil’ runs to the loo.)
LIL’: I’ll go to my godmother’s. I’ll go there. I’ll never come back. (In
French, only the last bit though.) Fuck you!
BORO: (After a while.) What did she say?
DARA: That she’s staying at home.
(Pause.)
She’s not going to her French class.
BORO: Good idea!
(Dara says nothing. The situation is precarious.)
BORO: Say something!
DARA: (In French.) Get the fuck out of here! I don’t want to see you
ever again!
(Boro doesn’t need translation. He got the message.)
BORO: Okay, I’m off. Where shall I put the box?
DARA: Up your arse.
BORO: You won’t believe me, but I‘ve got no idea what came over
me. I’m sorry.
DARA: Your own child …
BORO: It’s not me, I can’t … really, really …
DARA: (After a while.) I know …
(Suddenly they have a moment. Just like it used to be in the past. Dara
knows that Boro the monster is just a product of their times – times
that they have no control over. Her old Boro is gone, for ever. Boro only
realises now that he’s still holding the gun in his hand.)
BORO: Throw it away!
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(Dara takes the gun. She holds it in her hand. She doesn’t know what
to do. They embrace each other. Beware, this is not a melodramatic
scene, though it might seem like it at first. Melodrama with guns is
called a war. The bell rings, cutting short the happy ending.)
BORO: The bell.
DARA: I know.
BORO: Won’t you open?
DARA: I will!
(Srđan appears at the door. He’s Dara’s new partner; her lover.)
SRĐAN: He might feel a bit awkward. There is a big box on the floor
and next to it is a dodgy looking guy, and his new lover Dara
has a gun in her hand.
Did Lil’ go to her French class?
DARA: She’s in the loo. Let me introduce you. This is my husband.
BORO: Ex husband.
DARA: Thanks. The original one was not grey-haired, skinny and
didn’t carry a gun around.
SRĐAN: (Meaning it.) Nice to meet you!
BORO: (After a long pause.) Look after them!
(Dara still has the gun in her hand. She hands it to Srđan. For Srđan
it’s the first time in his life that he has held a gun. I swear… on my life.)
BORO: I’m going…
DARA: (In French.) Goodbye.
BORO: Tell Lil’ I’ll bring her the laptop.
(Boro leaves. Now what? Srđan holds the gun in his hand, and with
the other hand takes some cinema tickets out of his jacket.)
SRĐAN: Do you want to go to the cinema?
(Dara is quiet. It’s a weird situation. A while ago her ex-husband
almost shot her daughter. Li’ is locked up in the loo, God knows how
long for, and her new lover wants to go to the cinema.)
DARA: Is it a comedy?
(She takes the gun from Srđan and drops it in the bin. She knocks on
the loo. No response. Lil’ is still on the phone.)
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DARA: (In French.) Lil’, Srđan and I are going to the cinema. Call
me when you finish.
SRĐAN: What did you say?
DARA: I told her to flush! I need to remind her all the time.
(In the loo.)
HER: Can I talk to your mum?
LIL’: She’s gone out with her new friend. Boyfriend. LOVER. Can
I come? To visit you? Please, please!
(Lil’s starts crying, heartbreakingly as only kids can. She comes out of
the loo. Next to the door is the box with the computer. The gun is in
the bin. Luckily, Lil’s doesn’t know.)
XIII.
HER: Everything that she says, She also does at the same time.
It’s very descriptive. So what?
I’ll find an empty notebook. I haven’t written anything
for ages. Fucking computers. I’ll pull a page out, the best are
the middle ones so that they won’t all fall apart, and I’ll start
writing. But first I’ll find a pen. This one isn’t working. Let
me find another one. I’ll put it all down on paper. PROS and
CONS, and then I’ll make up my mind. I’ll smoke as I am
thinking, it helps. It’s not gonna be too much. The writing.
Let me start…to write. I’m not gonna drink, I want to have
a clear mind. And to be sure that what I have written down
is me and not somebody else, my name, what shall I put? The
way my mum calls me, or what other people call me? Everyone
calls me a different name, and they see me differently too, and
I feel different too. Sometimes I think the colour of my voice
changes according to who I’m talking to, and my vocabulary
too, and all my different appearances merge into one, into ME.
I fall asleep with them and I wake up with them … purified,
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and then, during the day, I take them all up again. At times
I am happy with all of them, and sometimes I hate one of
them, but mostly I try to combine them. So that each of ME
finds its proper audience.
Okay, so let’s start. Pros, and against them all the Cons.
PROS CONS
– I am single – he’s married (this I do know about)
– he’s got another lover (her I “don’t know” about)
– he sends lovely texts – I’m afraid to ask questions about
us
– when he’s drunk he wants to marry me – when I’m drunk
I want to go back home
– we’ve been together for 3 years – we split up 6 months
ago…
… Since then I keep seeing nuns and pregnant women in
the street, as if there was one lurking round every corner ….
and I‘ve started to be superstitious.
(After a while she realizes that the columns make no sense. There is
too much in them and it doesn’t make sense. It can all be positive or
negative: it just depends on the point of view.)
XIV.
(Her and Milija are sitting in the student club at a certain Serbian
university in a certain Serbian city and are drinking. To be more
precise, they’re getting plastered. They keep at it, heading straight for
a blinding hangover the next morning. They are having a great time
together, both happy and not worried about a little headache… This
is just one of those moments that are worth living. There won’t be
any more. For a long time. She leaves the country the next day and
so does he. To different countries. Incompatible ones. But they’re not
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dwelling on any of that, or on the impending farewell. Although this
get together is about just that; a way of saying goodbye.)
MILIJA: Do you know that the toreador seeks death to become
immortal?
HER: So you want to be famous? I thought you wanted to be
a scientist….
MILIJA: Yes, a super-famous scientist!
HER: Well, that ain‘t gonna happen here. Here, you can become, at
best, a super anonymous policeman.
MILIJA: Everything went to shit. How come we didn’t see it coming?
HER: We didn’t want to see it as it was happening. That’s the
difference.
MILIJA: Fuck, you really understand me. Why aren’t you a man?
HER: I’m that bull from your toreador story.
MILIJA: You won’t have it easy in life, girl.
HER: You know I don’t care, boy?
MILIJA: Olé???
HER: Olé!!!!
(They’re playing like children. Like best friends. Despite being
completely pissed.)
MILIJA: Are you worried about something?
HER: He who kills a bull, is like …
MILIJA: …he who kills a man, Isaiah 66.3.
XV.
(She is packing her stuff. It might seem a bit erratic. She’s packing it
all as if she doesn’t care in the slightest. She’s piling up all her clothes.
She has a lot. A woman of her standing should have loads of dresses;
each one of them unique; a different one for every occasion. Now all
the brands are piled up on top of one another. Once she’s finished, she
knocks the pile over. Then she sits in the middle and pulls out a bottle
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of wine and a glass. She pours herself a glass. And she feels good. As if
perched high up on her throne. She snaps her fingers … and nothing.
Nothing at all. She tries again. Nothing again. Third time lucky. The
phone rings. She knew it!)
XVI.
(Her and Dara sit next to each other, somewhere in the street. Dara
has been bleeding but is not crying. She is clean and crying. It’s not
raining, or snowing. It’s just getting dark, luckily (at least no one
witnesses this scene.) An ordinary evening. Most people are living
their ordinary lives, and can’t be bothered about somebody else’s story.
Pretty insensitive, dare I say it.)
DARA: I don’t envy you.
HER: I don’t envy you either.
(Or myself – thinks Dara to herself.
She uses the handkerchief to wipe the blood off Dara’s face, but you
can’t wipe bruises off with a handkerchief. They’re not painted on.
They’re the work of a professional; oncealed under her clothes, yet still
very painful, but it’s not the pain that hurts the most.)
DARA: Leave it. It’s fine.
HER: It’s not a trophy. We need to take it off. Lil’ mustn’t see anything.
DARA: It’s my fault.
HER: Don’t you ever say that again.
DARA: I kept nagging him that we don’t have this or that, and that
Lil’ needs to have it all… stuff that we couldn’t do as kids:
piano, gymnastics, French…
HER: But that’s not anything unusual.
DARA: In this country it is. That’s why I am paying for it now.
My fault. Serves me right. I wanted it all, so I got it all. All
inclusive, plus a bonus on top.
HER: You didn’t ask for a husband who’s a murderer.
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DARA: Oh, I did. He murdered left, right and centre. He murdered
everyone he could, our family too.
HER: He wasn’t a bad guy. Maybe he didn’t have a choice. Maybe the
damned war was an opportunity he couldn’t refuse. He didn’t
know that in war it’s not just the people who lose their lives
that are the victims, but the survivors too.
DARA: He was great. Do you remember how he used to play the
guitar?
HER: Till late at night. We would all tell him songs to play. He knew
them all.
DARA: We were all happy then. You, Milija, Dunja, Boro, and me …
Who would have thought that this was waiting for us around
the corner? That we would all end up in different places? I miss
you. All of you.
HER: Milija is happy in Britain. Finally he can work on his career
as a scientist. That was his dream. And he has finally found
a boyfriend, who understands him, apparently. I haven’t seen
him for a while. But we talk from time to time …
DARA: He doesn’t write to me. He can’t forgive me that Boro was
in Bosnia.
HER: But it wasn’t him.
DARA: Maybe!
HER: In war you don’t know your own friend.
DARA: It couldn’t have been him. I thought about it a thousand
times. When Milija’s dad was killed, Boro wasn’t there. He
wasn’t even there! Do you believe me?
HER: It wasn’t him!
DARA: He didn’t even know him. They never met each other…
(Pause.) …but what if …
HER: He would feel it. When you’re looking death in the face, you
must feel something. Boro would knew if it was Milija’s dad
standing in front of him.
DARA: It’s good that you left.
HER: If you say so.
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DARA: I would be glad if Lil’ could stay with you for a while.
HER: I’ll take care of her, whenever.
DARA: She dreams of studying languages: French.
(Silence.)
DARA: It wasn’t him, right?
HER: (Quietly.) It couldn’t have been him. When Milija’s dad got
killed, Boro wasn’t there.
DARA: If we only knew that it would come to this …
HER: … we would never have been born. We would have refused
to be born! We would have said “screw you” to a life like this!
XVII.
(He calls again, the third attempt, this time the mobile. Only three
people have the landline number. He’s not one of them (anymore.)
Number three, the lucky number.)
HIM: I was thinking about the idea you had.
HER: Which one? I used to have too many.
HIM: We’ll get married and live together happily ever after till death
do us part.
HER: I didn’t mean it. It was a joke, and a bad one, at that.
HIM: What if we moved away somewhere?
HER: I’ve already moved away once. I’m settled here. Besides I don’t
have enough suitcases.
HIM: We don’t need suitcases, and we’ll leave the memories behind.
Wherever we’re going to, it’s gonna be just you and me.
HER: I don’t have enough money to fly to the moon. I need to save.
I’m buying a flat. Sorry. (After a while.) You know I love you.
(This is the first time she’s said the word. There’s nothing else to say. If
you can come up with something better, well congratulations!)
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XIII.
(Boro is sitting in a pub. There are loads of pubs where he is, and people
drink a lot. Maybe they’re trying to forget. But not everything can be
forgotten. Not even the strongest whisky is strong enough for that.
Boro’ has got a lot on his conscience, and he drinks proportionately.
To be precise, he’s drinking himself to death. He’s already pissed and
sees, or at least he thinks he sees, a familiar face.)
BORO: Will you have a glass with me? So that we can finally sort it
out, face to face. Man to man.
STRANGER: I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else, mate.
(In this country, they are all very matey and casual, it’s kind of cool.
Only, it can be pretty inappropriate at times. Like now.)
BORO: Don’t pretend to be too cool, for fuck’s sake. Come here,
I tell you.
(Boro’s tick kicks in, he touches his belt, but the gun is not there. He left
it at Dara’s place. That’s where it’s place is, in a bin, but now, he kind
of needs it. Perhaps he regrets that moment of weakness…)
STRANGER: You must have mistaken me for someone else.
BORO: (Staggering towards the Stranger.) It is you. Don’t pretend
you don’t know me. You and me, we’ve been through a lot
together. You, me, the chicks… We wouldn’t have it half bad
if it hadn’t all got screwed up.
STRANGER: That’s true …
BORO: You see. So I need to draw you a picture to refresh your
memory.
STRANGER: … true that it all got screwed up, I mean!
BORO: So, still nothing? Do you want me to punch you in the face?
Would that help?
STRANGER: Or the other way round. I can punch YOU in the face!
BORO:
(His tongue is getting tied in knots, but he keeps talking. Nothing can
stop Him. He needs to get it out.)
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That’s not a good idea. I have a good memory, you fucking
ignoramus. I just need to explain what really happened.
Whatever you heard, it’s not true. They’re just making it up,
so that they can pretend to be clean. But I am! My conscience
is clear. I wasn’t even there, in the village. I got pissed the night
before, and felt sick, and threw up the whole night.
STRANGER: He feels sorry for Boro. He doesn’t understand what
it is that is worrying him, but the look of him makes him feel
sorry for the guy.
Can we agree on one thing?
BORO: You and me? Any time. I knew you’d understand!
STRANGER: Let’s agree that I do believe you, every word you say.
Whatever you think of saying, I believe you. You don’t even
need to say it. Okay? And now leave me alone.
BORO: Considers the meaning of the Stranger’s words but it seems
he’s not convinced.
Shouldn’t I belt you one? I really want this to be clear. Once
and for all!
STRANGER: You don’t get it, do you? I’m not who you think I am!
BORO: You’re taking the piss, mate. I don’t like it. If I had my gun
with me, you’d believe that you’re God if I told you so.
STRANGER: And what if I AM your God?
(The Stranger has changed strategy. God knows, maybe he’ll get
somewhere.)
BORO: (Boro crossing himself.) Well, in that case, listen to me and
forgive me, Milija!
(And Boro starts talking and he talks and talks and talks…)
BORO: It was dark everywhere, we couldn’t see anything. That was
our strategy, not to see the victims. But the cries, I can still
hear the cries. I can hear them very clearly. They echoed up in
the mountain, which swallowed up all the suffering. No one
knew who we were killing and why, and I’d been throwing up
since that morning, when I heard the cry. I heard the women
scream, and the children too, and I knew I had to leave right
615
away. But it was pitch dark and I couldn’t stand up, and I was
just throwing up, and lying around in my own vomit and blood,
and I was screaming with them… stop it, for God’s sake, stop
the killing, stop it …. But no one heard me. If they did, maybe
that evening would have ended up differently, maybe your dad
would be still alive, to bother you for being gay. My conscience
is clear. Do you understand? My only fault is that I exist. That
I wanted that shit to finish as soon as possible and carry on
living like before. Like normal people.
(No one pays attention to him. Boro is screaming and his whole body
is twisted in pain… his mouth is foaming.)
BORO: Amen.
XIV.
(She is still sitting among the piles of her clothes. She slowly starts
putting them on, all of them, one layer after another. She’s turning
into a huge blob. It doesn’t look bad, or good. She pulls her suitcase
out from under the bed. She always keeps her suitcase under the bed.
She sits in it, but she can’t close it…)
THE END
616
Viliam Klimáček
(1958)
Viliam Klimáček studied general
medicine at the Faculty of Medicine
of Comenius University in Bratislava. After graduating he worked
for nine years as a surgeon and anesthetist in the Clinic of CardioVascular Surgery in Bratislava. He wrote books of poems – Up to
the Ears (Až po uši, 1988); Toffies (Karamelky, 1992); short stories –
Lookinglassstroking (Ďalekohladenie, 1991); stories and poetry for
children – Leg to Leg (Noha k nohe, in 1996 the book was listed
in the “Collection of fifty best children’s books in the world” in
Poland); prosaic trilogy – A Virgin Man in the Underground (Panic
v podzemí, 1997); Vanya Krutov (Váňa Krutov, 1999); Nadia has
Time (Naďa má čas, 2002); novels – Satan’s Daughters (Satanove
dcéry, 2007) and The Square of Astronauts (Námestie kozmonautov,
2007); radio plays – A Tattoed Woman (Vytetovaná žena, 1995); The
Gentle Woman’s Diary (Denník nežnej, 1996); If You Won’t Love
Me (Ak ma nebudete mať radi, 1999); opera librettos – Cirostratus
(2002); Lonely (Osamelá, 2003); Hippocampus (2004); and TV scripts
– Sometimes I would Kill You (Niekedy by som ťa zabila, 1997); The
Teacher Room (Zborovňa, 1999–2000). He regularly writes for radio
(for example the successful dramatization of Tolkien’s Lord of the
Rings, 2001 and Ecco’s novel Baudolino, 2006) and television.
In 1985 Klimáček co-founded the GUnaGU Theatre in Bratislava,
which today ranks among the most important alternative theatres
in Slovakia. Since its establishment up to this day the theatre has
presented more than 60 original plays and projects reflecting closely
both human experience and Slovak reality. He works in the theatre
as its Artistic Director, and director, writer and actor. A number
of Klimáček’s plays have won prizes at home and abroad – he is
a seven-time holder of the prize of the Alfréd Radok foundation,
617
he has twice won the DRÁMA competition for best Slovak drama.
Klimáček’s plays have been published in collections – Mária Sabína
(1997, 7 plays), GUnaGU Remix (2000, 7 plays) and Ten Plays (Desať
hier, 2004 – 10 plays and a CD with the production Cirostratus).
Since 1993, he has worked as a freelance writer and manager of the
GUnaGU Theatre. His extensive dramatic work makes him one of
the most prolific playwrights in Slovakia, and many of his plays were
staged on Slovak as well as world stages.
LIST OF PLAYS (selection):
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
Koža, 1986
Poveternostná situácia, 1988
Bigbít, 1990; première 29. 9. 1990, GUnaGu Theatre, Bratislava
(Slovakia)
Loj, 1992; première 25. 4. 1992, GUnaGu Theatre, Bratislava
(Slovakia)
Nuda na pláži, 1993
Smrtičky a vraždeníčka, 1994; première 21. 1. 1995, GUnaGu
Theatre, Bratislava (Slovakia)
Mária Sabína, 1994; première 28. 10. 1995, GUnaGu Theatre,
Bratislava (Slovakia)
Gotika, 1995; première 9. 11. 2002, GUnaGu Theatre, Bratislava
(Slovakia)
Jawa nostalgická, 1997; première 17. 11. 1997, GUnaGu
Theatre, Bratislava (Slovakia)
Argentína, 1997; première 16. 3. 1998, GUnaGu Theatre,
Bratislava (Slovakia)
Dáma s kolibríkom, 1999; première 10. 4. 1999, GUnaGu
Theatre, Bratislava (Slovakia)
Rozkvitli sekery, 2000; première 5. 5. 2001, Theatre of the Slovak
National Uprising, Martin (Slovakia)
618
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
Čechov boxer, 2001; première 4. 11. 2001, GUnaGu Theatre,
Bratislava (Slovakia)
Lara, 2001; première 26. 1. 2002, GUnaGu Theatre, Bratislava
(Slovakia)
Hypermarket, 2002; première 16. 4. 2004, National Theatre,
Prague
Staré lásky, 2003; première 26. 11. 2004, Chamber Theatre,
Martin (Slovakia)
Historky z fastfoodu, 2004; première 6. 10. 2007 GUnaGu
Theatre, Bratislava (Slovakia)
Kto sa bojí Beatles, 2005; première 21. 4. 2007, Slovak National
Theatre, Bratislava (Slovakia)
www.osamelá.sk, 2006; première 15. 1. 2006, GUnaGu Theatre,
Bratislava (Slovakia)
Dr. Gustáv Husák, 2006; première 23. 10. 2006, Aréna Theatre,
Bratislava (Slovakia)
Závisláci (som bilbord), 2006 première 11. 11. 2006, GUnaGu
Theatre, Bratislava (Slovakia)
Dračí doupě, 2007; première 7. 11. 2007, Dejvické divadlo,
Prague
In Da Haus, 2008; première 29. 3. 2008, GUnaGu Theatre,
Bratislava
Komunismus, 2008; première 28. 11. 2008, Aréna Theatre,
Bratislava (Slovakia)
Ja v Prahe, kufre v Londýne, 2010; première 21. 9. 2010, Theatre
Letí and Theatre Na zábradlí, Prague
Elektrárna (Jsem Kraftwerk), 2010; première 15. 10. 2010,
HaDivadlo, Brno
TRANSLATED PLAYS:
•
•
•
Nuda na pláži: English – Beach Boredom
Gotika: English – Gothic
Gotika: Hungarian – Gótika
619
•
•
•
•
•
•
Rozkvitli sekery? English – Axes in Flower
Čechov boxer: English – Chekhov – Boxer, Russian – Cecov
boxer
Hypermarket: English – Supermarket, French – Hypermarché,
Hungarian – A Hipermarket
www.osamelá.sk: English – www.lonely.sk
Komunismus: English – Communism
Elektrárna (Jsem Kraftwerk): English – I Am the Kraftwerk
620
Viliam Klimáček
I AM THE KRAFTWERK
A Play in 5 Acts & A Sitcom
Translated by Michaela Pňačeková
Written for HaDivadlo, Brno
The play was created in the cooperation
with the Centre for Contemporary Drama
This play is fully protected under the copyright law of Czech Republic and is
subject to royalty. It cannot be nor used nor changed without an appropriate
written permission given by the DILIA Agency. The providing of this play
to a third party for uses other than production due is also subjected to
DILIA permission.
A violation of this restriction and using this play without the permission will
be interpreted as an infringement of copyright law and will underlie to the civil
and criminal liability.
All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the DILIA Agency
Krátkého 1, Praha 9, 190 03, Czech Republic, www.dilia.cz
621
Characters:
Hana Mayerová, a well-known actress
Eliška Halasová, an activist, later becomes the mayor
Milan Žluk, the power plant caretaker
Karolína Winter, a radio speaker, later a journalist, a PA at the end
Petr Hakr, a playwright and writer
Milan Pope, a businessman, Mayerová’s lover
The theater company:
Viktor Angel, the director and guru
Nela Lenská, actress
Marie Králová, production manager, actress
Emil Mayer, actor, Mayerová’s son
Míla Payer, stage designer and actor
Jan ‘The Baptist’ Malina, elderly actor, company sympathizer
Characters in the sitcom:
Waitress (played by Nela)
Queen (played by the Journalist)
Wood (played by Halasová)
Knight (played by Pope)
Apart from Act 4, the play takes place in the old turbine hall of
a former power plant, where the theater company is squatting. Act 4
is a video projection of a sitcom. Act 2 takes place the night after Act
1. Act 3 takes place a week after Act 2. Act 4 and 5 take place three
years after Act 1.
I would like to personally thank A. P. Chekhov.
622
ACT 1: THE SQUAT
(A hall of an old power plant on the edge of the city, occupied by the
actors.)
CARETAKER: Leave right now or I’ll call the police!
MAYER: Why? We are here on a field trip. (He is examining the
interior.)
CARETAKER: This is not a museum!
PAYER: Look, the turbine!
CARETAKER: Don’t touch anything!
PAYER: It’s Kaplan’s turbine, right?
CARETAKER: What’s it to you?
PAYER: Mr. Kaplan won’t be angry.
CARETAKER: (Looks up.) They’re here again! (Runs off.)
NELA: (Enters.) Who’s the wacko?
MAYER: The building caretaker.
NELA: (Handing chains to the others.) Quick!
KRÁLOVÁ: (Enters with blankets in her hands.) Put these under
you. It might be a while.
MAYER: (Everyone is chaining themselves to the banister, they sit
down on the blankets.) Isn’t this a bit much?
PAYER: Just like Greenpeace.
ANGEL: (Enters.) They’ll see we mean business! (He chains himself.)
MALINA: (Enters.) Amazing! It’s like in ‘68. They will not be able to
pull us apart, not even with a water cannon. (Chains himself.)
KRÁLOVÁ: What kind of cannon?!
PAYER: We’ll be under fire, Králová. The Fast Deployment Unit.
MAYER: Don’t be an ass. (To Králová.) Don’t worry, Maria. The
worst that will happen is that the police will come.
NELA: We can hold out, right?
MALINA: We have had democracy in this country for twenty years
now and I still hate the police. Is that my weakness or the
system’s?
KRÁLOVÁ: Please stop!
623
PAYER: Králová, do you want to start a revolution?
KRÁLOVÁ: I want to start doing theater!
MALINA: Can I chain myself closer to the bathroom? Just in case…
ANGEL: That will be a problem, Mr. Malina.
MALINA: I wouldn’t want to spoil the happening. My prostrate…
KRÁLOVÁ: Go at the end of our line. (To Malina.) Try it.
MALINA: (Goes around the corner with the chain and comes back
again.) Perfect! I’m bothering you, I know.
ANGEL: We’re glad we have you. (He’s the last one to chain himself.)
Now it’s decided. Theater has to be done differently from now
on. In different venues and with themes that are different from
what we have done until now.
CARETAKER: (Rushes in with an air rifle and shoots at the ceiling.)
Fucking swallows! A hit! Hit! (Notices the actors in chains.)
What the hell is going on?!
ANGEL: We have seized the power plant. Art instead of bombs!
Theater instead of electricity!
CARETAKER: This is illegal!
PAYER: Do you have a permit for that gun?
CARETAKER: Permit?
MAYER: For that firearm?
CARETAKER: It’s an air gun.
PAYER: Do you know that you just shot an endangered bird?
CARETAKER: A swallow?
MAYER: A Eurasian jay. Very similar to a swallow.
MALINA: You can get a 15 000 Crown fine or thirty lashes on the
main square for killing it.
CARETAKER: I have a gun license, driver’s license, a passport,
a fishing license – but you don’t have anything! You have
really gone too far! You’re trespassing on private property! (He
shakes the chains.) And this? What is this?!
HALASOVÁ: (Enters.) Great, guys! (To the Caretaker.) The citizens
have right to know what’s going on with their property. The
former water plant is now the property of the town.
624
CARETAKER: The town has sold it!
HALASOVÁ: The contract is void!
CARETAKER: I am responsible for safety here!
HALASOVÁ: (Pointing at the air gun.) You are putting us in danger!
CARETAKER: But this is just an air gun!
NELA: (Squirming with pain.) He shot me in the leg! It hurts! I am
bleeding.
CARETAKER: I haven’t done anything!
PAYER: You were aiming at us. We have eight eyewitnesses.
CARETAKER: This is bullshit! A scam!
PAYER: You’ll have to go to court now!
NELA: (Stops playing wounded.) I just wanted to prove to you that
we are real actors. We study scenes like this in our first year
of training.
CARETAKER: You aren’t fooling me! Do it one more time? (Nela
starts squirming)
ANGEL: NELA, please, cut it out. (Nela stops.)
CARETAKER: You didn’t fool me. Listen everybody, I really don’t
give a damn about your acting skills but in exactly one week,
at 8 am, bulldozers are will arrive and this plant is going down!
HALASOVÁ: (Showing him the papers.) This is a petition of 2300
citizens protesting against the demolition of a national
technical historical building.
CARETAKER: Of what?
MALINA: Our predecessors suffered under the Habsburg Monarchy
but they built this plant while sweating blood. It solely supplied
renaissance households with Czech energy.
CARETAKER: It’s in ruins!
HALASOVÁ: We applied for a historic sight registration! Tomorrow,
I’m going to speak with the mayor. The plant is to be renovated
and used as a theater!
CARETAKER: But Madame, who would do theater here?!
ANGEL: We would! And we graduated from theater school a month
ago.
625
CARETAKER: Some artists you are! I am calling the police! (Leaves
and returns.) Punks! (Exits.)
HALASOVÁ: You are amazing! If I were younger, I would chain
myself with you!
KRÁLOVÁ: (Introducing her to the others.) This is Mrs. Halasová,
she gave me the tip.
HALASOVÁ: Another shopping center? The town needs a theater,
gallery, poetry a café, a library! Everything has its time.
ANGEL: (Shakes her hand.) Viktor Angel.
HALASOVÁ: Oh, so it’s you? Maria told me so much about you.
ANGEL: Mrs. Halasová, we’ll be happy if we will be able to run the
theater at least, but the gallery, the café…
HALASOVÁ: You have a big heart but you’re shortsighted.
You have to open your eyes to the possibilities that aren’t
immediately visible! Don’t be afraid to have no fear! Then you
can achieve everything! (Recites an excerpt from Midsummer
Night’s Dream by Shakespeare.)
The poet’s eye in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from
heaven to Earth, from Earth to heaven.
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen
Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.
(Civilly.) The mayor has called the police to tell them to
leave you alone! (Exits.)
MAYER: This woman is a dangerous weapon.
KRÁLOVÁ: She’s a high school teacher. Her students are going all
around town collecting signatures for our petition.
MALINA: Isn’t that slightly illegal?
PAYER: It’s slightly illegal to chain yourself to a power plant.
MALINA: I hope it won’t be used against us – that we’re taking
advantage of students.
KRÁLOVÁ: They love her.
PAYER: Is that possible?
626
KRÁLOVÁ: She taught me English.
NELA: The poet’s eye in a fine frenzy rolling…what?
KRÁLOVÁ: She is a Shakespeare nut. Her students call her the
“Merry Wife of Windsor.”
ANGEL: They are really voluntarily walking around with the
petition?
KRÁLOVÁ: Trust me, she is cool.
ANGEL: What kind of media are coming?
KRÁLOVÁ: Two dailies, three weeklies, a regional TV team, four
radio stations. I invited the journalists myself.
ANGEL: They should have been here by now.
KRÁLOVÁ: The TV station is coming, you’ll see. My old classmate
works there. (Her phone rings.) That’s her! (Telephoning.) Hi…
oh…OK, bye. (She tucks the phone in her pocket.) A warehouse
for propane and butane is on fire. She is shooting a news
report over there.
ANGEL: So there’s no TV.
PAYER: If we burnt this one down they would shoot us too.
(Králová’s phone rings.)
KRÁLOVÁ: (Listening.) Yes…goodbye. (Puts the mobile away.)
Hello? You promised…thank you. (Puts the phone away, it
rings again but she ignores it.)
NELA: Something tells me that we will be chained here and no one
will come.
ANGEL: Nela, please!
KRÁLOVÁ: (Crying.) I really tried…
MAYER: Don’t cry, Maria.
NELA: (To Maria.) Sorry, Mary.
ANGEL: Five years we studied together. We have waited for this
moment for five years. Can’t we wait a few more hours?
MALINA: We graduated in 1975. We have never had a theater venue
for longer than a year. As soon as we got better we had to
move. We even played in a house where transport wagons to
concentration camps during WW2 used to leave from. The
627
communists may have driven us from one venue to another,
but they couldn’t destroy us.
KRÁLOVÁ: (Mayer hands her a tissue, she wipes her tears away.)
I’m sorry.
MALINA: We were tired though. Very tired.
PAYER: You’re good, Maria.
ANGEL: The streets are teeming with artists but it’s difficult to find
good technicians, scene shifters and production managers.
KRÁLOVÁ: (Opening her backpack.) Please, have some. (Offering
cookies.)
NELA: (Tastes one.) Did you…yourself?
MAYER: What other theater has a production manager like that,
huh?
KRÁLOVÁ: I come home at night and get bored, so I bake. Actually
I don’t even eat it, I give it away.
PAYER: The strudel last time, mmm.
MALINA: I humbly bow before you and your artistry, Miss Maria.
(Takes a cookie, everyone’s eating, sitting on the ground,
chained. Malina starts singing an old song from a play – the
others join in.)
MAYEROVÁ: (At another place with Pope.) Won’t it be embarrassing?
POPE: Hana, you are so free and easy.
MAYEROVÁ: I don’t feel so free and easy right now.
POPE: A mother can see her child any time!
MAYEROVÁ: Don’t you understand? I am afraid to go to his class
productions because when he sees me, he leaves the stage! Is
it my fault that I am a better actress?
POPE: Be generous. Forgive him his mistakes.
MAYEROVÁ: I know, I know… I want to be there as a mother. I want
to be understanding, but as soon as I see him acting, I change
into a bitchy actress. How is he standing? He doesn’t seek out
the light! He stands in the dark; is he ashamed of himself or
what?!
POPE: It’s the light technician’s fault.
628
MAYEROVÁ: It’s always the actor’s fault. Although we like to
put it on the director, the technician, bad costume design,
whatever – it’s always in our hands. Do you know what I did
with performances that were disasters from the start? I turned
them into hits of the season! For example – The Cuckoo Never
Dies!
POPE: Oh, you and your Cuckoo!
MAYEROVÁ: Three hundred thirty two performances! An awful
play with awful directing and horrible technical staging, which
did more harm than help, with the drunken stage manager;
and I made it the highlight of Czech theater! I told him: Emil,
don’t study acting, study engineering. He wanted art! Look
now I’ve gotten bent out of shape again and he isn’t even
around.
POPE: Save your energy, dear. They are not acting today.
MAYEROVÁ: Right, you’re right. I’m going to support the young
generation. If those kids hadn’t attacked us with their petition
yesterday, I wouldn’t even know that my own child had
established a new company.
POPE: They didn’t do anything to us, tangerine. They were very
respectful. You should treat your own blood like that.
MAYEROVÁ: (Listening to the actors singing.) Are they…singing?
POPE: It’ll be alright, you’ll see. (They enter the plant.)
MAYEROVÁ: Good afternoon.
POPE: Good day.
MAYER: Jesus Christ…
ANGEL: Welcome! Our first guests!
MAYEROVÁ: What nice chains you have…you have chains?
ANGEL: We believe that the police are going to come for us.
MAYEROVÁ: For God’s sake, I hope you are not going to fight. It
could be dangerous!
ANGEL: We ‘re using Gandhi’s methods.
POPE: Mahatma Gandhi didn’t need chrome chains if I understand
it correctly, young man…
629
ANGEL: Viktor Angel, the director.
POPE: Milan Pope. If I understand correctly, Mr. Angel, you’ve
occupied this building with good intentions but against the
law.
ANGEL: Exactly. So that others with bad intentions wouldn’t tear it
down in compliance with that law.
MAYEROVÁ: (Saying hello to her son.) Hi Emil.
MAYER: Hi.
KRÁLOVÁ: (To Mayer.) It was a great idea to invite her.
MAYER: I didn’t invite her!
KRÁLOVÁ: She is nice though.
MAYER: Well, this is the end of our theater!
HALASOVÁ: (Enters with the Caretaker, Hakr, and a journalist.)
I bring guests!
CARETAKER: No guests! Everybody out!
MAYEROVÁ: What an unpleasant man.
HAKR: (To the Caretaker.) We have been looking for it for an hour.
Shall we go?
HALASOVÁ: This is the journalist, Ms…
JOURNALIST: Winter. Radio 200.
ANGEL: Welcome.
CARETAKER: Is this live?
JOURNALIST: No.
CARETAKER: I have to make a statement! How many people will
be listening?!
HALASOVÁ: All ten of us. (The journalist hands him her recorder.)
CARETAKER: (Speaking into the recorder.) As caretaker of
the building I protest this occupation. It’s a brutal…
unprecedented…a very unconventional and violent act! The
threat is more grave as it is the young generation doing it!
MALINA: I’m over fifty.
HAKR: (To the Caretaker.) Is someone harming you? Maybe it’d
be better if we listen to what the young generation has to say,
wouldn’t it? (He shakes hands with the Caretaker.) Petr Hakr.
630
HALASOVÁ: (To the Caretaker.) You will end up being ashamed of
the things you’ve said.
JOURNALIST: Hakr? The writer?
HAKR: Unknown face, well-known name. That’s an author’s fate. I’ve
created over one hundred characters that have made actors,
cameramen, filmmakers and even one film editor famous. But
me, no one knows me. Do I care? I don’t! (To actors). I’ve come
to support you! Stay firm!
JOURNALIST: (To Hakr.) Could you say a few words to our listeners?
MAYEROVÁ: (To Hakr.) Maestro!
HAKR: (To Mayerová.) Lady Hana! I’m so happy to see you. You
were amazing in Cuckoo!
MAYEROVÁ: Your best piece, maestro. I knew from the start it
would be successful. A good script is the foundation. Say,
where have all the good scripts gone?
HAKR: They’re all around but we don’t see them. (Looks around.)
Young actors have occupied a power plant. Isn’t that a good
story?
MAYEROVÁ: We’ll see.
NELA: (To Hakr.) I’m happy you’re here.
HAKR: Nela! I didn’t see you, sorry. The chains were somehow
upstaging you.
NELA: (To actors.) I invited Mr. Hakr to come when I ran into him
at a seminar at school. (To Mayerová.) Good afternoon.
MAYEROVÁ: Good luck, dear colleague.
NELA: Thank you for coming.
JOURNALIST: (To Hakr.) Can we do an interview? Radio 200.
HAKR: Of course, Ms…
JOURNALIST: Winter. (The actors start drumming.)
ANGEL: (To all.) Welcome! The number of people now present is
not as important as…
MAYEROVÁ: (To Pope.) It’s good that we came.
ANGEL: …the things we want to achieve. I am going to say a few
words about our program.
631
JOURNALIST: (To Hakr.) This is the third time you’ve been married,
Mr. Hakr. Your wife is expecting a baby. Do you know if
it’s a boy or a girl?
HAKR: It’ll be a boy with blue eyes and unlike me he’ll be athletic
enough to spring away from the paparazzi! (He moves away
from the Journalist.)
CARETAKER: (To Mayer.) Excuse me, is it really you?
MAYEROVÁ: How can I help you?
CARETAKER: Milan Žluk, a film fan! You played Magdalena thirty
years ago, right?
MAYEROVÁ: Which Magdalena?
CARETAKER: The girl that disarmed the German tank! “Prague
on Barricades”!
MAYEROVÁ: Oh my goodness, a black and white film.
POPE: I haven’t seen that one.
CARETAKER: A great part. A young girl and a panzerfaust!
MAYEROVÁ: It’s not worth mentioning.
CARETAKER: A timeless performance! I worship your art!
ANGEL: I’d like to continue. (The sound of the police sirens and the
flashing lights.)
CARETAKER: Finally, everything will go back to normal! (Runs out.)
HALASOVÁ: Wait! (Runs after him.)
MAYEROVÁ: Most of the films I made were in color. (Actors drum
on bongos until everybody’s quiet.)
ANGEL: I’ll be brief. We have occupied this unused place because
they want to tear it down. The building that used to supply the
town with light can be reborn anew. We are the power plant
now! Each one of us can proclaim – I am the kraftwerk, I am
the energy. (Hakr’s phone goes off, Angel is speaking, we can
see only his gestures.)
HAKR: I can’t right now, dear…red door? As you like. Bye.
ANGEL: …we’ve just finished our studies. We don’t have a venue.
We’ve refused offers from traditional stages. We do not want
become ‘traditionalized’. We want to do theater while we’re
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still young and have the energy, which is a once in a lifetime
opportunity. (Malina slips out inconspicuously to the bathroom
behind the corner.) We are not anarchists; we’re not fighting
the state. On the contrary, we behave civilly toward it: we
pay taxes, health and social insurance and in exchange for
that we would like the state to be civil toward us. We want to
put on performances here at minimal costs to show people
that theater doesn’t have to be an old fashioned waste of time.
Today we need to take a fresh look at the unpredictable reality
that becomes more and more difficult to put your finger on by
the day. We live in chaos and are as confused by today’s world
as our audiences are. It seems that the clear, tried and true
values have disappeared. But they exist, buried somewhere.
And we don’t even know an easy way to figure them out.
However, through our art we want to pose questions that can
take us there.
MAYEROVÁ: (To Pope.) My Emil is supposed to pose those
questions? My goodness.
POPE: Don’t lose your dignity. (Malina returns.)
JOURNALIST: (Into the recorder.) Mrs. Mayerová, what are you
working on at the moment?
MAYEROVÁ: I’m shooting a TV series that takes place in court –
Judge Lukešová…
JOURNALIST: Your new partner is the one hundred and twelfth
richest man in this country.
POPE: One hundred and ninth.
JOURNALIST: (To Pope.) Is it true that you have the sixth biggest
Czech surrealist collection?
POPE: The fifth.
JOURNALIST: What is the estimated value?
POPE: Incalculable.
MAYEROVÁ: Why aren’t you interviewing the young people?
That’s why we are here.
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JOURNALIST: (To Mayerová.) Recently your son has made his
acting debut in a mouthwash commercial. Does he take after
his mother?
MAYEROVÁ: Our generation became famous making movies.
Nowadays, the young ones need to take anything they can
get… (Drums beat.)
ANGEL: We are going to continue!
POPE: (Looking out of the window.) I don’t think the police are going
to do anything.
MAYEROVÁ: They only brought one car. (The drums are loud, Hakr
is telephoning, he can’t hear, he’s shouting.)
HAKR: (Suddenly the drumming stops, he is still shouting into the
phone.) Buy the yellow one! (Quietly.) Yellow is fine, bye!
ANGEL: Our first performance is going to be The Odyssey. We
want to stage it as a modern man’s journey through the 20th
century. The Trojan War symbolizes World War I and II;
Ulysses’ wandering translates into the search for the meaning
of western civilization after World War II. The nymph
Calypso’s island is a metaphor for the psychedelic drug era,
the one-eyed Cyclops, Polyphemus, and his cannibalism will
symbolize the Stalin era. The island of the witch Kirke, who
turned Ulysses’ men into swine with a magic potion, is the
parable of consumerism. The Sirens’ island symbolizes the
nostalgic wave of socialist pop zombies and the final arrival
of Ulysses in Ithaca and the murder of Penelope’s admirers will
be staged as a bloody computer game. Odyssey ends the 20th
century for us. Then we’ll back to the drawing board again.
We believe that Homo politicus is going to transform into his
predecessor, Homo erectus.
POPE: (To Mayerová.) Erection man.
MAYEROVÁ: Milan!
ANGEL: Upright man. The Odyssey is a whole day project. We’ll
start at 10 a.m. and finish at 10 p.m.
MAYEROVÁ: My God!
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POPE: You’ll completely exhaust your audience!
ANGEL: They can eat with us. We’ll have goulash for lunch; bread,
butter and milk for dinner.
MAYEROVÁ: Ew, how proletarian!
KRÁLOVÁ: Excuse me…I am Maria Králová, the production
manager. We’ll cook the goulash, actually it’ll be me (and I am
pretty good), it’ll be a part of the happening and it’ll be made
with tofu. We’re not going to discriminate against vegetarians.
POPE: What about the carnivores?
KRÁLOVÁ: We’ve found that everyone can eat goulash without
meat.
ANGEL: The opening night is scheduled to take place next week
as soon as the power plant situation is taken care of. In
conclusion, I’d like to introduce the company to you. (He
announces the names and the actors in chains are introducing
themselves.) You already know our production manager,
she’s also an actress. Nela Lenská, actress. Emil Mayer, actor.
MAYEROVÁ: Bravo! Bravo, Emil!
ANGEL: Míla Payer, stage designer and actor on occasion…
PAYER: …an awesome one!
MALINA: Jan ‘the Baptist’ Malina..
ANGEL: Our oldest serving actor. My name’s Viktor Angel and
I’m the director. Thank you for your attention. (Onlookers
applaud, Halasová enters.)
HALASOVÁ: The police will not take action unless the mayor asks
them to and the mayor promised not to ask them. They will
stay parked outside for an hour and then they’ll leave.
ACTORS: Bravo! Long live Halasová! God save Halasová! God save
Halasová!
HALASOVÁ: Thank you so much but I have a better slogan! Break
the chains!
ACTORS: (Chanting accompanied by drumming, they unchain
themselves.) Break the chains! Break the chains! Break the
chains!
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CARETAKER: (Enters) OK! OK! I’m not a sore loser. I will give in,
but only because there is an extraordinary woman among you;
the actress and artist, Lady Mayerová! (Applause.)
MAYEROVÁ: Thank you all, thank you so much!
CARETAKER: (To Mayerová.) I will be my pleasure to show you the
plant, Madame. Does anyone else want to join us?
POPE: What is the property worth? (The guests leave with the
caretaker.)
MAYEROVÁ: Emil, aren’t you coming?
MAYER: Don’t have time.
MAYEROVÁ: You won. You don’t have to fight anymore.
MAYER: Thanks to you?! Oh, thank god you came. You took our
breath away!
POPE: (To Mayerová.) Are you coming, tangerine?
MAYEROVÁ: Just a moment!
MAYER: Go be with him.
MAYEROVÁ: You are an embarrassment! Pull yourself together!
(She’s leaving with the group, only the actors stay.)
ANGEL: I want to thank all of you! The power plant is ours! At least
for a while!
MAYER: Wasn’t it a bit too easy in a way?
MALINA: Wrong. This is just the beginning.
KRÁLOVÁ: (To Angel.) You were amazing, Viktor. You persuaded
them!
ANGEL: Thank you. Would you mind making some tea? (Králová
leaves.)
MAYER: (To Angel.) Could you talk to my mother? To make her feel
appreciated?
ANGEL: She helped us.
MAYER: One more hour and she will have a part in our production.
She’ll be Penelope, Kirke, Siren, everything. She’ll even play
the Cyclops so that she’ll be in the center of attention.
ANGEL: Take a break and I will deal with it. (Goes to Nela.) I haven’t
given you a kiss yet today, sorry.
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NELA: (Turns away from him.) Not here.
ANGEL: Since when do you mind?
NELA: Not in front of everyone.
ANGEL: Aren’t you happy?
NELA: Of course, I am. We have a venue for our theater! It’s awesome.
I thought they would kick us out in no time.
ANGEL: Success is just as close as you are. (Hugs Nela.)
NELA: I’m worried. (Králová enters, sees them.)
KRÁLOVÁ: The tea…I have green, black, and mint. There are two
pots so I can make two kinds. What kinds do you want?
MALINA: Hot.
PAYER: Green.
MAYER: Mint.
NELA: (Gets loose from Angel.) Black.
ANGEL: I’m going to smoke a cigarette. (Leaves. Králová is watching
him.)
KRÁLOVÁ: So which one should I make?
MALINA: A typical example of a two pot democracy. If there are
two options, the people want the third one. Then a dictator
jumps in and makes only one sort of tea. The sort he wants.
In both pots.
PAYER: But that’s so unfair.
MALINA: History is made out of hectoliters of unfair tea.
KRÁLOVÁ: I guess….I’ll just make something… (Halasová is follows
her.)
HALASOVÁ: Do you need help, Maria?
KRÁLOVÁ: Thank you. (Drying.)
HALASOVÁ: What’s the problem, dear?
KRÁLOVÁ: I don’t know.
HALASOVÁ: Are you in love with him? The director?
KRÁLOVÁ: I really am. And he doesn’t see it. Doesn’t want to see
it. What should I do?
HALASOVÁ: We have all loved someone like that.
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KRÁLOVÁ: I can’t stop, I have to work, keep busy, to think up tasks,
work on making things better, make phone calls, make plans;
I can’t stop working, otherwise I’ll go mad. I’m scared to go to
bed because when I go to sleep, my head starts screening short
films, my scull is the MK Studio, the short film studio of Maria
Králová, I sleep and I screen film shots on my eyelids, he is
on each of them – him walking, talking to me, accidentally
touching me, my films, sick, films, is this normal?!
HALASOVÁ: Love is normal. Rejection is normal. What wouldn’t
be normal would be if our dreams came true right away. You
have to be patient.
KRÁLOVÁ: Right. The worker bee. Collects honey every day until
she drops dead.
HALASOVÁ: Králová, Králová. Even in high school you ended up
choosing the most unsuitable boys.
MAYER: (Behind them.) Maria, wait!
ACT 2: THE NIGHT
(Night. Candles are burning in the turbine hall, there are sleeping
bags on the ground, someone is strumming a guitar, everyone is sitting
around as if at a campfire, the night has put them at ease…)
HAKR: Do you know, Nela, authors are an endangered species
nowadays. We are about to become extinct.
NELA: I can’t believe you can’t take care of yourself, Mr. Hakr.
HAKR: I am Peter. Let’s be on first name basis.
NELA: Nela.
HAKR: Of course, there’s evolution – the strongest of us mutate
slightly in order to survive.
NELA: They transform?
HAKR: Terror and various ideologies ruled the theaters before,
now the terror of directors rules them. The guru, the work
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of the art interpreter hovers above us on a cloud. They are
not able to write a two page dialogue, and that’s why they
passionately murder others’ works, passing it off as love for
theater. Everything’s good for them – ancient Greece is the
best – Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides – they won’t sue them.
The best of all however is Homer because we don’t even know
whether he existed.
NELA: Are you making fun of us and our version of Odyssey?
HAKR: You think I’m laughing? I’m crying over my own doubts. I’m
raging over my inability to become as enthusiastic about art
as your friends are! Nela, I am dying of the worst illness of the
21st century – cynicism! I don’t have to write anymore, it is
enough for me to put down those remaining who didn’t lose
their courage and still write for theater. Or those who are as
innocent as you. (Kisses Nela’s hand.) The more well-read the
writer is, the more difficult it is for them to write because they
know that everything’s been said, though not by everyone.
The most literate ones, the ones who are certain that they
could write the canonic works of world drama, but which were
written by others for them – those are the ones who become
critics. Note my crafty use of clever words. My heart is so cold.
I am a reptile, Nela. I am an intellectual snake who is incapable
of getting enthusiastic about anything anymore.
NELA: I don’t believe that.
HAKR: You are the power plant, I am just an alkaline battery,
a Duracell.
NELA: Isn’t it the other way round?
HAKR: lost all my motivation. I’ve been doing it for a long time
and I know its ways. It was so nice being a beginner. Without
information, with enthusiasm only. Nowadays you don’t have
to write much, it’s enough to have good PR. An author has
to have a website and a Facebook profile. You have to add
every idiot as a friend who praises you and ignore those who
criticize you. Where do you live?
639
NELA: At my parents’.
HAKR: That’s a mistake. You have to move out; the sooner the better.
Rent a small studio for interviews. When you are starting your
career, don’t be picky about the medium. Talk to everyone.
Do TV cooking shows, walk dogs from the shelter, give soup
to the homeless – just make sure it’s caught on tape. I’ve
been divorced three times, I’ve got three kids. I bought an
apartment for each wife and now I’m building a house. I still
have my studio. A week ago a lifestyle magazine took my
photo there. Always have shoes on. Remember that. A great
artist can’t wear slippers! An actress, that’s something else. She
must be barefoot during a photo shoot.
NELA: I like your plays. We discussed them a lot in class.
HAKR: I’ve learned to write simple sentences. My plays are written
to be translated so they can be staged abroad. The result is
that no one understands them – neither at home, nor abroad.
I wanted to be universal and now I’m not even local. I don’t
put my heart into it anymore, it’s become completely cerebral.
I used to write more. My plays were as well-structured as
a pearl necklace. No one writes like that anymore, no one
wants to stage plays like that. Our era doesn’t ask for pearl
necklaces. It wants to rub a hand full of dirt in your face, but
once in while you might find a pearl in it. Every single play has
portions that are meant to appeal to the TV-trained viewer.
And those with the least talent cram their plays full of TV
teams or journalists at least, who ask for things that should
have been clear from the dialogues but the author didn’t
manage to convey them. But what really drives me mad are
mobile phone scenes! How can you connect two people that
are thousand kilometers away from each other? They make
a phone call! There is no theater magic anymore, there is no
soul transfer, ghosts in castles are too weird, so mobile phones
are perfect! Only with great luck can you find hidden, unique
pearls, Nela and there is no one to cast them among.
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JOURNALIST: (Comes with a microphone.) Mr. Hakr, it’s late and
here you are talking to a young actress. In your opinion, what
would your fourth pregnant wife have to say about that?
HAKR: (Into the microphone.) As people in Brno say – kiss my
compendium. (Leaves, Halasová runs after him.)
HALASOVÁ: Mr. Hakr! Don’t you want to sign our petition?
JOURNALIST: (To Nela.) What are actresses capable of for their
careers?
NELA: Talk to everyone. Can I ask what Radio 200 means exactly?
JOURNALIST: 200 of the greatest hits a day.
NELA: So if the average length of a song is three minutes, 200 hits
play only ten hours. What else do you broadcast?
JOURNALIST: Interviews with young ladies who count.
POPE: (Enters with Mayerová.) Tangerine, we should go. It’s past
midnight.
MAYEROVÁ: You are such a drag, Milan. I’m finally having fun.
Being with them makes me feel young.
POPE: You are younger than most of them. You have a young soul.
(The sound of an electric discharge.)
MAYEROVÁ: Did you hear that?
POPE: No.
MAYEROVÁ: All of it is very intoxicating! I should go talk to my son.
I noticed immediately that that girl doesn’t love him.
POPE: Which one?
MAYEROVÁ: The one that made tea. The production girl. He runs
after her like a dog.
POPE: I hadn’t noticed.
MAYEROVÁ: Because your name is not Mayerová, darling. I’m
a mother and mothers are pikes, they carefully watch everyone
that rubs up against their fish. Sometimes I have the urge to
hug him, caress him but I get scared that he would just give
me the cold shoulder. It’s not right for a mother to hug such
a big boy.
POPE: A boy his age is like a coiled emotional spring.
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MAYEROVÁ: He won’t tell me anything! He’s been avoiding me the
whole evening!
ANGEL: (Enters.) May I, Mrs. Mayerová:?
MAYEROVÁ: I was just thinking of you, mister director! First, I’d
like to congratulate you on tonight; no, don’t interrupt me;
I know, it’s just the beginning and you haven’t shown us
anything yet but I can feel it – and Mayerová is always right –
soon you will turn this place into a great theater and you will
achieve everything here that you spoke of. Let me ask you just
one thing, what’s going on with Emil?
POPE: I am going to have a look at the turbine. (Exits.)
ANGEL: Emil… had typical stage fright.
MAYEROVÁ: Stage fright?
ANGEL: Is it that strange?
MAYEROVÁ: But there almost wasn’t even an audience.
ANGEL: Because of you.
MAYEROVÁ: Because of his own mother? I used to bathe him and
powder his little bum. Stage fright? Please!
ANGEL: This is not about a son and a mother. This is about two
artists.
MAYEROVÁ: Oh, sorry. I forgot, Emil is an artist. For Christ’s sake,
who is not an artist nowadays?! No one wants to work, they
want to create art! Thousands of nobodies fill the bookstores
and theaters with their art! Soon there won’t be anyone left to
watch or read it! Like there is one-actor theater, there will be
the one-viewer theater. There are no good bakers, craftsmen,
mechanics; if you want to have your electricity installed, some
jerk comes around and mucks up your safety fuse. In a café
they spit in your coffee because you’re a celebrity and every
meal is like the next and they all cost a fortune. Quality and
expertise have vanished. Why? Because everyone wants to
be an artist! Waiting tables until they make it, doing theater
at night. The repairman leaves you with a leaking radiator
because he is in a hurry to a theater rehearsal! Art is simply
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exploding. I’ve been acting for thirty years and I ask myself
everyday whether I’ve been doing it the right way. There’s no
other way than to believe in oneself. Shall I kill myself because
I’m talented? Talent is a calling! It’s complete torture to let it
go to waste. I’d never wish to anyone the fright I have before
starting a new film or having a new part in a play. Yes, my name
is famous, I am a name in fact, but I start from scratch each
time and no one knows that I’m eating myself from the inside
and sincerely wonder whether I’ll manage. Will I get through
today? And then your own son does the same thing and you
keep telling him that only the best succeed, but to no avail.
On top of that, he is offended being advised by the best in the
business! But I can’t talk to him like an experienced actress
to a newcomer, right!? I have to be nice to him, praise him all
the time. I can’t tell him not to gesticulate so much because
he looks like a windmill. I can’t ask him about his breathing.
You won’t be able to keep your breath up and only the people
in the third row will hear you. I can’t say that! But I am totally
free to send money to his bank account! Online banking has
been our only contact over the past few years. Shall I tell him
he won’t be receiving any more money? What do you think?
Will he be able to communicate with me – a loving person
who wants to help him?!
ANGEL: I don’t know.
MAYEROVÁ: Sorry, I’m an idiot, I don’t know why I’m telling you
all this.
ANGEL: I like Emil.
MAYEROVÁ: Is it my fault?
ANGEL: He could become a very promising actor if he finds
a suitable role. He doesn’t trust himself. We’ve been friends
for years and I think I can find him roles that will make him
a star. You’ll be proud of him, you’ll see.
MAYEROVÁ: Thank you. (She loses consciousness and falls into
Angel’s arms.)
643
ANGEL: Are you OK?
MAYEROVÁ: I’m sorry, I haven’t eaten since this morning. When
I go to see my son, I feel like I’m in a death march. Is that
normal?
ANGEL: How can I help you?
MAYEROVÁ: Help him to become a good actor.
ANGEL: You can count on that. (Mayerová calls Pope.)
MAYEROVÁ: Milan! Let’s go!
CARETAKER: (Enters with Pope.) They wanted to scrap it – the
turbine – but I stood in the doorway and said: I won’t give
you my turbine!
POPE: Amazing.
CARETAKER: Call anytime and I’ll show you the drainage canal.
It’s too dangerous now, at night. Good evening, Madame!
(To Angel.) What now, monsieur Danton? Or shall I call you
Robespierre?!
ANGEL: Call me Angel.
CARETAKER: If there is going to be a revolution, then let’s have
a real revolution! Now you’ve won! But has your revolutionary
committee considered the extra hours that the masses now
work? Who’s going to pay them? Or shall we just build
a guillotine outside?
ANGEL: What do you want, man?
CARETAKER: I want to sleep!
ANGEL: Take a sleeping bag.
CARETAKER: I want to sleep at home in my own bed! Next to
my dear wife! Us, the middle class, the philistines that you
hold in contempt so much, we have families and we’re used
to spending our evenings with them. What is your policy on
this, Mr. Marat?!
ANGEL: (Gives him money.) Take a cab.
CARETAKER: No way! If I leave you might burn the plant to the
ground. If there’s just a single person here, I have to stay!
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I can’t lock you in! Although I was forced to surrender, I am
responsible for this building!
ANGEL: (Calls.) Míla, please!
PAYER: (Runs in, understands the situation.) Won’t you have a gin
with us?
CARETAKER: Don’t try to bribe me! Original?
PAYER: Of course.
CARETAKER: I have my dignity. There’s no water in it?
PAYER: Genuine gin.
CARETAKER: I’m full of character. Real genuine gin?
PAYER: Have a taste.
CARETAKER: Art alone is to blame for my mistrust. This is a total
sham! What are they collecting money for? I know all about
the current art scene, I live close to a gallery and I see things
through my window! Disgusting things! Even I wouldn’t paint
like that after three shots of gin! Domestic or English?
PAYER: 100% genuine English gin.
CARETAKER: And the biggest fraud in the whole so-called art scene
– I’m sorry but I have to say this – is theater! To put a blue
cloth on the stage and persuade people it’s the sea!? Why are
they lying? And they never drink real whisky. The bottles are
always filled with iced tea! I know because my friend is a fly
man. Is it good, the gin?
PAYER: It’s even cold. (They leave, Nela enters.)
ANGEL: Nela, wait. What’s going on? I don’t get it.
NELA: Neither do I.
ANGEL: Have I done something wrong?
NELA: Not at all.
ANGEL: Have I hurt your feelings?
NELA: Really, not at all . But I suddenly realized who you really are.
ANGEL: Should I be worried?
NELA: I like you but I don’t think you need me anymore.
ANGEL: Come on! I need you more than ever! We are starting
a great thing together! I could not NOT need you!
645
NELA: I have the feeling that I’m not actually with you but somewhere
behind you… that theater is in fact your life partner… it’s not
a nine to five job, it’s the love of your life… let me finish…
I don’t want to share you with anyone… and I can’t compete
with theater… it’ll be with you your whole life, it’s already
inside of you… it’s a parasite… leave me alone… it’s a beautiful
parasite that eats our love alive…
ANGEL: You are the theater! You will always be my priority!
NELA: Did you hear what you just said? You don’t really believe
this. You always taught us to recite our texts out loud so that
we start to believe in what we are saying because if we don’t
mean it, it won’t come true. That’s why I am an actress – I can
give the right intonation to a character I don’t agree with. But
I’m not willing to talk to you as if this was a lover’s dialogue
written for a different woman. I’m sorry.
ANGEL: When I was little, I didn’t have real friends, just
acquaintances. Sandbox buddies, chums to go cycling with,
someone to go to movies with. Only when I started to study
directing did I find real friends. You. Nela, I don’t have anyone
else.
NELA: When you were speaking today you were different. I’ve
always admired your ability to give things the right name, but
today you were amazing. You convinced everyone. I started
to worry that you could convince me of anything you wanted
to. Even about things that aren’t true.
ANGEL: It is true! I love you!
NELA: (Frees herself from his arms.) Give me some space, OK?
I don’t know. Just give me some time.
HALASOVÁ: (Rushes in.) Help us! We need men!
PAYER: What’s going on?
HALASOVÁ: Mrs. Mayerová has passed out! (Pope and the actors
bring the inert Mayerová’s body in and lay it on a sleeping bag.)
MAYEROVÁ: (Regains consciousness.) Thank you…you don’t have
to…it’s so embarrassing…I’m so sorry…
646
POPE: Are you alright?
MAYEROVÁ: I’m fine. Today is just not my day.
POPE: Why do you go on these crazy diets, huh?
HALASOVÁ: Would you like a banana?
MAYEROVÁ: Thank you…thanks (Eats a banana.)
POPE: Friends, thanks for your help. Madame Mayerová is fine and
now I’d like to ask you for a little privacy.
ANGEL: Should I call a doctor?
MAYEROVÁ: No, it’s alight.
POPE: You can leave now, dear friends, everything’s fine! (The
actors leave them alone, Halasová and Malina are speaking
in another place.)
HALASOVÁ: You know, Mr. Malina, I used to watch your shows
in Prostějov.
MALINA: Great years. Bad era, but the years – just great.
HALASOVÁ: Your name used to be different…
MALINA: Malinovský. I changed my name after Judith Malina,
the founder of the Living Theatre. If only the Bolsheviks had
known!
HALASOVÁ: I used to sit in your theater nearly every night. I didn’t
understand everything but I felt that you were speaking to me,
too. Where did you draw your freedom from?
MALINA: There were more of us, so it was easier. And we looked
like them. (Points at the actors around him.) I live alone, I gave
notice at my old theater and there’s not that much ahead of me.
I have no desire for to have a role in Macbeth. I’m not tormented
by any ambition; I just want to experience something when it
is really happening. I didn’t have a systematic acting education.
There wasn’t any other choice under the old regime. The best
books were smuggled from abroad and loaned out for one
night. I’ve never read with greater concentration than when it
was forbidden. Now, everything’s being published and I buy it
and never read it. I’m glad I’ve collected books that I’ve always
wanted even if I won’t read them. It’s great fortune to come
647
across the right books at the right moment. Just like meeting
the right people at the right time.
HALASOVÁ: It’s worked out for you.
MALINA: Do you know what frightens me? The former
establishment wanted to destroy us. Now they ignore us. Once
they guarded the primitive cyclostyles so that people couldn’t
create seditious texts, nowadays you can write anything and
nobody notices. Did you see how very few people came today?
HALASOVÁ: It’ll get better. They haven’t gotten used to it yet. (They
leave, the caretaker and Payer enter, they take turns drinking
the bottle of gin.)
CARETAKER: Have you seen “Ballad of a Soldier”?
PAYER: No. (Drinks.) Have you seen “Pulp Fiction”?
CARETAKER: No. (Drinks.) Have you seen “The Battle of the Rails”?
PAYER: No. (Drinks.) Have you seen “The Yellow Submarine”?
CARETAKER: No. (Drinks.) Have you seen “The Guns of Navarone”?
PAYER: No. (Drinks.) Have you seen “Monty Python and the Holy
Grail”?
CARETAKER: No. (Drinks.) Have you seen “The Bridge on the River
Kwai”?
PAYER: No. (Drinks.) Have you seen “Leningrad Cowboys Go
America”?
CARETAKER: No. (Drinks.) Have you seen “The Battle of Britain”?
PAYER: No. (Drinks.) Have you seen “House of Flying Daggers”?
CARETAKER: Yes.
PAYER: Yes?
CARETAKER: No. (Drinks.) That was “The Cranes are Flying”…
Have you seen “Midway”?
PAYER: No. (Drinks.) Have you seen The “Discreet Charm of the
Bourgeoisie”? (They leave, Angel and Mayer enter.)
MAYER: Didn’t I say that?
ANGEL: She just got sick, that’s all.
MAYER: And now she’s the center of attention!
ANGEL: Aren’t you a bit harsh on her?
648
MAYER: You don’t know her.
ANGEL: And Maria?
MAYER: We made tea. I held her hand when she was adding the
sugar…
ANGEL: That’s why it was so sugary.
MAYER: I don’t know where I’m at with her. Sometimes she wants
me, other times she doesn’t.
ANGEL: Have you told her at least?
MAYER: What?
ANGEL: That you love her, for god’s sake!
MAYER: She’s got to see it, right?
ANGEL: What do you think she sees? A guy who looks like a slice
of bread waiting to be buttered?! That’s a great way to get on
her nerves! You have to tell her!
MAYER: You’re right! Thanks a lot! (Runs away.)
ANGEL: Emil! (Pope enters.)
POPE: Lady Hana would like to talk to you.
ANGEL: (Comes to Mayerová lying on the ground.) Are you feeling
better?
MAYEROVÁ: I want to apologize for what had happened earlier.
ANGEL: It’s very human.
MAYEROVÁ: I have never spoken so openly about my fear of
acting with anyone before or about what I feel every time I’m
standing in front of the camera. I’d like to ask you to keep it
between you and me – it’ll be our secret.
ANGEL: Of course.
MAYEROVÁ: I’m not used to this kind of blabbering but tonight….
there’s something magical in the air, you know. Mysterious
energy floating around…at the end of the day this is a power
plant, right?
ANGEL: Can I confess something? I was intimidated by you. Emil…
MAYEROVÁ: Can we please not talk about him?
ANGEL: I feel like we’ve known each other for ages.
649
MAYEROVÁ: It’s the energy. (The sound of an electric discharge,
a mysterious sparkling.)
ANGEL: What was that?
MAYEROVÁ: I thought it was only my imagination.
ANGEL: A strange sound.
MAYEROVÁ: A sign.
ANGEL: You’re tired.
MAYEROVÁ: Don’t leave.
ANGEL: I’ve always worked only with people from my own class
from school. Never with someone…as famous as you. Every
time I go on stage I’m overcome by shyness. And I know that
the actors must never see my embarrassment because they’d
never trust me again. That’s my secret.
MAYEROVÁ: I completely understand, Viktor. (Laughing.) Will you
give me a role in your Odyssey?
ANGEL: We would be wallpaper next to you.
MAYEROVÁ: Hold my hand. (Angel holds her hand, Králová enters.)
KRÁLOVÁ: Viktor, you have to…oh, sorry.
ANGEL: (Lets go of Mayerová’s hand.) What’s up?
KRÁLOVÁ: Later.
ANGEL: Come on, Maria!
KRÁLOVÁ: I’ve made up a schedule – who’s going shopping
tomorrow and suddenly no one wants to go. Everyone wants
to paint the set pieces and sweep the floors…you’ll have to
take care of it, they don’t listen to me.
ANGEL: Will do. (To Mayerová.) Good night.
MAYEROVÁ: Milan! (Pope enters.) Let’s go.
POPE: Are you really OK?
MAYEROVÁ: That banana really saved me.
POPE: Tomorrow, I am personally going to make you breakfast in
bed. Ham and eggs, juice and black coffee.
MAYEROVÁ: OK, OK. (Looks around.)
POPE: What’s going on?
MAYEROVÁ: I want to say goodbye. (Leaves.)
650
POPE: But your son is… (Points at the opposite side, Mayerová has
already left, the Journalist enters, on the phone.)
JOURNALIST: (On the phone.) I have about an hour of recorded
material…interviews in the power plant…yes, Mayerová is
also here…that one…we’ll broadcast only 30 seconds from
Mayerová’s interview? Delete all the others? OK…sure.
(Leaves, Hakr and Nela enter.)
HAKR: I don’t want to put you off. I’m showing you the path you
shouldn’t take. I’m the dark mirror, don’t look at me too long.
NELA: Why are you doing this?
HAKR: Because I was like you years ago. I got excited about anything
that was provoking. I’ve collected material for my life’s work.
I’ve wanted to write it a hundred times but there was always
something else to do – a series, a fundraiser script, a sitcom,
an awards ceremony script to be written… I don’t think I’ll
write my real best work anymore.
NELA: You can’t give up!
HAKR: Why shouldn’t I? For whom? The actors moan that their
work in theaters doesn’t leave them feeling fulfilled. They set
up touring groups so that they can finally do real theater and
what do they do, what do they come up with? Commercial shit
that was played 50 years ago in Germany and the UK! And the
viewer doesn’t care, they clap until they have blisters on their
hands! No one wants to see the new Hakr, they want to see old
Mayerová. They want to see faces not theater.
NELA: You need help.
HAKR: Be careful.
NELA: Do you know this one? Good girls go to heaven and the bad
ones go everywhere else?
HAKR: You want to get me thinking about how dirty you are?
NELA: Why didn’t you go to your loving wife? Tell me the truth!
HAKR: Why did you leave your ‘awesome’ director? Tell me truth!
NELA: I didn’t leave him.
HAKR: You’re lying.
651
NELA: He left me –he just doesn’t know it. And you…you’re not as
cynical as you think you are. If you were really genuinely bad,
you wouldn’t talk about yourself like that. You’d hide things,
make them seem better.
HAKR: I’m burnt-out. But I can live with that.
NELA: No, you’re not.
HAKR: (Puts her hand on his forehead.) I’m still burning…
Nela, right now you think that the power plant is the most
interesting place in your life. But if you stay here you’ll regret
it. I can get you into film. Think about it. (They leave, the drunk
caretaker enters, holding onto Payer’s shoulders, Angel enters,
then Mayerová.)
MAYEROVÁ: Here you are! (She gives Angel a long kiss, he is
surprised and runs off, the drunks are singing.)
ACT 3 – THE TURBINE
(A week later. Daylight, music comes from a CD player on the ground,
there’s a very noisy and chaotic atmosphere. The actors are building
a set piece, drilling, hammering, dancing, the production manager is
peeling potatoes.)
MALINA: When Living Theatre had a show in Czechoslovakia, they
didn’t need any set.
PAYER: (Reproachfully.) A table, a catafalque and a discotheque all
in one. Very low-cost. (Points at the set piece.) One set piece
– is that too much for you?
MAYER: They were here?
MALINA: Living Theater? Yes, in 1980.
PAYER: We can’t completely get rid of stage design.
KRÁLOVÁ: Can someone else peel the potatoes for a change?
MAYER: I’ll do it. (Exchanges seats with Králová, who watches him
for a while.)
652
KRÁLOVÁ: Don’t cut yourself.
MALINA: During socialism, the potato was both a food and an
educational tool. In military service, they sat me in front of
a 2-meter pile of potatoes and no one was allowed eat until
they were all peeled. Three hundred and twenty hungry
soldiers! Imagine how fast I finished to avoid making them
angry! (Takes the knife from Mayer and peels the potato fast
as lightning).
MAYER: What were the Living Theater like?
MALINA: They played Antigone. In Prague in the Na Ořechovce
pub.
PAYER: Did the regime allow it?
MALINA: They didn’t know about it.
KRÁLOVÁ: (To Mayer.) If the peels are too thick, there won’t be
any potato left.
MALINA: I heard 200 people are coming.
KRÁLOVÁ: The Merry Wife of Windsor is taking the whole class.
Some people are also coming from town. Our posters are
everywhere – Odyssey, the opening night!
MAYER: Maria and I put them up.
KRÁLOVÁ: (Looks in the pot.) Good. Who will go buy sweet
peppers?
MAYER: I will.
KRÁLOVÁ: Finish what you’re doing. Someone else? (The men
start hammering and drilling even more.) Thanks, gentlemen.
(Leaves.)
PAYER: What was the stage design like?
MALINA: Living? They taped the floor; it signified: this is our space;
and they acted. No lights, casual clothes, in the middle of the
pub. An experience of a lifetime.
PAYER: Because they were good or because it was forbidden fruit?
MALINA: They sparkled with amazing energy. We’d lived off it half
a year.
CARETAKER: (Enters with a drill.) Try this one.
653
PAYER: (Tries his drill.) Perfect!
CARETAKER: Germanis German. When the others are finished,
they’re still drilling. Have you seen “The Bridge”?
PAYER: A war film?
CARETAKER: German. Young guys, younger than you, ground
soldiers, they defend a bridge. It’s totally meaningless because
the war had already been lost and it’s over and yet they lay
down their lives for some bridge. That’s what I call a film.
MAYER: For God’s sake, Mr. Žluk, who cares?
CARETAKER: What about the lesson?!
MALINA: You really like war. Admit it.
CARETAKER: Why would I like it?
MALINA: It’s subconscious, Mr. Žluk. The Moravian native Sigmund
Freud wrote a lot on this topic. What about Nazi uniforms?
Elegant, right?
CARETAKER: They were dressed nicely, yes.
MALINA: And do you know why? Hugo Boss was the designer for
the German army back then. Hence the suave look. When we
were little, we played partisans and Germans and every kid
wanted to be a German officer. Why? Because they were so
elegant! You can’t rid yourself of your subconscious.
CARETAKER: Excuse me?! I have no subconscious! You… Hugo
Boss! (He takes the drill and leaves.)
MALINA: The Freud party didn’t last long. (Mayerová enters.)
MAYEROVÁ: Good afternoon!
PAYER:, MALINA: Hello.
MAYEROVÁ: Hello Emil.
MAYER: Hi.
MAYEROVÁ: Is the director here?
PAYER: He is rehearsing in the back.
MAYEROVÁ: How is it going? (Exits, men are working for a while,
then Mayer angrily throws a potato in the pot.)
MAYER: Fuck! (Exits, in another place, Mayerová looks at the ceiling,
Angel joins her.)
654
ANGEL: What do you see there?
MAYEROVÁ: Viktor! (A passionate kiss.) I love swallows. They
make their homes in the most impossible places. They spend
lot of time building it and then some fool destroys it. (The
Caretaker enters with his air gun.) Mr. Žluk, I’m asking you
in all earnestness – if you really do respect me – stop killing
those birds!
CARETAKER: Sorry, Madame. (Leaves.)
MAYEROVÁ: I had to see you! I interrupted my film shoot and I ran
over here.
ANGEL: What will the others say?
MAYEROVÁ: I don’t give a damn what they say, about them, about
the newspaper, about the people, about the gossip. If I have
you, I feel invincible.
ANGEL: Sorry, I’m rehearsing now…
MAYEROVÁ: I’m disturbing you.
ANGEL: No, no…
MAYEROVÁ: I’ll go.
ANGEL: I didn’t want to make you feel…
MAYEROVÁ: You haven’t made feel anything yet. Feel. Here. Here.
Here. And here. (She puts his hand at various parts of her
body.) Now I’m all felt up. By you. Will you sleep at my place
tonight?
ANGEL: Haven’t you gotten bored of me yet?
MAYEROVÁ: Silly boy. Young men either incredibly overestimate
themselves or extremely underestimate themselves. Why
don’t you trust yourself?
ANGEL: I am insecure… the relationship with Nela fell apart… we’d
been together five years…
MAYEROVÁ: I don’t want to hear about other women. (She hears
her son’s voice.)
MAYER’S VOICE: Mom! Mom!
MAYEROVÁ: Go! I have to deal with this by myself. (Angel leaves,
Mayer enters.)
655
MAYER: Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?
MAYEROVÁ: What is your point?
MAYER: Why do you destroy everything?
MAYEROVÁ: I’m sorry if you see it that way.
MAYER: Me?! Aren’t you sorry for what you are doing to me?
MAYEROVÁ: I don’t know… I got carried away…by a whirlwind…
MAYER: You’re talking like you’re in some stupid film. There’s no
camera here!
MAYEROVÁ: Don’t talk to me like that, you little brat!
MAYER: Look in the mirror. When is the last time you looked at
yourself in a mirror?
MAYEROVÁ: You’re crossing the line here!
MAYER: Mom, you’re being completely unreasonable.
MAYEROVÁ: Emil!
MAYER: He’s young enough to be your son.
MAYEROVÁ: I’m getting out of here!
MAYER: Go! You can’t look at yourself or at your films…I always
have to run out of the theater! Scratched frame, scratched
face! An old actress on scratched film.
MAYEROVÁ: You’ve really lost it!
MAYER: I don’t have a mother, I have an old celluloid film reel! And
it’s going to fall apart! And your face too with all the weird
stories no one is interested in anymore! To hell with all of you
and let the young ones in on the next generation make their
films! (Mayerová slaps him.)
MAYEROVÁ: You want to be on the screen, you poor fool? Someone
would have to want that face of yours, sweetheart! What have
you achieved? What have you shot? A commercial? Wow,
you’ll get an Oscar for a mouthwash commercial?! (Mayer
cries.) I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…
MAYER: Leave me alone!
MAYEROVÁ: Come on, love…everything’s going to be better…
even I’m not perfect, I know…I’m a weak woman…yes, weak…
everyone thinks I can bear anything but someday I’ll burst
656
and fall apart into wheels and screws and springs…come on…
don’t cry…
MAYER: Why are you doing this to me?
MAYEROVÁ: Because it’s hard to be with someone, but it’s even
harder to be alone. (Pope’s voice is heard in the distance.)
POPE’S VOICE: Tangerine, where are you?
MAYEROVÁ: Go, please. I love you. Forgive me. Go! (Mayer leaves,
Pope enters.) Milan, try to understand!
POPE: I know what’s going on. You’re sensitive, an artist, your
emotions can drive you mad so easily, I understand the
infatuation with youth and I can tolerate it, I get it, are you
listening, honey? I can tolerate anything because I love you, but
I’m scared that after this short…distraction a great heartache
will follow and I don’t want that. It’s not about me although
I’m suffering. And who is interested in an old suffering guy?
I feel sorry for your future suffering.
MAYEROVÁ: I’m happy, happy like I haven’t been in years. You
are the most amazing and tolerant partner I’ve ever had. We
made an agreement some time ago that if one of us feels an
urge stronger than themselves, the other will give them their
permission. Milan, I just fell in love like a twenty year old!
POPE: I’m your friend, but I’m also a man that is losing a woman
he is not going to give up! (Pope clumsily throws himself on
Mayerová, kisses her, she hits him unintentionally.)
MAYEROVÁ: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…why do you have to be so
stubborn? Why do you have to spoil everything? (Pope gives
her an envelope.) What is it? (Takes out a travel ticket out of
the envelope.)
POPE: I bought you a trip.
MAYEROVÁ: A trip?
POPE: In a special submarine to the Titanic. It’s a great mystical
experience!
MAYEROVÁ: The Titanic? That…Titanic?!
657
POPE: My agent got the last spot. American millionaires are fighting
for it like little children.
MAYEROVÁ: You bought me a ticket to the Titanic? To see that
shipwreck? Am I the wreck? Did you mean that? I am the
wreck to be watched from the submarine? (Throws the ticket
at him.) Here’s your Titanic! (Leaves.)
POPE: Hana… (Slowly leaves after her, Halasová enters, Malina is
alone in the hall putting together a set piece.)
HALASOVÁ: (Waving the petition.) We got ten thousand signatures!
Ten thousand in a week! That’s something!
MALINA: We can establish a political party.
HALASOVÁ: The mayor was pretending he was with us but he
was lobbying with the investors behind our backs! But now
that he’s seen ten thousand signatures, he‘s scared! He called
everything off and cancelled the demolition! The power plant
is safe for the next six months at least and then we’ll see!
(Notices the potatoes) There’s some cooking going on here!
MALINA: The Odyssey goulash. For tomorrow’s opening.
HALASOVÁ: Mr. Malina, you do quite well here, am I right?
MALINA: (Looks around.) Now that they’re not here, I can say it out
loud. (Shouts.) I am Jan Baptist Malina and I feel greeeeeaat!
(Calmly.) Not in front of them, you know.
HALASOVÁ: I like my last year class so much. They’re finishing
soon and I’m not going to see them anymore. I’ve never had
such clever kids. But there is no way I would say that in front
of them, you know.
MALINA: A close-mouthed Merry Wife of Windsor – how ironic.
(Both laugh.) There are not many people of our generation to
talk to anymore. Being the same generation means you don’t
have the need to explain. Everyone understands everything.
You can be silent with them because you’re silent for the
same reasons. (Nela enters, on the phone with Hakr who is in
another location.)
NELA: (On the phone.) I had four missed calls? Who’s calling?
658
HAKR: (On the phone.) It’s Petr! Hakr! I’ll call you back so you don’t
have to pay for the call!
NELA: You can talk.
HAKR: A week ago, you know, how we talked in the plant….
NELA: Yes.
HAKR: I started writing a play. For you. I haven’t written anything
real in years but I feel this is it now. A blind girl falls in love
with an ugly guy. Because she doesn’t see him and she hears
only his voice, she believes he’s handsome. You’re there?
NELA: Yes. Continue.
HAKR: It’s for two actors, very intimate. I have the first eleven pages.
And I’ve talked to the production manager, he’s got a part for
you. Nothing big yet, eight shooting days. Come meet him.
Nela? Are you listening?
NELA: Sure. Thank you.
HAKR: Aren’t you happy?
NELA: It’s all happening too fast.
HAKR: I’ll help you out. I’ll be there with you at least at the beginning.
You can be so much more than just a theater actress. But
I don’t want to push you or anything. I don’t, get it? Should
I hang up?
NELA: No…thanks, really thanks. I just need a little bit of time.
HAKR: The audition is tomorrow. It’s up to you. If you’re not there
by 10am, it’s fine. If you come, it’s fine too. I’m not forcing you,
OK, please? I only want to help you. As a friend.
NELA: I’ll call you. (Exits, Hakr exits too, Angel and Mayer enter,
fighting.)
MAYER: You think this is normal?
ANGEL: What should I do?!
MAYER: You’re sleeping with my mother, what the fuck! (They notice
Malina and Halasová, they’re fighting more quietly.)
ANGEL: This isn’t my fault.
MAYER: Is it mine?!
ANGEL: Try to understand it, be reasonable…
659
MAYER: What’s reasonable about this? That you’re sleeping with
her? My best friend! Do you know how I feel?
ANGEL: Things happen, man. People make mistakes, they walk
around each other, sometimes they pass each other, sometimes
they bump into each other and sometimes…. It just happened!
MAYER: And I trusted you.
ANGEL: You’re still my friend, whatever happens. Can’t you
understand that this wasn’t planned? That sometimes the
situation just throws itself on you?!
MAYER: Did you throw yourself on her or did she throw herself
on you?
ANGEL: Your relationship with your mother is totally pathological.
MAYER: Do you know what pisses me off? Not only did you
throw away our friendship, it’s also going to destroy you!
She’s a vampire! Do you know how many men she has told
to fuck off?!
ANGEL: Go find yourself someone so you can stop saying all this
dumb shit! (Mayer runs off, Angel runs after him.) Majo! Wait.
Majo! (The Journalist enters.)
JOURNALIST: Where can I find the building caretaker?
MALINA: Hunting swallows. (The Journalist leaves.)
HALASOVÁ: What an interesting atmosphere in here! I hope there
will be an opening.
MALINA: Have you seen a premiere without hysteria?
HALASOVÁ: Good bye. (Exits, in another spot – Caretaker and
Journalist.)
JOURNALIST: Would you like to earn some money?
CARETAKER: What’s do you want?
JOURNALIST: I work for a magazine now. We can’t send
a photographer here because it would be too obvious. (Gives
him a camera.) If you take a picture of Mayerová and the
director in the act, you’ll get 1000 Crowns.
CARETAKER: Since when does a radio make use of pictures?
JOURNALIST: Like I said, I changed jobs. So, will you do it?
660
CARETAKER: I’m just an average guy, don’t ask me to do something
like that.
JOURNALIST: 2000 Crowns.
CARETAKER: I have my standards.
JOURNALIST: 3000 Crowns.
CARETAKER: You want me to spy on people?
JOURNALIST: 4000 Crowns.
CARETAKER: I can’t do it.
JOURNALIST: 5000 Crowns.
CARETAKER: And it’s dangerous.
JOURNALIST: 5000 Crowns.
CARETAKER: It could completely mess up my life.
JOURNALIST: 5000 Crowns.
CARETAKER: How does it work?
JOURNALIST: (Shows him the camera.) Aim, then push this button.
The rest is automatic.
CARETAKER: But Lady Mayerová has just left.
JOURNALIST: It doesn’t have to be today. Tomorrow. But it needs
to be juicy, understand?
CARETAKER: Juicy?
JOURNALIST: When he kisses her or something.
CARETAKER: Sure thing, juicy it’ll be. (They exit, Králová with
a shopping bag, Mayer behind her.)
MAYER: I’ll help you. (Helps put down her backpack, Králová: is
tired.) Did something happen?
KRÁLOVÁ: Someone was following me.
MAYER: It’s a dangerous quarter.
KRÁLOVÁ: No, downtown. I heard steps but when I turned around
there was no one there. So I stopped in front of a shop window
and fixed my hair. And then I saw her. Mayo, she looked like
me – the same hair, same eyes, she was even dressed the same
way too.
MAYER: Wasn’t it you?
661
KRÁLOVÁ: I’m not crazy, OK! There were two of us. Will you help
me?
MAYER: You know I’ll always…
KRÁLOVÁ: I have a doppelganger! She is stalking me and sucking
out the life out of me. I’m very weak, sorry, I need to lie down.
(Leaves.)
MAYER: Maria…
KRÁLOVÁ: The red pepper’s in the bag.
MAYER: Should we go to the doctor?
KRÁLOVÁ: Look, I know it looks like a total schizophrenia, I’m
aware of that. But if I’m aware of it then it’s not schizophrenia,
because if you’re schizophrenic, you don’t realize it. And
I know I’m not OK, which means I’m not sick, just overworked.
MAYER: The sleeping bags are in the back.
KRÁLOVÁ: Do not disturb! (Exits, Malina heard everything.)
MAYER: (To Malina.) What are we going to do?
MALINA: I also saw my doppelganger, too, twenty years ago – but
at that time I drank like a fish.
MAYER: Maria doesn’t drink.
MALINA: When I quit he was gone.
MAYER: She does everything herself; she cooks, shops, organizes
ticket sales and others just criticize. Viktor won’t help her,
he’s rehearsing all the time. How can she manage it all alone?
I thought we were a team.
MALINA: One drinks because there’s lack of something or because
there’s too much of something. Our production manager’s the
first case. You’d have to be blind to not see that she’s in love
with the director.
MAYER: Now you start!
MALINA: Go to her, man.
MAYER: Should I?
MALINA: You have to. (Mayer leaves, Nela enters, a backpack on;
Angel is with her.)
ANGEL: You don’t mean it seriously! You’re leaving?
662
NELA: Please don’t make things worse!
ANGEL: Why, tell me why?!
NELA: Can’t you see how I feel? I feel like blowing up, exploding into
million pieces! I’m scared that I’ll either hurt myself or you!
ANGEL: OK, let’s not talk about us, let’s talk about theater. We
haven’t done anything yet and you’re already scared?
NELA: I’m scared of myself.
ANGEL: I’ve known you so long…
NELA: You know nothing about me.
ANGEL: What are you afraid of?
NELA: Me. Noe I understand I’m not such an idealist as I thought
I was. And then I’m afraid that no one will show up and we’ll
start hating each other because of our failure. I want to leave
before that happens.
ANGEL: You have so little faith in me?
NELA: I have so little faith in myself.
ANGEL: You know I’m the one who doubts the most. I don’t tell
everyone, but you know. I don’t have a recipe for success but
I know that we have to do this for a few years and that this will
be good because each of us is good in a different way. And as
soon as I see that we’re going in circles, I’ll be the first one to
jump ship.
NELA: I have a part in this movie. Don’t be angry.
ANGEL: Is it because of Mayerová?
NELA: It had started earlier than that.
ANGEL: Is it because of him?
NELA: Yes, also… it’s complicated… and I don’t have to tell you
anything! You never listened to me! I’ve always had the feeling
your ears were filled with wax just like Ulysses’!
ANGEL: I’ll have to call off the premiere.
NELA: You don’t have to. Maria knows everything. I used to rehearse
my part with her. She’ll do great. She’s perfect. Only you never
wanted to give her a chance.
ANGEL: Behind my back…. Králová?!
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NELA: That’s why she’s so tired. She takes care of us and on top
of that she’s studying the text. I was planning to leave only
after the premiere was over, but there’s an audition in Prague
tomorrow. You won’t miss me, you’ll see. (Nela leaves, Pope
enters.)
POPE: Mr. Angel, may I, please?
ANGEL: Not now.
POPE: It’s about Madame Mayerová.
ANGEL: Are you going to challenge me to a duel?!
POPE: (Gives him a package.) She forgot her medicine. It’s very
important. She has to take it daily. You know, she’s a bit
chaotic, you need to keep an eye on her. Twice a day, after
meals.
ANGEL: Medicine?
POPE: Be good to her. She’s a special woman and she deserves
happiness. (Pope leaves, Mayer rushes in.)
MAYER: Help me! Maria… (They bring in Králová, who is drugged,
they hold her.) She took some drops, don’t know what kind…
three bottles!
ANGEL: What drops?!
KRÁLOVÁ: I just wanted to fall asleep.
PAYER: (Enters.) What’s going on?
MAYER: Call the ambulance! She was trying to kill herself!
ANGEL: We have to force her to walk. We can’t let her fall asleep.
Come on! (They drag her around the hall.)
MAYER: Don’t go to sleep, Maria! Please! Don’t sleep. Stay with
us! I love you so much. I can’t live without you, please wake
up. I love you! I love you so much! (He is kissing the lifeless
Králová, the actors gather to watch, music is being played,
Mayer is moving along with her, they look as if they were
dancing, lights off.)
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ACT 4: THE SITCOM
(Three years have passed.)
(A projection starts. Credits
“THE CAFÉ. Episode 232”)
(SITCOM: An actors’ café in a puppet theater. Nela is working behind
the bar. She is polishing the glasses. They don’t seem shiny enough to
her, so she spits on them and polishes them again. Canned laughter
is heard. Then she checks the alcohol bottles. She pours a little bit of
water in each. Laughter. The Black Queen enters. Nela looks at her
watch, surprised.)
NELA: Is it break already?
QUEEN: They ate me ten minutes early. The dragon had to make
a phone call.
(Laughter.)
NELA: What can I get you?
QUEEN: Fernet.
(Nela pours a shot of Fernet. The Queen takes a whiff and slowly pours
it out as if she were a cowboy in a commercial.)
QUEEN: This ain’t no Jim Beam.
(Laughter.)
QUEEN: I’ll have tea. They say there’s a film person in the audience.
Looking for actors.
NELA: At a children’s show?
QUEEN: They need new faces.
(She sits down. The Knight-in-Armor enters. He gets stuck in the door
while entering. Nela helps him. Laughter.)
NELA: What would you like?
KNIGHT: Oil.
NELA: Olive?
KNIGHT: Motor oil.
(Laughter. Nela oils his joints with an oil can. Quiet laughter. The
Knight is doing exercises like in gym class. Then he takes the oil can
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from her, sits at a table and slowly drinks from it through a hole in
his helmet. Laughter.)
NELA: How’s it going?
KNIGHT: The fucking kids, they are throwing fire crackers onto
the stage.
(The Knight reaches behind his back and takes out a burning dynamite.
He’s holding it. Applause.)
QUEEN: You’re safe, you’ve got your armor. My veil burnt last time.
But there’s nothing one won’t do for an audience of children,
right?
(Laughter.)
KNIGHT: They say there is a TV person in the audience.
NELA: Rather a film person, right?
KNIGHT: TV. They are looking for actors for a commercial.
QUEEN: What kind?
KNIGHT: An antiperspirant foot spray.
(A disgusted ewwww.)
QUEEN: Classless.
(Wood enters.. Silence. He is stands, surprised.)
WOOD: What, no laughter?
KNIGHT: Because you’re an idiot.
WOOD: This is not fair. I have the funniest mask in this sitcom. Nela
can you open me up?
(Nela takes out a tool kit and tries to open a window on the
Wood’s trunk, where the actor’s face is. She uses a hammer, saw, drill.
Nothing works. Laughter. The Knight hands her the dynamite. A lot
of laughter. Nela puts the dynamite on the Wood and everyone hides
behind the bar. An explosion. Applause and whistling. Finally we see
Wood’s face.)
WOOD: Give me a beer.
(Nela pours the beer into a watering can. Laughter. Wood drinks beer
from the watering can.)
WOOD: There’s supposed to be someone from an agency here.
NELA: From TV, right?
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WOOD: From an agency. They’re looking for actors for an event.
QUEEN: What kind?
WOOD: A chainsaw store opening.
QUEEN: Pathetic.
KNIGHT: Beneath our dignity. They won’t find anyone here, you’ll
see.
(All of them are drinking, the Queen drinks Fernet, the Knight drinks
oil, Wood drinks beer from the watering can.)
QUEEN: Where is this person sitting?
WOOD: Third row, at the end.
(Laughter. Everyone drinks for a while, the Queen drinks Fernet, the
Knight drinks oil, Wood drinks beer from the watering can.)
KNIGHT: Left or right?
(Laughter.)
WOOD: Don’t know.
(Everyone drinks for a while, the Queen drinks Fernet, the Knight
drinks oil, Wood drinks beer from the watering can.. The Queen
stands up.)
QUEEN: Put it on my tab.
(She leaves. Nela writes it on the bill.)
KNIGHT: The woman has no dignity.
(Wood stands up.)
WOOD: Put it on my tab.
(Leaves. Nela writes it on the bill.)
KNIGHT: They have no backbones, these hyenas.
(Nela sits down with the Knight.)
NELA: You’re a real character.
KNIGHT: Could you give me a scratch?
(Nela scratches him on his back on the armor. Laughter.)
NELA: You are the only artist that didn’t sell out.
KNIGHT: Unfortunately, I’m always last.
(Laughter. The Knight is trying to stand up but he can’t.)
KNIGHT: Nela, help me!
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(Nela helps him stand up from the chair. While walking out, he knocks
over glasses, bottles, and in the end the radio as well.)
KNIGHT: Put it on my tab!
(Laughter. He leaves. Nela is cleaning the café.)
(While the ‘film Nela’ is sweeping the floor in the sitcom, ‘real Nela’
appears on the stage and looks around. Soon the film Nela notices
the real Nela.)
FILM NELA: Hi.
REAL NELA: Hi.
FILM NELA: How are you?
REAL NELA: So so.
FILM NELA: You were sick yesterday. Are you pregnant again?
REAL NELA: Don’t scare me.
FILM NELA: You have been running to the bathroom all the time.
REAL NELA: I don’t feel well.
FILM NELA: That orange diet is stupid.
REAL NELA: It’s not about the diet. I want to leave.
FILM NELA: Where?
REAL NELA: Away from here. Far away. From all this.
FILM NELA: You want to leave the sitcom? You’re contract-bound.
REAL NELA: I’m not OK.
FILM NELA: You’re just exhausted. You’ll shoot 42 more episodes
and that’s it. We’ll go to Turkey to the sea. Or to Egypt.
REAL NELA: I’m not going with you.
FILM NELA: That’s sudden.
REAL NELA: I’ve come to tell you that I’m through with TV, with
advertising, with all of it. And with him too.
FILM NELA: Him? You’ll never follow through.
REAL NELA: I’m through with you too.
FILM NELA: You can’t be through with me.
REAL NELA: I can try.
(In the sitcom: Wood enters, he’s got a hatchet in his head and a chain
saw in his hand.)
WOOD: Nela, do you know who they chose for the event?
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FILM NELA: Get out of here!
(Wood leaves. Laughter. Wood peeks into the café.)
WOOD: They were laughing at me!
(Wood shuts the door quickly. Film Nela is walking through the cafe
and talking to the real Nela.)
FILM NELA: What do you want to do?
REAL NELA: I’ll go back to the power plant.
FILM NELA: What about our baby?
REAL NELA: Our?!
FILM NELA: He’s as much mine as he is yours.
REAL NELA: I’ll find a sitter just like before. It won’t be a problem.
FILM NELA: He’ll miss his father.
REAL NELA: If he hasn’t missed him yet…
FILM NELA: He’s come to visit once a month.
REAL NELA: He’ll be better off without that kind of a father. I want
to act in The Kraftwerk.
FILM NELA: Three years later?
REAL NELA: I’ve got a career, money, fame, but I’m not happy. Do
you know that I act in this small company for minimum wage
just so they’ll have me?
FILM NELA: But they want to cast you.
REAL NELA: Just because people come to see me. The directors
think it’s a good joke and my colleagues laugh at me behind
my back. As soon as I come up on stage the crowd goes into
an uproar: that’s the girl from “The Café!” They expect me to
be funny. I played in The Seagull yesterday.
FILM NELA: Were you funny?
REAL NELA: (Shakes her head no.) But they were laughing. I felt like
shooting myself at the end instead of Treplev. (Hakr enters, the
real Nela is talking to him, film Nela is watching them.)
HAKR: My wife is divorcing me
NELA: You’ve been saying this for a year.
HAKR: But this time it’s serious.
NELA: And now just tell me that you’ll marry me and I’ll cry.
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HAKR: She threw all my shirts on the street. Right out the window.
The wind was blowing and my shirts were floating through
the street as if 20 of my doppelgangers were dancing around.
NELA: Nice description. Put it in a play like me.
HAKR: Nela! I’ve been living out of my car for a week now!
NELA: (Gives him the keys.) You can stay at our studio apartment.
I’m leaving.
HAKR: That’s not a joke, is it?
NELA: No.
HAKR: What about Peter?
NELA: Will you miss him?
HAKR: Don’t make me out as an emotional retard. I love him.
NELA: I don’t want him to see you. He’ll soak up your evil ways like
a sponge.
HAKR: The production office called me.
NELA: And I was stunned by the thought you’d come here because
of Peter and me.
HAKR: Of course I also came for you and for our son!
NELA: Have you come to try to persuade me?
HAKR: Nela, look, I’ve been an asshole, I know. For three years
I’ve been promising you that I’ll get divorced but tomorrow
I’m seeing a lawyer. We’ll start all over again, Nela. Are you
listening? If you want to leave me, I won’t prevent you. If you
want to take our child, I don’t know how I’ll cope with it but
we can still talk about it later. So take him and we’ll talk it
over later. But our careers shouldn’t suffer because of our
relationship! If you quit the TV show, they’ll cancel it!
NELA: I’ll quit just to spite you.
HAKR: Let’s just leave me out of it, OK? I’m not that important. But
there’s something bigger than us…
NELA: The TV starry sky and my name on a contract?
HAKR: Exactly. I couldn’t have put it better.
NELA: But it was you who said that, darling. I never talked like this,
I got this cynicism from you. You cloned your own filth in me.
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HAKR: I warned you.
NELA: Why did you get me pregnant?
HAKR: Because you wanted it. Both of us wanted it.
NELA: Unfortunately, you’re right.
HAKR: Listen! How can I express to you that you and I will disappear,
but our work will remain?!
NELA: Do you really think that any of that will live on?
HAKR: “The Café” has the best ratings in the country. You can’t just
leave! You don’t just quit when you’re ahead!
NELA: I pity you.
HAKR: Yes, pity me. I do it for the money. I can be hired for money
and I write series, and? If I don’t write them, someone else will.
Someone less capable. Shall I kill myself because I’m good? So
I write. I know why I’m doing it. You must know why you’re
doing it. It’s no fun to write the third sitcom in a row. But
I have to make a living. I left and I’m starting all over again. If
I wanted to leave with you, I need the means to do it. I’ll take
you somewhere far away when you finish shooting, just you
and me and our son. Do you hear me?
NELA: I need to leave now because if I don’t, something terrible
will happen.
HAKR: Problems make me stronger. I’m like a Phoenix, I always rise
from the ashes.
NELA: I was never worried about you.
HAKR: I finished our play. (He hands her the script.) I’ve never
written anything this good in my entire life.
NELA: (Reading.) The Fires of Madness. (Is leafing through
Hakr’s play up to the end and reads the last page.) Do they
die? At the end – do they die? Why do you leave it a question?
HAKR: It’s an open ending. It’s his nature to spoil her and she
realizes who she loves. She doesn’t want to return to him but
she has nowhere to go. Neither a comedy, nor a tragedy. They
both remain in a burnt out wasteland and aimlessly wander
here and there. Is it life? Is it death? Do they live? Do they die?
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You choose. (He exits and a moment later he appears in the
sitcom café. He and the film Nela are smoking, silently staring
at each other.)
NELA: I’ve already chosen. (She exits, after a short while the film
Nela takes out a gun and shoots Hakr, the still camera of the
sitcom starts shaking and shoots a close-up of Hakr’s chest –
the blood stain on his breast gets bigger and bigger.)
ACT 5: ICELAND
(The power plant hall three years later. It finally resembles theater
– chairs, curtains, spotlights. Payer and Angel are carrying a big
number 3.)
PAYER: Here?
ANGEL: Farther away. (They move it aside.)
PAYER: What’s wrong?
ANGEL: That we’re celebrating. All of this stinks.
PAYER: We’ve made a theater out of a power plant and we’ve kept it
going three years! That’s a reason to celebrate, isn’t it?
ANGEL: Don’t know.
PAYER: What is with you?
ANGEL: Don’t know.
PAYER: I’ve heard that Nela wants to come back. Everyone’s talking
about it.
ANGEL: Not in front of me.
PAYER: It was in the newspaper. If I can call that colorful piece of
shit newspaper. Did she call you?
ANGEL: No.
PAYER: I saw her on the cover. And there in big letters stood:
“Doesn’t she want the millions?” Followed by: “She left
a successful series for an unknown theater company!” And
then they wrote that Hakr was missing. Now he leaves? That
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little prick! Couldn’t he have left earlier? If it hadn’t been for
him, she’d never have left!
ANGEL: (Looking at the 3.) If it’s lit the right way, it’ll be good.
PAYER: We should welcome her back.
ANGEL: Have the bulletins arrived? If not, call the printer. Thanks.
JOURNALIST: (Enters.) Good afternoon, I called you…
ANGEL: Ms. Winter, come in.
JOURNALIST: I’ve come to look at the venue.
ANGEL: The premiere is in a week.
JOURNALIST: That’s OK, we want to be sure that sheriff will get
a seat to match his status.
ANGEL: We’ll be arranging the seats tomorrow.
JOURNALIST: That’s OK. Could he sit here?
ANGEL: The actors will be using that space.
JOURNALIST: And here?
PAYER: The screen will be there, he wouldn’t see anything.
ANGEL: I’ll show you a good seat, come with me. (They leave,
Mayerová and Králová enter.)
MAYEROVÁ: Maria, first you have to understand the man, and love
will come afterwards.
KRÁLOVÁ: But I don’t love Emil.
MAYEROVÁ: God, you’re so stubborn! You’ve only been married
for three years! When we’re young, we’re obsessed with love
but we don’t actually know what it means. We’re obsessed
by the word! Love! Love! Each one of us imagines something
different beyond the word. Romance, an intimate talk, bed,
a candle lit dinner. Love is not as important as friendship. In
a few years, love disappears from every relationship; and then
you’ll value the friendship.
KRÁLOVÁ: He’s good to me. He’s nice. He tries to satisfy my every
need. I respect him.
MAYEROVÁ: You two are like a roller-coaster ride but vice versa.
You got on at the bottom instead of at the top and now you’re
slowly climbing upwards and yet you’re wondering why it lasts
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so long. But once you’re up, you’ll see the ride! Be patient and
it’ll all come, my dear.
KRÁLOVÁ: Please, Mrs. Mayerová, don’t call me ‘my dear’.
MAYEROVÁ: And you, Maria, don’t call me Mrs. Mayerová.
KRÁLOVÁ: Sorry.
MAYEROVÁ: Mom.
KRÁLOVÁ: Sorry, mom.
MAYEROVÁ: When will you have a baby?
KRÁLOVÁ: Emil’s my baby. When I take care of him, I forget myself.
MAYEROVÁ: A child would bring you closer. A child means new
issues, worries, and you’ll easily forget that you’re not being
loved.
KRÁLOVÁ: But I am loved. Yet I don’t love.
MAYEROVÁ: And Emil?
KRÁLOVÁ: He doesn’t mind. He’s happy when we’re together. I’m
glad to be with him. We don’t bother each other. I’m glad to
see him and sometimes I’m happy to be alone.
MAYEROVÁ: Take my advice, the only help is a baby, a baby and
a baby!
KRÁLOVÁ: Children should save ten year old relationships, not
ours.
MAYEROVÁ: I know, I’m not the perfect mother-in-law, I must often
bite my tongue to not give you advice, but sometimes things
are just so clear to me that I can’t remain silent. Who’ll advise
you better? The most important thing is your self-confidence.
Maria, you should dress differently, trust me. You wear black
all the time, sorry but it feels like you’re in mourning. It can’t
make you feel feminine.
KRÁLOVÁ: Emil likes black.
MAYEROVÁ: Yes, it’s a sexy color, especially on the underwear,
with lace and all that, it excites them – God, men are so onedimensional – but on the outside, the body needs development.
You are a young woman, not only a woman, an actress!
KRÁLOVÁ: Mrs. Mayerová, are you making fun of me?
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MAYEROVÁ: Mom.
KRÁLOVÁ: Are you making fun of me, mom?
MAYEROVÁ: Look, we both know that there’s no way an actress
would praise another actress when sober, and we are now
embarrassingly sober and family at that, so I’m telling you –
since you took Nela’s part, you’re moving up! You’ve got another
woman in you and she wants to get out! There’s a woman
shrouded in black – sorry I really hate that color – but you
are a white woman! Woman – – Light! Open the windows
and let her out! And do you know the easiest way to start?
Change your clothes!
KRÁLOVÁ: I am happy with how I am.
MAYEROVÁ: A new life begins in new clothes. It might seem
superficial to you but everything that leads to your change is
permitted! I started my new life when I least expected it. Here!
In this power plant! I want to help you. Do you think that
three years ago I ever thought I would have a fashion parlor?
And look now! All women who want to be someone get their
clothes be made at my store. Of course, they’re designed by
others, I offered only my name, but what a name! A good name
is worth a fortune! I simply have a good eye for elegance and
beauty and what is fitting. Is it a gift from God? The temptation
to leave acting and devote myself only to fashion was there for
a while, but Viktor convinced me that I am an actress and one
doesn’t walk away from such a gift. Nowadays, everyone who
has a brain does business, but those who also are sensitive
also do art. I am the abstract idea of my parlor but every day
I forget about it when I stand in front of the camera or in
theater because I want to enjoy acting as long as I can. Viktor
is my battery, just one touch and my pilot light is on! Is there
a sparkle in my eyes? Is there?
KRÁLOVÁ: Yes, Ma’am.
MAYEROVÁ: Mom.
KRÁLOVÁ: Yes, Mom
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MAYEROVÁ: Only a man can light such a fire. Viktor has faith in
me and if I know this; if I know he loves me, I can do anything!
Design fashion, make films, theater, anything! Our self-esteem
decides who we are. Who’s interested in a snail in a shell? The
pikes own the lake. And a pike wouldn’t wear a turtleneck
and jeans like you. Promise that you’ll come by the parlor
tomorrow. Promise?
KRÁLOVÁ: I’ll come.
MAYEROVÁ: Right after rehearsal?
KRÁLOVÁ: Right after rehearsal.
MAYEROVÁ: Mom.
KRÁLOVÁ: Mom. (The Journalist and Angel enter.)
JOURNALIST: We need ten tickets.
ANGEL: No problem. (To Mayerová.) You know each other, don’t
you?
MAYEROVÁ: (Ice cold.) That’s the lady who wrote the article “Aging
Juliet and Naive Romeo?”
ANGEL: It was such a long time ago. It’s water under the bridge.
JOURNALIST: I don’t work in media anymore.
ANGEL: Ms. Winter is now Sir Sheriff ’s assistant.
MAYEROVÁ: (To Králová.) Politicians go to premieres? Is there an
election coming up?
JOURNALIST: (To Angel.) We have one special condition, the
sheriff must keep his phone on during the show.
ANGEL: No problem.
JOURNALIST: It’ll be on vibrate, don’t worry. The Sheriff has to be
on call twenty four seven.
MAYEROVÁ: Are you expecting floods? Or an invasion from Venus?
ANGEL: (To Mayerová.) Hana, please…
JOURNALIST: Is there wifi here? I will need to check my e-mails
during the performance.
ANGEL: You want to have your lap top on?!!
JOURNALIST: I’ll sit in the last row, don’t worry. So agreed? Good
bye, director! (Exits, ignoring Mayerová.)
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MAYEROVÁ: That woman behaves like she owns the place and you
just keep your mouth shut?
ANGEL: What? Should I have just thrown her out?
MAYEROVÁ: You should have pushed her down the stairs!
KRÁLOVÁ: There are no stairs here.
MAYEROVÁ: Metaphorically speaking!
ANGEL: I am not a director anymore, I’m just a white-collar guy
trying to keep my own theater! (Leaves.)
MAYEROVÁ: Did I say something wrong? (Mayer enters.)
MAYER: Maria, we’ll be doing scene 3 in a bit, hi mom, we’re
starting from page 10 and going till the end. In the evening
we’ll run through the whole thing with music. Costume fitting
is tomorrow, the best thing would be if you tried the shoes on
in the morning so they can spray them afterwards. Míla will
take you downtown because he’s driving his car to pick up
some boards. When you’re back, I’ll go pick up the bulletins
and posters.
MAYEROVÁ: Hello Emil.
MAYER: Hi, I’ve said hi already, sorry, don’t know where my head is.
KRÁLOVÁ: Do you need some help?
MAYER: Darling, you go rehearse, don’t worry, I’ll manage, focus
on your part, you’ve got a lot on your mind. You’re the actress
now, and I am the production manager. I’ll call the mayor.
(Leaves.)
MAYEROVÁ: Emil’s a new man! I can’t get used to it.
KRÁLOVÁ: I’m afraid I’ll disappoint him.
MAYEROVÁ: In a costume from my company? No way! (Halasová
enters.) Madame Mayor, what brings you here?
HALASOVÁ: Good afternoon. I’ve heard the sheriff is coming to
the premiere?
KRÁLOVÁ: Yes.
HALASOVÁ: I’m afraid that I can’t come then.
KRÁLOVÁ: I can’t even begin to imagine the premiere without you.
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HALASOVÁ: He hasn’t been here once and suddenly he loves the
theater?! Doesn’t that make you a bit suspicious?
KRÁLOVÁ: I don’t actually know him.
HALASOVÁ: You’re lucky. I’ve heard Ms. Lenská is coming back?
MAYEROVÁ: The tabloids – write things.
HALASOVÁ: It’d be great, such a star!
MAYEROVÁ: Is Viktor in his office? (Exits, Mayer enters.)
HALASOVÁ: Where’s your boss?
MAYER: I am the deputy director.
MAYEROVÁ: (Shouts from behind.) Viktor! Viktor!
KRÁLOVÁ: Anyway, he’s got no time at the moment.
MAYER: You can talk to me.
HALASOVÁ: (Hands him the contract.) This is for him. For all of
you.
MAYER: (Reads.) A rent-free contract?
HALASOVÁ: The power plant is yours! For ten years!
MAYER: You’re wonderful!
KRÁLOVÁ: How did you manage?
HALASOVÁ: That’s why I became mayor, right? (Her phone rings.)
But it comes at a price. In time. (She is taking out cell phones
in various colors from her bag.) The blue one – I don’t have
to pick it up, golden – strictly confidential, yellow – only
in the afternoon; but this one is the most important. (She
holds up a phone with a colorful pendant and starts talking.)
Yes, honey…in the fridge…a blue casserole…not in the
microwave…on the plate…put the dumplings in a plastic bag
and heat them twenty seconds…yes….I’m going…yes. (Tucks
the phone in.) How did Margaret Thatcher manage? Please
give the director my regards. It’s either the sheriff or me.
(Exits, Angel and Mayerová in another place.)
MAYEROVÁ: Are you angry with me?
ANGEL: No, no.
MAYEROVÁ: Sorry that I couldn’t hold my tongue, but a cell phone
in a theater?! Where are we? Well, I know where we are but
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I can’t get used to it! I don’t want to! What happened to this
country, to these people?! And the mayor won’t come if the
sheriff comes?!
ANGEL: Shit, I feel like a hostage!
MAYEROVÁ: Sorry…I didn’t want to spoil your mood.
ANGEL: It’s not your fault.
MAYEROVÁ: Why are you avoiding me?
ANGEL: It’s only your impression.
MAYEROVÁ: You haven’t called me for a week. I had to come by
myself. You’ve grown distant.
ANGEL: Come on.
MAYEROVÁ: A woman is a very sensitive thermostat, my dear.
ANGEL: You should get the Nobel Prize in Physics.
MAYEROVÁ: You’re obnoxious.
ANGEL: I just have tons of work, sorry, it’s the anniversary.
MAYEROVÁ: When it’s over, will you sleep with me again?
ANGEL: Don’t start again.
MAYEROVÁ: Where’s the boy who couldn’t leave me alone for
a second? You used to call me Mrs. Teacher, do you remember?
‘Let’s study’, you whispered into my ear and with feverish lips
I said to you: ‘Viktor, I’ll teach you things half of the men in
this country are dreaming of and the other half wouldn’t dare
even imagine!’ It was amazing! It’d be enough to whisper in
my ear again and everything would be back to normal. I’ll take
my little boy to secret places and he won’t be afraid anymore.
ANGEL: Stop, please, it’s embarrassing.
MAYEROVÁ: Are you thinking of her?
ANGEL: Of whom?
MAYEROVÁ: You know very well who.
ANGEL: I haven’t bought a single magazine with her interview and
she was in all of them.
MAYEROVÁ: I can’t understand what they see in her. Forgettable
face, mediocre talent.
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ANGEL: You know very well that I didn’t even watch that stupid
sitcom! And I’ve only heard she’s supposed to come back!
She’s not coming between us.
MAYEROVÁ: Who is it then?
ANGEL: I don’t feel anything for you anymore.
MAYEROVÁ: (Puts his hand on her breasts.) Not even now?
ANGEL: No.
MAYEROVÁ: And when you came to my dressing room and I nearly
missed my scene? Haninger had to improvise for three minutes,
until I came on stage, all sweaty. Haninger improvised! So
comical! Him, who never said an unscripted phrase. Can you
imagine how angry he was? And I didn’t care because I could
feel your touch. My performance was the best ever. I’m so
thankful to you for realizing again who I was. What’s really
great about our relationship is that we enrich one another! You
can’t deny this, Viktor. You wouldn’t be where you are without
me. Sorry, I have to remind you of that.
ANGEL: No, I wouldn’t. At the edge of a cliff.
MAYEROVÁ: What have I done to you?
ANGEL: Nothing but I can’t go on like this.
MAYEROVÁ: Young men underestimate such a simple thing as
hugging.
ANGEL: You preach all the time.
MAYEROVÁ: (Hugs him.) Shut up, shut up please! Don’t talk with
your mouth, talk with your body. (Angel moves away from her,
she hugs him again.)
ANGEL: Please, let’s end this.
MAYEROVÁ: Please? You’re begging? A well-mannered young man
says – cut your head off, rip yourself up with a knife, jump
from the 30th floor, but please?! Damn your please!
ANGEL: How should I tell you that I don’t want to continue?
MAYEROVÁ: In a way that is true! I don’t believe you don’t want it.
That’s absurd. He doesn’t want it! You don’t want it…?
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ANGEL: I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to destroy
what’s beautiful between us.
MAYEROVÁ: He doesn’t want to destroy it! You’ve already destroyed
everything! If I didn’t take things into my own hands, nothing
beautiful would ever have happened between us! You knew
nothing! You even didn’t know how to kiss properly! You had
no self-confidence! You wanted to run like a scared rabbit!
I taught you that love isn’t just three minutes in bed and then
off to shower!
ANGEL: I’m not attracted to you anymore.
MAYEROVÁ: Another manly lie. I don’t arouse him! Men are
waiting from here to Prague for a glance from me! Do you
know how many men I could have had by now?! Younger and
more handsome ones! And more influential! I could have
gotten married in Switzerland but I stayed with you! I could
have made a movie in Africa but I stayed because you hated
the tropical heat. I was so stupid! (Cries.) How can you say
that? How can you…even…to a woman…to me…that you
don’t find me attractive?
ANGEL: Hana… Hana, please, don’t cry.
MAYEROVÁ: I get it, you wanted to get rid of me, you wanted to
be hard but you can’t…you can’t lie…your eyes are so naïve
and I love them because of that…they can’t lie…you want
to leave…OK…I’m not a student, I won’t commit suicide…
we’re two adults…we could have talked about it like normal
people…you didn’t have to come up with that kind of idiotic
stuff…so we’re breaking up.
ANGEL: I am sorry.
MAYEROVÁ: OK, OK…I’m fine now… but why did you lie? You
were lying, right?
ANGEL: I was.
MAYEROVÁ: I still arouse you, don’t I?
ANGEL: You do.
MAYEROVÁ: What do you find most attractive about me?
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ANGEL: I don’t know… everything…
MAYEROVÁ: Breasts? Do you like my breasts?
ANGEL: I do.
MAYEROVÁ: And my legs? Do you love my legs?
ANGEL: I do.
MAYEROVÁ: My eyes. What about my eyes?
ANGEL: Eyes, yes. Eyes too.
MAYEROVÁ: Touch my butt. Do you like it in your hands?
ANGEL: I do.
MAYEROVÁ: How much do you like to touch my butt?
ANGEL: Very…much.
MAYEROVÁ: Lick my ear. You like licking it, don’t you?
ANGEL: I do. Ear.
MAYEROVÁ: Are you smelling my hair? Smell it!
ANGEL: Smelling it. (The sound of an electric discharge, a crackle.)
MAYEROVÁ: Did you hear that? (Angel shakes his head.) My neck.
Do you like kissing it?
ANGEL: Kissing it.
MAYEROVÁ: So kiss it. So I can feel you. You lied, didn’t you?
ANGEL: I did.
MAYEROVÁ: I arouse you so very much, right? Very very very
much?
ANGEL: Very much.
MAYEROVÁ: Don’t you want to take me?
ANGEL: Don’t know… yes…
MAYEROVÁ: Would you?
ANGEL: Yes, yes.
MAYEROVÁ: Right here, in the costume storage room?
ANGEL: Yes.
MAYEROVÁ: Even on Ulysses’ cloak? Shall we put it on the ground?
ANGEL: We shall.
MAYEROVÁ: Ulysses’ cloak, right?
ANGEL: The cloak.
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MAYEROVÁ: Now I know you want me. You’re not lying now.
You’re telling the truth.
ANGEL: I want you.
MAYEROVÁ: The lips can lie but the body can’t.
ANGEL: I want you!
MAYEROVÁ: (Pushes him away.) But I don’t want you! Get out!
You’re disgusting! It’s not you who’s leaving, I am! I don’t want
to see you again.
ANGEL: Hana…
MAYEROVÁ: Get out! (Králová enters the hall, pushing Malina in
a wheelchair.)
MALINA: You’ve really changed it! A real theater!
KRÁLOVÁ: We miss you.
MALINA: I miss you too. It’s been a year since I was last here, but
I follow everything that’s going on. I have every review that
was written about you. I used to ignore reviews on principle,
but when the Kraftwerk Theatre started up, I started to read
them. It’s mostly your praise! They’re impressed with you.
I always believed that you would succeed but I didn’t expect
it’d be such a success!
KRÁLOVÁ: We don’t feel it that way, Mr. Malina.
MALINA: Actors are a closed community, they live by their theater
and they need an outside voice. I am the only one of you who
has stood before hell’s gate and the doctors brought me back,
so trust me, I gained a bit of perspective.
KRÁLOVÁ: When are they going to release you?
MALINA: I don’t know. All the doctors are playing mum. I won’t
walk again. But I don’t give a damn. Let’s talk about us. You’ve
managed to give the world a great generational testimony.
KRÁLOVÁ: To the world? We don’t have any audience.
MALINA: They’ll come.
KRÁLOVÁ: We’re speaking for our generation but the generation
doesn’t want to listen.
683
MALINA: Where are all the snobs, damn it? The snobs were always
saviors of the theater! They are necessary. I’ve always respected
them. They smell what’s in and then they attract the others.
Can’t we rely on snobs anymore?
KRÁLOVÁ: It seem like we can’t.
MALINA: The theater is doomed! (Mayer enters.)
MAYER: Maria, you’ve got rehearsal in a while, good afternoon Mr.
Malina, how are you, the director is calling you, I’m going to
the printer’s because they haven’t printed out the bulletins yet
and I’m going to tell them off personally, otherwise they won’t
print them, if you haven’t tried the shoes on yet, then don’t,
the costume designer’s changed them to boots and he’ll bring
them in tomorrow, a madhouse today!
MALINA: A lot of interesting stuff occurred to me in hospital…
We should be called the Dependent Theater Company. I’ve
had independent companies up to my ears. Everyone’s trying
to act so independently but after a while, they’re all the same.
Let’s admit to ourselves that artistic independence doesn’t
last long in these times. We’re all dependent – even the most
independent ones – on our talents! On our audiences! What
do you think, beautiful Maria.
KRÁLOVÁ: No one has ever called me beautiful.
MALINA: Really? Our work makes no sense without the audience.
Even the greatest Avant-garde dies if it doesn’t have an
admiring crowd. It doesn’t have to be big, a few thousand
people suffice… a few thousand… even three hundred faithful
are enough. You should have had young people here by now
who are willing to sleep in front of the plant and watch your
every step breathlessly. Where are the fanatic admirers,
disciples whose models you are? Damn, I’m ridiculous, I know,
but what can I do if the ardor for art doesn’t even reach the
socks of the saint Antonin Artaud?!
(At another location – the Caretaker and Angel.)
684
CARETAKER: Sir director! I got you a sponsor! He’s agreed to
support the theater for ten years!
ANGEL: Oh.
CARETAKER: Aren’t you happy?
ANGEL: What do you want in exchange, Mr. Žluk?
CARETAKER: I want nothing, you know me. I didn’t like you at first,
I don’t deny that. But you’ve convinced me. A gallery!
ANGEL: Gallery?
CARETAKER: The sponsor will turn the first floor into a gallery
where all the dynamo is.
ANGEL: What kind of gallery?
CARETAKER: An art gallery. Even the mayor would love that.
ANGEL: Wait, wait, what kind of a gallery would that be?
CARETAKER: Normal. Good art.
ANGEL: Good art?
CARETAKER: Practical. For people.
ANGEL: Can you be more specific?
CARETAKER: Design.
ANGEL: Design?
CARETAKER: Ceramics.
ANGEL: Statues? Glass?
CARETAKER: Something like that.
ANGEL: Speak!
CARETAKER: Ceramic stuff…objects…hollow.
ANGEL: I don’t understand.
CARETAKER: Wash basins. And also square objects, colorful…
ANGEL: Square?
CARETAKER: Tiles.
ANGEL: Tiles?
CARETAKER: Bathroom tiles. But very artsy! Designed by the
prominent German artists from Schleswig-Holstein!
ANGEL: Bathtubs too?
685
CARETAKER: Maybe… yes…certainly bathtubs too. Different
shapes and sizes. I saw the catalog. One was shaped like a four
leaf clover, a great model! There’s nothing like it!
ANGEL: What about bidets?
CARETAKER: Sure, bidets too! A bidet is a very practical thing.
A revolutionary invention in hygiene. I’m glad you like it!
It’s a German company, very credible!
ANGEL: No way. I don’t agree.
CARETAKER: But they’re coming tomorrow!
ANGEL: Tell them we’re not interested.
CARETAKER: I wanted to help you. Yes, with my whole heart
I wanted to, but I see you cannot be saved! I’m not surprised
no one comes here. You don’t understand the people! You
don’t feel the times! I pity you! (Exits, Nela enters, she’s upset
and she’s holding a dead swallow.)
NELA: I was scared to call you. Because this is not me. I don’t know
who’s come instead of me. Someone wears me like a coat. Do
you recognize me?
ANGEL: Are you OK?
NELA: I can’t stay long. I left my son sleeping in a hotel room, I’m in
a hurry but tomorrow I’ll have a babysitter and plenty of time,
of course only if you take me back. Will you take me? (Hands
him the swallow.)
ANGEL: It’d be a mistake to refuse, I guess. No one says it out loud
but all of them hint that they miss you.
NELA: Really?
ANGEL: I feel it. Intuition.
NELA: Intuition…
ANGEL: You’re the only actress that runs the other direction. From
show – business to theater.
NELA: I am the water that runs uphill, I am the wind that blows
inside itself. (Loses balance, nearly falls.)
ANGEL: Are you OK?
686
NELA: (Sits down.) I wanted to be so prepared for this I gave myself
a fever. (Angel touches her forehead.)
ANGEL: You’re ice cold. You’re shivering.
NELA: Don’t worry about me, OK? Let’s not talk about the woman
I have on but about the one that’s inside. She’d love to act.
ANGEL: Which one?
NELA: The one on the outside, me, both!
ANGEL: Should I call a doctor?
NELA: No, stay… please! Some things cannot be undone… but I’d
like us to… become friends again. If that’s a too strong word
for you, say, colleagues. People who care for the same thing.
ANGEL: I’ve already forgotten what we had had in common.
NELA: A great fire was burning inside of me. I was blind, I loved an
ugly man. Ugly inside. The worst thing is that the fire’s still
going. I’m not blind anymore, I understand everything now,
I have a child with him. That’s the punishment of the one
on the outside. The coat’s punishment. I live in a wasteland,
that’s the punishment of the one inside. She won’t enjoy
anything anymore. I’ve done something awful…
ANGEL: A nice monologue. From one of Hakr’s plays?
NELA: Sorry? No…not from a play… why am I telling you this..
you never could listen… Ulysses with wax in his ears… sorry,
I have to go to the hotel, Peter is going to wake up soon…
I didn’t expect you to forgive me.
ANGEL: I don’t have to forgive you. I’m not better than you are.
NELA: I wanted to save him. But I couldn’t even save myself.
ANGEL: Welcome back to the power plant! (Pope enters.)
POPE: Do you have a moment, young man?
ANGEL: Yes?
POPE: (Smacks him in the face.) She had a nervous breakdown
and now she’s in my car crying! She’s a wreck! You should be
ashamed of yourself! You killed Hana Mayerová!
ANGEL: She left on her own.
687
POPE: You killed her soul! You tore it with your teeth! (He jumps
around like a boxer.) You don’t want to fight?!
ANGEL: Do I look like it?
POPE: I hit you in the face!
ANGEL: It’s the first human gesture I’ve felt today.
POPE: You must have been very harsh with her! I’ve never seen
her in such a condition! An extraordinary woman, and now
she’s a shaking mess thanks to you! I’m embarrassed just to
talk to you, young man!
ANGEL: Mr…
POPE: Pope! Doctor Pope!
ANGEL: Doctor Pope. While she was with me, she didn’t need any
medicine. Probably my presence gave her all the vital minerals
and trace elements. She was healthy and happy until… it
doesn’t matter. So from now on, if she stays with you, do not
forget about the medicine. Farewell. (Pope exits. Angel to
Nela.) Farewell… (He leaves, Payer enters in overalls, which
are sprayed all over, Králová is pushing Malina’s wheelchair.)
MALINA: Good day to you too.
PAYER: Nela?! Is that you?
KRÁLOVÁ: When did you arrive?
NELA: Hi… I don’t want to disturb you… can I just listen to you? For
a while… then I have to go to the hotel.
PAYER: Is everything OK?
KRÁLOVÁ: For God’s sake, everyone just stop speaking. (Nela sits
down on a chair.)
NELA: I got into the theater company again…
PAYER: Finally!
MALINA: The director has made me happy. Where is he?
MAYER: (Enters.) Why aren’t we rehearsing? Have you seen Viktor?
(Nela receives a text message.)
NELA: That’s him… (Reading.) I want to thank you all… for standing
by me the past three years… it was always great to be with you
even though we were scraping along… I want to say good bye
688
to all of you and ask you to understand that I’m leaving. Emil
will be my… text to be continued…
KRÁLOVÁ: He can’t!
MAYER: Everything’s on and running! Bulletins, posters, the
celebration!
PAYER: That’s absolute bullshit! (Nela is trying to get a signal by
holding up the phone, she gets the continuing text.)
NELA: (Reading the text.) …successor. When the sheriff ’s assistant
came today, I realized I didn’t want to do it anymore… I don’t
want to be the pragmatic clerk during the day so that I can
be an artist at night… I’m disgusted by that. But a person
who runs a theater can’t be like that… He needs to be above
all that… I feel so…message continues (Everybody’s waiting,
Nela’s searching for the signal, a text comes.) …used. I doubt
more and more if I was leading you in the right direction…
(Angel’s face appears high up, under the ceiling.)
ANGEL: I don’t want to make excuses. The times were never
good, they either took our freedom or gave us too much of
it. I don’t have the energy to fight for someone all the time.
I’m not as good as you want me to be. I can’t even fulfill my
own expectations. I have these unknown lands inside of me.
That was the meaning of theater for me – to speak about
them, risking they would disappear before we revealed them.
I couldn’t have done it without you. You fulfilled my efforts but
also my most hidden anxieties. No one wants to look at those
lands. Maybe because we weren’t able to joke about them,
the people who like to laugh never came to our theater. And
nowadays, people want to laugh more and more. I’m going to
Iceland. I love you. Yours, Viktor Angel. (His face disappears.)
KRÁLOVÁ: What now?
PAYER: We can’t do it without him.
KRÁLOVÁ: Without him Kraftwerk is dead.
MAYER: You’re all much further than you think. You’ll get by. We
all will manage!
689
KRÁLOVÁ: Why Iceland?
MALINA: I’d love to help you but you know…
KRÁLOVÁ: I’ll go after him.
NELA: I think…that’s exactly what he doesn’t want.
MAYER: Listen to me everyone! Big unexpected changes happened
today but we’re ready for the premiere and therefore there’s no
reason to panic. Our show is nearly finished, only one piece is
missing. Viktor would want the show to go on. He would want
us to continue what he started. He believes that we’ll succeed,
and I do too. Let’s start the rehearsal with Act 3 because we
always start with Act 1 and then there’s little time for Act 3.
We always have great beginnings but terrible endings, so we
need to choose an ending, sorry but we have three of them
now. I suggest we go through all three to see which one is the
best. It’s possible that the fourth will be the best, the most
unexpected ending. What do you say? (The Caretaker rushes
in with his air gun.)
CARETAKER: The swallows are back!
(He shoots into the air, everyone’s looking up. Feathers fall from the
ceiling, dense like rain until everyone’s up to their ankles in bloody
feathers.)
THE END
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The Arts and Theatre Institute
The Arts and Theatre Institute is a governmental non-profit organization
founded by the Ministry of Culture of the Czech Republic. It was
established in 1959 as the Theatre Institute. In 2007 the institute
changed its name to the Arts and Theatre Institute (ATI).
The mission of the ATI is to provide the Czech and international
public with a comprehensive range of services in the field of theatre
and individual services connected to other branches of the arts
(music, literature, dance and visual arts). The ATI collects objects and
work relating to the theatre, processes and provides access to them,
pursues research, initiates and participates in international projects, and
publishes literature related to theatre, arts and research.
The Arts and Theatre Institute is also the headquarters of the Czech
Office of the EU Culture Programme.
The Mission of the Theatre Institute
The Theatre Institute (TI), founded in 1959, is a modern and open centre
focusing on information, scholarship, consultation, education, and
production in the field of theatre. Its primary mission is to provide the
Czech and foreign public with comprehensive information services on
the entire field of theatre, initiate and participate in international projects,
promote and present Czech theatre abroad, study and document the
theatre arts, and publish specialised theatre literature.
Departments of the Theatre Institute:
•
•
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Bibliography Department
Publication Department
Information and Documentation Department
Department for Czech Theatre Studies
Library
International Cooperation and PR
Collections and Archive Department
Prague Quadrennial
The Mission of the Arts Institute
The Arts Institute (AI) was founded as an independent department
of the Theatre Institute in 2005 with the mission of advancing and
elevating the social prestige of the arts. The AI supports the exchange
of information and experience among the arts, provides information and
advisory services, pursues educational activities and research, presents
and promotes the Czech arts abroad, and initiates and coordinates its
own and international projects.
The Arts Institute is comprised of three separate sections dev