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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 17 | volume III | October-November, 2000



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SLOVOKULT.DE
KRUG
BALKANI
OKF







                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 17October-November, 2000
Theatre Play

U

A play with pictures


/5
p. 1
Olga Mukhina

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Part 1. Scene 1.

Cast of Characters:

STEPAN IVANOVICH – about 60
    YELIZAVETA SERGEYEVNA, his wife
    ANYA – 20 years old, their daughter
    SISTER – 35 years old, their daughter
    SEVA – 40 years old, Sister's husband
    ANDREI – 40 years old
    DMITRY – 20 years old
    PIROGOVA – 20 years old
    BARSUKOV – 50 years old
    NIKOLAI – 20 years old, his son

White Rolls-Royces, trolleys and flat-bed trucks race by Mayakovsky, Pushkin and Gogol. Morning airplanes fly above the ponds. Horses, bicyclists and pedestrians jostle with singing Mexicans. Lilac's bloom, it smells of rain, bread and salt. A huge sun shines over the entire city. Seva and Andrei walk in the direction of the Kremlin.

ANDREI. I got two letters today. One from my grandmother, the other from my sister. Grandmother's letter was incredibly tender.
    SEVA. Hush there. Moscow does not believe in tears.
    ANDREI. All my life this city looks at me so cold, as an ice woman. A woman who laughs at me, who never ever offered me a hand, no matter how I whimpered or begged her for a single moment. I'm a stranger to her. I'm no one to her. She doesn't love me.
    SEVA. Just spend some money with her and she's yours all night long.
    ANDREI. If only that could be true…
    SEVA. Your head will spin, your ears will ring, and your feeble breast will shake with laughter. You’ll bite your lips and swallow hard – and she’ll beg for more!
    ANDREI. I don't have any money.
    SEVA. Moscow is not the world's bellybutton. Other countries are inhabited, too. Short as Napoleon.
    ANDREI. Every year it gets tougher and tougher. This town has stripped me bare. I hate it! (Starts crying.)
    SEVA. OK, it’s OK.
    ANDREI. I've got just a single weary desire left in my head – to lie down here and die. To strip off all these clothes, kick off my wet shoes, free myself of these rags and die naked – right here. Right here on this asphalt in the rain. I won't say a thing to her; I'll just think quietly to myself – HOW ABOUT THAT, SWEETHEART? I LOST!
    SEVA. Stupid.
    ANDREI. I'm finished!

Enter Pirogova. She runs and laughs and waves photographs in the air.

Olya Mukhina

PIROGOVA. This is Vitya. He's a pilot. He took me for a plane ride. Up there! Over Moscow! We even flew over your street.
    SEVA. I thought I noticed something strange. It was like the
    weather went bad on just our street. But it was






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