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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 31 | volume VI | March-April, 2003



                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 31March-April, 2003
Theatre Play

Powder Keg

Translated by: Philip Philipovich

p. 1
Dejan Dukovski


Scene 1

Alive and Well

(A bar, nearly empty. ANGJELE, middle aged, sitting at a table. He is drinking beer. Enter DIMITRIJA, looking haggard, aged. He walks on crutches. DIMITRIJA sits down at another table. ANGJELE watches him. He finishes his beer, walks over to DIMITRIJA.)

ANGJELE: How's it going, Dimitrija?
    DIMITRIJA: Fine, thank God.
    ANGJELE: Can I buy you a drink?
    DIMITRIJA: A beer.
    ANGJELE: You remember me?
    (They are looking at each other. ANGJELE gets up. He brings two beers, sits down again.)

    ANGJELE: Where have you been?
    DIMITRIJA: Around.

    ANGJELE: Something happened to you?
    DIMITRIJA: Long story. Don't even ask.
    ANGJELE: An accident?
    DIMITRIJA: Don't even ask.
    (ANGJELE raises the glass to toast.)

    ANGJELE: To your health. Cheers!
    DIMITRIJA: To your health!
    (They both drink.)

    ANGJELE: Traffic accident?
    DIMITRIJA: Wish it was.
    ANGJELE: No? What then? (pause) Did you have a fall?
    ANGJELE: Someone beat you up?

    ANGJELE: Know who it was?
    ANGJELE: You don't remember?
    DIMITRIJA: Never saw him.
    ANGJELE: They put a sack over your head? (pause) Settling some score? You rubbed someone the wrong way? (pause) He fixed you up pretty good.
    DIMITRIJA: What did you say your name was?
    ANGJELE: Angjele.
    DIMITRIJA: Angjele?
    ANGJELE: You don't remember me?
    DIMITRIJA: Getting old.

    ANGJELE: He sure did a number on you. Fixed you up real good.
    (DIMITRIJA drinks up his beer.)

    DIMITRIJA: With a crow bar.
    ANGJELE: A crow bar?
    DIMITRIJA: A hammer. (pause) A crow bar and a hammer. Ten, fifteen pounder. At least. Bone by bone. One at a time. Twenty-seven fractured, total. Three chipped. Plus cracked ribs, that's a separate count. Fractured skull. Spinal injuries. Damaged spinal cord.
    (DIMITRIJA pauses.)

    DIMITRIJA: Have problems with my head. Constant headaches. Fucking head. Left leg shortened by two inches. Three toes missing. They sewed me, they patched me, but they never put me back together. Right arm gone. Chemi… chemi… fucking-pharesis of the right side. Severe motoric aphasia. Muscle tonus and… hypertonia. Jaw is locking up. Some bone must be dislocated. One kidney removed. The other one – no good. I'm not supposed to drink anymore. But do I ever! At night, can't hold my water. The moment I fall asleep, I leak. Have breathing problems. Fucking lungs. Be better off if a train had run me over. Early retirement. No special privileges, merits. Job-related disability.

    DIMITRIJA: It's OK, though. Can't complain. Had fun in my own time. From there, it's downhill anyway. Ask anyone about Dimitrija the Cop. Know how many broads I scored! I lost count. Can still do it, too, fuck me. My old

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