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THEATER PLAYS
Valentin Krasnogorov


The book contains 9 selected plays of various styles and genres – comedy, drama, tragedy. Plays by the Russian playwright Valentin Krasnogorov are widely staged by theaters in many countries of the world. They have received numerous awards for best drama at various international theater festivals.





Valentin Krasnogorov

THEATER PLAYS





Valentin Krasnogorov and his plays


Krasnogorov’s plays have been performed in more than 400 theaters all over the wold and directed by many prominent theater directors. They are part of the permanent repertoire of many theaters, and several have been peformed hundreds of times, to rave reviews. The critical assessment that “Krasnogorov’s plays cross borders easily” is no empty praise: they have been translated into a number of other languages, and performed in Australia, Bulgaria, the Czech Republic, Cyprus, Estonia, Germany, Great Britain, India, Mongolia, Montenegro, Poland, Romania, Slovakia, Turkey, Ukraine, the USA, and elsewhere. Plays from the Krasnogorov catalogue have received numerous awards for best drama at various international theater festivals.

Krasnogorov’s theatrical mastery spans a wide range of unique talents and skills. It is the combination of biting satire, a keen sense of humor, the art of the grotesque and the absurd, tender lyricism, and a deep appreciation of human nature that makes Krasnogorov’s theater pieces so sought after, so delightful, so delectable. The conflicts in his plays are beautifully balanced out by their easy yet brilliant dialogue, lively dynamics, and gripping narratives. The author’s witty plots and paradoxical situations are quick to draw readers and audiences into the world created by his imagination.

In addition to drama, Valentin Krasnogorov has written novellas, short stories, and essays. His biography is included in the Marquis Who’s Who in the World (USA), the International Who’s Who of Intellectuals (Cambridge, England), and other publications.One Passion and Four Walls, Krasnogorov’s book on the essence of drama, has earned praise from notable figures in the theater. He is also the founder and first president of the Dramatists Guild of St. Petersburg.




Running the Show


Режиссер массовых зрелищ



A mysterious comedy in two acts

with no intermission



Translated from the Russian by Liv Bliss



Liv Bliss is a professional translator who resides in the United States and is certified by the American Translators Association for translation from Russian into English. She has a shelf-full of translated books, mostly fiction, and truly enjoys the challenge of academic translation and editing.



Synopsis

A unusual show goes into a mystifying, bizarrely amusing night rehearsal that ends with a twist. 2 men and 2 women. Interior.



CHARACTERS



DIRECTOR

CONSULTANT

MAN

WOMAN



The age of the characters is not critical. The men can be 40 to 60 years old; the women, 30 to 40.



An ordinary, unremarkable room. The actors are offstage as the play begins. After some time, a middle-aged man, the DIRECTOR, enters. He is accompanied by a beautiful, impeccably dressed woman, the CONSULTANT.

CONSULTANT: Here we are. After you.

DIRECTOR: Is this where we’re going to rehearse?

CONSULTANT: Yes. Do you have a problem with anything?

DIRECTOR: No. Why do you ask? What is this room?

CONSULTANT: A kind of recording studio. It’s nicely sound-proofed. If you close the door, no noises can get in or out. This is just what you need for your rehearsals. No one will bother you here. Do you like it?

DIRECTOR: (casually) It’s quite cozy. I don’t care, though. I can work in any conditions, even in a storm on the deck of a ship. But where are the so-called artistes? The rehearsal’s scheduled for ten p.m. sharp, and it’s already three minutes past.

CONSULTANT: They’ll be here soon.

DIRECTOR: (not pleased) What does that mean, “soon”? They should be here and ready at ten p.m. on the dot. My work doesn’t accommodate any deviations from the schedule. I’ll still have to pull an all-nighter after this rehearsal. And I have to have everything done by tomorrow at three p.m., come hell or high water. This isn’t some first-night premiere that can be postponed until whenever.

CONSULTANT: Take it easy, sit down. Would you like some coffee?

DIRECTOR: I’m not here for coffee, dearie, but to do my work. And who are you, by the way?

CONSULTANT: I’m a consultant.

DIRECTOR: I don’t need any consultants, sweet cheeks.

CONSULTANT: I’m not your consultant.

DIRECTOR: Then whose are you?

CONSULTANT: Not yours. I was sent to help you with the rehearsal.

DIRECTOR: Help me? I don’t need any assistants either. Do you know who I am?

CONSULTANT: You’re a renowned director. Everybody knows that. But surely you’re not going to pour your own coffee or find the right script pages? That’s why I’m here.

DIRECTOR: Well, if that’s why… I can’t stand having outsiders at my rehearsals.

CONSULTANT: Don’t worry. I’m only going to be your aide… or your associate director… I don’t know what the job’s called in the theater.

DIRECTOR: OK, stay. But don’t even think about tampering with my work. If you do, you’ll be out on your ear.

CONSULTANT: Very well.

DIRECTOR: If you’re somebody’s consultant, maybe you already know why this rehearsal – and, for that matter, all the work I’m doing – needs to be kept secret?

CONSULTANT: It must be because the client wants it that way.

DIRECTOR: A strange thing to want. Something’s wrong here.

CONSULTANT: Will you be paid for this project?

DIRECTOR: Sure.

CONSULTANT: Will they pay well?

DIRECTOR: Better than well. Anyway, that’s what they promised.

CONSULTANT: Then you should have no questions.

DIRECTOR: (paces the room impatiently) But where are those wretched artistes, damn them?

CONSULTANT: Why’re you going off on them all of a sudden? They’re respected people, eminent people…

DIRECTOR: That’s why they have to be put in their place right off the bat. As soon as an actor starts telling me about the prizes and awards he’s won, and how many times he’s been on TV, and all that, he immediately becomes impossible to work with. I can’t stand big stars. I boot them out on the spot.

CONSULTANT: These people have been on TV too, but I asked them to keep it low key here.

DIRECTOR: Just let ’em try any other key… So far, all I can see is that the show’s scheduled for tomorrow, but they’re not here. Do they know their parts, at any rate?

CONSULTANT: (unsure) They promised to learn them.

DIRECTOR: If they haven’t learned their roles by heart, I’ll send them back where they came from. I don’t have time to study the script with them. This isn’t a kindergarten.

CONSULTANT: I’ll pour you a cup of coffee anyway.

DIRECTOR: To hell with your coffee…

MAN enters. He is somewhat older than middle age, wearing a well-tailored dark suit.

MAN: Good evening.

DIRECTOR: At last you delight us with your presence.

MAN: Sorry, I’m a little late…

DIRECTOR: I don’t accept apologies. If you don’t value your own time, at least respect the time of others.

MAN: I’m a very busy person. Is that so hard to grasp?

DIRECTOR: I’m busier than you are, let me assure you. But I arrived on time, although every second’s precious to me. At this moment, hundreds of people are working on the show under my leadership, and everything will collapse without a clear-cut schedule. If I accept an apology from everyone instead of getting the work done, we’re in for a failure tomorrow.

WOMAN rushes in. She’s beautiful and dressed in a bright, provocative outfit. She’s trying to hide the fact that she’s tipsy.

WOMAN: Good evening. (Guilty) It seems I’m late.

DIRECTOR: To quote Hamlet: “Seems,” madam? Nay, it is. I know not “seems.”

WOMAN: (baffled) What are you talking about?

DIRECTOR: About you being late and me not putting up with it.

WOMAN: It just turned out this way. I don’t know why.

DIRECTOR: If anything else “just turns out” with you, nothing’s going to turn out for us. Is that clear?

CONSULTANT: Maybe we should start the rehearsal?

DIRECTOR: Are you giving me advice already, sweet cheeks?

CONSULTANT: But they’re here, they’ve apologized.

DIRECTOR: So sit quietly, and not another peep out of you. I want everyone to understand here and now: without iron discipline, we won’t get anywhere. My time’s very limited. Everyone has to obey me implicitly. I won’t tolerate any superstar-itis. I hope that’s clear to everyone.

Silence

Fine. Now, without wasting another minute… (looks at his notebook) The first to speak is our leading lady. The rest will sit quiet and stay out of it. (to WOMAN) Are you ready?

WOMAN: In a minute. I’m just going to make a call.

DIRECTOR: No calls! Everyone, turn off your phones!

WOMAN: I’ll be quick. It’s very important.

DIRECTOR: Nothing can be more important than this rehearsal.

WOMAN: Oh, all right. (puts the phone away)

DIRECTOR: I seem to recall asking if you’re ready.

WOMAN: Yes.

DIRECTOR: So begin. Come forward… By the way, why are you dressed like that? I asked everybody to report in costume.

WOMAN: I didn’t know we had to.

DIRECTOR: Get this into your head: everything I say, you have to do. Got it?

WOMAN: Yes.

DIRECTOR: Fine. You were supposed to come in full costume so you could get used to it, get comfortable in it, feel that it’s yours. But the most important thing is that it helps you to create the right mood.

WOMAN: I was afraid to stain or crush it.

DIRECTOR: Then the least you could have done is figured out that you needed to wear something a little more somber than that. You’re going to be portraying profound sorrow, while your skirt is, sad to say, barely hiding what’s not usually displayed in broad daylight. True, it’s almost night by now. Anyway, do you even have a skirt on?

WOMAN: Don’t you see it?

DIRECTOR: Almost.

WOMAN: But you’re taking a close look, aren’t you?

DIRECTOR: I’m afraid that if I look closely, I’ll see too much.

WOMAN: This is what people are wearing these days.

DIRECTOR: OK. Let’s not waste any more time talking. As they say in the theater, you’re on.

Pause. WOMAN obviously doesn’t know what to do.

So why are you standing there like a pillar of salt?

WOMAN: You didn’t tell me what to do.

DIRECTOR: First of all, step forward and face the audience.

WOMAN doesn’t move.

Well? What’s the problem now?

WOMAN: I don’t know how I’m supposed to walk.

DIRECTOR: You don’t know how to walk? Do you need to be taught that too?

WOMAN: I meant, quickly and energetically or the opposite – slowly?

DIRECTOR: Of course slowly. Do what Stanislavsky – he was a theatrical genius, you know – said, and let yourself sense what’s needed. Meaning that it all has to be done slowly and sadly.

WOMAN: Where’s the audience?

DIRECTOR: The audience is me.

WOMAN goes to stage center and again stands silent.

You have a rare gift, dearie. I love silent women, but silence isn’t always golden. Begin, before we’re too old to care!

WOMAN: One minute… (quickly trots back to her purse, opens it, takes out some sheets of paper, unfolds them, and again returns, slowly and sadly, to stage center.)

DIRECTOR: What’s that?

WOMAN: (guilty) My lines.

DIRECTOR: (exploding) What? You haven’t learned your lines yet? You undisciplined, disorganized… I refuse to work with you! Are you going to speak from a script tomorrow?

WOMAN: What if I do? We all speak from scripts.

DIRECTOR: That’s what you do. With me, you’ll speak without one, or we’re done. Your words should be born of feeling, not from a cheat sheet.

The seated MAN hurriedly takes some pages out of his pocket and starts learning his lines.

WOMAN: I’ll have it down by tomorrow.

DIRECTOR: And you think I believe you? Are you even capable of learning anything, never mind (mimicking her) “by tomorrow”?

WOMAN: I give you my word.

DIRECTOR: Oh, all right. Use the cheat sheet for now. (mocking) You can read, can’t you?

WOMAN opts not to react. She finds the right page and reads.

WOMAN: (cheerfully) Dear friend!

DIRECTOR: Stop!

WOMAN: What?

DIRECTOR: That’s how you tell someone happy birthday. You have to make your face and whole body mournful. Slow movements, shoulders lowered, arms dangling, disobedient lips pronouncing the words with difficulty. Get that?

WOMAN: Yes. (tries to speak sadly) Dear friend! (hitches up the bra strap that has just slid off her shoulder)

DIRECTOR: No, you’re not getting the mournful look. And how can you when your front’s open almost down to your waist, and your legs are on view up to… Well, I’d best not say up to where. How did you wind up here dressed like this?

WOMAN: The thing is, when I got the call to come here, I was… How can I put it?.. At a small party.

DIRECTOR: And you, of course, got a little bombed there.

WOMAN: A little.

DIRECTOR: And you were apparently so rushed, you left some of your clothes behind.

WOMAN: That’s not funny.

DIRECTOR: It’s very sad. But then you tried to assure me that you were late because you were very busy.

WOMAN: I’m entitled to have fun now and then. How did I know I was going to get an urgent call?

DIRECTOR: (gives WOMAN another critical once-over) There’ll be no extracting the correct intonation from you like this.

WOMAN: I’ve got the costume downstairs, in the car. Maybe I should go and do a quick change?

DIRECTOR: Wait, let me think… (eyes WOMAN closely) You still look… pretty good… And without clothes probably even better than fully dressed… Yes, perhaps we’ll shoot you without clothes.

WOMAN: On television?

DIRECTOR: No, first we’ll take your clothes off. And then we’ll tape you without them.

WOMAN: I don’t understand. You want me to perform in the nude?

DIRECTOR: Do you call this dressed?

WOMAN: (frightened) But I can’t appear in public without a stitch on.

DIRECTOR: Why not? First, you’ll look more decent that way than you do half-naked. Secondly, it’s just not a show these days unless somebody’s in the buff.

WOMAN: (frightened) You seriously want to undress me?

DIRECTOR: I can undress you frivolously, if you want.

WOMAN: But so many people will see me!

DIRECTOR: At worst they’ll get a kick out of our show.

MAN: And what’s the motivation going to be?

DIRECTOR: (surprised that MAN has butted in) Actually, that’s my concern, not yours. Still, the motivation’s obvious: a woman’s gone out of her mind with suffering, and she’s thinking not about decency but only about her grief. She collapses onto the coffin in despair. Only her long, flowing hair covers her nudity, like Lady Godiva…

WOMAN: My hair’s not long enough to cover my… you know… my nudity.

DIRECTOR: We’ll get you a wig. But OK. I’ll give that option more thought later. Consider it a joke. Meanwhile, let’s start over. Well? Don’t dilly-dally! Off you go!

WOMAN: Dear friend!..

DIRECTOR: Not like that, not like that! Grief, more grief! Drop a tear or two if you can.

WOMAN: (tries to squeeze out a tear, fails, feels guilty). I just can’t weep. I always can, but not this time.

DIRECTOR: Dammit, why not? Don’t you have any imagination? So imagine, for example, that your lover has dumped you. If you don’t remember the script, improvise for the time being.

WOMAN: (thinks for a second, then the expression on her face changes dramatically) Bastard! Son of a bitch! I always knew you’d dump me! But don’t worry, I’m not going to cry. And I won’t be alone for long, either… You’ll regret this…

DIRECTOR: Stop! Who are you talking to?

WOMAN: (embarrassed) To… to my lover.

DIRECTOR: Who’s lying dead in the coffin?

WOMAN: But he dumped me. I’m not about to call him “dear friend.”

DIRECTOR: (wearily) He didn’t dump you, he left you. Left you for a higher life, an eternal life, where you’ll be reunited with him one day. That’s how you categorize the image you’re constructing. And you mustn’t yell “I’m not going to cry.” On the contrary, you’re crying bitter tears… I’m sensing that your thoughts are still at your party. Sit down, learn your lines properly, and think about your role. And have some coffee, to sober you up a bit. (nodding to CONSULTANT sitting demurely in the corner) That girl will pour you a cup.

WOMAN: (with a wary glance at CONSULTANT) No, why bother her? I can go on just fine like this.

DIRECTOR: You’ve been told to sit down. In the meantime, I’ll work with the other actor. (to MAN) Take it away.

MAN: (goes to the center of the stage, stops, unfolds the paper with his lines; a pause) Should I portray sorrow too?

DIRECTOR: (sarcastically) No, unbridled joy. (fiercely) You’re standing over a coffin, damn it! Does this really need an explanation?

MAN: I get it. (portraying sorrow) Dear friend!

DIRECTOR: Stop! We’ve already had “dear friend.” Couldn’t you start with something different, for a change? At least “unforgettable friend”? Are you both delivering the same speech?

MAN: Sorry, I took her lines by mistake. (goes to the row of chairs, picks up the sheet with his lines, and returns to his place; another pause) Tell me, will I be speaking from a podium tomorrow or just standing?

DIRECTOR: There’s no podium near the coffin. So there’ll be nowhere to hide your cheat sheet.

MAN: Then I’ll have to learn my speech by heart?

DIRECTOR: You haven’t learned it yet?

MAN: I’m more used to reading from a script, you see. People of our standing aren’t allowed to improvise.

DIRECTOR: You’ll have to do it without your cheat sheet this one time.

MAN: I could get confused.

DIRECTOR: So long as you don’t get very confused, that’s no big deal. It’s even better, in fact. You’re sort of agitated, depressed by what’s just happened, the words aren’t coming easy.

MAN: I get it. (searches through the sheets of paper for his place and gets ready to start)

DIRECTOR: Don’t forget to look mournful.

MAN: (assuming a mournful look) Dear friend!

DIRECTOR: (exploding) Again with the “dear friend”? Are you jerking me around?

MAN: Sorry, that was a reflex. I’m a little flustered.

DIRECTOR: Very well. Start again.

MAN adopts a mournful pose and opens his mouth, but just then CONSULTANT’s phone rings.

CONSULTANT: Hello! Yes. Good. Is everything ready? When? In about an hour? Check again, Colonel. To make sure it all goes off without a hitch.

DIRECTOR: (fiercely) I thought I ordered everyone to turn off their phones. Why didn’t you do as I said?

CONSULTANT: I’m not authorized to turn off my phone. Especially on a day like this.

DIRECTOR: And I don’t care what you’re authorized to do. Here, the only important thing is the rehearsal. (pounds his fist on the table and glares at everyone) If anyone else’s phone rings, I… (to MAN) Continue.

MAN: (instead of starting his speech, starts rummaging through his pockets) Sorry…

DIRECTOR: (through clenched teeth) What now?

MAN: I can’t find my glasses.

DIRECTOR: To hell with your glasses! Tomorrow you’ll have no glasses and no script either. Speak, say something! Imagine yourself on a platform in the middle of a spacious square. An open coffin stands before you, the orchestra has fallen silent, the guard is motionless, dozens of television cameras are pointed at you, the whole country is watching you, waiting to hear what you’re going to say. Will you be rummaging around in your pockets then?

MAN: But I haven’t learned the speech yet.

DIRECTOR: I know you haven’t learned it. But for now don’t think about what to say, just how to say it.

CONSULTANT: (from her corner) The “what” is important too.

DIRECTOR: (threateningly) Nobody asked you.

MAN: And how must it be said?

DIRECTOR: Sincerely, with feeling. Your words should come from your very heart… Remember in Faust? “Let apes and children praise your art, if their admiration’s to your taste, But you’ll never speak from heart to heart, unless it rises up from your heart’s space.” Got it? Well! Off you go!

MAN: (reading from the paper in his hand) Dear brother!..

DIRECTOR: Don’t look at the paper but at the camera, right at the camera!

MAN: But there’s no camera.

DIRECTOR: Here, in rehearsal, I’ll play the role of the camera. And tomorrow, during the show, think of it the other way, that the camera’s your director. It’s me, your best friend. Looking into the camera’s eye – directly into the lens, that is – address it as if it were a living person. Keep this in mind: that way you’ll be looking into the eyes of millions of people, and they’ll be looking at you. Clear? Off you go!

MAN: (staring intently at DIRECTOR) Dear brother!..

DIRECTOR: Stop! You’re looking at the camera, and that’s good, but you’ve forgotten to portray grief.

MAN: It’s difficult to remember everything at once – my face, and the camera, and the words, and the grief. I’m afraid of losing the thread.

DIRECTOR: To hell with the words, then! Words are the least of your worries. If you can’t remember, don’t. Words aren’t important in the modern theater. The main thing is to express emotion.

CONSULTANT: (from her corner) All the same, it seems to me that the words are important too.

DIRECTOR: (to CONSULTANT) Should I kick you out now or wait for you to pipe up again? (to MAN) Continue. Your face should be sad but at the same time serene, inspiring energy and optimism. Yes, your best friend has left you too soon, but he will always stay with you, in your heart. He will not be forgotten. His work will never die. And you will be the one to carry it on. So, start over! Sobs constrict your throat…

MAN: (in a strangled voice, while unsuccessfully trying to create a mixture of sadness, energy, and optimism on his face) Dear brother!

DIRECTOR: What are you muttering there?

MAN: This sobbing’s making my throat tight.

DIRECTOR: So it’s tight, but you still have to speak clearly.

MAN: (in his own voice) All this is very difficult. How can anybody portray sorrow and optimism at once? This isn’t going anywhere.

DIRECTOR: (furious) It isn’t going anywhere because you don’t know how to put in the work, and you don’t even want to. I’m afraid I’m only wasting my precious time with you.

MAN: (unexpectedly gruff and arrogant) You forget yourself, my dear sir. Please watch your tone. Yes, we have no acting talent. What of it? We don’t have to. We’re busy with more important things. Politicians should never be actors.

DIRECTOR: You’re wrong. It’s actors who should never be politicians. A good politician ought to be an actor, though. But so be it. If I ever find the time, I’ll give you some private lessons. Provided you make it worth my while, needless to say. In the meantime, go run your lines in front of a mirror and learn the words.

MAN: (tightly wound now) You’re being way too familiar, and it’s unacceptable – do you hear me? We’re not floozies in vaudeville or wherever you normally do your thing, but upstanding, respected people. Conduct yourself accordingly.

DIRECTOR: Theater 101: the director is all, and the rest, whoever they may be, are nobody and nothing, empty suits, clothes hangers, dolls, and puppets. Is that clear?

MAN: And I say again: we will not tolerate being taunted just because we’re having trouble with one thing or another!

DIRECTOR: (mocking) “With one thing or another”… Such modesty! “One thing or another”! (ferociously.) You’re having trouble with everything! Do you hear? Everything! (thinks for a moment) This is what I’m going to do. Tomorrow I’m going to put a sniper in the window of the building closest to the square. And if you haven’t learned your lines, as soon as you make the first mistake, the rifle will make bang-bang. I’ll have the second coffin all ready. And your partner will double up on her speech over the twin graves. (to WOMAN) Won’t you?

WOMAN: With pleasure.

DIRECTOR: That will, I assure you, be one awe-inspiring show. It’s a pity that you won’t be there to enjoy it.

MAN: Your little jokes are stupid and out of place.

DIRECTOR: But I’m not joking at all. There’s less than twenty-four hours left before we thoroughly disgrace ourselves, so stop talking and buckle down at last. Every show demands hard work and preparation, and ours especially. It involves countless hordes of people, and we’re down to the wire.

CONSULTANT: You seem nervous. Afraid you aren’t going to make it?

DIRECTOR: I’m never afraid of anything. It’ll all be ready in time. I’ve staged spectacles on streets, and on squares, and in stadiums, and in swimming pools… And everything always went like clockwork. This is my profession. I work like a horse, but I demand the same attitude to the work from everyone else.

MAN: I’m not against work, but I do require respect. I’m not some whippersnapper – I’m a big deal. A very big deal.

DIRECTOR: And I require respect too. In your free time, away from rehearsals, by all means run the government or the country, I couldn’t care less. But here I’m directing this production, and you’re only actors in it and have to do what you’re told.

MAN: So stick to your business, but don’t forget who you are and who I am.

DIRECTOR: I’m not forgetting that you’re our prime minister, our fearless leader. Although the male lead in the seediest provincial theater would play that part in tomorrow’s performance far better than you. And you, in turn, don’t forget that I’m the one who forged your image when you were being groomed for the prime minister spot. I’m the one who taught you how to walk, talk, dress, carry yourself, so that you’d look every bit like a serious, intelligent, upstanding person. But now we’re in rehearsal, not at some government meeting. And in rehearsal, everyone obeys just one person. Namely, the director. And that director is me.

MAN: Permit me to…

DIRECTOR: (cutting MAN off) And I make so bold as to observe that when a minister is removed from his post, he becomes nobody, the “former,” the “ex” whatever. But no one will take my calling from me. I was, am, and will remain a top-flight professional.

MAN: But that doesn’t give you the right…

DIRECTOR: (cutting him off again) Wait, I haven’t finished yet. If you make a mess of tomorrow’s nationwide broadcast, it’ll be your mess, of course. Unfortunately, though, it will be mine too. You’ll probably be fired, but I’ll survive it. No one’ll fire me. Still, I value my reputation as the country’s best director, and I don’t want to lose it because of you. And I won’t let either of you go until you deliver your speeches the way you should. This is, first of all, in your own interests. How come you aren’t understanding that?

MAN: (less confident) I just wanted to say that I don’t like the way you rehearse.

DIRECTOR: Directing’s part of my job description, so leave that to me. If you let all the professionals do what they do the way they want to, as they know best, our country would have changed to the good long ago. But you interfere with everything and spoil everything. (pointing to WOMAN) Take your fellow member of the government as your example. She’s sitting quietly and not trying to stretch the rehearsal out with pointless bickering. (to WOMAN) Because you’re a minister, an elected representative, or something like that too, aren’t you?

WOMAN: What of it?

DIRECTOR: Nothing. So what are you running there?

WOMAN: What ministry would they give to a woman? Only what is considered the most unimportant, third-rate – health care, education, culture…

DIRECTOR: And which of those ministries do you head up?

WOMAN: Me…? (racking her brains) It’s… You know… Education, I think… Or no – Culture. I always get them mixed up. (to MAN) Do you remember? At present I’m Minister of what – Education or Culture?

MAN: (sullenly) Agriculture.

WOMAN: Right! For some reason I was thinking Culture.

MAN: You were head of Culture last time around.

WOMAN: Why didn’t you remind me before? At yesterday’s meeting, I kept saying that our main aim is to develop culture.

MAN: No big deal. They probably thought you were pushing them to improve crop cultivation or something.

CONSULTANT: Sorry to interfere, but the rehearsal’s fallen off the radar. Isn’t it time we got back to it?

DIRECTOR: My dear girl, it’s obvious that you don’t understand a thing about the theater. All rehearsals mainly consist of unnecessary chit-chat and people at each other’s throats. Without conflict, no show is ever born. But I wasn’t just wool-gathering. I’m feeling that tomorrow’s performance is missing something. Something that pops… It’s all boring, mundane. There’s nothing spectacular about it… It’s how anyone would do it… I need to come up with something – a discovery, a hook, a gimmick, a ploy… (thinks for a moment) Maybe our esteemed prime minister will ravish this fine figure of a woman on live TV.

WOMAN: Me?!

DIRECTOR: Who else?

MAN: You’re out of your mind!

WOMAN: What’s the big whoop? I don’t mind.

MAN: Neither do I, but why do it when the cameras are rolling?

DIRECTOR: For the scandal.

MAN: Why?

DIRECTOR: What d’you mean “why”? There can be no success without a scandal. Who’s interested in watching a funeral? It’s all pretty dreary, so been-there, done-that. I did instruct the designer to zhuzh it up as much as possible, and make it more festive and cheerful – but a funeral’s a funeral. Always the same thing – glum faces, phony eulogies… The viewers will click over, to a football game or their favorite soap. But if there’s a scandal, they’ll talk about it, interest will skyrocket, people will insist on reruns. My stagings always involve a scandal. The rest doesn’t interest me, or the viewers.

CONSULTANT: But what does physical violation have to do with a funeral?

DIRECTOR: Nothing. That’s the trick of it. One time I set up a welcome ceremony for a foreign leader, and do you know what I came up with? Naked girls with an obscene tattoo on their breasts came running out to meet him at the airport. That bit of film got airtime on every station worldwide.

MAN: And what did the foreign dignitary say?

DIRECTOR: He was very pleased. The girls were just what the doctor ordered, and he became a household name all over the world. And before that, no one had even heard of him. That’s how a success is made. And when I was directing an orchid festival in Singapore…

CONSULTANT: Sorry to interfere again, but this isn’t a stroll down memory lane. It’s a rehearsal.

DIRECTOR: The word “rehearsal” in Latin means “repetition,” my dear girl. With a real director, though, no rehearsal is ever a repetition of the same old thing. It’s a quest for, a promotion of, new ideas.

CONSULTANT: Setting someone up to be violated doesn’t strike me as a good idea.

DIRECTOR: First of all, pussycat, nobody asked you. Second, that’s exactly how the funeral should go, in my mind’s eye. As a great director once asked, “Where’s our next surprise coming from?”

CONSULTANT: You think that a televised sex act will surprise anybody?

DIRECTOR: To be honest, I’m not sure. I’m putting this idea out only as a working hypothesis. And what do you think would surprise today’s viewers?

CONSULTANT: Well, for example, a show that comes across as logical.

DIRECTOR: That’s old hat. I always have to be ahead of my time, not trailing behind it. That’s why my shows have more hooks, obscenities, violence, and all the rest of it than anyone else’s. Food without pepper and spice is bland and tasteless.

CONSULTANT: The only people who say that don’t know how to cook a tasty meal.

DIRECTOR: I’m used setting the tone, and that’s not something I’m about to give up now. The spectators are supposed to leave my shows in a daze. That’s real art. And that’s why I’m the world’s best director for large-scale public events.

CONSULTANT: Are you sure everyone shares your opinion?

DIRECTOR: I don’t care what others think of me. What’s important is what I think of myself.

CONSULTANT: I don’t want to offend you, but I know a better professional than you in the field.

DIRECTOR: (stung) That can’t be. Who is he?

CONSULTANT: Never mind.

DIRECTOR: No, tell me his name! I know all the professionals in the field.

CONSULTANT: Not now. Time’s too short to be discussing ratings. The funeral’s almost here. We have to work.

DIRECTOR: You’re way out of line. What next? Hustling me along, telling me how to stage my shows? By the way, who are we burying?

A pause. A phone rings.

What the hell – whose phone’s ringing again? I told everyone to turn them off!

CONSULTANT: It’s your phone.

DIRECTOR: Yes? (takes out his phone) So it is.

CONSULTANT: (with a slight grin) By the way, why didn’t you turn yours off?

DIRECTOR: Because most of what I’m doing isn’t being done here, but all over the city. Hundreds of people are on it, as I’ve already told you. And besides, I am me. (into the phone) Hello!.. I’ve told you before: the full-dress rehearsal is at two a.m. Everybody must be on the main square by then. Make arrangements to get them there and take them away again. You have thirty buses for that… Don’t forget the microphones and the flowers… And what about the horses?.. (exits, still talking)

MAN: A swaggering, smug, tom turkey. Rude and impertinent. Imagines the sun rises and sets on him.

WOMAN: But he knows what he’s doing.

MAN: That doesn’t excuse his bad manners and doesn’t exempt him from being civil.

CONSULTANT: He’s on edge. He is responsible for everything, after all.

MAN: I won’t work with him. He has to be replaced.

CONSULTANT: It’s an old story: the actors want a different director, the director wants different actors… This conversation’s over.

MAN: Why? Why do we need this dictator? Are there no other directors?

CONSULTANT: Do you think other directors are better? They’re all dictators… Not that they’re the only ones… Besides, it’s too late to be talking about replacements and changes. The ceremony will be happening in a matter of hours. Better try to follow his instructions. Then you won’t butt heads as much.

DIRECTOR returns, putting his phone away.

DIRECTOR: We’ll continue the rehearsal. (to WOMAN) Do you know your part by now?

WOMAN: (uncertainly) I’ve studied it.

DIRECTOR: Very well. So as not to go around in circles, we’ll move on to the second paragraph.

WOMAN: (holding the paper with her lines) Dear Alexander!.. (to DIRECTOR) Alexander – who’s that?

DIRECTOR: The person you’re burying, obviously.

WOMAN: Was his name Alexander?

DIRECTOR: Probably. You ought to know.

CONSULTANT: (with barely concealed irritation) Yes, his name’s Alexander. Do you really not remember?

WOMAN: How’m I supposed to know? I’d never heard of any Alexander before he blew the whistle on our real estate and oil deals.

CONSULTANT: (gruffly) My dear, when you speak, your words should be better than silence. The director doesn’t need to know the details of your private life.

WOMAN: What did I say that was so wrong? We’re among friends here.

CONSULTANT: (decisively) Come with me. You need a splash of cold water. And a change of clothes, into something more decent.

WOMAN: But what about the rehearsal?

CONSULTANT: The director will work with our esteemed premier in the meantime.

DIRECTOR: Who put you in charge, to be bossing people around and interfering with my work?

CONSULTANT: I’m not interfering, I’m helping. (to WOMAN, in a commanding tone) Let’s go.

WOMAN makes for the door, but CONSULTANT stops her.

Hold on. Give me your purse for a minute. (takes WOMAN’s purse, removes a bottle of brandy, and puts it on the shelf) Now we can go.

CONSULTANT and WOMAN exit.

DIRECTOR: (to MAN) So. I’ll have to work just with you for now. The principal task of tomorrow’s show is high ratings, is that clear? That’s the spirit in which the show must be framed.

MAN: I completely agree with that as far as my personal approval numbers are concerned. But not that woman’s numbers. She shouldn’t have been allowed to take part in the performance at all.

DIRECTOR: I don’t quite understand who you’re talking about. The consultant?

MAN: No, that… lady minister. I don’t want to say anything bad about her, but you can see for yourself that she’s a complete airhead.

DIRECTOR: An actress needs talent, not brains. You’re not good with her as an actress?

MAN: I’m not good with her as a politician.

DIRECTOR: What’s wrong with her?

MAN: The fact that there’s been too much of her recently. She’s sticking her nose in everywhere, giving interviews to everyone, sounding off on every issue. And d’you know why? You won’t believe it: she has her sights set on my job.

DIRECTOR: She has?!

MAN: Of course. Why are you surprised? Don’t you know that the more mediocre a person is, the more overblown his ambitions are?

DIRECTOR: Why did you bring her into your government?

MAN: You think I’m the one who brought her in? Unfortunately, not everything depends on me… Besides, there are various political considerations…

DIRECTOR: What considerations could there be, other than the wheeling and dealing?

MAN: Decorum and political calculation require a minimum of two or three women in the government. And preferably not old battleaxes, but the kind that can be shown on TV. So I had to bring her in. Besides, the others were even worse.

DIRECTOR: And you don’t take smarts and fitness for the job into account?

MAN: What do smarts have to do with it? You can’t see that on TV. You know the old joke “Is it better to be stupid or bald?” The answer is “Stupid. It’s not so noticeable.” So broads like that shine on screen, while others do their work for them.

DIRECTOR: That’s all well and good, but what do you want from me? My business isn’t with the government, it’s with this rehearsal. I can’t kick her out. She’s written into my contract. The viewers want to see not only a coffin and glum faces, but also a trendy hairstyle, an elegant suit, a slender waist, legs all the way up to there, and the rest of it. It’ll liven up the spectacle. Everybody’ll be talking about it. Plus, there has to be a woman crying bitter tears at a staged funeral. She comes off as more sincere, more emotional than a man. Women are believed to be more driven by feeling than by reason. They tug harder at the viewer’s heartstrings.

MAN: (gloomy) So the long and the short of it is that all eyes will be on her, and only her.

DIRECTOR: Very well. I’ll try to balance that out.

MAN: Isn’t there some way of getting by without her?

DIRECTOR: I’ve already told you no. Anyway, it’s too late.

MAN: But at least show her as little as you can. Or film it so that she seems even more of a birdbrain, if that’s possible. You can do that. Or cut her out of the shot altogether.

DIRECTOR: You’d best mind your own business and leave my work to me.

WOMAN returns. She has sobered up a little and has even had time to change into a dark, well-tailored suit appropriate for a funeral.

MAN: (cheerfully) Our beauty’s back! We could hardly wait.

WOMAN: I know. That’s why I made it snappy.

DIRECTOR: (in a low tone, to MAN) And you turn out not to be such a bad actor after all.

MAN: (cheerfully) Let’s pull together now, the three of us, and get on with the job.

WOMAN: (to MAN) The consultant’s asking you to step out for a moment. She wants to talk to you.

DIRECTOR: She can wait. We have better things to do than chat. Let’s get down to business.

MAN: (hastily) No, no, I’ll go… I won’t be long. (exits)

WOMAN: Did you see that? He ran to her like an obedient little puppy dog. (with contempt) And they call him a prime minister!

DIRECTOR: But really, why do the two of you kowtow to an assistant?

WOMAN: You can’t guess?

DIRECTOR: I haven’t thought too much about it.

WOMAN: And I suggest that you don’t think much about it going forward either.

DIRECTOR: I don’t intend to. OK, let’s go over your monologue again.

WOMAN: Very well. Although I must confess, I’m tired of it. Where did we stop?

DIRECTOR: We haven’t started yet, if you ask me.

WOMAN stands before the “camera” and is about to say something, but doesn’t utter a word.

What? Still don’t know your part? (prompting) Dear friend!

WOMAN: Dear friend! (glances around, lowers her voice, and speaks in a different tone) Dear friend, while there’s no one else here, I’d like to speak with you.

DIRECTOR: (puzzled) What about?

WOMAN: First, even though I’m a blonde, I’m not as birdbrained as you think.

DIRECTOR: So you say.

WOMAN: You don’t believe it?

DIRECTOR: I do.

WOMAN: If I hadn’t pretended to be a ding-dong, they wouldn’t have brought me into the government. I’d’ve been passed over if I came off as brainy. They’re afraid of competition.

DIRECTOR: Is that all you wanted to tell me?

WOMAN: No.

DIRECTOR: What else?

WOMAN: So, when you were rehearsing with the prime minister, you said that all the cameras at the ceremony will be directed at him.

DIRECTOR: Well?

WOMAN: Why on him and not on me?

DIRECTOR: And why on you and not on him?

WOMAN: Because I’m a woman.

DIRECTOR: And he’s the prime minister.

WOMAN: I thought your answer would be that he’s a man. So believe me, he’s not a man.

DIRECTOR: We’ll not be filming him as a man, though, but as the prime minister.

WOMAN: And what kind of prime minister is he?

DIRECTOR: Who is he, then?

WOMAN: A doll, a puppet, a head honcho in name only, an empty suit. Put in that position for show, as a figurehead, as good TV. But all his work is done by his three senior staffers.

DIRECTOR: For tomorrow’s production, that doesn’t matter at all. More important are his noble head with its graying locks and his velvety baritone. And I’m not authorized to deny him the right to speak.

WOMAN: But can it be done so that only my speech will be broadcast?

DIRECTOR: And what am I to do with his performance?

WOMAN: Drown it out.

DIRECTOR: Drown it out? How?

WOMAN: Well, for example, have a squadron of heavy bombers fly over the square during his speech.

DIRECTOR: That’s a gutsy idea, but I don’t think it’ll quite come off.

WOMAN: Still, I’m asking you to point all the cameras at me and no one else.

DIRECTOR: Why do you need that?

WOMAN: Because I want to be prime minister.

DIRECTOR: You?!

WOMAN: Why not?

DIRECTOR: Hmm… You’re a woman. You’ll find it harder to deliver the goods.

WOMAN: Even in backward countries – England or India, for example – women have been leading governments for ages. Why can’t I?

DIRECTOR: Do you think you’ll do better work than he does?

WOMAN: Why work? I’ll have the same three senior staffers.

DIRECTOR: But you couldn’t even handle Culture.

WOMAN: Who told you I couldn’t? You bet I could! It was very simple. They taught me to talk up the importance of culture and cut down on the money allocated to it. That’s all. And that poor apology for a prime minister doesn’t even know how to put two words together. Do you know why I agreed to let him ravish me?

DIRECTOR: I can guess.

WOMAN: No you can’t. First, he wouldn’t be able to.

DIRECTOR: How do you know that?

WOMAN: (pointedly) I know. Second, he’d be fired immediately afterward, and my approval rating, vice versa, would immediately take off. And then… Who knows?..

DIRECTOR: They’d make you prime minister?

WOMAN: Well, maybe not right away… First, deputy prime minister… But that would be a step in the right direction. Well, are we agreed?

DIRECTOR: On what?

WOMAN: That you’ll do my PR for me.

DIRECTOR: We haven’t agreed on anything.

WOMAN: You shouldn’t say no. I realize that there are no free lunches these days. So you help me, and I’ll help you.

DIRECTOR: How can you help me? Now, if you were in charge of Culture, maybe you’d have something for me…

WOMAN: Do you think your stupid shows for big corporations have anything to do with culture?

DIRECTOR: They might and they might not. But what does your almighty Agriculture have that I might want?

WOMAN: And what might Culture have for you? It’s the most poverty-stricken of all the ministries.

DIRECTOR: Well, for example, a theater of some kind.

WOMAN: You’re a director of huge public spectacles. What would you need a theater for? Why don’t I just send you a herd of horses?

DIRECTOR: Where would I put them?

WOMAN: You shouldn’t say no. Good racehorses are a goldmine. But if you don’t want them, I’ll give you a whole village. With all its farm workers thrown in.

DIRECTOR: What would I do with them?

WOMAN: Be their landlord. That’s what clever people do. It’s every bit as good as investing money in industry.

DIRECTOR: Talking with you is vastly expanding my understanding of morality.

WOMAN: If you think that you can get as far as I have in politics while holding on to your moral virginity, you don’t know anything about life. There isn’t such a big difference between being a political mover and shaker and shaking your booty.

DIRECTOR: You’re insulting the booty shakers.

WOMAN: Maybe you think I won’t be able to handle my role tomorrow. (pointedly) So I agree to let you rehearse me privately.

DIRECTOR: We don’t have time for that anymore.

WOMAN: Why not? (up close and personal) We have the whole night ahead of us.

DIRECTOR: You don’t say.

WOMAN: A long, long night. And the village and the horses, that’s something else altogether.

DIRECTOR: Of course, I’d be flattered to do some night work with a future prime minister, but to be honest, I do have qualms about it. That’s a peak I’ve yet to scale. And besides, I have rehearsals for the ceremony on the square all night.

WOMAN: You don’t like me?

DIRECTOR: A man can’t say no when a woman asks a question like that.

WOMAN: Then what’s the matter? I’m your actress, after all.

DIRECTOR: So what?

WOMAN: I’ve heard that directors always sleep with all their actresses.

DIRECTOR: Don’t believe the gossip of jealous women.

WOMAN: But everyone believes that’s how it is.

DIRECTOR: It’s a run-of-the-mill slander against the theater, a low-rent, lowbrow view of the sacred world of art. First, not “always,” and second, not “with all.” In fact, we often sleep not only with actresses, but also with, well, run-of-the-mill women from the audience.

CONSULTANT enters.

WOMAN: (whispers) We’ll come to an agreement later.

CONSULTANT: (to WOMAN) Darling, don’t you want to spend some time in the company of our esteemed prime minister?

WOMAN: (obediently) Of course. (exits)

DIRECTOR: Who said you could interrupt the rehearsal and boss everybody around? If it happens again, I’ll boot you out. Why did you send her away?

CONSULTANT: Don’t be angry. I’m not being bossy at all. I just wanted to be alone with you for a few minutes. I hope you don’t mind?

DIRECTOR: (gives her a look of typical male appraisal) That depends on how you conduct yourself going forward.

CONSULTANT: I’m ready to consider any options.

DIRECTOR: Do you have any specific suggestions?

CONSULTANT: The suggestions should come from the man.

DIRECTOR: Say the day after tomorrow? In the evening?

CONSULTANT: When a woman says she’s ready, that shouldn’t be followed by a lot of foot-dragging. She may change her mind.

DIRECTOR: Then I’ll tell them to take five right now, and we’ll have half an hour.

CONSULTANT: Half an hour isn’t worth it. When it comes to things like this, I don’t like to rush.

DIRECTOR: Oh, all right – an hour. Although, truth be told, the clock’s ticking. The performance’ll be starting before we know it, and I’m up to my neck in things to do. But I can give you an hour.

CONSULTANT: I already said that’s not worth it. Besides, I have changed my mind.

DIRECTOR: (trying to embrace her) Are you kidding me with this?

CONSULTANT: Mind your manners and get your hands off me.

DIRECTOR: But you said you were ready…

CONSULTANT: I was just joking with you. Or, actually, testing you. I wanted to see how easy it would be to distract you from the project – a very important project, too.

DIRECTOR: I don’t appreciate jokes like that.

CONSULTANT: Then let’s talk seriously.

DIRECTOR: I have nothing to talk with you about, and no reason to either. I’m busy. I’m in rehearsal.

CONSULTANT: But you promised to give me an hour.

DIRECTOR: Not for talking.

CONSULTANT: You’re huffing and puffing like a disgruntled lion. How about a shot of brandy instead?

DIRECTOR: (cheers up) Do you have any?

CONSULTANT: I most certainly do. I confiscated this bottle, remember? You’ve been working on this awe-inspiring show for three days now. You’re tired… Some stress relief’s in order. And you’ve probably had no time to eat. (puts snacks, the bottle, and two glasses on the table and pours the brandy)

DIRECTOR: It really wouldn’t hurt to unwind for a while.

CONSULTANT: (raises her glass.) Well? To a successful outcome?

DIRECTOR: To success! (drinks and begins to eat hungrily)

CONSULTANT: Do you specialize only in large-scale public spectacles or do you stage performances in theaters too?

DIRECTOR: In theaters too. Rarely, though.

CONSULTANT: Anything modern?

DIRECTOR: No, just the classics.

CONSULTANT: Why? Are you very fond of the classics?

DIRECTOR: No, not very. But there are other reasons. For example, when you stage a classic, the critics won’t be able to come down on you for a poor choice of play. There’s no need to make a contract with the author or pay him anything. He won’t be giving advice and coming around picking nits. I can do what I want with a classic play – cut, add, rewrite – and nobody will ever complain.

CONSULTANT: And have you raped a lot of classics?

DIRECTOR: Not really. I’ve only read four plays in my life. Those are the ones I stage.

CONSULTANT: Aren’t you sick of staging the same plays over and over?

DIRECTOR: Not at all. We directors only need plays to display our creative individuality. The words aren’t important to us. We’re not staging a play or even a playwright, we’re expressing ourselves.

CONSULTANT: But don’t you get sick of yourself?

DIRECTOR: Never.

CONSULTANT: What about the audiences?

DIRECTOR: Audiences don’t interest me.

CONSULTANT: And you’ve never wanted to put on something new?

DIRECTOR: I’m what’s new.

CONSULTANT: Well, I just wanted to talk with you about the importance of the words and the author’s role in our show.

DIRECTOR: There’s nothing to talk about. I’m putting on a spectacle, not a memorized reading – and by the way, my performers can’t even get a handle on that. You saw that yourself.

CONSULTANT: Be patient with them. They’re politicians, and politicians are used to reading prepared texts handed to them by speechwriters. That’s why it’s difficult for them to memorize anything.

DIRECTOR: They can’t memorize, and they don’t have to. Let them say whatever wanders into their heads.

CONSULTANT: In our case, that’s unacceptable.

DIRECTOR: And who precisely are you, to be coaching me?

CONSULTANT: Consider me the representative of the client and the author.

DIRECTOR: The author of the spectacle is me and me alone. I’ve already said that today’s theater doesn’t pussyfoot around the texts. All texts do is fetter the flight of my directorial imagination.

CONSULTANT: But this isn’t exactly theater. We’re rehearsing a real event.

DIRECTOR: A televised ceremony isn’t reality anymore. It’s a show – a prepackaged reality that has been subjected to interpretation and direction. We’ll point the cameras at this but not at that. Here, we’ll let the prepared text be heard, and there, we’ll replace it with music or a voiceover. This we’ll shoot in close up, and that we won’t shoot at all. It’s called a show, and the show has a director. And the director is me. I’d ask you to remember that and stop getting on my last nerve with your complaints and your coaching.

CONSULTANT: I’ll remember that. So carry on doing it freeform. No one’s going to put any constraints on your inspiration. (after a short silence) But then don’t be surprised if you’re not paid.

DIRECTOR: (stung) What d’you mean, “not paid”? There’s a written contract!

CONSULTANT: (dispassionately, in a lawyerly tone) There is. And it contains a clause that obliges you to respect all copyright provisions, as required by law. Including the one involving the integrity of the work.

DIRECTOR: Nobody ever adheres to that clause.

CONSULTANT: (ignoring the objection) And if that provision is violated, not only will your fee not be paid, but you’ll also be sued for the pain and suffering you’ve inflicted on the author.

DIRECTOR: I wonder who that touchy author could be?

CONSULTANT: (frigidly) You just said that the author didn’t interest you. Let’s keep it that way. Still, I can’t impress on you firmly enough – pervert Shakespeare or Chekhov to your heart’s content, but you have to respect this author’s texts.

DIRECTOR: (his self-confidence much deflated) Oh, all right… I’ll try to make sure that not a single word is left out.

CONSULTANT: That’s fine.

DIRECTOR: By the way, when will I be paid?

CONSULTANT: Immediately after the show – if and only if all the terms of the contract have been met. But talk about the payment and the other details with the prime minister. I don’t have the time to poke around in the minor specifics.

DIRECTOR: For me, those specifics aren’t minor. They’re highly consequential.

CONSULTANT: (with a touch of scorn) Are you worried about those piddling millions that have been promised to you? Put together a good show, and we’ll do whatever you want – grant you a medal, a title… We can even assign you a theater of your choosing. Give it your personal touch, wreck it, and good luck to you. Then, when you’ve made a complete mess of it, we’ll give you another theater to tear up – it’s no skin off our noses. We’ll order new performances from you, because we need them. But all of this is on condition that you follow the recommendations being given to you.

DIRECTOR: Yes, but creative freedom…

CONSULTANT: We’re not infringing on that. And didn’t you lecture the actors today on the need for, and benefits of, discipline?

DIRECTOR: Yes, but that was for the actors…

CONSULTANT: And who are we, you and I? Didn’t your Shakespeare write that “all the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players”? And if that’s the case, then every one of us is working under a director that we’re compelled to obey. As Spinoza said, “Freedom lies in the recognition of necessity.” (patronizing) And the sooner you recognize that necessity, my dear man, the better for you, and for us.

DIRECTOR: This feels a bit like I’m being assaulted

CONSULTANT: Assault is easy to avoid.

DIRECTOR: Do you know how?

CONSULTANT: Every woman knows. You just have to give it up before your time runs out. So, do we have an agreement or not?

DIRECTOR: (reluctantly) We do.

CONSULTANT: That’s fine. Another glass?

DIRECTOR: Sure.

CONSULTANT: Now that we’ve understood each other, it’ll be easier to agree on the rest of it. I’ve noticed that, like many directors, you’re more interested in the form of the performance than in its meaning. You’re fixated on the how, but you’re not interested in the what and the why.

DIRECTOR: “The why” – what does that mean? So long as the show is beautiful and has tons of flair, the rest doesn’t matter. The main thing is the viewership and its reactions. In short, the ratings.

CONSULTANT: Ratings are important to us too – not the ratings for the broadcast, but the rating the client gives us. The success of the spectacle and therefore the size of the fee will be pegged to that indicator. And if the government’s ratings, God forbid, sink after tomorrow’s show....

DIRECTOR: That will bring the fee down too?

CONSULTANT: That will result in no payment at all.

DIRECTOR: I’m starting to regret getting mixed up in this bizarre deal of yours.

CONSULTANT What’s bizarre about it?

DIRECTOR: Not least the fact that I was tasked with preparing a public funeral on a huge scale and at the same time required to keep the preparations secret.

CONSULTANT: We couldn’t tell you everything before, for various reasons. But now it’s crunch time. There are some particulars you should know if you’re going to keep a tight grip on the spectacle.

DIRECTOR: Then tell me why there had to be so much secrecy.

CONSULTANT: We needed to buy time.

DIRECTOR: What for?

CONSULTANT: So that we would have time to prepare, and they wouldn’t.

DIRECTOR: Who are “they”?

CONSULTANT: “They” aren’t us.

DIRECTOR: No kidding. And who’s to stop those “not us” from preparing too?

CONSULTANT: That’s the whole point of the game.

DIRECTOR: I don’t get any of this. Who are we burying anyway?

CONSULTANT: Let’s just say a certain person who put us in an awkward spot. (whispers a name in DIRECTOR’s ear)

DIRECTOR: (surprised) He died? I thought he was still quite young.

CONSULTANT: (deliberately vague) Man proposes, God disposes.

DIRECTOR: There’s one thing I don’t understand. I know he was always needling you and your colleagues, threatening to leak information… Especially on the prime minister…

CONSULTANT: Him and others. So?

DIRECTOR: Then why have you ordered up this lavish funeral for him? Let his friends bury him.

CONSULTANT: Now they’re criticizing us too. But if we give their hero a grand send-off and praise him to the skies, they’ll have nothing to gripe at us for. That’s why the words have to be delivered at the ceremony exactly as they’re written. Politics is a theater where you mustn’t put a foot wrong. Otherwise, the role won’t be yours much longer.

DIRECTOR: So that’s it…

CONSULTANT: Do you understand now? They loved their leader, but we, it turns out, love him even more. The upshot is that they’ll seem to be in cahoots with us, and there won’t be a thing they can say about it. And if they do arrange their own separate ceremony, everyone’ll be watching your beautiful show, not their pathetic little rally.

DIRECTOR: Gotcha.

CONSULTANT: By the way, we don’t much want too many people we don’t know at the funeral. It could get out of hand. Do you have any advice on how to make it so they won’t pose a threat?

DIRECTOR: Very simple. Announce that due to the huge influx of people, the city center is off-limits for traffic. Put up barriers, post police details, and bring in the special forces. Keep everybody, not just vehicles, away from the funeral venue, unless they have a pass.

CONSULTANT: Not a bad idea.

DIRECTOR: Nothing to it. It’s standard operating procedure for our mass spectacles.

CONSULTANT: But on the other hand, we also need to create the impression that people are flocking there to say farewell, and that they support us.

DIRECTOR: So, then, don’t let anyone in, but there have to be crowds. I get it. This isn’t my first time. I can set that up. Give me a division of soldiers in civilian clothes, and I’ll film them filing past the coffin fourteen times.

CONSULTANT: (takes her phone out) I need to issue some orders right now.

DIRECTOR: I thought you’d done that a long time ago.

CONSULTANT: I see your great reputation isn’t just talk.

DIRECTOR: That’s why they pay me the big money.

CONSULTANT: Now there’s a hint I’ve heard before. I’ll say it again: hash out all the details with the prime minister. Anything else is a waste of time. We’ve each of us got a job to do. Let’s do it. (exits)

Left alone, DIRECTOR dials his cell phone.

DIRECTOR: (into the phone) How’s it going? As you know, the script calls for seventy delegations, so you’ll need seventy wreaths with ribbons, all by the book. Incidentally, have the delegations been paid already? Tell them we’ll pay immediately after the funeral. Also, don’t forget to let that riffraff know to be decently dressed, not in jeans and any old rags. And try to get a thousand balloons. We’ll release them into the air to symbolize the soul ascending to heaven… No, not black ones, white ones. Black’s the color of mourning, but the soul should be packaged in white… We’re in a time crunch. There’s still a night and a half-day ahead of us. We won’t sleep until after that.

WOMAN enters. DIRECTOR hangs up his phone.

WOMAN: I was told I have to go on with the rehearsal.

DIRECTOR: Not a moment too soon. Where’s the other one?

WOMAN: He’s getting his instructions from her. He’ll be here in a minute.

DIRECTOR: Have you learned the words?

WOMAN: Sort of. Want to hear?

DIRECTOR: In a minute. (looks around and lowers his voice) Tell me, this assistant of mine… or whatever she is… What’s her position?

WOMAN: You think she’s your assistant?

DIRECTOR: I don’t know. That’s what she said. At least she knows a bit about the theater.

WOMAN: That’s entirely possible. I’m thinking she’s been cast in supporting roles at one time or another. Here, though, she’s a headliner.

DIRECTOR: How do you explain that astronomical ascent? She probably has something special going for her?

WOMAN: Sure. The something special that men value above all else.

DIRECTOR: And which man valued it?

WOMAN: First one, then another… and so on. Higher and higher and higher.

DIRECTOR: In any event, she’s no fool.

WOMAN: That, unfortunately, can’t be taken away from her.

DIRECTOR: And she dresses very elegantly.

WOMAN: And undresses even more elegantly.

DIRECTOR: You’re just jealous of her.

WOMAN: I won’t argue that.

DIRECTOR: What’s her official position, anyway?

WOMAN: Who knows?.. Speechwriter, consultant, staffer, aide, adviser… In other words, someone who’s very close to a very important person. You’re with me, right? Very close. And very important.

DIRECTOR: And more specifically?

WOMAN: You want to know the distance in inches? (sadly) It used to be me… and… and now it’s her…(gives an expressive shrug) Do you understand?

DIRECTOR: I do. And you didn’t try to pry her loose?

WOMAN: (looks around in fright; speaks in a low tone) “Pry her loose” – easy for you to say! Do you think we didn’t give it our best shot? But there are powerful people behind her… And besides, she’s got dirt on all of us.

DIRECTOR: On you too?

WOMAN: Who’s without sin?

DIRECTOR: And what’s your sin?

WOMAN: A lot of nothing… I mean, really – a little beach house…

DIRECTOR: Where’s the beach?

WOMAN: In Costa Rica.

DIRECTOR: And you’re trembling before her all because of a little house? How small is the house? How many square feet?

WOMAN: I don’t remember exactly. Forty-eight or forty-nine rooms. And there’s a teensy-weensy garden around that cottage… Seven acres or so. Maybe ten.

DIRECTOR: I understand. For a banana plantation. You are the Minister of Agriculture, after all.

WOMAN: I bought it even earlier, when I was in Culture.

DIRECTOR: You said that Culture is the most poverty-stricken of all the ministries

WOMAN: That’s true, but it could still stretch to a teensy-weensy garden.

DIRECTOR: Tell me, why do you need a mansion like that – out in the back of beyond, no less? Your life here is pretty good, no?

WOMAN: You don’t understand anything. We all have the feeling that everything’s going to collapse tomorrow, and we’ll have to make ourselves scarce. So you have to dig yourself a snug little den as far away from here as you can.

DIRECTOR: Why don’t you try to fight back with dirt on her?

WOMAN: (looking scared) We’d better rehearse. I’ve already said too much. Shall we call the prime minister?

DIRECTOR: What do you need him for?

WOMAN: We have to rehearse him ravishing me. You said so yourself.

DIRECTOR: The ravishing’s off.

WOMAN: Pity. I was nearly ready for it.

DIRECTOR: If you feel bad about that, I can ravish you after the rehearsal. Just remind me, please. I have a slew of things to do, so I might forget. In the meantime, give me your speech.

WOMAN: The speech again! Aren’t you sick of it?

DIRECTOR: It’s my job.

WOMAN: Well, I’m sick to death of it. We’re trying so hard, torturing ourselves, but why we’re being forced to go through with this travesty, your guess is as good as mine. Maybe the funeral won’t happen at all.

DIRECTOR: (alarmed) What are you saying, “won’t happen”? What makes you think that?

WOMAN: Who’s going to be buried? The deceased hasn’t died yet, you know.

DIRECTOR: What does “hasn’t died” mean?

WOMAN: It means what it means. Didn’t she tell you? (sees how shocked DIRECTOR is, hesitates) Oh dear – seems I’ve spilled the beans again. All because of that damned party…

DIRECTOR: Hold it, hold it. What were you getting at when you said “the deceased hasn’t died”?

WOMAN: Nothing. We’d better rehearse. (pulling out all the stops) Dear friend!

DIRECTOR: To hell with your dear friend! Who’s not dead?

WOMAN: I don’t know anything. (seeing MAN entering) Look, you’d better ask him.

DIRECTOR: (launches himself at MAN) Tell me: is it true that he’s not dead?

MAN: Who?

DIRECTOR: Who, who?.. The deceased!

MAN: (looks at WOMAN with hate in his eyes) You’ve already blabbed, haven’t you? I’ve always said that you shouldn’t be included, but they wanted a woman. Well, they’ve brought it on themselves.

WOMAN: (guilty) I thought he knew.

MAN: You’re forever speaking before you think. It’s about time you stopped being so… spontaneous.

DIRECTOR: Hold on… I’m not understanding anything. He really isn’t dead?

MAN: Well… On the one hand… Although, on the other… In short, it’s difficult to say…

DIRECTOR: Stop blowing smoke! Tell me in words of one syllable – is he dead or not?

MAN: Back off! He’s not dead.

DIRECTOR: How come?

MAN: This is how. He’s not dead, and that’s that. He’s more alive than any living soul. He’s speaking on TV right now.

DIRECTOR: But what about my show? It’s being called off? So I set up the scenario, mobilized people, equipment, materials, drew up a list of two hundred and forty journalists – and there’ll be nothing to write about?

MAN: It’ll all work out somehow.

DIRECTOR: (pierced by an even more terrible thought) But what about my fee?

MAN: I don’t know. Let’s rehearse.

DIRECTOR: Why, if the show’s being called off?

MAN: She told us to continue regardless.

DIRECTOR: (decisively) Before continuing, I’d like to know when you’re going to pay me.

MAN: As we agreed. After the funeral.

DIRECTOR: After whose funeral – his or mine? He’s ten years younger than me. Or maybe after yours?

MAN: I said immediately after.

DIRECTOR: There’s no such thing as immediately after. It’s either immediately or it’s after. I want it right now.

MAN: But we agreed on after.

DIRECTOR: We haven’t agreed on anything. You said “after,” and I countered with “before.” I demand to be paid immediately. Right now.

MAN: You don’t trust me?

DIRECTOR: Of course I don’t. Who does? Besides, he’s not even dead yet, and nobody really knows if he’ll die or not.

WOMAN: How can he not die, when the funeral’s scheduled already? He’ll die for sure. You don’t believe it?

DIRECTOR: I do. We’re all going to check out, some day. But I want my money now. In full. I can’t wait, because the day after tomorrow I’m flying to the Republic of the Congo to stage the presidential inauguration there. The folks in Africa, unlike you, have paid me in advance. They respect professionals.

MAN: And I’m telling you – slow your roll and cool your jets. He’s going to die.

DIRECTOR: I know. The question is when.

MAN: On the third evening after the full moon, when Jupiter enters Capricorn. Soon, that is.

DIRECTOR: What gibberish is that?

MAN: It’s what the astrologers are predicting.

DIRECTOR: Very good. Then I’ll start rehearsals when Sagittarius enters Virgo. And I’m using the words “Sagittarius” and “Virgo” metaphorically, out of respect for the lady here.

MAN: I’m begging you not to kick up a fuss.

DIRECTOR: Cash on the barrel.

MAN: The consultant will explain it all to you.

DIRECTOR: She said I should talk to you about the money.

CONSULTANT enters.

CONSULTANT: What are you arguing about?

A pause

MAN: The director’s refusing to continue the rehearsal.

CONSULTANT: He’s only joking. (looking DIRECTOR square in the eyes) Aren’t you?

DIRECTOR: It turns out he’s not dead!

CONSULTANT: (chilly) And how is that your business?

DIRECTOR: (bringing his tone down several notches) It’s actually about the money…

CONSULTANT: Aren’t you ashamed to dicker over such a pittance? The pocket change you’re asking for, I carry in my purse as spending money. (stiffly) Do your job.

DIRECTOR: Yes, but they’re saying…

CONSULTANT: I don’t know what they’re saying, but I’m saying that you have to go on with the rehearsal. We’ve been shooting the breeze for an hour and a half already. (in a rigid, low voice) You apparently have a very poor idea of the person you’re working for. This is no place for arrogance and crackbrained notions. Just rehearse, and the rest is no concern of yours.

DIRECTOR: (realizing that he has no choice) Very well.

CONSULTANT: And don’t forget to stick to the text and meet our other terms.

DIRECTOR: I’ll remember.

CONSULTANT: And I’ll sit here, to listen and watch.

DIRECTOR: (struggling to hide his annoyance, addresses his cast) On with the rehearsal. Whose turn is it?

MAN: I yield to the lady.

DIRECTOR: The lady it is, then. Begin.

WOMAN: (glancing at her piece of paper) Dear friend! What a fearsome word!

DIRECTOR: Stop. Why is “friend” a fearsome word?

WOMAN: Sorry, I skipped a line. (starts over) Dear friend! How many times have we told each other goodbye, but today we have to bid you farewell. “Farewell” – what a fearsome word!

DIRECTOR: Less pathos, more sincerity. You’re really in disbelief: how can it suddenly be “farewell”?

WOMAN: (stirringly) “Farewell”… What a fearsome word! I don’t believe it, and I never will. It’s impossible! In my mind, I’ll never part with you. (with a change of tone) And after this speech, isn’t his wife going to scratch my eyes out? She’ll think I was his mistress, and I’ve never spoken a word to him in my life.

DIRECTOR: Why do you care what the wife thinks? You’re not talking to her but to the millions. All the state TV stations will be put on notice that this is a show they have to broadcast. And the independents too, needless to say.

WOMAN: Awesome! I must make time to see my hair stylist.

DIRECTOR: Don’t do anything on your own account. Our makeup artists will get you ready. Start again.

WOMAN: Dear friend!

DIRECTOR: Wait. You’re not feeling anything, and that’s why you can’t find the right tone.

WOMAN: And what am I supposed to feel?

DIRECTOR: You don’t know? Very well, I’ll try to help you. Both of you need to be clear on the circumstances in which you’ll be delivering your speeches. Then you’ll understand the solemnity of this gala occasion, and your words will find the intonation they need, all on their own. It’s going to be very beautiful, believe me – a feast for the eyes. No one has ever staged a ceremony like this, on such a scale. My competitors’ll just die of envy. (gradually growing more animated) Guests in formal attire, military bands in glittering uniforms, delegations and wreaths from civic organizations, funeral marches, Chopin, Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, silken flags at half-staff, fluttering in the wind… Banners angled downward, a coat of arms, the coffin, a thunderous farewell salute… A squadron of fighter planes flying over the square, his medals on velvet pillows…

MAN: I don’t think he has any medals.

DIRECTOR: It doesn’t matter. We’ll make some for him.

MAN: And where will the service be held?

DIRECTOR: There isn’t going to be any service. First, it’s not in the budget – too pricey. Second, I was told that he’s an atheist and, unlike you, never pretended to be religious.

WOMAN: Where are we going to be standing?

DIRECTOR: In the center of the square and the center of attention, right by the coffin. And the coffin, covered in flowers, will be on a gun-carriage drawn by six black horses… (sighs) Can it be that he’s not going to die, and this beautiful sight will forever reside only in my imagination?

MAN: Keep your chin up. It’ll all work out somehow.

DIRECTOR: We can hope. (glancing at CONSULTANT) But let’s go on. So, the two of you are standing beside the coffin, not only as a prime minister and a member of the government, but also as a man and a woman, a symbol of mutual compassion, the embodiment of humanity, of warmth and hope. But remember: no matter how beautiful a visual may be, it is, first and foremost, an act of propaganda. It’s aimed not at glorifying the deceased, but at reinforcing the power that you represent. So you have to look dignified and imposing the whole time. Both of you are grieving, but in different ways. The woman can allow herself to feel more deeply and sincerely. The man needs to be more aware of how serious this moment is and how much responsibility he bears to the country. Now imagine everything that I’ve just described, and your words will come out right.

MAN: (inspired, his eyes sparkling) Yes. It seems like I’m standing on the square already…

DIRECTOR: Then don’t wait. Carry on with your speech.

MAN: (with feeling) Dear friend! Sometimes you criticized us, but we were never enemies. Yes, we had differences of opinion; yes, we often argued… But we always knew that in the depths of our souls we stood together, that we both loved our motherland, our people.

DIRECTOR: Why are you calling him “friend”?

MAN: What’s it supposed to be?

DIRECTOR: Look at what it says in the text you’re holding.

MAN: (guilty) It says “brother.”

DIRECTOR: (making sure that CONSULTANT is listening) The author of the script is like the Lord God Himself. He is the only creator, and all we do is interpret his thoughts to the best of our ability and understanding. But you’ve decided that you can tinker with the text, like a failing student who’s been slacking instead of studying. The author is not only more talented than either of us but also crafts his words carefully, ponders the rhythm of the speech, the structure of the phrase. But every now and then, there’s an actor who thinks he can improvise and knock everybody’s socks off.

MAN: But I only changed one word…

DIRECTOR: Sometimes all it takes is a changed comma to distort the meaning of the whole speech. Do it over.

MAN: (with a glance at the paper to be sure, he repeats his lines, this time punching up the correct word) Dear BROTHER! Sometimes you criticized us, but we were never enemies. Yes, we had differences of opinion; yes, we often argued…

DIRECTOR: That was good! Go on.

MAN: Shortly before your death, you sent me a letter acknowledging that your criticism was wrong, that you realized it had been a mistake. You asked for forgiveness, asked permission to stand alongside us, expressed a desire to work closely with us, to fight together for our country’s bright future. But you didn’t know that we had long ago forgiven you, that I was never angry with you. On the contrary, I have always been grateful to you for your honest and bold criticism. We are proud of our friendship with you, dear BROTHER. You are ours, you are one of us. We can be content: the bright future, so long awaited, is already close at hand, is already here.

DIRECTOR: Splendid! Satisfaction at long last! Now you have to shake hands with her… No, wait… (a thought has dawned on him) Don’t shake hands – hug. Yes, that’ll be a good gimmick! It’s as if you’re not mourning separately but together. Do you understand?

WOMAN: No.

MAN: You never understand anything.

WOMAN: Anyone would think you’re such a genius. You can’t even portray sorrow.

MAN: Can you?

WOMAN: I can do whatever I’m told. I can cry if I want to, laugh if I want to. Whatever’s needed – that I can do.

MAN: I can do whatever I’m told as well.

WOMAN: (to DIRECTOR) So why are we hugging anyway?

DIRECTOR: An embrace is to show everyone that you’re united. And not only politically but spiritually too. Do you understand? You’re friends, like-minded people, you have the same goals, the same interests. The word “unity” is not just a sound to you. No, it’s your credo, your ideal. You’re a family – all for one, one for all. In short, the people is the party and the party is the people. What’s your party’s name? But it’s not important. Embrace.

MAN and WOMAN embrace.

DIRECTOR: (annoyed) Not like that!

MAN: Then how?

DIRECTOR: Not cold, not unfeeling, but in the throes of a shared spiritual impulse!

MAN embraces WOMAN passionately. And he doesn’t stop.

Not like that, damn it!

MAN: What’s wrong now?

DIRECTOR: You pounced on her as if she were someone else’s wife on your first date in a cheap hotel that rents rooms by the hour. I said in the throes of a shared spiritual impulse, not in a rush of lust! Not like that! How many times do I have to say it –slowly and sadly! The way a mother and father embrace over their son’s grave!

WOMAN: Instead of yelling at us, it’d be better for you to show us. A good director doesn’t tell, he shows.

DIRECTOR: A good actor doesn’t need to be shown, and a bad actor won’t be helped by it. But since you don’t understand what I’m saying, I will show you. (embraces CONSULTANT slowly and sadly; this is what he wants from his actors) Now do it again.

MAN and WOMAN embrace again, trying to imitate what they’ve been shown. DIRECTOR frowns.

DIRECTOR: Better already, though far from perfect. Try it one more time.

CONSULTANT’s phone rings. She steps aside to take the call. MAN and WOMAN embrace again.

DIRECTOR: So… Once more… OK, there’s no more time for this now. Practice it between now and tomorrow morning.

CONSULTANT has finished her conversation.

CONSULTANT: Ladies and gentlemen! I regret that I have some sad news for you. A respected member of the opposition has just passed away.

A pause.

WOMAN: How’s that? He just up and passed away?

CONSULTANT: He died in a traffic accident. The police have launched an investigation.

DIRECTOR: But is he dead for sure?

CONSULTANT: Absolutely.

DIRECTOR: So there is going to be a funeral tomorrow?

CONSULTANT: Has anyone canceled it?

DIRECTOR: And will I receive the promised fee tomorrow evening?

MAN: (cheerfully) Of course! I said that he’d die, but you didn’t believe me. I’m a decent person and never mislead my friends.

WOMAN: You don’t mislead your friends because you don’t have any.

MAN: There’s a time and a place for jokes, and this isn’t it.

DIRECTOR: What do we do now?

CONSULTANT: Continue the rehearsal. And be quick about it. The ceremony is to begin tomorrow at three o’clock sharp, right on schedule.

DIRECTOR: Yes, ma’am.

CONSULTANT: But first I have to borrow the prime minister for a moment. In connection with this late-breaking news, we have several arrangements to make. Meanwhile, rehearse with his partner.

CONSULTANT and MAN exit.

DIRECTOR: Well, shall we go on with the rehearsal?

WOMAN: To hell with it! (in a low voice) Now do you understand why I want to lie low in Costa Rica?

DIRECTOR: No, I don’t.

WOMAN: What’s not to understand? I’m scared! Aren’t you?

DIRECTOR: Don’t be silly. What do we have to be afraid of?

WOMAN: (softly, with a frightened look around) Hush!

DIRECTOR: (also looks around; he can’t help himself) There’s no one here.

WOMAN: Did you just fall off a cabbage truck? What about the twelve cameras? And the bugs?

DIRECTOR: How do you know?

WOMAN: This isn’t the first time I’ve been in this studio.

DIRECTOR: (peers about uncertainly) You think…

WOMAN: (interrupting) Yes, I think – go figure. I’m a ditz in your mind, but you’re acting even more stupid. You’re glad that you’ll get your fee, but you don’t understand that the astrologer’s Jupiter and Capricorn prediction might concern you too.

DIRECTOR: Why on earth would it? Who am I bothering?

WOMAN: Have you forgotten the old chestnut about the man who knew too much?

DIRECTOR: (worried) I’m assuming I’ll get my fee tomorrow, and then I’ll bug out to the Congo or your beloved Costa Rica.

WOMAN: Do you want to hop a plane together? Right now?

DIRECTOR: And abandon everything? Before my show?

WOMAN: Let it all go to blue blazes.

DIRECTOR: No, I can’t. To have such a superb spectacle all at the ready and then not see it?

WOMAN: It’s your call. Just don’t regret it afterward.

DIRECTOR: You think it’s as serious as all that?

WOMAN: Quiet! (lowers her voice to a whisper) If anybody calls later and questions you on what we‘re talking about now – Costa Rica and all the rest of it – tell them that we were rehearsing.

DIRECTOR: (clearly scared) Maybe we really should make a run for it?

WOMAN: You seemed all set to fly off to somewhere in Africa. Do you have your passport with you?

DIRECTOR: Yes. What about it?

WOMAN: So let’s slip away right now, while she’s not here. Sneak out and head straight for the airport.

DIRECTOR: You like living dangerously.

WOMAN: You’re just seeing my female intuition in action. Are we making a getaway or not?

DIRECTOR: (hesitates; then, with determination) We are!

Grabbing up their belongings (bag, jacket, etc.), DIRECTOR AND WOMAN dash toward the door. CONSULTANT and MAN enter.

CONSULTANT: Where are you going?

WOMAN: (embarrassed) To the powder room.

CONSULTANT: Together?

WOMAN: Why not?

CONSULTANT: Stay and finish the rehearsal. We’re running out of time.

DIRECTOR: I’m actually not feeling very well. Anyway… They’re expecting me on the square, It’s time to start the full rehearsal there. These two can finish up on their own.

CONSULTANT: So go.

DIRECTOR tries to open the door, but it doesn’t budge. He comes back.

Why didn’t you leave? Changed your mind?

DIRECTOR: The door won’t open.

CONSULTANT: Maybe there’s something wrong with the lock.

DIRECTOR: Can’t it be fixed?

CONSULTANT: I don’t know. I’m no expert on locks.

DIRECTOR: But I have to go.

CONSULTANT: Do you know what happens to a passenger who decides to jump off a speeding train?

DIRECTOR: (depressed) Very well. Let’s continue with the rehearsal. Where did we stop?

WOMAN: He and I were hugging.

DIRECTOR: Yes, right… I’ll read the set-up again. The woman says “I’m sorry, I can’t hold back my tears,” and hides her face in the prime minister’s shoulder. He consoles her. Then he eases her away and swears to work for the good of the people and yadda-yadda-yadda. All yours.

WOMAN: I’m sorry. I can’t hold back my tears. (hides her face in MAN’s shoulder)

MAN: Our grief is infinite, but we swear to you…

DIRECTOR: Stop. You’re talking about infinite grief, but you’re glowing like a well-polished boot.

MAN: Excuse me. I didn’t mean to.

DIRECTOR: I understand how you feel.

MAN: Tomorrow I’ll mourn like nobody’s business, you’ll see.

WOMAN: Besides, we’re tired. We’ve had no sleep. Why don’t we learn our lines for tomorrow, practice a little, and at the ceremony we’ll be such good mourners that we’ll have everyone in tears. But right now we’re just worn out.

A phone rings. CONSULTANT looks at her screen. Her face immediately becomes very serious.

CONSULTANT: (standing up, speaking into the phone) Yes… Yes… This is she…

МAN and WOMAN freeze at attention.

DIRECTOR: What happened?

WOMAN: (whispers) Quiet!

DIRECTOR: Who’s calling?

WOMAN: (whispers) “Who, who…” Don’t you understand? The director in chief!

DIRECTOR: What director in chief? I’m the director in chief here!

WOMAN: Don’t make me laugh. Did you really imagine that you’re the director here? You’re a pawn, a performer, and nothing more. Are you really still not getting it?

CONSULTANT: Everybody shut up! (into the phone) Yes, sir!.. Yes, sir!.. Yes, sir!..

DIRECTOR: (flustered) So it’s… (stands at attention)

CONSULTANT: (into the phone) Very good… Yes, sir!.. Consider it done.

CONSULTANT hangs up. A respectful silence.

DIRECTOR: What did he say?

CONSULTANT: He said that, on the whole, he likes the script and the preparations for the show. He sends you his thanks.

DIRECTOR: Thank you. If you need an expert to stage a coronation, don’t forget me. I’ll put on a marvelous production.

CONSULTANT: We’ll bear that in mind. As for these two performers, though, they don’t quite suit him.

MAN: (alarmed) What did he mean? We don’t suit him at all?

CONSULTANT: No, at this point all he’s thinking about is the interpretation and how you’re going to perform your roles tomorrow.

DIRECTOR: How does he know what my interpretation is? He hasn’t seen the rehearsal.

CONSULTANT answers him with a silent look that speaks volumes.

Excuse me.

WOMAN: What are we going to do?

CONSULTANT: You may want to stop chattering and finish the rehearsal as quickly as possible. (to DIRECTOR) Oh, and the budget has to be drastically cut. You’ve overdone it. After all, it’s not a president or a prime minister who’s being buried, just a private party.

DIRECTOR: But then my entire beautiful game plan falls apart…

CONSULTANT: Do you have any objections?

DIRECTOR: None at all.

CONSULTANT: Then why are you standing around? Finish your work.

DIRECTOR: Yes, ma’am. (to the actors) Take your places… (to MAN) Where did you stop? Read the last line of dialogue.

MAN: Give me a minute. (searches for the place in his script) Here it is: We can be content: the bright future, so long awaited, is already here. (lets the hand holding his script page drop)

DIRECTOR: And what comes next?

MAN: Nothing. The End.

DIRECTOR: (wearily) Oh, all right: the end is the end.



THE END




Let's have sex!


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A strange tragicomedy in two acts



Translated from Russian by Eugene Reznikov and James Walker.



Synopsis

Every personage of this strange, absurd play talks and thinks only about sex. But the frivolous title of this comedy is delusive: the drama is complicated, tragic, and at the same time, amusing. It is difficult to define the genre of this play. It may be called both a psychological drama, and a theater of the absurd, a play that deals with paradox, a philosophical play…. It may be defined as a comedy, but it will not be a mistake to call it also a tragedy. The characters come from nowhere and leave to nowhere. They are familiar to each other and at the same time seem to see each other for the first time. There are 5 characters in the play: the Husband, the Wife, the Sister, the Girl, and the Professor. They are quite real and authentic. At the same time, it is difficult to understand, whether the Wife really is someone’s wife, the Professor – a real professor, etc. There is no plot in the traditional meaning of the word. The play is constructed on the principle of a rondo: movement goes in a circle, or, more precisely, along a spiral. The characters’ actions are motivated by loneliness, by their yearning for love and emotion, their desire to escape from their problems. Or maybe all these conversations are simply the product of a deranged mind? The play has been staged in Moscow by the most famous theater director of Russia, Roman Viktyuk, and is an enormous success. The play is also performed by theaters of Australia, Bolgaria, Estonia, Finland, Germany, Great Britain, India, Montenegro, Mongolia, Poland, Rumania,Turkey, and Ukraina. 2 men and 3 women. Interior .



CHARACTERS



HUSBAND

WIFE

PROFESSOR

GIRL

SISTER



Part 1

The stage can represent an empty space. The room may be furnished with nothing more than a table, some chairs and an armchair.

The HUSBAND is reading a book. The WIFE enters. The HUSBAND continues to read. The WIFE goes out, enters again. The HUSBAND continues to read.

WIFE. Let's have sex.

HUSBAND. OK. (Continues to read.)

WIFE. Let's have sex!

HUSBAND. (Continues to read.) OK!

WIFE. I said – let's have sex!

HUSBAND. What?

WIFE. Sex!!

HUSBAND. Right now?

WIFE. Why not?

HUSBAND. Just let me finish reading this page.

WIFE. What if I want it right now?

HUSBAND. What has come over you?

WIFE. Nothing. Do you have any objections?

HUSBAND. Me? No. (Continues to read.)

WIFE. Well?

HUSBAND. Well, what?

WIFE. You said that you have no objection.

HUSBAND. To what?

WIFE. To doing it.

HUSBAND. Doing what?

WIFE. Put down the book, or I’ll throw it out the window.

HUSBAND. The book doesn’t have anything to do with it.

WIFE. I know that it doesn’t. But you don’t want me throw you out the window, do you?

HUSBAND. What do you want from me?

WIFE. I have said, let's have sex.

HUSBAND. You interrupted me in a particularly interesting place – he is sneaking up to her bed with a gun.

WIFE. Nobody sneaks up to my bed.

HUSBAND. That’s good.

WIFE. I am not so sure.

HUSBAND. (Furtively glancing at the book.) I think he’s going to kill her now.

WIFE. (Grabs out the book away from him and throws it into the corner.) I will kill you now.

HUSBAND. What do you want from me?

WIFE. Nothing. A woman is not supposed to want it. You are the one who is supposed to want it.

HUSBAND. You seem very irritable today.

WIFE. There is nothing wrong with me.

HUSBAND. Did something happen at work?

WIFE. Do people have sex only when something happens at work?

HUSBAND. No. Not necessarily.

WIFE. Thank God. Otherwise else I would think that nothing ever happens to you at work.

HUSBAND. I think that now it is not the right time, and this is not the right place.

WIFE. For you, never is the right time and nowhere is the right place for sex.

HUSBAND. Somebody could come in …

WIFE. But we’re alone now, so let’s hurry!

HUSBAND. You know, it would be inappropriate here.

WIFE. So tell me when and where it would be appropriate for you? Why does it always have to be in the matrimonial bed, always at the same time, on the weekend, ten minutes after the light is turned off? Why not in the morning, why not in the afternoon? Why always lying in bed? Why not standing up or sitting down? Why not on the floor or on a table? Why not on the washing machine? Why not on a swing in the garden? Why not on a roll of barbed wire? Why not by candlelight? Why don’t you take me by surprise, without warning, when I’m not expecting it, where it’s inconvenient? Why does it always have to be at home, in a warm and comfortable room, when we’re yawning before going to sleep, in the same everlasting bed?

HUSBAND. Because… Because in the bed is more convenient.

WIFE. More convenient? Then why are the times on the back seat of a cramped car, or in a forest on an ant hill, or on a dark backstairs the ones we remember forever, while matrimonial caresses at home, in the soft, wide, convenient bed so suitable for sexual pleasure are forgotten in ten minutes?

HUSBAND. Because… I don’t know why.

WIFE. Why don’t you come up to me when I’m washing the dishes and take me from behind? Why don’t you look for a chance, why don’t you pursue me? Why I am always sure that you won’t do anything unexpected? Why not at a symphony concert? Why not in someone else’s apartment, where somebody might come in at any moment?

HUSBAND. Somebody could come in here at any moment.

WIFE. Well, let them. Let something happen at last. I don’t want to be stuck inevitably doing the same thing over and over. I want unpredictability. I want to not know what awaits me tonight. Maybe a meeting with a girlfriend in a cafe, or maybe a party at somebody’s home… Or a quiet walk alone through the park, or taking a rest in an armchair with a book in my hands, or an unexpected rendezvous on a dark beach under the stars… Under the bright stars in a mysterious black sky… White sand, pounding waves, the passionate embrace of unfamiliar arms, hands greedily exploring a new and unfamiliar body – my body – that longs impatiently for those arms… But none of this will ever be, and I know precisely what will happen today, and tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow. It seems as if my life has already ended, because I already know everything; I’ve already gone through everything. There is nothing new left to happen. I’m not living, I only continue to exist. I read the same page of the same book, and it is so boring to me, boring, boring… It’s so boring to me! Let's have sex!

HUSBAND. My God, again?

WIFE. “Again”? Did we already do it?

HUSBAND. In general or today?

WIFE. What happened in general, I don’t remember anymore. There never was anything, and there never will be. All that there is, is “now.” Why do we live only in the past or in the future? Why not to try to live now, and so that "now" can make us happy? Let's have…

HUSBAND.… Sex.

WIFE. Yes. For a change.

HUSBAND. I don’t know what has come over you. You sound so cynical. Such a matter-of-fact and naked way of putting it: “Let's have sex.”

WIFE. And what do you want me to say? “Let's make love”? Love? Doesn’t that seem ridiculous to you? Aren’t you embarrassed? Doesn’t it sound cynical? And you don’t seem to approve of the word “naked.” Better to be clothed. In a long coat, for example. All buttoned up.

HUSBAND. In a decent society they don’t talk about sex.

WIFE. You might think that in a decent society they don’t have sex.

HUSBAND. They do, but they just don’t talk about it.

WIFE. But each of us is not first and foremost an executive, a teacher, an engineer, a doctor or a member of parliament. First of all we are men and women. Why shouldn’t we think about it and talk about it? Why should I be ashamed of what is natural? Of what gives me pleasure?

HUSBAND. You shouldn’t be ashamed, but you shouldn’t talk about it either.

WIFE. And what do they talk about in a decent society?

HUSBAND. I don’t know. About money.

WIFE. You want me to talk to you about money? About what you call your salary? Well then, let's talk about money.

HUSBAND. No, better not.

WIFE. And what is so cynical in the word "sex"? It is matter-of-fact – I agree. But sex is a fact of life. A part of our lovely, comfortable, boring, miserable everyday life. You say, “Let's have supper.” So why can’t I say, “Let's have sex”? Let's watch TV. Let's go shopping. Let's go to the movies. Let's have sex. Let's take out the trash. Let’s do the laundry. Let's have sex. Let's call up some friends. Let's…

HUSBAND. Enough!

WIFE.… Let's move the furniture. Let's buy a teapot. Let's have sex. Let's go to bed… Does “Let's go to bed” sound cynical too?

HUSBAND. It depends on with whom.

WIFE. With my husband.

HUSBAND. With your husband it does not sound cynical.

WIFE. It doesn’t sound anything at all.

HUSBAND. So tell me, are you having a hard time at work?

WIFE. I’m having a hard time at home. At home, not only do I not have sex, but I’m also forbidden to talk of it.

HUSBAND. Why should we talk about it?

WIFE. Precisely because we don’t do it. And what else should I talk about? About the children that I don’t have?

HUSBAND. What has come over you today?

WIFE. Nothing. Today I want to talk about sex, again about sex and only about sex. Even if it’s just for today. Even if only to talk. I kept silent about it all my life. I talked about everything in the world. About Beethoven and the prices at the market. About skirts and French painting. About local elections and the boss’s tie. So really, do Beethoven, French painting, prices, skirts, elections and the boss’s tie interest you and me more than sex?

HUSBAND. Skirts interest you.

WIFE. And you too.

HUSBAND. Everything about a woman interests me.

WIFE. Yes. Everything between her knees and her waist.

HUSBAND. I’m a normal man.

WIFE. I wish I was sure of that.

HUSBAND. You are talking recklessly.

WIFE. That’s good. I grew up inhibited and uptight. Sex was forbidden. Nobody spoke about it. It was obscene, done only at night. Only with the shades down and the lights off. So that nobody would see, even yourself. It was forbidden to remember it in the morning or discuss it at work. We were sexless. We had nothing between our legs. And now they do it in broad daylight. Now they show it at the movies. Now they write about it in children's books. Recently I found twenty-two tips on how to use birth-control in a magazine for schoolgirls. And I had never read about it before.

HUSBAND. So what do you want?

WIFE. To take the taboo off of sex. To free it from sin. To lift the veil of secrecy from it. To stop alluding to it. To call things by their proper names. Penis. Orgasm. Vagina.

HUSBAND. You’re crazy..

WIFE. Yes, I’ll repeat the word "vagina" twenty times, two hundred times, until the word starts to sound neutral, sterile, medical. Until you stop reacting to it; until people who hear it stop giggling, or being offended by the vulgarity of it, stop being indignant or getting excited. Vagina, vagina, vagina…

HUSBAND. Stop it!

WIFE. Vagina, vagina, vagina…

HUSBAND. You’re crazy.

WIFE. And you’re a hypocrite. A puritan. What is more attractive to you than a vagina? What do you see in your dreams? What do you pay the most attention to when you look at paintings in museums? What is the main thing for you in a woman? The eyes? The smile? Well, answer me!

HUSBAND. You’re crazy.

WIFE. I know. This life is enough to drive anyone crazy. Have I ever truly lived? What have I seen? What have I done? Home and work, home and work, home and work… And what happens at home? What happens at work? Where is my life? What have I done with it? So there is only one thing left to do – try to lose myself in sex and forget all my petty problems. They not worth worrying about anyway, but still they overwhelm and oppress me. To stop hating myself, even for just ten minutes. Not to think, even for just one second. Not to remember. Not to care. Just feel. The joy of being alive. The pleasure. The delight of taking and being taken. Man and woman are always in a state of war, and sex is the one moment of truce, the one field of mutual understanding and attraction. The one moment when you don’t feel lonely. An act of unity, a time of reconciliation with life, an illusion of love, a glimpse of happiness, an opportunity for self-affirmation.

Pause.

HUSBAND. Well, if you really want to have sex with me…

WIFE. With you? What makes you think that?

HUSBAND. You said, “Let's have sex.”

WIFE. But I didn’t say, “with you.” Just “Let's have sex.”

HUSBAND. Not necessarily with me?

WIFE. No, not necessarily.

HUSBAND. With whom then?

WIFE. Do you have anyone else that you can have sex with but me?

HUSBAND. Not right at this moment.

WIFE. What about other times?

HUSBAND. Theoretically – with anybody.

WIFE. Leave the theory aside, let’s get to the practice.

HUSBAND. I am tired of your nagging.

WIFE. My poor, unfortunate husband. He’s tired to death of sex. Apparently, forever.

HUSBAND. You know, I’ve had enough of you. Maybe you really think I am your husband, but I don’t consider you my wife. And I am not going to have sex with a strange woman.

WIFE. Why do you think I want to have sex?

HUSBAND. Well, what do you want?

WIFE. Nothing. That’s the problem. I don’t want anything. I’m depressed. Every day the same thing. I am so depressed…

HUSBAND. So why torment me? Why ask for sex if you don’t want it? Just to spite me?

WIFE. Have I no right to talk? I’m your wife!

HUSBAND. Leave me alone! You are not my wife! I hate the very word "wife"! My wife has ruined my life! My wife has driven me crazy! Stop it! Leave me alone! (Leaves.)

WIFE. (Alone). A little more of this, and I really will go crazy. I have to save myself. I need a change. As soon as possible… Otherwise it will be too late. As soon as possible… What to do? What to do?

PROFESSOR. (Entering). What to do? I’ll tell you. Let’s have sex.

WIFE. That’s a surprising proposition.

PROFESSOR. Good! Sex shouldn’t be planned. It’s only good when it’s spontaneous. It should be sudden like a whirlwind, unexpected like an earthquake. It should catch us by surprise, when we’re not hoping for it, where it doesn’t seem possible. Do you agree?

WIFE. Yes.

PROFESSOR. Then let’s start now.

WIFE. Not so fast.

PROFESSOR. But you said you agreed.

WIFE. I agree in principle. Not to your proposition, but to what you said about the whirlwind and earthquake.

PROFESSOR. If you agree in principle, then let’s get started. We can work out the details as we go along. Or when we’re done.

WIFE. I don’t have time.

PROFESSOR. Neither do I. So let’s not waste it. Let’s get started right away.

WIFE. I am not used to doing it “right away.” I need time.

PROFESSOR. Nonsense. Imagine you’ve been swept up by a whirlwind.

WIFE. Besides, we don’t really have time. By the way, what time is it?

PROFESSOR. You’re kidding! Who has sex with a watch in his hand?

WIFE. What makes you think that I want to have sex?

PROFESSOR. Everybody wants to have sex.

WIFE. But not me.

PROFESSOR. So what do you want to do? Learn to speak German?

WIFE. I don’t want to do anything. And definitely not have sex.

PROFESSOR. You don’t want to have sex at all or just right now?

WIFE. Not at all.

PROFESSOR. That’s why you’ve called me?

WIFE. Me? I didn’t called you. Who are you, anyway?

PROFESSOR. I am a world-famous professor of psychiatry, psychology and sociology. A sexologist and sex pathologist. Treatment, consulting, lecturing. I get rid of complexes, inspire self-confidence, free people of their inhibitions. I cure frigidity and impotence. I satisfy the unsatisfied. It’s very hard work. Lots of calls. I get very tired.

WIFE. Are you a doctor?

PROFESSOR. Not exactly. I am a sex consultant. I teach, give advice, help to solve problems, cure any illness, everything.

WIFE. Why everything, if you’re just an expert on sex?

PROFESSOR. Because lack of sex is the cause of all illnesses. Now do you understand why you feel bad?

WIFE. What makes you think that I feel bad?

PROFESSOR. You told me you don’t want to have sex. That’s a type of derangement.

WIFE. Do you think I’m crazy?

PROFESSOR. No, I didn’t say that. Madness is normal because we all live in a mad world. The abnormal one is the person who’s normal. But I’ll cure you.

WIFE. How?

PROFESSOR. I have a universal remedy: sex three times a day. Instead of meals.

WIFE. I agree.

PROFESSOR. Excellent. But the patient has to be very healthy to take this cure. Are you healthy?

WIFE. Yes.

PROFESSOR. Then there’s no need for me to treat you. So let’s just have sex. Do you know what it is?

WIFE. I once knew, but I’ve forgotten.

PROFESSOR. Do you have a husband?

WIFE. A husband and sex are two different things. And besides, I’m not sure if I have him.

PROFESSOR. What?! You don’t even know if you have a husband?

WIFE. I have him, but I don’t know whether he is my husband.

PROFESSOR. My dear, now I see. You need to start life all over again. And I’ll help you. Nobody in the entire world knows what sex is, but me. I have devoted myself to it completely. I have given it the best years of my life. I studied it in libraries and archives, at lectures and in museums, at conferences and seminars.

WIFE. And nowhere else?

PROFESSOR. If you mean nitty-gritty experience, perhaps that may be good for an amateur, but not for a top-notch professional. You can’t even imagine what a rich world will be opened up for you when I start sharing my knowledge! Primitive sex. Ancient sex. Greek and Roman sex. Medieval sex. Renaissance sex. Baroque and Classical sex. Romantic sex. Modern sex. Oriental sex. French sex. Sex of all countries, times, and peoples. And we’ll start learning all this right now.

WIFE. Right now? I clearly told you, I am not in the mood for sex right now.

PROFESSOR. We’ll have sex in the academic sense. A course of four hundred and eighty hours, for a start. We will study the theoretical principles. The history. The social aspects. Practical applications. Tantra and the Kama Sutra. Pictures. Films. Physiology and psychology. Hygiene and techniques. Exercises for the hands and legs. Voice training: shouting, sighing, groaning. Resisting, relaxing, surrendering. Pretending.

WIFE. I already know how to pretend.

PROFESSOR. I will teach you how to pretend so well that you’ll believe it yourself.

WIFE. And when I learn all this, then what?

PROFESSOR. Then everything will still be the same. But you will never learn everything. Sex is a boundless science. A science that brings us happiness. All your life is not enough to explore it completely, even if you start from childhood and don’t stop until you die. This subject should be taught in school. Why do we have to learn algebra, which is of no use to anybody, and not sex, which everybody needs all the time? Tell me, have you ever needed to know Newton’s binomial theorem?

WIFE. Never.

PROFESSOR. And yet sex is with us always and everywhere. It accompanies us all our life. It warms us in the winter and cools us in the hot summer. It soothes us but does not let us rest. It’s a magic elixir which gives us a sense of youth and happiness. That’s why we love it so much.

WIFE. Right now I detest it.

PROFESSOR. Don’t deceive yourself. It’s not sex that you feel an aversion to, but your partner. Change partners. Three times a day. Start today. I will teach you. Right now. You are a beautiful woman, and it is your duty to be happy. My services are expensive, but I am willing to teach you for free.

WIFE. I always thought that in circumstances like this the teacher pays, not the girl. And I didn’t call you.

PROFESSOR. Called me, didn’t call me, what’s the difference? Remember, we don’t have much time. Let’s get started. One, two, three, go!

Pause.

WIFE. How do we start?

PROFESSOR. You see, you don’t even know how to start. One, two, three, go!

Pause.

One, two, three!

WIFE. Stop that. It would be better if you teach me…

PROFESSOR. Teach you what?

WIFE. How to live differently. Not like I live now. Better. More sensibly.

PROFESSOR. To live differently? It’s very simple. To live in another way you must live with another partner. This idea might seem like a commonplace joke to you, but it’s true. You can’t change yourself now – so left to your own devices you will always live the same way you have before. But life with another man will force you to live differently.

WIFE. Better or worse?

PROFESSOR. Worse for sure. But differently. That’s what you want, isn’t it?

WIFE. I don’t even know what I want. I only know what I don’t want. To live here. To live like this. A miserable, boring life. Alone. People are alienated and crazy. Their favorite pastime is tormenting each other. I want to run away. Doesn’t it seem to you that everybody has gone mad?

PROFESSOR. No, it doesn’t just seem that way, that’s the way it really is. So there is nowhere to run away to.

WIFE. The years will pass like peas in a pod, but each one uglier than the one before. The end will come, and I’ll ask myself, what did I live for? Did I ever live at all?

PROFESSOR. My dear, life does not and cannot have any meaning, except for the continuation of life. In other words, the meaning of life is sex. Sex is the affirmation, continuation and celebration of life. You and I are ants, and nature does not care about each separate ant. Its goal is to preserve the anthill.

WIFE. I despise the human anthill.

PROFESSOR. An anthill? That’s an undeserved compliment for our society. Ants work together in harmony, while we are a society of competitors, where everybody is wolf to each other.

WIFE. I don’t know how to solve my problems anymore.

PROFESSOR. Don’t complicate things. All problems come from sex. Happy sex – happy life, bad sex – unhappy life. That's all. Is your sex life good?

WIFE. No.

PROFESSOR. And the rest of your life?

WIFE. No.

PROFESSOR. Q.E.D.

WIFE. That’s why I want to run away. Away from this life.

PROFESSOR. To tell the truth, so do I. Who will you run away with?

WIFE. Alone.... But it would be better with somebody.

PROFESSOR. Together is certainly better.

WIFE. Why don’t we run away together?

PROFESSOR. I am asking myself the same question.

WIFE. And what is your answer?

PROFESSOR. Let’s do it. That’s what I offered to do when I first got here.

WIFE. You offered to have sex when you first got here.

PROFESSOR. Sex is just an escape from life.

WIFE. I thought it was life itself.

PROFESSOR. Let’s not argue. We don’t have much time.

WIFE. So you’ll take me with you?

PROFESSOR. I’ll abduct you, steal you, take you away, carry you away in my arms.

WIFE. Where to?

PROFESSOR. Nowhere.

WIFE. That’s the problem.

PROFESSOR. But we have to run away all the same.

WIFE. Where to?

PROFESSOR. That’s not important. The main thing is not to stop. Not to think. Not to look back. Give me your hand.

WIFE. Right now?

PROFESSOR. Otherwise someone will come and it will be too late.

WIFE. Then wait here, I’ll just get some things to take with me.

WIFE leaves. Pause. GIRL enters.

GIRL. Let’s have sex.

PROFESSOR. So it was you who called me?

GIRL. Me? Called you? What for?

PROFESSOR. To have sex, I believe.

GIRL. No, it wasn’t me. But I’m ready.

PROFESSOR. So who called me?

GIRL. If someone wanted to have sex, just presume it was me that called. A very urgent call. Let's start immediately.

PROFESSOR. That’s just what I wanted to suggest. Who are you, by the way?

GIRL. I work with the husband.

PROFESSOR. It’s a pleasure to meet you.

GIRL. Whether it’s a pleasure or not, we’ll soon find out, I hope. (Starts to unbutton her dress.)

PROFESSOR. And why don’t you have sex with the husband?

GIRL. With whose husband?

PROFESSOR. With yours, for a change.

GIRL. I don’t have a husband.

PROFESSOR. But you work with him!

GIRL. I work with him, but he is not my husband.

PROFESSOR. That changes things completely. If he isn’t your husband, it is simply your duty to have unlimited sex with him. Especially since you work together. It’s very convenient and saves time.

GIRL. Unfortunately, he’s terribly busy.

PROFESSOR. Busy? At work!? With what? Impossible! What can keep a person busy at work?

GIRL. Sex, of course.

PROFESSOR. That’s different.

GIRL. I make out his daily schedule for him and keep a record of his work: the beginning of sex, the end of it, with whom, when, on whose recommendation, who’s next. It’s a lot of work.

PROFESSOR. If he’s so busy, you should have sex with someone else.

GIRL. That’s just what I proposed to you.

PROFESSOR. My pleasure.

GIRL. I want to make sure of that.

PROFESSOR. You are in luck: you’ve found the right person.

GIRL. Prove it.

PROFESSOR. My reputation does not require any proof. My name speaks for itself.

GIRL. And who are you?

PROFESSOR. I am a world-famous professor of psychiatry, psychology and sociology. A sex consultant. I get rid of complexes, inspire self-confidence, free people of their inhibitions. I cure frigidity and impotence. I satisfy the unsatisfied. I teach, give advice, help to solve problems. I cure all illnesses.

GIRL. I would like to become such a consultant, too.

PROFESSOR. Then I’ll teach you. Do you know who said the famous words: "I have taken all knowledge…."

GIRL. “…to be my province.”

PROFESSOR. Exactly right. It is me who said it.

GIRL. I didn’t know that.

PROFESSOR. There are still many things you don’t know.

GIRL. So let's study. I’m very curious. Let’s start right now.

PROFESSOR. Good. We shall begin by checking your sexuality.

The GIRL starts to undress.

No, don’t undress! It’s not necessary.

GIRL. (Disappointedly). Not necessary? Then how will you check me?

PROFESSOR. I have a special system of tests. Sit down facing me and concentrate.

They sit down opposite each other.

Are you ready?

GIRL. Yes.

PROFESSOR. (Takes out a pen.) Tell me, what does this pen remind you of?

GIRL. Sex.

PROFESSOR. Very interesting. Well, what does this armchair remind you of?

GIRL. Sex.

PROFESSOR. What? Sex again? But why?!

GIRL. Everything reminds me of sex.

PROFESSOR. But tell me what an armchair has to do with to sex?

GIRL. Oh, it has a lot to do with sex. If you only knew, professor, how many of my fantasies involve an armchair! Unfortunately, they’re only fantasies and not memories.

PROFESSOR. I am giving you the highest score! A hundred points. You have a rich imagination.

GIRL. I have a normal imagination. The trembling sails full of desire to be opened and give themselves up to the wind; the ray of sunshine piercing the moist depth of the sea; the clouds merging with each other; the train confidently entering the tunnel; the smokestack of a power plant; the trunk of a poplar; a candle – all of these represent the same thing to me. A carrot is a man; a turnip, a woman. A banana is a man, too – what a man! And potatoes, beet, apples, porridge – all of these are women.

PROFESSOR. You have amazing abilities. I need to learn from you, not you from me.

GIRL. The sister says that I am crazy.

PROFESSOR. Forget the sister. Trust me. You are normal. She isn’t.

GIRL. I live in a world of symbols: a spoon and a plate…

PROFESSOR. (Joining in).… a cylinder and a piston…

GIRL.… a ring and a finger…

PROFESSOR.… an arm and a sleeve…

GIRL.… a seed and the soil…

PROFESSOR.… a blade and a sheath…

GIRL.… a key and a lock…

PROFESSOR.… all these are symbols of the eternal union of man and woman. Each is meaningless and impossible without the other.

GIRL. Don’t stop talking! It’s getting me so excited!

PROFESSOR. Tell me, what do you know about sex? No, let me put it another way. What don’t you know yet about sex?

GIRL. I have to admit, I don’t know what sex is at all. I’ve never had it. That’s why it’s so interesting to me.

PROFESSOR. We shall start having it, and we shall have it for a very long time, all day long, from morning till evening, and from evening till morning, and you will learn everything. We’ll start right now.

GIRL. Now? I’m afraid we can’t do it now.

PROFESSOR. Why?

GIRL. We can’t do it here.

PROFESSOR. I know. But why not try?

GIRL. (Looking around and lowering her voice.) Can you keep a secret?

PROFESSOR. Yes. But you’d better not tell it to me anyway.

GIRL. No, I’ll tell you. I want to escape.

PROFESSOR. You, too? Where will you go?

GIRL. Where everything is different. And why do you say, “you, too”? Do you want to escape, too?

PROFESSOR. Who doesn’t?

GIRL. Then we will run away together, while we have the chance.

PROFESSOR. Dear, how can I run away? I don’t run anymore, I shuffle. I don’t breathe, I gasp for breath. A few steps more and my run on this earth will be finished.

GIRL. Oh, don’t talk about these awful things! Follow my example and think only of sex. Think about it all the time, so you won’t think about anything else. Do you understand me? I forbid you to think about anything else. We’ll run away from here, and you’ll live another thousand years. Are you ready to go?

PROFESSOR. (Stretching out his hand.) With you – to the ends of the earth.

GIRL. Let's leave at once, right now, without losing a moment, not stopping, not looking back, otherwise it will be too late. (She pulls the Professor toward the exit, but he stops suddenly.)

PROFESSOR. Wait! I just remembered; I can’t.

GIRL. Why? Are you afraid?

PROFESSOR. I am. But that’s not the point.

GIRL. What then?

PROFESSOR. I just promised a lady that I would run away with her.

GIRL. So…?

PROFESSOR. I ought to at least explain to her…

GIRL. Why do you think you have to explain anything? Are you the first man to leave a woman?

PROFESSOR. No, but…

GIRL. Did you have an affair with her?

PROFESSOR. Not exactly, but…

GIRL. Whether you did or didn’t, it doesn’t matter. Sex is no reason to talk things over or prolong a relationship.

PROFESSOR. But since we’ve gotten to know each other…

GIRL. (Interrupting). So what? Sex is no cause for acquaintance. But if you’re so scrupulous, leave her a note. Get out your remarkable pen. Write: (Dictates). “My dear, don’t worry. I have run away with another woman. I won’t be back anytime soon.”.

PROFESSOR. (Gets out his pen and starts writing, then stops.) I should tell her myself. Or maybe the three of us could run away together?

GIRL. Will she agree?

PROFESSOR. Why not?

GIRL. A threesome is not so interesting.

PROFESSOR. On the contrary, it can be even more interesting.

GIRL. Well then, go and talk to her. I’ll wait here. But don’t leave me alone for long! I hate being alone. It makes me feel sick.

PROFESSOR. I’ve been sick of being alone for a long time now.

PROFESSOR leaves. HUSBAND enters.

HUSBAND. Let’s have sex.

GIRL. OK.

HUSBAND. I’m serious.

GIRL. I could tell right away that you’re not joking. (Starts to unbutton her dress.) Well?

HUSBAND. Right now?

GIRL. Certainly not tomorrow.

HUSBAND. Right here?

GIRL. Where else?

HUSBAND. Who will start first?

GIRL. Don’t we have to do it together?

HUSBAND. Yes, but somebody has to take the initiative.

GIRL. You have already done it. You offered; I agreed. Now it’s your turn again.

HUSBAND. What should I do?

GIRL. Do what you offered to do, I think.

HUSBAND. That would be great. But I don’t know how to start.

GIRL. That’s the most difficult part.

HUSBAND. What do you suggest?

GIRL. To tell the truth, I don’t have any experience.

HUSBAND. You’ve never had an affair with a man?

GIRL. Never! But men sometimes had an affair with me.

HUSBAND. And how did they start?

GIRL. All sorts of ways.

HUSBAND. I think we’re supposed to talk for a while first.

GIRL. What for?

HUSBAND. I don’t know. That’s how it’s done.

GIRL. What should we talk about?

HUSBAND. I don’t know. Books, movies, painting…

GIRL. And how long do we have to talk?

HUSBAND. I don’t know. It depends.

GIRL. Why not to talk afterwards?

HUSBAND. We can talk afterwards, too, but somehow you don’t want to anymore. Usually the talk comes first.

GIRL. Well, if that’s the way it’s supposed to be, then talk. But make it quick.

Pause.

HUSBAND. Under other circumstances I would offer to take you out to a cafe.

GIRL. Thanks. I already had a cup of coffee today. I thought you were proposing something else.

HUSBAND. That offer remains valid.

GIRL. So, what’s the matter?

HUSBAND. You see, sex should not begin from the end; it should begin from the beginning. There should be a resistance, there should be a struggle, and there should be a victory. That’s what brings satisfaction.

GIRL. We have resistance. On your part.

HUSBAND. I’m not resisting.

GIRL. Oh really? Are you being aggressive, then? Well, I surrender. It’s impossible to resist you. So, we’ve had resistance; we’ve had victory; now it’s time for satisfaction.

HUSBAND. But first let's talk.

GIRL. Haven’t we talked already?

HUSBAND. We haven’t even started to talk.

GIRL. Is that so? Well then, let's talk.

Pause.

HUSBAND. What will we talk about?

GIRL. Tell me about your Don Juan list of conquests. I suppose it’s incredibly long.

HUSBAND. Yes, I have a lot to tell …

GIRL. Well, how many women have you had? Tell the truth. Twenty? Thirty? A hundred?

HUSBAND. Maybe more… (After a pause.) To tell the truth though, not quite that many.

GIRL. Well then, how many? Ten?

HUSBAND. Not quite.

GIRL. Less than ten? And you call that a list? Still, I want to know, how many? Nine? Eight?

HUSBAND. (Reflecting). Including my wife?

GIRL. On the Don Juan list? Absolutely not. You can only include women on the list; is your wife really a woman to you?

HUSBAND. Then… I have to admit… I… I don’t have a Don Juan list. I mean, I do have a list, but there are no women on it.

GIRL. So get started it!

HUSBAND. Right here?

GIRL. Yes, right here, right now.

HUSBAND. You know, right here, just like that, it doesn’t seem right.

GIRL. What do you mean, “just like that”?! We’ve already been talking for five or ten minutes now!

HUSBAND. That’s not much. Imagine that you’re about to start traveling across a country that is completely new to you. Is your purpose just to reach the final point? No. You will be looking forward to the whole journey, from beginning to end, over all the hills and valleys, cliffs and canyons, roads and trails. Or, if you open a new book, will you start reading from the last page? Without a beginning there is no plot, without a plot there is no climax. And do you think that the goal of a climber is just to be on top without making the climb? Without having to make an effort, without the climb, there is no summit point, no climax.

GIRL. I’ll have a climax. But, of course, it depends on you to some extent. So let’s have sex, finally!

HUSBAND. But we are already having it!

GIRL. Really? I am an inexperienced girl, and easy to fool, but it seems to me that we’re doing something else.

HUSBAND. Sex is not what you think, it’s not just the last fifteen minutes. It’s not the curtain falling at the end of the last act; it’s a drama that has to be played out from beginning to end. Words, gestures, looks, serenades, flowers, gifts, advances, retreats, proposals, evasions – they all are a part of the great game called sex. It’s a ceremony, a series of rituals as old as the rutting of deer or the mating dance of cranes. It is a way of life, the foundation of culture. Fine clothes are not just worn to be taken off at the right moment. The most refined rules of etiquette, novels and poems, the sighs of violins and songs of flutes, pictures and sculptures of the beautiful Venus – all of these are created to convey the yearning of body and soul.

GIRL. Listen…

HUSBAND. No, you listen to me! What an intricate interrelation of the sexes mankind has devised! Certain parts of the body are concealed. Different clothes for different sexes. Different standards of behavior for men and women. The “strong heroic man” and the “weak fragile woman.” Don’t you see that none of this is accidental? It all fits together, doesn’t it?

GIRL. Are you all right?

HUSBAND. What do you mean?

GIRL. You’re acting as though you’re from the century before last. You talk too much.

HUSBAND. You oversimplify life.

GIRL. And you make it too complicated. Sex is a very useful, very simple and very necessary thing. Unfortunately, people go about this simple, pleasant and useful act in complicated, roundabout ways and spend a lot of effort, time and money on it. Why not simply approach someone, give them a big smile, stretch your hand and say, “Let’s have sex!” Like saying, “Good morning” or “Good night.” And how can it be a good night without sex?

HUSBAND. You’re right.

GIRL. “Let’s have sex!” should be used as a greeting. What better way to express an openness and willingness to make contact?

HUSBAND. You’re right. And what would be the response to this greeting?

GIRL. Something casual. Like, “Thanks, my pleasure.” Or, “Always at your service.” Or just, “Sure.”

HUSBAND. And how would we say goodbye?

GIRL. There’s no need to change anything. The words “See you later” already have a certain sexual connotation. You can hear in them a promise of something sweet, intimate, and long awaited.... At least I can. (Speaks quietly to herself.) “See you later ….”

HUSBAND. See you later. (Goеs toward the exit.)

GIRL. Where are you going?

HUSBAND. You said, “See you later.”

GIRL. (Stopping him.) I was talking to myself. I swear, you are crazy.

HUSBAND. I’m completely normal. Maybe a bit old-fashioned, that’s all.

GIRL. That is crazy. But we’ve talked enough. Now it’s high time to do something! We live in a time of action. If you’re not always running to keep up, you’ll fall behind.

HUSBAND. (Anxiously). Who can outdo me?

GIRL. Anybody! You talk, talk, talk, and meanwhile someone will come and snatch me from under your very nose.

HUSBAND. (Scared). Will you leave with him?

GIRL. If someone takes me, I’ll leave. I’m a young, inexperienced girl, I don’t know how to resist.

HUSBAND. Please – don’t leave!

GIRL. Well, alright. You said that we have to have some kind of foreplay. Let's play then. Pretend this is not the first time we’ve met, but the second.

HUSBAND. And then what?

GIRL. When we meet the second time, we don’t necessarily have to talk. The formalities are over, and we can get right to the main act.

HUSBAND. No, I can’t do it. Sex is an art, an act of creation …

GIRL. So let’s procreate!

HUSBAND. But at least tell me something about yourself first. What’s your name, what are your interests…

GIRL. I don’t have any interests. I’m a young, inexperienced girl – pure, enthusiastic, and romantic – who is interested only in sex.

HUSBAND. And nothing else?

GIRL. What “else” is there? (Thinks.) Maybe, also math.

HUSBAND. Mathematics?

GIRL. I once calculated that at any given moment at least ten million people in the world are having sex. Think of that! While we’re talking now and wasting time, at this very moment five million couples pairs all over the world are doing what you and me are not doing. If you laid them all out in a straight line six feet apart – the width of a king-size bed – they would form a chain over five thousand miles long! Can you imagine that? A cosmic process! A factory! It takes my breath away!

HUSBAND. Mine too.

GIRL. So let's join them!

HUSBAND. Right here?

GIRL. Right here, right now. Hurry! We don’t have much time, you know!

The HUSBAND hesitantly approaches the Girl, but suddenly shudders and listens in fear.

HUSBAND. Hush!

GIRL. (Frightened). What?

HUSBAND. Somebody’s coming!

Both listen.

GIRL. I just knew that this would happen!

HUSBAND. Hush!

Both listen. Silence.

GIRL. There is no one coming. Hurry, let’s do it! Otherwise it will be too late.

HUSBAND. Maybe later? Not now and not here?

GIRL. Are you afraid?

HUSBAND. Aren’t you?

GIRL. To tell the truth, I am. But you have to take the chance sometime. You have to prove sometime that you have the right to do what you want.

HUSBAND. Maybe tomorrow?

GIRL. And tomorrow you won’t be afraid?

HUSBAND. I’ll never stop being afraid. I’m afraid all the time. I’m afraid to make a mistake. To say sometime wrong. Take the wrong bus. Shake the wrong hand. Take the wrong side. Bet on the wrong horse. Everybody is climbing, climbing, climbing, and I’m afraid I can’t keep up. I don’t have the elbows, claws and teeth to make my way through the jungle. I’m afraid of tomorrow. I’m afraid of next Friday. I wait in fear of next month. I’m afraid I’ll lose my job. I’m afraid I’ll get sick. I’m afraid of women. I’m afraid of old age. I’m afraid to die. And even more afraid to live.

GIRL. Calm down.

HUSBAND. And this damn money. Money, money, money! It’s all anyone thinks, talks and cares about. Wives don’t want love from their husbands, just money. That alone is enough to drive you crazy.

GIRL. Aren’t you afraid to always be afraid?

HUSBAND. Of course I am. Don’t you see what’s going on all around? Every day is the same, without purpose and without hope. Nothing changes, and if it does change, then it’s only for the worse. We are caught in a net and flop around like fish; we open our mouths to scream, but nothing comes out; nobody hears. We keep running just to stay in place – round and round in the same wheel, in the same cage, today just like yesterday, tomorrow just like today, the day after tomorrow just like always. We struggle to make our way up, up, up. Up the down escalator. All the time we have no time. We want to have time to do everything we want to do, to make all the money we want to have. We reach out, clutch hold and scramble up. We’re almost there, so close, just one more step, just a little more effort – grab it, take it! But there is nothing to grab because you can’t hold on to happiness. That’s how we spend our lives; you can never get those years back. And what is it all for, what for? You want to run away from this life, run as fast as you can. But you just don’t have the strength to do it. You start to get out of breath; you stop, look back and think. You get scared, and then you start running again. So let's run away. There’s no time left!

GIRL. You think too much. You shouldn’t think. There is no tomorrow. There is only today. Don’t think, OK?

HUSBAND. You think that we shouldn’t think?

GIRL. I think we should run away, that’s all.

HUSBAND. Where to?

GIRL. The important thing is not where to, but where from. Away from the place that we hate, away from here. Here where nothing is possible, where everything is forbidden, everything has to be by the rules and according to schedule. We’ll escape to a better world, where everyone is free, where nothing is forbidden, where there’s not a ceiling overhead, but a big high blue sky with big white clouds floating by. Where people laugh; where they’re happy, and sing and dance; they’re cheerful and never sick, and nobody tells them how to live or what they have to do.

HUSBAND. Is there really such a world?

GIRL. Yes, it exists! It’s a world where no one is afraid, where everybody goes to bed whenever they want to, with whomever they want to; where there is plenty of sun and plenty of sex. Where no one is boss and everyone is happy.

HUSBAND. And where will we live without money?

GIRL. Wherever we want! We’ll live on a bench. In the bushes. On a soft green meadow. In a boat. Yes, in a boat! We’ll lie in it, embracing, and it will rock gently and carry us away, always to somewhere new. A brass band will meet us on every pier, and the music will ring out, and they’ll shower us with flowers, and we’ll drift and drift and have sex, and we’ll go so far that nobody will ever find us.

HUSBAND.… Nobody will ever find us.… OK, let’s do it!.

GIRL. When?

HUSBAND. Right now.

GIRL. Perfect. Wait here for me. I’ll go get a glass of water, take a tranquilizer, and then we’ll be ready to go.

HUSBAND. Just come right back, otherwise I’ll start thinking again.

GIRL. And what then?

HUSBAND. I’ll start having second thoughts and change my mind.

GIRL. I forbid you to think. You understand? Follow my example.

HUSBAND. I’ll try.

GIRL. Sit here, don’t move, don’t do anything and don’t think. I’ll be right back, and we’ll begin a new life!

The GIRL goes out. The HUSBAND waits for her impatiently. There can be an intermission here. The HUSBAND can stay on the stage, waiting for the GIRL.



PART TWO

The action between the first and second acts can proceed without an intermission.

GIRL. Perfect. Wait here for me. I’ll go get a glass of water, take a tranquilizer, and then we’ll be ready to go.

HUSBAND. Just come right back, otherwise I’ll start thinking again.

GIRL. And what then?

HUSBAND. I’ll start having second thoughts and change my mind.

GIRL. I forbid you to think. You understand? Follow my example.

HUSBAND. I’ll try.

GIRL. Sit here, don’t move, don’t do anything and don’t think. I’ll be right back, and we’ll begin a new life!

The GIRL exits. The HUSBAND waits for her impatiently. The PROFESSOR enters.

PROFESSOR. Let’s have sex.

HUSBAND. Thanks, my pleasure.

Pause.

PROFESSOR. Well?

HUSBAND. What?

PROFESSOR. I’m waiting to see what will follow your "thanks".

HUSBAND. I thought it was a greeting.

PROFESSOR. No, it was a business offer. So?

HUSBAND. I’m willing.

PROFESSOR. Then we’ll get started.

HUSBAND. (Looking around). I don’t see any women here.

PROFESSOR. We can manage perfectly well without them.

HUSBAND. Without women?!

PROFESSOR. Certainly. There’s you, there’s me, so there is a couple. What else do we need?

HUSBAND. I beg your pardon, but who are you?

PROFESSOR. I am a world-famous professor of psychiatry, psychology and sociology. A sexologist and sex pathologist. Treatment, consulting, lecturing. I get rid of complexes, inspire self-confidence, free people of their inhibitions. I cure frigidity and impotence. I satisfy the unsatisfied. It’s very hard work. Lots of calls. I get very tired.

HUSBAND. I’m not sure I understand exactly what you are offering concretely.

PROFESSOR. To have sex. What could be more concretely?

HUSBAND. Professor, with all due respect to you, to your wisdom, knowledge and age, to your gray hair and infinite understanding, you are no substitute for a woman to me.

PROFESSOR. Tell me, are you an intelligent person?

HUSBAND. I hope so.

PROFESSOR. Very well. Tell me, what is the most important thing in a partner for you – the body or the soul?

HUSBAND. The soul, certainly.

PROFESSOR. Then what difference does it make what body this soul has, male or female?

HUSBAND. For me – a very big difference.

PROFESSOR. Imagine a kindred soul so fine, sublime, gifted, intellectual, sympathetic …

HUSBAND. I have been searching for such a soul for a very long time. But this soul should inhabit a nice body, not too skinny and not too plump. And it is also important to me that this soul would have a normal woman’s breasts, slender legs and blue eyes.

PROFESSOR. In other words, you’re against homosexual love?

HUSBAND. Absolutely. But I can understand lesbians. Who wouldn’t be attracted to a blushing, soft, gentle, fresh, supple, appetizing, young female body. But any attraction to a man is unnatural.

PROFESSOR. But, you see, some women find men to be rather attractive.

HUSBAND. A perversion. Women will always have their follies.

PROFESSOR. Well, I’ll find you a woman. By the way, I have just been talking to two ladies.

HUSBAND. So have I.

PROFESSOR. I have every reason to believe that they will not object.

HUSBAND. They’re willing.

PROFESSOR. Which do you prefer – a plump blonde or a slim brunette?

HUSBAND. That’s a hard choice. What did you say, “a slim blonde or a plump brunette”?

PROFESSOR. No, the other way around – a plump blonde or a slim brunette.

HUSBAND. I would prefer a compromise.

PROFESSOR. Namely?

HUSBAND. A slender redhead.

PROFESSOR. And I thought you would choose both.

HUSBAND. That’s a good idea. Where are the women?

PROFESSOR. I don’t know. Let’s get back to the subject. What I am offering is not a coarse carnal act, but an educational process. In other words, I give lessons. Treatment, consulting, lecturing.

HUSBAND. What is there to lecture about?

PROFESSOR. How can you even ask that? Sex is a kind of transaction. And, as in any transaction, you must be considerate, discreet, skillful, and most important, persuasive. Are you persuasive in sex?

HUSBAND. I don’t know what to say …

PROFESSOR. Don’t hesitate to admit your weakness. Such shyness is a prejudice. Unfortunately, our society has not yet freed itself of its primitive values. Why isn’t shameful to be a fool, an alcoholic, or a cheat, but it is to be impotent? If you don’t have a leg or an eye, if you are short-sighted, skinny or fat, if you are stupid and rude, it is not shameful. If you can’t support your family, it’s pardonable. But woe to you if you’re incapable of this one thing. You must hide it from everyone… (Sighs.) But, if you think about it, who cares, really, except your girlfriend?

HUSBAND. As for me, I’m OK, I think. But I want to be successful. Earn a lot of money. I work hard, I’m very busy. I think a lot. There’s no time left for sex. And, to tell the truth, no strength either.

PROFESSOR. That’s just your mistake. You’re busy, but not with the right things. Only sex makes us all equal, only sex frees us from feeling inferior to the arrogant highbrow elite. If you’re sure of yourself as a man, you will be sure in everything else.

HUSBAND. You think so?

PROFESSOR. I don’t think so, I know so. Success requires an enormous effort. You have to study for a long time, struggle, strive, push others aside, grit your teeth, pay your dues and kiss ass. The only self-affirmation you get is from sex. It makes you feel strong, important, necessary, and even superior, without studying anything, without knowing anything, without any intelligence or talent. So you can enjoy life. That is the advantage of sex over anything else you can do. If you are successful in sex, you can’t be a loser. And, vice versa, if you’re a failure at sex, nothing goes right. (Bitterly). Believe me, I know.

HUSBAND. There’s some truth to what you’re saying.

PROFESSOR. The naked truth. I’m willing to teach you for twenty years and then you’ll see that… (Suddenly presses his hand to his chest, groans and falls into an armchair.)

HUSBAND. What’s wrong?

PROFESSOR. My heart…

HUSBAND. Do you have your pills?

PROFESSOR. (Breathes heavily.) Usually, a sister comes and gives me a shot.

HUSBAND. Should I call the sister?

PROFESSOR. (Hastily). No, don’t do that! I’ll feel better soon… Or maybe not. (Pause). My life is over – and what is there for me to remember? If I could start my life all over I wouldn’t want to. In kindergarten I dreamed of going to school as soon as possible. At school I dreamed of finishing it as soon as possible. At the university I dreamed of being on my own as soon as possible. At work I dreamed of retirement since my first day on the job. When I got married, I dreamed of divorce. Whenever I had sex with a woman, I dreamed of another woman and different sex. All my life I dreamed of another life. What now? Start all over and live the same life, dreaming of something else?

HUSBAND. So you too dream of another life and different sex?

PROFESSOR. Not of different sex anymore. Once I had it every day. Then every other day. Then once a week. Then once a month. I can’t understand it: as the years go by, I have more and more skill and experience, but for some reason less desire. There is more and more theory and less and less practice. Why is that? And, you know, my work is very hard. Lots of calls. I get very tired.

HUSBAND. So do I.

PROFESSOR. I’m too old for this kind of work. When I was younger the hand of my clock stood at ten or eleven, and now it barely reaches eight. To tell the truth, it stopped at six a long time ago.… I try to remember now and I can’t – when was it?

HUSBAND. When was what?

PROFESSOR. When was the last time I had sex?

HUSBAND. Did you ever have it?

PROFESSOR. Oh yes, lots of it. At lectures and in libraries. At seminars and conferences. But even that was a long, long time ago.

HUSBAND. Don’t give up.

PROFESSOR. Yes, my friend, everything in the world has changed for me now. There are juicy steaks, but no teeth. Beautiful women, but no money. There is a rich past, but no future. There is everything, but there is nothing. Soon I too will not be. (He clutches his chest again and groans.)

HUSBAND. Maybe I should call the sister?

PROFESSOR. (Scared). No! (Pause). People used to believe that a guardian angel watches over us all our life. But at the appointed hour he abandons us, and the angel of death takes his place. What do you think does he look like?

HUSBAND. I don’t know… An old woman dressed in black, holding a scythe… Or a grinning skeleton. What do you think?

PROFESSOR. Sometimes I feel death so very close, but I can’t see it. Maybe, it comes in the guise of an ordinary soldier with a tommy-gun, or a surgeon with a scalpel, or a sister with a syringe…

HUSBAND. (Echoes him.) Yes, a sister with a syringe…

PROFESSOR. The worst thing is that it’s always near. It may knock on the door at any minute. Wave the scythe. Press the trigger. Stick in the needle. (Quietly.) Look, is that her?

HUSBAND. (Frightened). Who? The sister with the syringe?

PROFESSOR. (Whispering). I’m afraid she has already come.

HUSBAND. Where?

PROFESSOR. I don’t know. I always have the feeling she’s somewhere close by, behind my back, watching me.

HUSBAND. (Whispering). Me too.

PROFESSOR. Go see.

HUSBAND. (Looks around the room and checks the exits.) There’s nоbody here.

PROFESSOR. Thank God. (Sighs). We must hurry up and live before she puts her hand on our shoulder. And what are we doing? How are we using the hours we have left? Do you ever wonder: where do all the days go away? And meanwhile she may come at any moment, this witch with her syringe.

HUSBAND. Yes, there’s nowhere to hide from her. I keep thinking about her myself.

PROFESSOR. (His hand on his chest, listens to himself.) I think I’m getting better… (Gets up from the armchair, cautiously takes a few steps and quickly cheers up.) We’ll still get by for a while! Forgive me for this moment of weakness, this attack of fleeting pessimism! There are so many pleasures in the world! A good steak, a glass of red wine, the sun, women, flowers! Life is fine, my friend! Especially if there’s sex in it! By the way, I forgot to ask, who are you and what are you doing here?

HUSBAND. Me? I… uh…

PROFESSOR. It’s not at all important, though. What’s important is that both of us are young and healthy. We must hurry up and live! Let's sing, let's dance! Turn on the music!

A fiery tango starts to play.

Wonderful! Superb! Perfect! Listen to me: I have a splendid idea…

GIRL. (Entering). Let’s have sex.

PROFESSOR. That is just what I was going to say. Would you like to dance, and we can discuss the details.

The PROFESSOR and the GIRL dance.

GIRL. Which details interest you?

PROFESSOR. What, where, when.

GIRL. Sex, here, now.

PROFESSOR. With whom?

GIRL. With you.

The HUSBAND breaks in and starts dancing with the GIRL.

HUSBAND. What were you talking about?

GIRL. The professor was interested in the details of my offer.

HUSBAND. I’m interested in them too.

GIRL. I’m ready to reveal them. (She makes a provocative move.)

HUSBAND. Very impressive details.

GIRL. And the entire offer?

Now the PROFESSOR breaks in and dances with the GIRL. During the subsequent dialogue she passes from one partner to another.

PROFESSOR. Which of us is your offer addressed to?

GIRL. Both of you.

PROFESSOR. Together or one after the other?

GIRL. Do you really think I’m that depraved?

PROFESSOR. So, one after the other?

GIRL. So, together.

HUSBAND. You’re kidding!

GIRL. Not at all. To have sex with two people one after the other is deceit and infidelity. To do it together is honest, interesting and fun.

HUSBAND. I’ll have to think about that.

GIRL. Again? You’re thinking again? (Passing to the Professor.) And what about you?

PROFESSOR. As I understand, you propose a group dance.

GIRL. You think it’s better to do it alone?

HUSBAND. Together, you and me, just the two of us.

GIRL. Two, three, four together – what’s the difference? Just not to be alone, never be alone…

HUSBAND. But think about this: while one lady is being entertained by two men at once here, maybe another woman somewhere is left all alone.

GIRL. So call her here!

HUSBAND. (Perplexed.) Whom?

GIRL. The woman, so we can all be lonely together.

HUSBAND. I was speaking hypothetically; I didn’t mean anyone in particular.

GIRL. Never mind. Go and find her. Cherchez la femme!

The HUSBAND and the PROFESSOR exit. The WIFE enters.

WIFE. Let’s have sex.

GIRL. OK.

Pause.

WIFE. But who is there to do it with?

GIRL. Don’t you know?

WIFE. No.

GIRL. So why did you say, “Let’s have sex”?

WIFE. I thought you might know.

GIRL. If I knew, I wouldn’t be sitting here alone.

WIFE. Did you offer yourself to anybody?

GIRL. To everybody.

WIFE. And?

GIRL. No result.

WIFE. Maybe they were afraid you would ask for money?

GIRL. No, I explained I was ready to do it for free.

WIFE. And?

GIRL. Same result.

WIFE. Did you offer them money?

GIRL. No. Only myself.

WIFE. That was your mistake.

GIRL. I know.

WIFE. You should have offered to pay.

GIRL. I know. But I don’t have any money. That’s the problem.

WIFE. When you have money, you don’t have to look for men. They will look for you.

GIRL. Nobody looks for me.

WIFE. That’s too bad. We need to have a family, house, money, social status. And for all this we need a man.

GIRL. Where can we find a man like that?

WIFE. Such a man simply doesn’t exist. That’s why it’s better to have several of them.

GIRL. I know. But I don’t have money. I have only myself.





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