Читать книгу Real and Phantom Pains: An Anthology of New Russian Drama - John Freedman - Страница 8

The apartment where BOY lives. A large room with a TV in the corner. A couch on one wall, two beds on other walls. A floor lamp next to the coffee table. Two armchairs bookend a table. Bookshelves. A door leads to the bathroom. An entrance to the kitchen. A sliding door opens onto a tiny balcony.

A MAN sits in one armchair doing a crossword. WOMAN sits on the couch sewing curtain rings on the curtains.

MAN: Short-necked bittern.

WOMAN: How many letters?

MAN: Nine.

WOMAN: We know any other letters?

MAN: If I guessed pilgrim right, then the first one is “p”.

WOMAN: Pond heron.

(MAN writes the word in.)

MAN: Who is the Grand Prince of Kiev? Last letter is “r”.

WOMAN: How many?

MAN: Eight.

WOMAN: Vladimir.

MAN: Fuck me! I knew that! (He writes it in.) You know, they all have names, but some have names you’d expect them to have –

WOMAN: What do you mean?

MAN: Vladimir.

WOMAN (Understanding): Aaaaahhhh.

MAN: Igor –

WOMAN: Well, yes –

MAN: Boris –

WOMAN: What about Mikhail?

MAN: Archangel Mikhail hauled Satan out of the Heavens.

WOMAN: Well, he did do that to the communists –

MAN: Exactly.

WOMAN: Well, yeah.

(Pause.

WOMAN switches on the TV.)

MAN: I know a guy got killed like that. Just sittin’ at home watchin’ TV.

WOMAN: Was it radiation? I saw a show about it. They said that during Brezhnev’s years they were working on a way to shoot radiation from the television. Probably bullshit. Assholes still wanna take Brezhnev down a notch.

MAN: What are you talking about?! Radiation? It was eight years ago and we went to these chicks’ country house. For a birthday party. We’re all big sports fans and there was this big game that night. And later that night, on some other channel: Natural Born Killers. Me and a buddy stayed up for the movie. We’d seen it before –

WOMAN: Get to the point, will you? (Beat.) What are you smoking? Are you high?

MAN: This is a great story! I mean, we took the TV out there just for – Shit who was playing?

WOMAN: You think we could just pinch a little?

MAN: Just for us?

WOMAN: Yeah.

MAN: Now?

WOMAN: It’ll be gone in thirty. They’re on their way.

(MAN goes to the kitchen and opens the refrigerator.)

WOMAN: In the freezer!

MAN: I know.

(Freezer opens. A baggie crinkles. A bag opens. Powder sprinkles. MAN brings a baggie out and shows it to the woman.)

WOMAN: That’s enough.

MAN: We better take another teaspoon.

WOMAN: What’s that weigh?

MAN: Never thought about it.

WOMAN: Don’t forget to swap it out.

MAN: Where’s the baby laxative?

WOMAN: First aid kit, bottom shelf. The scoop’s in the cabinet.

(Lid opens. Powder is scooped. Powder is poured.)

MAN: All done.

WOMAN: Where’s the gun?

MAN: In the blue folder.

WOMAN: The one with the flowers?

(MAN enters with the bag.)

MAN: No. The plain blue folder, there –

WOMAN: Got it.

(The MAN walks the room, mixing the baby laxative into the bag with the drugs. He holds it up to the light to make sure it’s evenly mixed.)

MAN: Golden.

WOMAN: Let me see. Yeah, looks good to me.

(MAN returns the bag to the freezer, closes the door and returns to the living room.)

WOMAN: So what about this friend of yours? The one who was killed?

MAN: Right, so, we get to the place in the country and we got tanked fast, planning to sober up by game time. Well, we got fucking Dionysian. Going on and on. Cause this guy, this guy, he was a professional drinker, he could watch TV shit canned! And me, well, I was a super-professional drinker, cause I didn’t give a shit about the game or the movie, I went there to get bungfu, not for bullshit TV!

WOMAN: Another bender –

MAN: No. Listen, I ain’t talking about the bender. After the game, everyone got drunk again –

WOMAN: ...And –

MAN: And fell asleep. Except Mikhail and me.

WOMAN: Mikhail again.

MAN: Yeah, well, we didn’t sleep, cause we were lit, Mikhail got inter-galactically drunk and me, I ate ten spoonfuls of hemp porridge. Puffed me up like –

WOMAN: Like now?

MAN: No. Now. I’m nervous now. That’s different.

WOMAN: You always ramble on about corpses when you’re nervous.

MAN: Can I finish?

WOMAN: They won’t weigh it will they?

MAN: The powder?

WOMAN: Yes.

MAN: I don’t know.

WOMAN: They’ve never done it before.

MAN: Never.

WOMAN: But they might.

MAN: Sure.

WOMAN: Are we ok?

MAN: No worries. I checked it.

WOMAN: And what you sprinkled in plus the last –

MAN: Two teaspoons. Two teaspoons of that baby shit stuff.

WOMAN: Is that enough? Should we do one more just in case?

MAN: What if they weigh it and it’s heavy?

WOMAN: It could be heavy?

MAN: Well, I don’t know. They’re probably told how much it weighs.

WOMAN: We got a half-kilo, right?

MAN: Yes.

WOMAN: And if there’s a half-kilo and five grams, then they’ll –

MAN: Fuck if I know! If there’s less than a half-kilo, they’ll definitely –

WOMAN: Ok. Ok. Finish your story.

MAN: Right. Shit. Yeah. So, we’re watching Natural Born Killers and a storm kicks up. I was almost out, just listening, dozing. Tommy Lee Jones, y’know Scagnetti, is giving them a tour of the prison. As they walk, Scagnetti tells them how his mother was killed by a maniac with a rifle... And then... Something sputters... It goes dark... I open my eyes and this white ball is hanging over the TV. About the size of a tennis ball. Far as I could tell, it didn’t come from inside the TV...

WOMAN: Did it burn a hole in the TV?

MAN: No, but there were... There were a few holes melted. The ball went from hanging over the TV to floating. Floating all over the room. It might’ve been spinning. I mean, what the hell do I know. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it, it was bright—so bright... It shot around, a question mark in the air, like this... shooting from the TV to right in front of us: Mikhail and me... We froze. Stopped breathing. It flies. Then stops, hovers, and then, like a snake...HA! It darts over to Dimon –

WOMAN: Dimon who?

MAN: Dimon was ripped. to. the. tits!

WOMAN: Uh-huh.

MAN (Demonstrating): It hopped over to him. Like that. Right in front of his nose, it stops. And right then, right then, Dimon inhales. (Imitates.) And it’s over.

WOMAN: He died?

MAN: What did I say?

WOMAN: Oh. Yeah.

MAN: He died.

WOMAN: Wow. What a way to go.

MAN: Absolutely.

WOMAN: You’re sure everything is fine?

MAN: Absolutely.

WOMAN: Absolutely?

MAN: Absolutely, everything is fine.

WOMAN: Would you stop saying absolutely?

MAN: I’m nervous.

WOMAN: Me too. Turn on the TV.

MAN: All right.

(MAN and WOMAN watch TV.)

WOMAN: If they don’t weigh it, we’re fine.

MAN: If they weigh – I shoot.

WOMAN: If they weigh – You shoot.

MAN: Absolutely.

(Doorbell. MAN opens the door. WOMAN stands up, and takes the blue folder from a shelf, removes the small revolver, and returns the folder. She sits on the sofa, covers the revolver with the curtains, and returns to sewing. MAN enters with ABU, drug kingpin, and JOHN, his second. JOHN carries a briefcase. They go to the kitchen)

ABU: Hello.

WOMAN: Good afternoon.

JOHN: Hi, sweetheart.

WOMAN: Hey.

(In the kitchen, the refrigerator opens and closes. MAN, ABU and JOHN enter the living room.

At the table, JOHN opens the briefcase and removes a set of scales.

MAN removes the blue folder. Opens it. No revolver.

ABU sees MAN looking into the blue folder and shoots MAN.

WOMAN shoots at ABU.

ABU falls and shoots at MAN.

WOMAN shoots at ABU. ABU’s gun flies.

JOHN searches for ABU’s gun on the floor.

WOMAN shoots JOHN.

JOHN finds the gun.

WOMAN shoots at JOHN. Click. A misfire.

WOMAN and JOHN shoot each other.

Time passes.

Evening comes.

Doorbell rings. Doorbell rings again. Again.

The door opens and BOY enters the apartment. He stands at the door for a moment. BOY sneaks into the kitchen and returns with a knife.

BOY steps around the bodies. He picks up the phone off the coffee table with both hands. He finds a clean place to stand. BOY dials 911 and closes his eyes tight.)

BOY: Hello. My parents have been killed. I came home to the apartment. They’re on the floor, shot. And two other guys, too. It’s true. I am not kidding.

(BOY cries.)

Come. Please. Pleeeaaasseee coooommme. Twenty-two. Twenty-two Victory Street. Apartment eight... eighteen.

(Dark. Night.)