Читать книгу A play for 8 people and one fish. Comedy. On the other side of the family - Николай Лакутин - Страница 2

Earlier in the morning.

The sounds of nature are heard. Perhaps you can hear the buzzing of a dragonfly, the chirping of birds, a light breeze… Something like that.

The action takes place on a stage near the proscenium.

In a fisherman's uniform (traditionally a protective color), with fishing rods in their hands, three of our heroes are sitting on folding portable chairs (someone, perhaps, on an inverted bucket), fishing. The drone is wearing a cap, the rest are without caps. The views are philosophically detached and focused at the same time. Petyunya looks at the float, the drone looks into the distance (hall). The old one looks up at the sky.

The old one (thoughtfully, philosophically, slowly and lingeringly, lowering his thoughtful gaze from heaven, softly, addressing his friends). That's why I love fishing, so it's because it is full of calmness and poise!

Petyunya jumps off his chair, barely has time to finish and starts nervously furiously lashing his fishing rod on the pond (water splashes naturally from the pond) and at the same time screaming with all his strength.

Petyunya (as emotionally as possible). Yes, grab her in the net! Why don't they bite at all, aaaaa??? (nervously, with a growl, announcing the nearest streets of the theater) AAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!

Petyunya continues to bludgeon the pond with a fishing rod.

The Old One and the Drone don't even-don't even give the slightest sign of a change in their internal reasoning. They absolutely do not pay attention to what their friend is doing, although it is quite obvious that after such numbers, there will certainly be no bite.

They sit in the same poses, they look at each other in the same mysterious and philosophical way.

Petyunya, after yelling and whipping the pond with his fishing rod, jumping in hysterics a couple of times, and trying to pull himself together, puts a new bait, (you don't need a live bait, the props of a worm or a bloodworm are enough). Then he defiantly loudly spits on the bait, wipes his fingers on his pants, because naturally the spit overtakes not only the bait, then spits cautiously and cautiously on the heads of his friends, but these spits are more symbolic, and his friends are accustomed to such antics, they do not react. Petyunya throws a new tackle into the pond, then sits down as if nothing had happened, continues to fish with an irresistible face full of calm and peacefulness.

The Old One and the Drone don't pay attention to anything. They are sitting as they were sitting.

Silence… Sounds of nature… the original picture.

The old one, after a short pause, thoughtfully and philosophically breaks the silence, lowering a thoughtful look from heaven.

The sounds of nature subside.

The old one (softly, addressing the Drone). Our Petyunya, of course, is a peculiar person, to be honest, his character is explosive, but he is a kind man by nature, responsive.

The old one wipes off his head with his hand what Petyunya spat, which means he replaced it. Wipes off his head, wipes his palm on his pants.

The drone obediently nods, supporting the words of the Old One, staying somewhere in his thoughts, observing the former calmness, only shakes off the cap with a habitual movement of his hand and puts it back on his head. But now he leaves his thoughts, claps his hands busily on his knees, rubs them.

Drone (thoughtfully, thoughtfully). Here we are what we are. No masks, no labels. Here we are not Andrey, Peter and Ilya, but the Drone, Petyunya and the Old One. And we are so comfortable and we feel so good! And everything else is empty. (Cheerfully, turning to his friends, changing the mood) Well, guys?

An anticipatory pause. The trio looks at each other knowingly.

Old (anticipating, to the Drone). Biting?

Drone (positive, Old, without looking at the fishing rods). In my opinion, it bites.

Petyunya (looking at the Drone float, affirmatively). Definitely biting!

The drone gets up, takes up its rod (this is a fishing rod, if anyone does not know, nothing like that is meant here). He holds the fishing rod with passion, it bends under the weight, the fishing line is stretched, the drone is about to pull out the coveted trophy.

Stary and Petyunya perk up, jump up and start shouting sympathetically, nervously glancing at the Drone float.

Petyunya and the Old One (in two voices, vying with each other, nervously, interested, sympathetically). Come on, come on, come on, hook up, pull, start, hook up, come on, come on, well, and… go, go, come on. Here it is.... That's right… You're her jerk. Oop! And-well?

Petyunya with a neat jerk, sitting down, pulls the trophy out of the pond to the cheers and whistles of her friends. At the end of the fishing line, the Drone already has an incomplete bottle of vodka.

The men catch this bottle in their hands, fished out of the pond with such excitement by a drone, and open it.

Petyunya takes out three glasses from behind her chair, pours, the others cheer up the situation with cheers.

All three of them according to the situation (in pleasant anticipation). So. Yeah. Come on. Fill up. To the brim. Ah! It's like that in nature. Now we'll bite. The process has started. The morning ceases to be languid…

they rub their hands, fuss.

Drone (excitedly, to the Old One). Old, where did you put the snack?

Old (anticipating, to the Drone). Yes, there, in the package…

shows the package. The drone takes out lard, cucumbers, onions, bread. Everything is as it should be. Petyunya distributes filled stacks to her friends.

All three are armed with glasses.

Old (to friends). Well.., we will!

Clink glasses, exhale, drink. Fussing with a snack, appreciatively savoring smacking their lips, AH – ayut and everything like that. They sit down in their places, but now forming a circle for conversation, and not in a line for fishing along the shore, as it was originally.

Drone (Petune). Petyunya, I don't understand one thing in any way. Tell me, why are you so worried about your catch? Why are you driving devils in a pond with a rod? There have never been any fish here, how many times can I remind you about this?

Petyunya (waving off the drone). Yes, I know.

Old (Petune). Really, Petyun? Why the hell are you shaking your nerves for yourself and people? We don't come here for fish. There she is (pointing her finger somewhere back at the fishing bales) already, bought to distract the eyes and women's delight. And here, why bother twitching?

Petyunya (to his friends). That's right, but… You know, guys. Anyway, no, no, but the eye falls on the float. And he is not the wind, or the hook will catch on the bottom. And he's playing on his nerves. So you look-you look and you will believe that some fish has bitten.

Drone (Petune). Come on… We've been going here for a year, and apart from all sorts of nasty things, so to speak, the consequences of human activity, we haven't got anything from the bottom. And there are no fishermen here except us. And if they pass, they twist their finger at the temple. Yes, it is understandable. Where would fish come from here? It's all true… exclusively entourage. So don't get too involved in this case.

Petyunya (to the drone). And that's right, Drone, you're talking business.

Petyunya launches a stone into the area of her float. Splash, splash.

Petyunya (to the drone). Well, so what happened to your Tamara there?

Old (connecting to this topic, with interest, to the Drone). By the way, yes! You promised to tell me on the fishing trip. So we are all in the spotlight. Come on…

the intriguing music for the beginning sounds softly.

Drone (indulging in memories and anticipating his story). Oh, guys… There's such a thing…

the music is growing.

The lighting smoothly anticipating goes out, leaving in its last outlines the intrigued faces of the fishermen delicately exchanging glances.

The music ends.

ZTM.