GAME’S NOT OVER

© Institut umění – Divadelní ústav, Aura-Pont, DILIA

ISBN 978-80-7008-265-2 (pdf)

ISBN 978-80-7008-278-2 (epub)

ISBN 978-80-7008-279-9 (mobi)

GAME’S NOT OVER New Czech Plays (not only) for Your Tablet / E-Reader

Radmila Adamová

David Drábek

Vladislava Fekete

Magdaléna Frydrych Gregorová

Arnošt Goldfl am

Václav Havel

Viliam Klimáček

Petr Kolečko

Kateřina Rudčenková

Roman Sikora

Milan Uhde

Petr Zelenka

SCORE 2011 LIVES 12

Special Bonus: Two Brand New Plays from Slovakia

Content

Martina Černá

New Czech (and Slovak) Plays:The Game is not over 7

Radmila Adamová

Profi le 10The Elle Girls 11

David Drábek

Profi le 55The Coast of Bohemia 58

Magdaléna Frydrych Gregorová

Profi le 132Dorotka 133

Arnošt Goldfl am

Profi le 179Dolls and Dollies 181

Václav Havel

Profi le 217Leaving 220

Petr Kolečko:

Profi le 284Gods Don’t Play Ice Hockey 286

Kateřina Rudčenková:

Profi le 332A Time of Cherry Smoke 334

Roman Sikora:

Profi le 372The Confession of a Masochist 375

Milan Uhde:

Profi le 434The Miracle at the Black House 437

Petr Zelenka:

Profi le 502Coming Clean 504

BONUS:

Vladislava Fekete:

Profi le 578Brief Connections 579

Viliam Klimáček:

Profi le 617I am the Kraftwerk 621

About Arts and Theatre Institute 694About Aura-Pont 698About DILIA 700

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New Czech (and Slovak) Plays:

The Game is not over

Th e electronic book GAME’S NOT OVER – New Czech Plays (not

only) for Your Tablet / E-Reader brings you recent plays by Czech

authors. Th ough the publication includes a  broad spectrum of

playwrights – beginning with the youngest generation up to 35

years of age (Radmila Adamová, Magdaléna Frydrych Gregorová,

Petr Kolečko, Kateřina Rudčenková), middle-aged authors (David

Drábek, Roman Sikora, Petr Zelenka), and also mature doyens of the

Czech cultural scene (Arnošt Goldfl am, Václav Havel, Milan Uhde)

– all authors included are currently active personalities who have

participated in contemporary Czech theatre not only in the roles of

playwrights and authors but also as literary managers, directors and

/ or artistic directors.

Two Slovak authors – Vladislava Fekete and Viliam Klimáček

– are included as a  special bonus in the publication. Despite 20

years having passed since the division of Czechoslovakia, the

understanding of Slovak theatre as a foreign element has still not

entirely taken place. Th is is not merely because of the language

similarity, but also because of the persistent interconnection of the

Czech and Slovak theatre worlds. Proof of this can be found at the

most prestigious dramatic competition in the fi eld of contemporary

drama in the Czech Republic, which is awarded by the Alfréd Radok

Foundation – here, both Czech and Slovak authors can participate

annually with new original plays.

Th e dates of creation of the individual titles in the e-book

GAME’S NOT OVER – New Czech Plays (not only) for Your Tablet

/ E-Reader, begin with 2004, and end with brand new Czech and

Slovak plays from 2010. Even so, all of these published plays have

8

already found their way to Czech stages, and many of them have also

found top places at the Alfréd Radok Awards.

Th e Arts and Th eatre Institute has recorded in its databases

between 600 and 700 premieres from all theatre genres in both

offi cial and independent Czech professional and semi-professional

theatres each year. In the year 2010, over 80 contemporary dramatic

texts which had been written in the previous decade were staged.

About one half of them were plays by Czech playwrights. Th e most

frequently staged texts of plays by contemporary foreign authors

were from the German, French, English and Slovak languages. Th ese

brief statistics show that contemporary drama forms an essential

part of Czech drama theatre as well as Czech contemporary theatre

culture in general.

Th e e-book GAME’S NOT OVER – New Czech Plays (not only)

for Your Tablet / E-Reader includes a wide variety of topics which

refl ects not only the diversity of their authors but also the discourses

in the societies the texts were produced for. Václav Havel in Leaving

and Milan Uhde in Th e Miracle at the Black House in particular deal

with topics which connect autobiographic elements and experience

from the political sphere. Roman Sikora’s  play Th e Confession of

a Masochist deals with a sharp criticism of consumer society and

current political situation; topics of social criticism appear in

Radmila Adamová’s play Th e Elle Girls about the world of modelling

or in Petr Zelenka’s text Coming Clean which refl ects the disruption

of values of media-manipulated reality. Intergeneration issues and

family life are explored in the plays Dolls and Dollies and A Time

of Cherry Smoke by Arnošt Goldfl am and Kateřina Rudčenková.

Magdaléna Frydrych Gregorová’s  Dorotka, David Drábek’s  Th e

Coast of Bohemia and Petr Kolečko’s  Gods Don’t Play Ice Hockey

off er portrayals of picturesque details of Czech village, urban or pub

realities. Slovak authors join this company with their own original

topics. Viliam Klimáček paraphrases Chekhov’s Th e Seagull in his

play I am the Kraftwerk that takes place in contemporary theatre

environment, and Vladislava Fekete was inspired in her writing of

9

Brief Connections by her childhood spent in the Slovak minority in

Vojvodina, Serbia.

Th e publication GAME’S NOT OVER – New Czech Plays (not

only) for your Tablet / E-Reader is available as a  CD-ROM and

as an electronic book which can be downloaded for free on the

informational website about Czech Th eatre www.theatre.cz operated

by the Arts and Th eatre Institute (ATI). Th e mission of the ATI is to

provide the Czech and international public with a comprehensive

range of services in the fi eld of theatre and individual services

connected to other branches of the arts (music, literature, dance

and visual arts). Th e ATI is also one of the most important publishing

houses in the Czech Republic, publishing books in the fi eld of

theatre, arts and research. Th is e-book was published in cooperation

with the agencies Aura-Pont and DILIA, which are the two biggest

Czech agencies arranging licences for using artworks (not only) in

the fi eld of theatre. We believe that the book will be as successful as

previous projects realized in cooperation between ATI and the Aura-

Pont and DILIA agencies, such as the two issues of the catalogue of

contemporary Czech drama, Let’s Play Czechs.

You are welcome to make now your own game with contemporary

Czech (and Slovak) plays. We believe that it will be a  source of

information about Czech (and Slovak) reality, as well as a dialogue

about global problems in our common contemporary world.

Martina Černá

10

Radmila Adamová

(1975)

Radmila Adamová graduated from

the College for Vocational Studies

in Information and Library Sciences and currently she is studying

Th eory and History of Th eatre at the Faculty of Arts of Masaryk

University in Brno. Between 1998 and 2003 she worked as an author,

director and set designer for the company M+M, where she was

staging her own experimental texts, such as One Day of Josephine,

Gloria and the monodrama Mr. Bu. In her work she refl ects on the

rather peculiar position of a woman in the context of contemporary

media culture. Her plays were produced by National Moravian-

Silesian Th eatre in Ostrava, Slovácké divadlo in Uherské Hradiště and

Th eatre LETÍ. For her play Th e Elle Girls (Holky Elky, 2005) which

had two productions as well as a staged reading at the Immigrants

Th eatre in New York, she received the Evald Schorm Award for 2005.

LIST OF PLAYS:

• Holky Elky, 2005; première 28. 5. 2006, Th eatre Na zábradlí,

Prague

• Little Sister, 2005; première 27. 10. 2008, Slovácké divadlo,

Uherské Hradiště

• (Come On) Let’s Play (Everybody), 2006

• České kuchty super buchty, 2010; première of the radio version

in Český rozhlas Brno, 2010

TRANSLATED PLAYS:

• Holky Elky: English – Th e Elle Girls, German – Elle Girls,

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Radmila Adamová

THE ELLE GIRLSTranslated by Michaela Pňačeková

Th is play is fully protected under the copyright law of Czech Republic and is

subject to royalty. It cannot be nor used nor changed without an appropriate

written permission given by the DILIA Agency. Th e providing of this play

to a  third party for uses other than production due is also subjected to

DILIA permission.

A violation of this restriction and using this play without the permission will

be interpreted as an infringement of copyright law and will underlie to the civil

and criminal liability.

All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the DILIA Agency

Krátkého 1, Praha 9, 190 03, Czech Republic, www.dilia.cz

12

Characters:

Model E1

Model E2

Model E3

Photographer

Mother

Nurse

Agent

(All characters are female.)

Part 1: Morning

Part 2: Evening

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PART 1: MORNING

(On stage – white wall, 2 chairs, metal bucket, door on the right.

Characters in scene: Model E1, Model E2, Model E3 , Photographer.

E1 enters, puts her rain hat away, looks around, sits down on one

chair, puts her purse on another chair. Pause. She puts on her perfume.

Pause. E2 enters, carrying an umbrella. E1 looks at E2. E2 does not

see E1.)

E2: Damn weather, I can’t do this anymore …the fucking umbrella.

(She tosses the umbrella aside, because she wants to powder herself,

she notices E1. E1 smiles at E2. E2 turns around. E1 is off ended. E2

powders herself, turns towards a vacant chair. E1 puts her purse on

the chair, looks for something in it. E2 looks at E1. E2 hisses, goes to

the bucket, where she lights on a cigarette.)

E1: I think it’s forbidden to smoke here.

E2: And why?

E1: I don’t know why, but there was a small sign, sort of a placard,

at the entrance door.

E2: Really? (She smokes faster.)

E1: Something like a non-smoking area, no smoking in all areas.

E2: Th at’s weird.

E1: Not really.

E2: It seems weird to me, really.

E1: It doesn’t seem weird to me, really.

E2: I have enough experience in the scene. It’s weird.

E1: I’ve done modeling for about a  year. All the places were no

smoking areas.

E2: Only for a year, really?

E1: It does really depend on the people you work with. Th e ones at

the top don’t smoke. Smoking is defi nitely out.

E2: Th at’s  bullshit. Who have you worked with? I’ve seen those

people smoking, the people at the top, I’ve already seen them

smoking. I am not afraid…not afraid.

14

(P enters. E2 quickly puts out her cigarette, straightens, fi xes a smile

on her face. E1 jumps from her chair, fi xes a smile on her face.)

P: So you two that are here already are… (She stops.) What’s this

now? Cigarette smoke?….You’ve been smoking?

(E1 looks at E2.)

E2: No.

P: I really…as if I smelled…

E2: It …smelled of smoke before we…here.

P: Okay…You are the only two here yet, so we’re going to start late.

Is that a problem?

E1: No.

E2: No.

P: OK. (P exits.)

E2: Th at’s  really great. I’m in a bit of a hurry. Th is is not a  very

professional attitude.

E1: Professionals reserve at least half a day for one job. I don’t mind

the delay, actually, I count on it.

E2: Just because someone can’t manage to get here on time, we’re

stuck here. I’ve got something else today. It makes me nervous

that I have no idea what we’re going to do, how long it’s going

to take…stupid business!

E1: We’ll have the money for sure – so who cares? Besides, I don’t

mind as long as I know that I’m working for a prestigious

brand. It’s OK for me to wait here for a little while.

E2: Th is won’t be a  little while. Th is will be quite a  long wait,

I  guess. Seeing as I  have something important in the

afternoon, something that I really have to do, nothing will go

smoothly here; there’ll be a delay…for sure. Th ere’ll be some

complication…gosh.

E1: Please! Someone is a bit late and you immediately succumb to

depression and skepticism., Perhaps this person in reality is

already here; she is entering the building, she is pushing the

lift call button…

E2: To no eff ect, the lift doesn’t work…

15

E1: Th e lift doesn’t work?

E2: No.

E1: It worked when I arrived. I took it up.

E2: So, right now, she is possibly marching up the emergency

staircase, to the 13th fl oor, in this weather, with an umbrella

in her hand. She’s worn out, angry, exhausted and nervous,

because she’s  late. Possibly, she’s  got something in the

afternoon, something she can’t cancel…something very,

tremendously important…It’ll be a great atmosphere here,

when she arrives…and we’ll be annoyed, because of the

waiting. A great atmosphere…really!

E1: If she is worn out, angry, exhausted and nervous, she is utterly

unprofessional.

E2: We are people in the end. (She takes out a cigarette nervously

and wants to light it.)

(P enters. E2 hides the cigarette behind her back, straightens herself,

and fi xes a smile. E1 jumps up from the chair, fi xes a smile.)

P: Everything’s OK?

E1: Ok.

E2: Ok too.

P: Ok. Ten, twenty minutes. And don’t leave. OK?

E1: (Enthusiastically.) OK.

E2: OK.

(P exits.)

E2: Did I mishear her…twenty minutes? Did she say twenty minutes?

E1: Ten to twenty minutes.

E2: Waiting here for half an hour just because some bitch does

something god knows what.

E1: Ten to twenty minutes is not half an hour. Ten plus twenty

minutes is half an hour. It’s half an hour altogether, but I don’t

think she meant that.

E2: I know this. If they say twenty minutes, it’s at least half an hour.

If she said half an hour, it could be an hour in reality. Th ey say

less, so that people are not annoyed, so that the atmosphere

16

doesn’t ‘get negative’. Because if the atmosphere gets negative,

it can be seen, and nobody can aff ord that, nobody would pay

for it.

E1: Th ey say more in advance, so that people are pleasantly surprised

when everything actually goes faster than it seemed at fi rst.

Th en the atmosphere is pleasant, which naturally infl uences

the working results. And that’s  what matters. A  typical

psychological trick. A calculated waiting, that’s the point.

E2: A naive, an absolutely naive concept.

E1: It isn’t by any means naive. I have a certain amount of concrete

experience. By the way, I have encountered such strategies

more than once…very professionally designed to the

tiniest detail. A professional reacts calmly, an experienced

professional actually counts on it. Calculated waiting is a part

of the thing; it is entirely common on exclusive orders.

E2: I’ve worked with such elite personalities…I’ve never seen any

calculated waiting.

E1: Who have you worked with? Give me an example, be specifi c.

E2: It doesn’t matter with whom. It was the elite – personalities,

celebrities – and there was no calculated waiting there. Th e

point is…there was no calculated waiting…

E1: I would be very interested to know where there was no calculated

waiting, since nowadays you have to calculatedly wait

everywhere.

E2: Do you want names?

E1: Yes, I want to hear specifi c names.

E2: Don’t you also want addresses?

E1: Why addresses?

E2: So that you could walk around to them afterwards and get better

jobs without calculated waiting? You’d earn your money very

quickly and easily… Do you think you can trick me like that

and that I will end my career? Do you think I am totally stupid

or what?

17

E1: I think you talk bullshit. Always the elite, elite, personalities,

personalities, and when it comes to the calculated waiting,

you know nothing about it. Totally unprofessional.

E2: Well, the unprofessional one here is you. From the fi rst moment

I saw you, I didn’t believe you’d been a model for a year already.

E1: I am a professional.

E2: You are not. I am the professional one, you’re not.

E1: I am a professional; I was on time here. You arrived after me.

E2: Because every experienced professional can aff ord to come a few

minutes late. Moreover, the lift wasn’t working.

E1: I am a professional, a perfect professional.…

E2: Certainly you are.

E1: … and this creates envy…among the unprofessional

unprofessionals.

E2: (Points her fi nger at E1.) You say that one more time and…

E1: (Points her fi nger at E2.) Now you’ve given yourself away. You point

your fi nger at people. Hidden aggression. Th at’s completely…

(E1 looks at her fi nger.)

E2: Th at’s completely what? Say it. Come on, say it. You point your

fi nger at people too.

E1: You…you…‘gorgeous you’!

E2: You are the ‘gorgeous you’! Look at you…you, ‘gorgeous’!

(E3 enters, smiling, talking on the phone.)

E3: Oui, oui, …non, oh, oui…

(E1, E2 look surprised at E3. E3 waves to E1 and E2. E1 a E2 smile

and wave back to E3. E3 turns away.)

E3: Non,…bien, bien, bien….

(E1 a E2 are looking at E3, annoyed. Th en they exchange signifi cant

looks.)

E3: Au revoir. (Puts her mobile phone back into her purse, turns in

E1’s and E2’s direction.) Hi, I had a feeling that I was a bit late,

but I can see that everything’s all right. OK…

E1: (Fixes a smile.) No, everything’s all right.

E2: (Fixes a smile.) Everything’s 100 per cent all right.

18

E3: (Shakes hands with E1, fi xes a smile.) Ela.

E1: (Shakes hands with E3, fi xes a smile.) Ela.

E3: (Shakes hands with E2, smile.) Ela.

E2: (Shakes hands with E3, smile.) Ela.

E2: Are you called the same?

E1: No, they don’t call me the same. We have only the same fi rst

name. I’m sure we have diff erent surnames, and that means

we are not called the same.

E3: All three of us are called Ela, isn’t that great, magnifi cent,

fabulous? (She doesn’t know what to do, she picks up the phone

even though it didn’t ring.)

Hi mum, yes I  arrived…OK…yeah, Jarda called, I  know

that he was upset…yeah, broken pinkie, I  did speak to

him…I have, I have everything on me, high heels, bikini, yes,

I have water…a snack? Yes, two cereal bars, of course…I don’t

know what it’s looks like yet, I only got here a little while ago,

two girls…well, they are… (Looks at E1and E2). …so…(She

realizes E1and E2 can hear her.)…very nice…Dominic called?..

No…I didn’t have any missed calls…Upset?….But you said that

Jarda was upset…Mum, you were talking about Dominic…

yes, I was talking about Jarda, because you said before that

he’d called and been upset. Oh yes, you were saying that…

mum, you’re calling because of that…yes my mobile rang,

I picked it up, you were there and you were asking me whether

Jarda had called because he’d called you because he couldn’t

reach me and that he was upset…mum, I’m calm…no, you’re

upset…you’re not focusing on our conversation…Mum, you

called me because of Jarda, then you started talking about

Dominic. You asked me whether he’d called me. I  said he

hadn’t…you said then that Dominic had called you and that

he’d been upset…mum, calm down, I’m not criticizing you,

I’m only asking whether Jarda or Dominic was upset or both…

so Dominic hasn’t called you. I’ve already talked to Jarda, so

19

everything’s OK. Do you hear me? Everything’s OK…yes…do

you hear me? Everything’s OK…

E2: Nothing’s OK.

E3: Pardon me?

E2: I’m talking to myself, nothing’s OK. Stupid job!

(E1 laughs.)

E2: I’m in a bit of a hurry.

(P enters. E1,2,3 smile.)

P: So we are complete! Great!

E2: We can start. We’re ready.

P: Everything’s OK?

E2: Oh yeah, yeah. We can start right away. Now.

P: Th e atmosphere?

E2: Great!

P: Great! We’ll start in ten minutes, please don’t leave this room.

(P exits.)

E2: Fuck, this is just going on and on. Fuck, fuck…What shall I do,

what shall I do…? (Telephoning.) Good afternoon, this is …

yes, I know, but I had to stay longer urgently…could I come

a little bit later? And a little bit later still? Could you tell me

the latest possible time when I could…oh…tomorrow…no…

OK, I’ll try today…thanks.

E1: Actually…we don’t’ really have the same name at all.

E2: Pardon?

E1: Do you really want to get acquainted? Do you?

E3: I do, I really want to get acquainted with you. It’s a normal thing.

What’s wrong with it?

E1: OK. (She reaches her hand out provocatively.) My name’s Naomi.

E2: She’s talking shit.

E3: Naomi? Is it really Naomi?

E2: Bullshit.

E1: My name’s Naomi.

20

E2: If your name’s  Naomi, my name’s  Kate then. Kate, do you

understand? Kate with everything that it goes with…Kate with

every meaning it has.

E3: Is your name really Kate? Kate for real? And you’re Naomi? Naomi,

really? But that’s so fantastic, this really is a great coincidence.

My name is…that is to say…my name is….Karolina.

E2: Who is Karolina?

E3: Karolina is the best. Karolina is the future. Karolina is desired.

Karolina…you don’t know who Karolina is? Karolina is the

new generation.

E1: Karolína is blond.

E2: Where am I? One is Naomi, the other Karolina… I am so tired

of you.

E1: A totally unprofessional attitude.

E2: Dear Naomi, be so kind as to try and not piss me off !

E3: I think the atmosphere here is getting worse and worse.

E2: Dear Karolina…

E3: Why don’t we try and start from the beginning…maybe we really

could have a nice talk…

E2: Dear Karolina…

E3: OK, we don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I respect that. Can

you hear me? I respect that you don’t want to talk…

(E1 laughs.)

E3: …I’m very sorry that you are so uncommunicative, because if

we…whatever. Still, I will begin and maybe you’ll join me.

Maybe I’ll unblock you, maybe you’ll relax thanks to my free

attitude…you’ll see, how wonderful I am, you’ll like me right

away; you’ll join me…you’ll have a chit-chat with me. So…my

name’s Karolina. I’ve been a model for the whole of my life, you

know. As a toddler, I won an audition for a Pampers campaign

in Central Europe. My home agency has represented me since

I was three. All the sweets commercials; I don’t want to be

specifi c, we would need several days to name them all, so I’ll

name only the greatest. Nestlé employed me for fi ve years for

21

their main campaign. Germany, Switzerland. I earned a house

for my parents when I was only six. Winning a national junior

miss competition was simply expected in my family, so we

didn’t even celebrate. I was twelve then. I got a fi lm off er. Th e

Cat in the Hat. You’ve probably seen it. Maybe India doesn’t

sound that great but, trust me, it’s  got a  gigantic market

which has certain charm…I’ve learnt to cry on demand …

an interesting experience, but posing is much better. I turned

down Cat in the Hat II….Oooh, I can show you. Do you want

to see my tears?

E2: Yes. Have a go.

E1: Can you do that? Seriously?

(E3 cries and smilies at the same time.)

E1: I have never seen anybody who could consciously…

E3: Do you like it?

E1: Interesting. Really…

E3: I’m good.

E1: I always thought actors in movies had fake tears.

E3: If you are a star, you have fake ones. But if you’re just a newcomer,

you can destroy your rivals that way. Th e producer will take

you on for fi nancial reasons. Your authentic tears are cheaper.

Th ey have to save on everything nowadays.

E1: How did you realize that you were able do it?

E3: I couldn’t cry on demand from birth, of course. My mum taught

me.

E1: How did she teach you?

E3: (Puzzled.) I…actually…don’t know…I don’t remember anymore.

E1: Pity…I would love to know how to learn to cry on demand. You

really don’t remember?

E2: How? Try to use your brain, OK? Her mommy beat her.

E3: You’re wrong, my mom would never…

E2: Don’t try to act as if you didn’t know how they drill animals in the

circus. Th e carrot and stick method. And the stick. And the

22

stick. It’s forbidden almost everywhere nowadays. Greenpeace

is against it…

E3: Don’t talk about something you know nothing about! My

parents loved me, I…I had a beautiful childhood…they were

delighted…I won everything…everything…Model Look when

I was fi fteen, Elite Model and Idol Model, I posed for the best

campaigns; Chanel No 5, for instance. I catwalked for the best

ones; Chanel, for instance; I got prestigious contracts; I shot

for Prestige Vogue, Sport Magazine, Chanel

E2: Do you know that ‘Chanel’ means ‘sewer’?

E3: Pardon?

E1: Of course, we do.

E3: I never think about it like that. For me, it’s always been the most

luxurious brand…well paid jobs…isn’t it Chanel like a TV

channel?

E2: It’s ‘canalization’ which means ‘a gutter.’

E1: It’s  a  bad translation, you’re not giving us enough exact or

important information. And what’s more, Chanel is absolutely

out.

E3: OK, it’s  your turn now. I  think we’re fi nally having a  nice

discussion. Th e atmosphere’s  got much better and it will

get even better, if you two join me…you’ll see…I don’t know

anything better than meeting new interesting people; every

new encounter charges me up with positive energy…with

sun…with love

(E2 coughs loudly.)

E3: …would you be so kind as not to cough into my speech? I can’t

concentrate on what I’m going to say then…

E1: She is so unprofessional! I wonder how we could have met her

here…Is this the top? Are we the top?

E3: What do you mean? Are we really the top??

E1: Of course. If you have an audition and you get it, then you’re at

the top, aren’t you?

E3: But we haven’t been to the audition yet…it’s supposed to be now.

23

E1: So that was only a pre-audition? Hmmm…I hate…

E3: I  was counting on it. I  took high heeled shoes, a  bikini…

fortunately…nothing can jeopardize my career…

E1: Actually, we didn’t get any preliminary information, did we?

E3: I didn’t, but you know…I want to be one hundred per cent ready.

E1: My god! I have nothing with me. I thought we’d be provided with

everything!

E3: I’m really sorry for you. If I went on an audition without high

heels…I’d probably get up and go home. On the one hand, it

partially handicaps you; your feet are much more beautiful in

high heels, the legs are longer, the walking more elegant, and

on the other, it testifi es to your attitude…your professionalism;

in fact, your unprofessionalism.

E1: Are you implying that I am not professional?

E2: (Laughing). She is not implying, she is saying it explicitly.

E1: And what about you? Since you’re laughing so hard, do you have

high heels? Do you have a bikini? Do you have your portfolio?

E2: Th at’s none of your business.

E1: Evidently, you’re in the same boat as me, so could you lend me

your mobile phone for a while?

E2: Do you come from Mars or what?

E1: Please, try to be a little collegial!

E2: What’s that?

E1: Collegiality is…when you lend your colleague your mobile phone.

E2: Seriously, you mean that seriously? Forget it!

E1: I need to make a phone call urgently…believe me, it must be

urgent, if I have to lower myself to ask YOU for help!

E2: Tough.

E1: You should lend me the mobile phone. It’s impolite not to help

somebody, if they ask you nicely…

E2: Really tough. Tough, tough.

E1: You really have guts!

24

E2: I’m destroying the competition. Am I unprofessional? No, no.

Somebody wanted to talk me into that – to fool me; but this

is the evidence, that actually I am the professional one.

E1: (Starts crying.) You’ve got some nerve!

E2: (Laughing.) Stop making a scene, darling!

E3: I can’t lend you my shoes; I only have one pair…nor the bikini,

it’s the only one I have on me too… But you know what? I can

give you a muesli bar… you’ll eat it, cry yourself out…

E1: I don’t want to eat to forget my problems…I never want to eat

to feel better…it’s the road to hell…I’d lose my fi gure…if I was

used to eating to get rid of my problems. Do you know where

I’d be…what I’d look like?

E3: Just this once…I’ve got a very good nut and chocolate one…

E1: I like the strawberry yoghurt ones.

E3: I’ve got one of those too. Have it. Enjoy.

E1: I’d rather have a mobile phone.

E3: I haven’t got one.

(E2 laughs.)

E1: I really need to make a phone call. A quick one.

E3: Honestly, I haven’t got one.

E2: Bullshit…she was already phoning right after she came in!

E3: Th at’s a lie!

E2: Come on, show some collegiality to your colleague…here!

E3: Yes, I  was telephoning, but my battery’s  fl at…and also the

reception is pretty bad …you know, it’s like not having a mobile

at all…If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t exist.

E1: Bon appetite. Hopefully, it helps me to forget this.

E3: Enjoy, have them both, if you want. I’m with you. You’re in

a terrible situation…not having high heeled shoes, or a mobile

phone…

E1: One was enough, thank you. I’m much much better now, with

a full stomach…I see the world…more optimistically… Do you

think I should go home?

25

E3: I’ll advise you as a friend …just go home…it’s better than creating

a bad image…than being remembered as unprofessional…

it gets around between the people in this business…your

reputation, your name is at stake…the risk is high, trust me.

Go home!

E:1 Actually, I’m not going to take your advice.

E3: No?

E1: No. And do you know why?

E3: I have no idea.

E1: I am the defi nition of professional. Totally professional. A small

hesitation…a  minor momentary wavering doesn’t mean

anything in a  career. But running away without fi ghting

back usually signifi es the end. A professional’s distinguishing

feature in a diffi cult situation is persistence. I don’t have any

high heeled shoes with me? OK. Your legs maybe will be longer

and more elegant, but I’m the one who’s got the charisma!

(E2 laughs.) Keep laughing! Th is is not going to break me! You

are not going to chase me out! Th at’s the way it is…I have my

charisma and sex appeal…glowing eyes and a slender waist…

E3: Charisma, sex appeal, glowing eyes, slender waist! I’ve got all

that, plus a great bikini, shoes and new size C breasts, to boot!

E1: Size C breasts are a few seasons too late…a waste of space!

E2: You’d be just right for porno movies…they’d appreciate them…

the beasts there…maybe…because nowadays here it’s girlie

time…look ala Lolita…

E3: I’m not listening to you. You’re jealous! Is that my reward for

trying to create a pleasant atmosphere?

P: (Entering.) OK?

E1,2,3: OK. OK.

E1: Of course everything’s OK, is there any other way than OK?

E2: I guess there’s no other way than OK, is there?

E3: Seriously only OK.

P: Five minutes and then we’re starting!

E2: Could I ask a small question?

26

P: Oh, are there any problems?

E2: No, not at all…Everything’s totally laid back…as we said, OK…

but all three of us are going to shoot, right? Or are you going

to chose only some of us?

P: Naturally it’s  all three of you shooting…it would be very

unprofessional of us to leave you here waiting for an audition

for such a long time. Th is time is already a part of your salaries.

It’s being paid by the company. Anything else?

E2: Okay, that’s what I was thinking…kind of…

E1: As we’re already asking questions, I’d like to ask one too…We

won’t need any high heeled shoes or a bikinis, will we?

P: You’re not shooting for the fi rst time, are you? You won’t need

anything…except your own body.

E1,2,3: Ok. Ok.

P: Just a second, OK?

E1,2,3: OK.

(P exits.)

E2: Just a second? I’m in hurry!

E1: Did you hear? No audition whatsoever…we’re all shooting.

So everybody calm down…it’s  nonsense snapping at each

other competitively. Shoes, bikinis and size C breasts aren’t

important after all.

E2: So you dragged it all along with you for nothing.

E3: So what? My agency cast me directly for the shoot…they didn’t

give me exact information…but I was ready for anything…

that’s the important thing in our business…to be ready for

everything.

E1: Wait a minute…now I …fi nally…understand… Th e both of us

went through the audition, that’s why we don’t have any bikini

or high heel shoes today. So you are just shooting straight

away, without an audition!

E3: I’m saying that my agency has probably assigned me straight

away. Th ey didn’t inform me in time. Try to understand,

27

there was no time…I just arrived from a shoot at the airport

at midnight…

E1: Defi nitely, I  will complain to my agency about your agency.

How is it possible to send one person to an audition when

somebody else has already been chosen without going to an

audition at all? Th ere should be equal conditions.

E2: I wouldn’t bother…I’m here…I’m shooting…I’m getting paid…

so what the hell?

E3: What equal conditions? Are you off your trolley or what? If

you’re a star in the scene, a star…Do you understand? Th en

you get hired straight away. And that star here is me, evidently,

unambiguously, un-beatably!

E2: Does a star take high heels and a bikini with her as if she were

going to an audition?

E3: A star is on alert all the time. A star is always ready. A star is

perfect!

E1: I feel sick! I feel very… sick. Help…I think I’m going to throw up.

Star, could you hand me that bucket!

E3: I’m not your servant!

E1: Its in your best interest to hand me that bucket, somebody!

E3: I hope you’re not going to vomit here! Go to the toilet, would you!

E1: Don’t try and fool me! I’ll go to throw up and you’ll do the shoot

yourselves, and moreover, you’ll discuss my unprofessionalism,

that I was stupid enough to leave!

E2: If you’re sick, you’d better go!

E1: It’s her fault! She! She gave me that muesli bar! I’m sure it was

poisoned!

E2: Don’t be paranoid!

E1: Star, you have poisoned me…I  know…I  feel it…I’ve been

poisoned! God, I’m dying!

E2: Don’t be a fool! Go throw up and maybe then you’ll be fi ne…

E1: I’m not going anywhere, I don’t want to miss the shoot! I need

that money! Urgently! I’m sick, help me…

28

E2: If you won’t listen, OK! Th at’s your business…but try and shut

up, would you? No one wants to listen to you.

E3: And don’t blame me, will you?

E1: Is this the way you eliminate the competition? Is this the way you

force your way forward? Is this the way you build your career?

Are you wading through corpses? And are you going to look at

me with a smile while I am dying in agony and crying?

E3: I split my last food with you…I give you good advice….

E1: It wasn’t the last. You still have another muesli bar…we’ll see…

You’ll eat it, if it isn’t poisoned with something. We all know

that…to give out muesli bars…have one…enjoy it…

E3: I’m not going to eat anything, I’m not hungry!

E1: Th at’s evident…You, remember this. You’re a witness. Th e star

forced the muesli bar on me. Luckily, I took…luckily…only

one…so maybe I won’t die completely…the bar was spoiled or

something…she knew it, because she refused to eat the other

one! Listen, you star…maybe I will die, but I have a witness

and you…you won’t escape justice!

E2: I might forget everything that has happened here in this room,

the muesli bar, everything. But it won’t be for free.

E1: You…you really have the guts to ask for money?!

E2: My guts are defi nitely better off than yours!

E3: I can see right through you to your stomach. You want to tangle

me up in something horrible! You want to jeopardize my

career! But you’re not going to succeed! Do you really think

I’m so stupid as to eat the last piece of evidence? If I have the

second bar tested, I can prove that it’s all right. Moreover,

if I remember correctly, I off ered you the nut-chocolate one

fi rst. And do you know why? Because I considered it better

than the strawberry-yoghurt one! And this unambiguously

proves that I am a good person! And you are a bad one!

E1: Good person, could you lend me your mobile phone? I’ll call

a doctor!

29

E3: Just now you were accusing me of attempting to murder you!

Yes, I’m a good person, that’s  true, but I’m not completely

stupid! Kick the bucket, I don’t care, but I’m not going to move

a single fi nger to help you!

E1: A refusal to administer fi rst aid is a criminal act!

E3: 200 hours of public service maximum…my agency will somehow

arrange it…I’ll shoot a campaign for UNICEF for free!

E1: So you’ll lend me your mobile phone…or you know what, just

call the ER, I can’t anymore, talking exhausts me.

E2: (Phoning.) Hullo, Doctor Miller’s offi ce? Good morning…yes,

it’s me…unfortunately, I won’t make it today…I would like

to make an appointment for tomorrow…I’m not asking you

whether there’s  a  space in your schedule tomorrow…I’m

telling you…no, it won’t be too late…my god, it’s 24 hours

later, that’s nothing…look, I don’t care about the law, you’ll

execute the surgery tomorrow because today, I have to work

to pay you…I  need to undergo that surgery to earn good

money…and you need my money so you can earn good money

too…is it clear now? If I am without money, then you’ll be

in the proverbial shit too. So that’s it, you’ll be expecting me

tomorrow and we’ll put today’s date on the papers…I’ll put

my signature on the papers! Shit, you’re so fucking helpless!

Doctor Miller has a half hour lunch break! I’m sure, there’s no

patient on the schedule between 12 o’clock and 12.30…you

still don’t get it? Pardon? Th ere won’t be the anesthesiologist

on duty then? Th en I’ll have to have a local anesthetic! Pardon?

So I  won’t have any anesthetic! Yes, completely without

anesthesia…of course, it can work…they do it all the time in

China! I saw it in a movie once! Yes, it’s butchery but I can

handle it!…But the doctor won’t? My god, how can she work

as a doctor and not be able to handle such things? So? Look,

if you piss me off , I’ll fl y to China tomorrow and they’ll do

it regardless of how late it is! It’ll be half price including the

fl ight. So? Do you want to do it or shall I go somewhere else?

30

I’m very glad that we’ve managed to reach an understanding.

So see you tomorrow at 10 a.m.

E1: Tell them to send somebody here!

E2: Of course, I’ll pay the extra charge, that’s not a problem for me

at all.

E1: Help me, I’ve been poisoned, send me a doctor!

E2: Ignore that, I’m shooting a commercial at the moment…it’s for

a funeral home… Have a nice day and see you tomorrow!

E1: Murderers! You’re murderers, both of you!

E3: Just stand up and leave if you’re so sick. You can’t shoot in such

a state anyway!

E1: I can’t move!

E3: Hmmm…it must be very painful, if you can’t move a single step

forward…

E2: You can’t shoot if you feel like that….

E1: I’m not going anywhere…I need that money…have some mercy…

you’ll get yours anyway…

E3: Yes, yes, you’re nothing without your money. Shoes, bikini,

mobile phone…breasts…everything has its price. Fortunately,

I have always invested in the right things…I’ve had good jobs…

I have intuition…years of experience. I’ve learned so much

since my childhood…to fi nd your way…I defi nitely wouldn’t

take anything to eat from a stranger…

E1: So you really have poisoned me? Will I die soon? I don’t want

to suff er!

E3: Over and over again. I haven’t poisoned you…not consciously

that’s for sure. If that bar was poisoned that means somebody

probably wanted to get rid of ME!

E1: My god!

E2: Th e only thing I can do for you, taking into consideration that

you’re suff ering so much, is call the photographer and tell her

that you feel…that you don’t feel OK.

E1: Try it and I’ll strangle you with these hands using my last

ounce of strength! Call me a  doctor, discreetly, discreetly,

31

do you understand? Discreetly….so that she’ll come here

very discreetly…You know what, ask her right away whether

she’s  wearing a  green smock…they usually wear green

smocks. If she’s wearing it to visit her patients, tell her, I insist,

uncompromisingly – you get it? – that she must wear a two-

piece suit…a skirt and a blouse… Moreover if anybody asks,

she’s from Th e Best Models Agency. I won’t keep her long,

I’ll pay her well! She has to give me a pain-killer, so that I can

shoot…and then – are you listening to me? – then, when

my job here is done and I’ll get the money, only then – if

it’s necessary – I’ll go to hospital! My god!

E3: Are you dying? What’s  happening? Wait, I  might have

a camera with me…hopefully I’ll fi nd it in a second …such

a  coincidence…a  bit paparazzi like, but why not…I  hope

you’re well known in the media…

E1: Impossible…it’s…completely…stopped. I  feel better…the

pain’s going away…much better…I don’t feel bad at all…On the

contrary…ooohhh… What a relief! It’s a miracle! A Miracle!

A miracle’s happened!

E2: I don’t know but I think the pain might have been a better option.

E1: What do you mean…a better option?

E3: OK, you can look at yourself but don’t touch the mirror. I don’t

want to catch anything. I’ll hold it for you.

E1: (Looks at herself in the mirror.) My god! What is it?

E2: Pimples.

E3: Some kind of allergy, I guess. You should know better yourself,

don’t ask us! We won’t give you any advice.

E1: I’d rather have died of those cramps!

(E2 laughs.)

E3: Defi nitely. Look at yourself. You’re no good here now. When

you had stomach-ache, you could have done the shoot if

you’d tried…we can smile under any conditions…not really

a problem. But like this…having it on your face, something

totally impossible to disguise… Wow, that’s really something!

32

Go home. Just go. Its better to listen to us rather than getting

sent home.

E1: Maybe the pimples will disappear in a little while…

E3: We’re going to shoot in a few minutes!

E2: Get out…I don’t want to get infected. God knows what you’ve

really got.

E3: Yuck, get lost! And take the mirror too! I don’t want it! And don’t

come near me! (She throws the mirror on E1’s lap.)

E2: She probably slept with somebody to get this job…

E3: You mean, she’s  got a  sexually transmitted disease? But we

haven’t slept with her, so we don’t have to worry, do we?

It’s not transmitted through the air, is it?

E2: Or maybe you went somewhere exotic on a shoot? It’s not a very

good souvenir.

E3: You really are a walking biological weapon…a secret agent…

sent by a  rival agency to destroy me…of course, the least

conspicuous plan they could dream up, but I’m a  clever

person! I am a clever and good person! Admit it immediately!

Clear your conscience, who do you work for? Or I’ll kill you!

I’ll shoot you, you ugly cow! I have it somewhere in my purse…

ha-ha, you hadn’t counted on me being armed…as soon as

I fi nd it…

E1: I have never slept with anybody suspicious, haven’t shot in an

exotic country, and am certainly not, in any way shape or

form, a secret agent! I’m a model! I was a beautiful model.

Beautiful, get it? I got it from your muesli bar…I’ll sue you –

revolver or not…You’ll be ruined paying for all my damages…

you bet…you’ll be sending me money till the end of your life!

Or I’ll kill you, strangle you…you blond bitch with C breasts!

E2: Suing is better. You’ll profi t from it. Obviously there’s nothing

else you can do.

E1: I’ll give you half of the money if you call me a dermatologist.

Call the central offi ce, then dermatology and tell them

to take a skin grinder or something like that…tell them to

33

come as civilians…in a suit…they should say they are from

Best Models…I’ll pay them very well! And I’ll pay you too of

course….quick!

E2: How much?

E1: Th irty.

E2: Too little.

E1: Forty. Be quick!

E2: We shouldn’t lose time…do I hear one hundred?

E1: You…OK. One hundred thousand. Call ‘em!

E3: In that case, my mobile phone is fi nally working! I’m calling!

It’s ringing! Look, I’m going to get the one hundred right here,

in cash!

(P enters.)

P: Let’s do it! Everything’s OK?

E2: Not really, she…let me put it delicately… she is out. Out of order.

P: Who?

E1: Nothing happened.

E3: She’s got a rash on her face. She can’t shoot.

P: Who?

(E2,3 point at E1. P is looking at E1 more closely.)

P: You’re not OK?

E1: I don’t know, probably some kind of allergy. I don’t look perfect,

OK, but I feel nearly OK.

P: Do you have it all over your body or just on your face?

E1: (Looks under her T-shirt…) Just on my face, but it’s disappearing.

Maybe…if we could wait for a while…I really don’t understand

what’s happening…everyone’s always been satisfi ed with me…

no problems ever…my references are great…and suddenly…

P: Do you need to leave?

E1: No, defi nitely not! I want to shoot…maybe we could use make-

up…there’s a pancake make-up by Max Factor, that’d work…

moreover, most of the photos’ll be retouched…

34

P: So I  don’t see any problem; it’s  OK with me…for the camera

it’s OK…everything’s OK. Can we start? Or is there anything

else? You’re ready?

E1,2,3: Ok, ok.

P: Ok. First step. You’ll change clothes. And stand with your back

to the wall, OK?

(P exits.)

E1,2,3: Ok, ok.

(Puzzled, they undress, put their clothes on chairs, put on white

overalls. P enters, sets up lights.)

E3: Who’ doing the styling?

P: Th ere’s no need for styling. (P exits.)

E3: A little bit too weird…no make-up, no stylist…

E2: And they don’t mind pimples…

E1: Every cloud has a silver lining.

E2: You don’t fi nd it weird?

E3: Hm, yes, I’m scared.

E1: You’re right. I hope we don’t end up like the royal family in

Russia…during the revolution…the tzar and his family…

E2: How?

E3: I didn’t have much time to study the lives of noble families but

I have a feeling that they didn’t end up well. Please, just stop

speaking aloud…and stop thinking like that!

(P enters.)

P: Could you stand closer to the wall?

(E1,2,3 stand with their backs to wall.)

E2: If there’s no stylist or hairdresser, I have a very good idea. Let’s do

the make-up ourselves. What do you say?

P: Put your hoods up, please.

(E1,2,3 look at one another, then put their hoods up.)

E3: How do I look? Wouldn’t you rather I put some make-up on? At

least some eye-liner? And the lips? What if we all had our lips

rouged? Th at could be a great picture! I have some magnifi cent

transparent hypoallergenic lipstick on me…I have to fi nd it…

35

P: You, could you stand in the middle?

(E3 stands between E1 a E2.)

P: Ok! You’re great! Th e hoods a bit more up…more….more…don’t

be afraid…put them all the way over your faces!

(E1,2,3 puzzled, look at one another, put the hoods up so their faces

are not visible.)

P: Ok, great! Now hold hands, spread your legs…OK.

(E1,2,3 can’t see through the hoods, they are searching for the hands of

the others in confusion. P manipulates them into the correct position.)

P: OK, you’re perfect, totally perfect! Great! (Shoots.)

(Onstage next to the wall, there are three anonymous fi gures,

convulsively holding each others’ hands, their legs are spread. Each

of them has a big black letter on their overall. Together, they create

a word ELLE.)

END OF PART 1

Part 2: EVENING

(Th e stage is E3’s fl at, a one-room fl at. Th ere is a table, 2 chairs, 1

built-in wardrobe, 2 doors: the main door & the bathroom door. E3 is

the model from Part I. E3’s inconsistencies and the diff erences in the

characters from Part I. and II. are intentional.)

Characters: E3, Mother, Nurse, Agent

(E3 is sniffi ng cocaine, putting a  sexy SM suit on, high heels;

she’s wearing thick make-up, a black wig. Th ere’s a knocking at the

door.)

E3: Th e door is open!

36

(E3 turns up the volume of the music and stands with her back to the

door. N and M enter. M is in a wheelchair. E3 dances and undresses,

her back to N and M. N is trying to say something but the music is

too loud. She stands in front of E3. E3 sees N, stops, and switches the

music off .)

E3: Who the fuck are you?

N: My name’s Agatha.

E3: Agatha? I don’t know any Agatha. Why are you here?

N: I’m nursing your mother.

E3: Oh yes…Agatha. I remember now. We talked on the phone…

twice…at Christmas. Is she dead?

N: No, she’s fi ne.

E3: So why did you come? You need some money?

N: No.

E3: You’re the fi rst person I’ve met in my life who doesn’t say that

she need’s money. Or perhaps you’re not telling the truth…

but…you’re a nun, a believer…so you have to live truthfully,

is that right? Or you’re trying at least…I’m sorry if I have…

or scared you…I’m a bit out of it…but to the point. What do

you want here?

N: She came to see you.

E3: Who?

N: Your mother.

(E3 turns around, sees her mother in the wheelchair. Silence. She pulls

off her wig, throws it on the fl oor, runs toward her, kneels at her feet,

holds her hands, smiles at her.)

E3: Hi mum. How are you? Mum, can you hear me? How are you?

What’s up with her?

N: She got worse. Th ere hasn’t been any reaction for half a year. We

informed you.

E3: Yes, I remember. (Stands up) You should have let me know in

advance that you were coming! To gatecrash me like this…she

shouldn’t have to witness such an embarrassing scene…Did

she see me? Does she notice anything?

37

N: We don’t know. Nobody knows whether or what she hears and

sees…she doesn’t communicate…or react. She only expressed

a wish to visit you.

E3: How?

N: On paper, she wrote it, look. Your address.

E3: But I might not have been home! You drag her halfway across the

whole country, and you even don’t know whether you’ll fi nd

me or not…you don’t ask or call…

N: I apologize, we’re actually only passing by. If you weren’t at home,

we would have continued on.

E3: Passing by?

N: Th e rest home has moved…we informed you.

E3: Yes, I remember.

N: Also I’ve been trying to reach you on the phone for a week to ask

you for permission to visit you. I understand you’re upset that

we arrived without any notice. I apologize…I didn’t realize it

would cause you such problems. We have diff erent lifestyles,

and that’s where the misunderstandings arise from.

E3: Are you referring to my suit? I was expecting a close friend. It

was supposed to be a joke.

N: I wouldn’t dare intimate anything. I know you from your letters

to your mother.

E3: She lets strangers read them?

N: I read them to her. She is not able to read them herself. Don’t

worry; I’m not a stranger to her. We’re very close. I’m her

personal nurse after all; I’ve taken care of her for fi ve years

now.

E3: Yes. Sorry. Certainly.

N: We couldn’t fi nd your fl at according to the address. Actually we

didn’t even know you were living in a fl at. You were writing

about a huge detached house.

E3: We had to sell the house, unfortunately. Th is house was built

in its place. Th ey compensated me by giving me this fl at…

38

One cannot halt city government plans, you know…I don’t

understand politics.

N: So you live here with your husband, four children, two dogs, a cat,

a rabbit and a parrot?

E3: Sure.

N: Where are they? Your mother would like to meet her grandchildren.

E3: Th ey are coming back later, all of them. My husband’s at work, the

children at school, all animals go to the pet’s home during the

day…I want to have some peace…I’m working all the time…

N: When do they come home usually?

E3: In the evening. Probably, you won’t meet them.

N: It’s evening now, isn’t it?

E3: Oh…actually they…my husband’s attending a conference… the

children are at a camp…the animals at my friend’s place…she

loves them so much.

N: Your mother was sorry you didn’t send her any pictures. I asked

you several times, on the phone as well as on paper…

E3: We don’t have any pictures – a  professional warp – I’m

a model…I have photos of me taken everyday, I hate it.

N: Why are you lying?

E3: Pardon?

N: Why are you lying to your mother?

E3: It’s none of your business.

N: You wrote about your husband and children, a family house…why

are you lying to her?

E3: It’s none of your business.

N: I will leave you alone for a while.

E3: No way.

N: Have some fun. You haven’t seen each other for such a long time.

She is really very happy that we found you. She looks satisfi ed,

don’t you think?

E3: It doesn’t suit me today.

N: How…doesn’t suit you?

39

E3: It doesn’t. I’m expecting somebody. I’ll have someone visiting

me…if you didn’t understand the dancing introduction…

it’s a very private visitor. I don’t normally welcome my mother

like this…sorry, I forgot, you’re a nun, so probably there’s no

one visiting you…

N: Your mother wouldn’t really be a problem for that private visitor,

would she?

E3: I  haven’t made myself clear. I  was too polite…let me put it

straight. It will be an intimate visitor, OK?

N: Couldn’t you cancel the meeting?

E3: Pardon?

N: Or at least postpone it?

E3: I’m having a very intimate, very important, urgent visit, which

cannot be either canceled or postponed.

N: You haven’t seen your mother for several years.

E3: Now I’ve seen her and she doesn’t even recognize me.

N: Your mother feels strongly about it. Her wish is to be alone with

you for a while. Please, couldn’t you fulfi ll her modest wish?

E3: No time.

N: Not having any time for one’s own mother is a sin! You owe her

so much; she brought you into this world…

E3: Stop attacking me with your Christian spirit and stop smiling

so lovingly, or I’ll slap you across the face. You’re not going

to have control over me and you won’t manipulate me into

this. I’m sick of you. I’m paying you, so do what I want you to

do. Holy Spirit! Your saintly home costs me ungodly money,

earned the hard way.

N: So you’re not going to fulfi ll her wish?

E3: No.

N: Your last word? You can think about it…

E3: No!

N: So I’m going to fulfi ll her wish, on my own head. Good bye.

(N leaves.)

40

E3: Stop! Where are you going? Come back! I’ll pay you extra money!

I’ll complain! Cow! You silly cow! What are you doing to me?

…Mum…I…don’t have anything to off er you…mum, you want

anything? I don’t have time, you know….you understand? I do

only the best…campaigns…campaigns I do…yes, campaigns…

they pay me good money…remember how I won the audition

for the gummy bears commercial? I  didn’t have my front

teeth and in spite of that they chose me…because I was the

best…the most beautiful…so those are the memories…when

do you think she’ll be back? I’d say pretty soon, she looked

a  conscientious person, she wouldn’t leave you here…in

a  strange environment, in a  strange fl at…she is defi nitely

crazy but…if I were someone else, if she had mistaken the fl at

for someone else’s or I don’t know what, she would have left

you, you so defenseless, with a woman who has nothing in

common with you… Did she ask to see my ID card? She didn’t.

What if someone claimed to be me but wasn’t really me…she

would have left you there…good afternoon, we’ve come for

visit, your mum wants to be alone with you for a while and

I’m going away…bitch…mummy, I’m so tired.

(E3 behind M, sniffi ng cocaine.)

I have a cold, you know…a terrible cold…there’s been a fl u

epidemic…a real catastrophe…

(E3 stands in front of M.)

You’re staring like this all the time? You’re making me

nervous…you’re making me really nervous with this, with your

staring and being silent…you stare and say nothing…well, you

shouldn’t have come! Why did you come? Please, tell me…To

check up on me? Now you see it, no house, no man at all…no

vermin are allowed to walk through my door…satisfi ed? You

know what, mum; we are not going to fi ght, OK? You come

to visit once in a blue moon; yes, I didn’t expect you but now

you’re here, and we won’t bring up memories, no explanations,

no plans…simply you’re here…And now what? What am I to do

41

with you? You suddenly pop up…unreasonably…Do you think

I can read your mind or what? Even doctors can’t do that; even

that stupid bitchy nurse can’t understand you…don’t look at

me like that, she spilled it out herself when she was here….So

how am I supposed to understand you if you don’t talk and if

I haven’t seen you for years? You see, I really don’t know what

you expected…I don’t know whether you believe in telepathy,

or how you want to communicate…I don’t, don’t believe in it…

so we’ve got a problem…ha…no, we don’t…I know you don’t

believe in it either…I haven’t met such an unbeliever in my

whole life and I have met a lot of them…or you’ve converted?

Th ey say people do that when they age, wouldn’t wonder…but

not you, certainly not you…I would be willing to swear on my

mother’s grave that you wouldn’t…I will arrange a new nurse

for you, okay? Somebody normal…all her Christian mercy

must be really annoying for you…you…who are annoyed

merely by the very presence of such a person…it must be

annoying. It naturally must be annoy…Mum, I’m so tired…

Why have you come? What do you want from me? Do you

hear me? What do you want?

(E3 is sniffi ng cocaine in front of M.)

You know what? We’ll have a real blow-out…ha. Ha. A blow-

out…a  blow-out for my nose…ha! No. Didn’t mean it like

that…once again: we’ll have something good… You want?

Not a blow-up, a blow-out, like having something good…how

could you even think of that? We’ll have something good to

eat! Eat! Eat! Yummy! You want? Say, I can hear you…I can

totally hear you – what you’re saying: think about your future

and don’t stuff yourself! Don’t stuff yourself! I  adored that

sentence, “don’t stuff yourself!” I miss it so much…you think

there’s nobody to say it to me, you know what? Th ere is! I have

a secret…a big secret…there is…somebody says to me “don’t

stuff yourself” too but it’s not the same as from my mummy…

no…nobody can say it like you…”don’t stuff yourself”…OK, so

42

I’ll get something. You’ll be alone here for a while, I hope you

won’t open the door to a stranger or break something, stay in

your nice little room and be a good girl who doesn’t pig out

like a little piggy! If she wanted to be a bad piggy girl regardless

of the warning, too bad because…ha…there’s nothing in here!

And I hope you won’t chew on my violet like last time, I had

a lot of work watering that fl ower…What’s more, it wouldn’t

taste good, it’s actually totally rotten…you know, maybe too

much water…I wanted to indulge it, the little bitch…You will

thank me one day for this…Ha!

(E3 leaves. Silence.)

(E3 enters, carrying a full shopping bag with a black logo of ELLE,

which she places on the table.)

E3: I’m back! Were you a bad girl? Look who I’ve brought…Mr. Norbert

who will decide on something very important…a gummy bears

campaign…come and show yourself to him…well, you do your

best, I can see that, if you’re a good girl …I do!…Ha. I enter the

shop and ask myself, what the fuck one normally buys, what

one normally buys…so I bought you this T-shirt…I normally

buy T-shirts…Ha!

(E3 throws M a white T-shirt with a black ELLE logo on it.)

Nice, what do you think? I really don’t know you anymore,

mum. I even don’t know your size. I had to guess really hard,

so I’m curious whether it’ll fi t you. Put it on. Come on, don’t

be shy. It’s a present. What’s up with you? Pissed off ? Don’t like

the colour? Come on, it’s in now. You don’t follow the trends

or what? I don’t know you anymore! OK, I’ll help you.

(E3 dresses M.)

Head…hey, we won’t put the arms through the sleeves

because then I’d have to take it off again. I’ll just pull it down

like this, you don’t use your hands either, so…well…Great,

a  looker, really! Ha…a  bit of a  straightjacket. You’ll enjoy

it…ha! I thought about something special to eat…but what?

Searching, searching, looking at people what do they buy…

43

they buy everything. So I bought the gummy bears, the ones

I did a commercial for when I was six and I had no front teeth.

Mr. Norbert knocked them out, but still I was smiling and

my posters were hanging on every corner, on the highway, at

the cinema, a gummy bear princess, even though I never had

a gummy bear in my mouth. Look!

(E3 pours the contents of one bag into her mouth.)

You want some? Yummy, great!

(She opens one bag after the other, pours the gummy bears into her

mouth, but they drop all around her.)

E3: It’s special – you have to admit that – a special occasion. Have

some, come on…hope you’re not on a diet…OK, I’ll help you.

Open your mouth…yourself…mum, open your mouth, I’ll

pour the gummy bears in…you hear? Come on, tilt your head

back…upsy-daisy…your head back…OK, I’ll help you…where

is that bitch Agatha? Th is is her job. She’ll get hers when she

comes back, she’ll really get it! Leaving me to suff er with my

mother like this. So your head back, open your mouth…mum,

you don’t have any teeth! Why don’t they give you dentures…

well, I’ll have to complain…they get enough money to inform

me! Or did they? No, I would remember. So mum, how many

of them will you probably eat? Show it on your fi ngers, if you

don’t want to talk! How many? You hear me? I don’t have time

to fi ddle with you, would you kindly let me know how many

you want?! You know what? I’ll give you a few and we’ll see…

isn’t it too much for your mouth? Th ey somehow spilled out of

the bag, fl ew like…close your mouth, straighten your back…

suck, I think…or you know what, chew them, there’ll be less

of them…I’ll have some too…look how I’m chewing them! Do

what you want with it…a special blow-out we’re having…

(A sound behind the door.)

E3: Who’s there?

A: Guess who, guess who, but open the door.

44

(E3 pulls M around the room to hide her somewhere. She fi nally puts

her in the wardrobe.)

A: Hey, how long am I supposed to wait here?

E3: Ok, ok! Now….

A  :You don’t have to move your furniture just because of me or

whatever you’re doing at the moment…I know the interior of

your fl at, and what’s more, I’m not interested in that.

(E3 unlocks but doesn’t open the door. She takes a few steps back,

waits.)

(A slowly puts a bouquet of lilies through the doorway, then his head.)

A: Hi there pussy.

E3: Don’t call me that. (She takes the fl owers.)

A: What are you doing? (Enters.)

E3: Oh, just…a holiday party…actually…

A :Th ere’s a mess on the fl oor.

E3: Ha. (Kneels eating the gummy bears.) Piggie is eating her gummy

bears. Ha. Come on, say it, say it…say what you want to say…

the sentence on the tip of your tongue…

A: Don’t stuff yourself, pussy…

E3: Oh, fi nally.

A: You’re high again!

E3: I’m not.

A: Yes you are! Really, you don’t have to lie. I know you too well

to trust you! I traveled through the whole town to get here,

hunting for fl owers to buy for you. Lilies, even, you get it? Do

you actually realize how much these cost in this season? Do

you deserve them? Answer me, please!

E3: Of course, I don’t deserve anything.

A: Exactly, love. I’m taking the fl owers and clearing off . Have a nice

evening! Bye (Her mobile phone rings.)

E3: Don’t leave! (E3 grabs A by the leg.)

A: (On the phone.) Yes? Oh. One moment. (To E3.) Shut up! Don’t

wail, I can’t hear, it’s an important phone call!

45

(On the phone again.) OK, I’m back. Yes, yes, yes, yes. I’m

nearby, I could stop by. Could you give me her address? OK.

If she is in good shape, I’ll take her there. You have anyone

else as a reserve? Only her? A specifi c choice… Oh…For the

whole night…I understand. OK. She’ll be in good shape, she’ll

be there, and I guarantee that! (A frees her leg from E3’s clasp.)

I’ll send you a report, OK, see you then. (To E3.) Stand up! You

understand? Stand up…spit it out!

E3: For the whole night? I’m not standing up or spitting anything

out! Give me back my fl owers!

A: (Th rows them at E3.) Hurry up!

E3: Th e agency called? Th ey want me?

A: With you, it’s always a great party…go and get all that crap out of

you! Do as I tell you – nicely!

E3: Will you have something nice too? Ha.

A: You want to piss me off or what? Th at many sweets could kill you,

you are not used to them at all; you’ll be sick, you don’t eat

sweets. You’ll die. Hope you won’t.

E3: Hurray.

A: What’s  happened to you now? Pussy, could you tell me

what’s happened to you? Because, again, I don’t understand

you. You get it? I expected a diff erent welcome and not fi nding

you sitting in gummy bears and being high…totally high.

E3: Yummy.

A: Come, I’ll help you, OK? OK? I’ll help you. Let’s go to the bathroom

and sort everything out, OK?

E3: No.

A: Fuck, you’re coming with me, get it?

E3: Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!

A: So stand up, I’m telling you stand up…go!

E3: Mummy, help! Mummy, help!

A: We’ll play a game. I’ll be your mummy who’ll help you. You will

listen to me now, OK? I’ll give you my hand; you’ll grab it and

stand up, OK?

46

E3: You’re not my mummy. Kids and the wolf. Knock. Knock. Ha.

A: Stop provoking me…I’m trying to help you. Say, am I helping you?

E3: No.

A: Oh yes, I am. Look, I’m giving you my hand; help you on your feet.

Hold on to me, come, come with me.

E3: Where are you taking me?

A: To the bathroom.

E3: What are we going to do there? I know what you want, I’m sick

of it already. Let me go, please, let me go.

A: I can’t. You know yourself that I really can’t.

E3: I’ll give you everything back.

A: Yes, I know you owe me a lot. I also know you want to return it

to me, all of it. You absolutely need money. Where do you

want to get it? Will you be sitting here and waiting for it to

fall from the sky?

E3: Yes.

A: You’re a good person, right?

E3: I am a good person.

A: Yes. You want to return everything to me, you’re a good person.

E3: Exactly.

A: For a  start, do me a  little insignifi cant favor: just go to the

bathroom.

E3: No.

A: Fuck, you’ll either go to the bathroom or I’ll beat you up.

E3: Like an old dog?

A: What am I  saying? You’re making me crazy. See what you’re

forcing me to say? Have I ever hit you? Would I ever be able

to do that?

E3: I’m wearing the collar just for you.

A: Well, OK, but that’s something completely diff erent. You have

a collar so what? It suits you, so what am I to do if I like you like

that. But that’s it, you hear me? Th at’s all…I like you…I only

want the best for you…one day you’ll understand, one day,

you’ll be grateful to me.

47

E3: Yes, I have a collar. Yes, I’ll be grateful. Ha.

A: I’ve never hit you.

(E3 eats the gummy bears on the fl oor.)

A: (Starts hitting her.) Stop stuffi ng yourself with those fucking

gummy bears! Stop gulping! You hear me? Don’t gulp!

E3: You don’t have the right to…!

A: I don’t have the right? I don’t have the right? Look, I’ll be frank with

you now, I’m always walking on tiptoe around you. Waiting

for the princess to get it. But she’s obviously not gonna get it.

Look, I have the right…the power to…the greatest power of

anyone. Who gave you the new teeth? Who got you your new

tits? What have I…in you? Well? In..ves..

E3: ted.

A: Correct. Invested. Don’t look at me like that. We’ll put our mutual

aff ection aside for now; it’s got nothing to do with it here. You

yourself are always telling me you’ll return everything…my

invested money…so now I’m asking you, where is my money?

You know where it is? It’s high lying around in gummy bears!

If I kick you now, I’ll only be defending my own interests!

E3: No…Yes.

A: If I kick you now…do you hear what I’m saying, what I’m thinking

about…what you are forcing me to do? What you are leading

me to? I’m so overwhelmed by all this…kick you…if I hadn’t

controlled myself, I’d have destroyed everything expensive on

you! All the beauty…teeth…beautiful…tits…beautiful…it cost

me so much! Time! And money! If you have just a little bit of

mercy for me, I’m begging you; on my knees I’m begging you:

go to the bathroom and get everything out of yourself.

E3: I feel sick.

A: OK, it’s coming now.

E3: April fool!

A: Actually, I do have a strong urge to kill you, now I don’t care about

anything, so watch out! I don’t care if I loose the money or

48

go bankrupt! All I have is you! You realize this? You’re all, all,

I have…and you’re doing this, torturing me like this…

E3: You still have the new blonde one with the big botox lips, the

elderly ginger-haired one, another freckled one, one with

a beauty spot on her nose who is supposed to outdo Cindy

and then you have this curly brown haired anorectic who you

kissed in your offi ce. A Christmas party surprise…yes, I like

that one a lot…how many black haired do you have…fi ve? Or

more? Th ey’re in now…ha…that was a very nice scandal; you

were doing it with the fourteen year old in the lift and then the

boss came in! She was her favorite…hmmm…shame, she had

a future, a shame it turned out so badly…and you have more

and more…the entire agency.

A: I see, now it comes out! So this is what we’re dealing with now.

Th e princess is jealous? And that’s why she is stuffi ng herself

with gummy bears?

E3: I want to say that…

A: Okay, maybe some other time, baby. Th is isn’t the right time for

your private bullshit. Th e centre called and the client wants,

unfortunately, only you.

E3: No.

A: Go tidy yourself. I’ll help you, OK?

E3: No.

A: Okay, do it yourself. Hop!

E3: No.

A: You know what? At this moment, I’ve lost patience with you!

I’m calling the agency to report everything. Not only that

I’ve found you totally high lying in gummy bears but also

that from the competition point of view you’re doing pretty

bad. Well, this news will be interesting for them…that other

than a  few exceptions no client wants you…that all of last

year commissions were arranged exclusively by me…that you

had your new teeth done on credit, whiter and shinier, new

tits, bigger because they’re your last chance…but what they’ll

49

mainly be interested in is that you run away from the events

accompanying the campaign, that you are not nice enough to

the clients, that you don’t fulfi ll their wishes unquestioningly…

and this is something that cannot be forgiven! You not only

harm your own reputation but also the company’s! You’ll be

dead in the business, my love.

E3: No…don’t call the agency…I’m going to the bathroom…now…

I’m so tired…I’m going to the bathroom…see? I’m going now.

A: You’re good girl now, I  like you like that…I knew what would

work…no Blair witch. Just the pure power of our company.

(E3 crawls slowly into the bathroom.)

A: Th ere exist certain rules which we all accepted. Voluntarily. You,

me, everybody. And we have to follow them also in times

when they’re not to our advantage, but this is the only way

to survive. I’d love to be with you the whole night. But I don’t

decide about my time…I guess nobody does…you think the

call-centre attendants have fun sitting there?

(E3 vomits in the bathroom.)

A: Th is is your own fault, baby.

(E3 takes a shower.)

(A is on the phone.)

A: I’ve contacted her, I’ve informed her about her task, and she is

in the preparation stage. I have an optimistic outlook on this

mission. Yes, yes. OK. She seemed a  little bit out of shape

but she’s getting better and better, no problem. I  see. Yes,

understand. Contact with the client, a shoot two weeks from

now, an opportunity to do the whole campaign…OK. She’ll

be kind, she’ll be beautiful, she’ll be energetic. OK. Bye then.

(A shouts towards the bathroom.)

Yes, you know what I want to tell you? I  think it’s  time

you started to take a diff erent attitude towards your career! It

can put you forward! You’ve been stagnating for a pretty long

time now, and there’s a good chance that your new image will

50

attract new markets! Moreover, you’ve been asked to make

a certain concrete gesture! You are to appear naked!

(E3 comes out from the bathroom naked, standing and looks at A.)

A: I didn’t mean here, pussy. I mean from a professional point of

view, get it? One must repeat things to you over and over

again; thank goodness at least you’re so beautiful. But the

contents of your head are not making you money, so we won’t

bother with that, right? Smile.

(E3 is smiling.)

A: You’re so unbelievably beautiful…if you want to be…you have to

be tonight. Th e client wants to meet you, personally of course.

If he’s  satisfi ed, you’ll obviously get the whole campaign.

It’s a prestigious opportunity considering your age. You’ll do

what he says; don’t look at me like that. My duty is to report to

you the wishes of the agency. Th is is your last chance, get it?

From the point of view of long-term profi ts, it’d be best if he fell

in love with you. Th e least you’re expected to do is to stimulate

great aff ection. I’ll take you there but you’ll have to get a taxi

back…you have to understand that it’s not very comfortable to

sit in the hotel bar the whole night…put the fl owers in water,

so they won’t wither, they were very expensive!

E3: Evening dress?

A: Yes. Th e red one. I’ll help you to choose the right one.

E3: Th ere’s no need. I’d like to get ready by myself. Could you wait

for me in the car, please?

A: Fine, but I’m warning you, don’t get too high, you’ll get aggression

attacks after that. Th e agency said explicitly how they want

you to behave. You should not only be beautiful but also kind.

Th ere was no mention of exhilaration. I’ll put the fl owers in

water myself.

E3: No, I’m taking them with me.

A: Pardon?

E3: I want to take them there…so they shouldn’t be dripping wet.

I’m taking my silken evening gown, it’d be completely soaked.

51

A: OK. I’ll wait downstairs. Th ree cigarettes maximum, then I’ll get

you myself.

E3: I’ll come down myself. I know what my work means to me!

A: I’m glad you’re reasonable now. I’ll take you to dinner sometime.

I’ll make tonight up to you. Don’t worry!

(A kisses E3, leaves. E3 opens the wardrobe, takes M in the bathroom,

and closes the door. Steps towards the wardrobe, puts her underwear

on, then the dress, shoes, takes a purse. M makes some noise behind

the bathroom door. E3 goes to the bathroom, opens the door. M falls

out, wheezing.)

E3: Mum, what’s up with you? Can you hear me? Shit.

(E3 tries to seat M on a chair. She gives up after a while. She desperately

looks around the room. She puts M on the table.)

M: A….Aga…Agatha.

E3: Mum, can you hear me? Agatha isn’t here, she’s gone somewhere.

M: Agatha.

E3: Stop calling her, she’s not here.

M: Agatha, don’t…don’t trust anyone!

E3: Fuck, I don’t have time to deal with this, mum! What shall I do?

Where is that bitch Agatha? Mum, do you have her number?

(M wheezes.)

E3: Can you hear me? I need Agatha’s phone number! You have

a mobile phone? Mum, do you have a mobile phone?

(M wheezes. E3 searches M.)

You don’t, shit. I told her, the silly cow, buy mummy a mobile phone,

I’d pay for it. She’d have her number stored there and I’d be

able to call her.

M: Agatha, don’t trust anyone… not even me!

E3: Mum, Agatha has left you! You’ll have to talk about it later!

M: Not even me!

E3: I’m your daughter! I’m not Agatha, can you hear me? I’m your

daughter!

M: Ma…Maria!

E3: My name’s not Maria, mum.

52

M: My dear child, my Maria.

E3: Mum, is that you at all?

(M wheezes.)

E3: What’s your name? Your name, tell me your name, do you hear?

(M wheezes.)

E3: I don’t even have time to talk to my own mother, so why would

I want to sacrifi ce my career for a strange old woman?

(N knocks on the door. E3 gets scared, she grabs a paper bag which she

has brought from the shop and puts it on M’s head. N knocks again. E3

takes M to the bathroom; E3 is not able to put M into the wheelchair,

so she lays her on the ground. E3 closes the bathroom door.)

E3: I’m nearly almost practically close to being ready!

(E3 goes to the door; opens it with a shiny smile. She stares in surprise

at the nurse, and then she grabs her by the neck and draws her inside.

She presses her back to the wall, closes the door with her leg.)

E3: You bitch, where the fuck have you been?

(M Wheezes.)

E3: (Frees her clasp.) Did you go through the main entrance?

N: Yes.

E3: Was there somebody in the hall?

N: Th e porter.

E3: A woman? Was there a woman?

N: Yes.

E3: What was she doing?

N: She was sitting on a sofa, she lit a cigarette.

E3: What did she look like?

N: Nice…

E3: I want to know whether she was nervous or calm or…

N: I don’t know. Where is your mother?

E3: You bitch, you nearly destroyed my life! (She lets the nurse go.)

N: Where is your mother?

E3: She wants me to give you a  message that you mustn’t trust

anyone, not even her. She was calling for Agatha or Maria all

the time. Who is Maria?

53

N: She’s talking? She really talked? Th at’s amazing. Th e visit was

a  little therapy for her. I’m so happy that you can see for

yourself the benefi cial eff ects of your care. Your presence

might have helped her a lot.

E3: (Opens the bathroom door.) Is this woman my mother at all?

(N is standing, looking at the mother on the ground.)

E3: I think that you deceived me.

N: But…

E3: Take her with you and go – at once! If you leave through the

back exit in one minute and promise on your lives, your god

or whatever you respect that none of you will ever show up

here again, I won’t mention this incident to the police. Decide

now, you won’t get a better off er.

N: (Runs to M, tears the bag off , takes her in her arms.) She nearly

stopped breathing!

(Silence.)

A: (Behind the door.) It’s time! We have to go! (A enters, stares in

surprise for a while.) I’ve been waiting there like a fool and

you have a visit?

E3: Can you imagine this? Two strange women off the street just

showed up in my fl at, I don’t even know how. One probably

has some health problems or something. Th at’s why the other

doesn’t want to leave with her.

A: (Laughing.) Just now, when we’re in a hurry, all the local beggars

suddenly appear. OK, I’m in good mood, here you are, some

change. But now you have to go. We have a  life-or-death

matter to attend to.

N: But…

E3: Either we’ll ask the porter for help or we’ll throw her out

ourselves. Do you hear me? Take your things, her too and

leave my fl at!

(N is crying, unable to say anything.)

54

A: Ok, we’ll handle it. (A Pushes N and M and the chair out.) Good

bye! (Closes the door, to E3.) Next time, just call if someone

threatens you. You know you can count on me.

(E3 puts her clothes on.)

A: Are you ready to launch a proper career? Smile please!

(E3 takes the fl owers, smiles. A opens the door. N is standing behind

the door, the dead mother in her arms, looking at E3.)

THE END

55

David Drábek

(1970)

David Drábek is playwright, director

and artistic head of the Klicperovo

Th eatre in Hradec Králové. He is graduate of the Arts Faculty of

the Palacký University in Olomouc in the fi eld of fi lm and theatre

studies. At university he co-founded with Darek Král the Studio of

the Burning Giraff e (Studio hořící žirafy), which was specialized

in modern cabaret. In 1996-2001 he worked as dramaturge for the

drama company of the Moravské divadlo in Olomouc. 2001-2003

he led the new alternative stage Burning House (Hořící dům). In

1995 he received the Alfréd Radok Award for best play with Joan

of the Park (Jana z parku, 1994), and the same prize for Aquabelles

(Akvabely, 2003), his play that was later also awarded as the Best

Czech Play of 2005. Th e same year, the publishing house Větrné

mlýny published a collection of seven of his plays. His play Th e Coast

of Bohemia (Náměstí bratří Mašínů, 2007) won second place in the

Alfréd Radok Playwriting Competition 2007. Th is play was later also

awarded as the Best Czech Play of 2009.

As author, director and dramaturge he cooperates with the with

the theatres Klicperovo divadlo in Hradec Králové and the Divadlo

Petra Bezruče in Ostrava. Drábek’s texts are marked by an anecdotal

and epigrammatic quality. A major source of inspiration is fi lm and

television, whose styles he enjoys imitating and parodying in his

grotesque and cabaret texts. Other key themes in his drama are

kitsch, the media world, mass and commercial culture.

56

LIST OF PLAYS (selection):

• Malá žranice, 1992 (in cooperation with Darek Král)

• Hořící žirafy, 1993; première 6. 1. 1995, Divadlo Petra Bezruče,

Ostrava

• Jana z parku, 1994; première 21. 4. 1995, Moravské divadlo,

Olomouc

• Vařila myšička myšičku, 1995

• Kosmická snídaně, 1997

• Švédský stůl, 1998; première 23. 2. 1999, Klicperovo divadlo,

Hradec Kralové

• Kostlivec v silonkách, 1999; première 13. 12. 1999, Moravské

divadlo, Olomouc

• Kuřáci opia, 2000

• Kostlivec: Vzkříšení, 2002

• Embryo čili Silicon Baby, 2002; première 19. 3. 2004, Divadlo

Petra Bezruče, Ostrava

• Akvabely, 2003; première 30. 4. 2005, Klicperovo divadlo,

Hradec Králové

• Žabikuch, 2004; première 21. 2. 2005, Studio Citadela, Prague

• Sněhurka – Nová generace, 2004; première 26. 2. 2006, Divadlo

Minor, Prague

• Čtyřlístek!, 2004 (in cooperation with Petra Zámečníková)

• Děvčátko s mozkem, 2005; première 6. 6. 2005, Malé Vinohradské

divadlo, Prague

• Planeta opic, 2006; première 19. 11. 2006, Divadlo Minor,

Prague

• Ještěři, 2006; première 23.5. 2009, Klicperovo divadlo, Hradec

Kralové

• Náměstí bratří Mašínů, 2007; première 10. 10. 2009, Klicperovo

divadlo, Hradec Kralové

• Berta (Od soumraku do úsvitu), 2008; première 27. 3. 2008,

Malé Vinohradské divadlo, Prague

• Unisex, 2009

57

• Noc oživlých mrtvol, 2010; première 20. 2. 2010, Klicperovo

divadlo, Hradec Kralové

• Sherlock Holmes: Vraždy vousatých žen, 2010; première 18. 12.

2010, Klicperovo divadlo, Hradec Kralové

• Koule, 2010; 21. 1. 2011 Český rozhlas

• Jedlíci čokolády, 2011; première 21. 5. 2011, Klicperovo divadlo,

Hradec Kralové

TRANSLATED PLAYS:

• Akvabely: English – Aquabelles, German – Kunstschwimmer,

Polish – Plywanie synchroniczne, Romanian – Balerinele

acvatice, Spanish – El club de natacion sincronizada

• Švédský stůl: Polish – Szwedsky stol

• Náměstí bratří Mašínů: English – Th e Coast of Bohemia

58

David Drábek

THE COAST

OF BOHEMIAA Play About Immobility

Translated by Štěpán S. Šimek

Th is play is fully protected under the copyright law of Czech Republic and is

subject to royalty. It cannot be nor used nor changed without an appropriate

written permission given by the DILIA Agency. Th e providing of this play

to a  third party for uses other than production due is also subjected to

DILIA permission.

A violation of this restriction and using this play without the permission will

be interpreted as an infringement of copyright law and will underlie to the civil

and criminal liability.

All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the DILIA Agency

Krátkého 1, Praha 9, 190 03, Czech Republic, www.dilia.cz

59

Characters:

PART 1 – THE GHOSTS OF BOHEMIA:

Wendelin

Petra

Rita

Jerome

Henry

Mikey

Rickie

Radka

Mr. Zabriski

Roo

Th e Zapper

Th e Woodpecker

Th e Cactus

Th e Shrimp

Th e Bunny

THE SWAN Woman

Th e Man Under a Pile of Dung

Th e Security Guard

PART 2 – THE COASTS OF BOHEMIA

Rita

A Doctor

Wendelin

Th e Tram Conductor (Elizabeth)

Th e Suit

Th e Crutches (Martha)

Th e Track Suit

Th e Shortsighted

60

Th e Young Man

Th e Girlfriend

Th e Chinese Tourist

Th e Giant (Robert)

Th e Grandmother

Th e Little Girl

Th e Bomber

Th e Swan Woman

Petra

61

PART ONE: THE GHOSTS OF BOHEMIA

1. THE TRAMPLING OFFSPRING

WENDELIN: (From the darkness.) If I were you, I wouldn’t even

turn up the lights on me… You may be expecting something

special, something colossal, but… that’s not what you’ll see.

Th ere’s nothing to applaud. My life isn’t sexy… Well, maybe it

is, that’s if you consider frozen turkey innards something to

get excited about… (Shouting in a diff erent direction) Kids,

can’t you go and run around somewhere else? (Back to us) As

I said, if I were you, I wouldn’t turn on the lights at all, because

I can assure you that I’ll tick you off by my resemblance to you

right from the get go. Just, you know… quietly get up and,

please, leave…

(Lights up on the stage. Wendelin sits on a bulging sofa in the middle

of a living room. He looks like a deer caught in headlights. His wife,

Petra, is basking in the light of a television screen. In the back, two

slightly obese boys with militant expressions on their oily faces are

horsing around.)

WENDELIN: (To the audience.) Alright, if that’s what you want… But

we haven’t even aired the place today, and the grandchildren

are fi lthy. Th eir fat wrinkles are full of ketchup and pieces of

spaghetti from dinner.

PETRA: Th eir parents didn’t teach them how to eat with a knife

and fork.

WENDELIN: You’re right, Petra. Petra. My wife. Th e name has been

mucked up by the popular Czech cigarette brand. It made it

into some crumpled up piece of dirty cardboard in the back

pocket of trailer trash overalls.

PETRA: Wendelin, on the other hand, is a great name.

WENDELIN: You’re right. Wendelin isn’t that great either. It sounds

like a name of a shortsighted cartoon mouse.

PETRA: From East Germany.

62

WENDELIN: Right, an East German cartoon mouse. It’s a name

suggesting a stupid undertone of merrymaking, or of “having

fun.” Whereas, I’m of course a  tedious, morose old bore.

Retired. On disability.

(Th e boys tip over a table.)

WENDELIN:(To Petra.) What are you watching, anyhow?

PETRA: I don’t know. Some comedy show or something.

WENDELIN: Liz, the girl from the drugstore, says that she heard

about some man who actually laughed watching a comedy

show on TV.

PETRA: You’re kidding.

WENDELIN: No really. He apparently laughed out loud. Liz said

that she could even fi nd out his name if needed. Th at’s pretty

unique isn’t it? Come on, this isn’t really funny at all. You’re

wasting your time.

PETRA: I may not be laughing out loud, but it gives me joy inside.

So, why don’t you just stop nagging me, mister clever.

(Despite the open space in the back, the obese boys collide. Th ey

pummel each other with their bellies, grunt, fall back onto the fl oor,

and lay there immobile. Grandpa and Grandma jump up from their

shabby sofa and run towards them.)

PETRA: Boys, what is this? What do you think you’re doing!?

WENDELIN: Th ey just ran into each other in the middle of the

living room for no good reason.

PETRA: Th ey’re not moving.

WENDELIN: Th ey’ve knocked each other out.

(Petra slaps the boys in the face repeatedly, maybe a bit harder than

necessary. )

WENDELIN: Every Boy Scout would spit on them. Look how fat

they are.

PETRA: Oh stop it… Th ey have good appetites, so what?

WENDELIN: Even as babies you couldn’t tie a bib around their

necks, because you couldn’t fi nd a gap between their chin and

chest. Th ey looked like lobsters, with their bulging ribcages.

63

PETRA: Don’t be disgusting, and call Henry. Th ey’re supposed to

be home by four anyhow.

WENDELIN: Look, Mickey just moved a bit.

PETRA: Rickie just moved. Mickey’s the other one.

WENDELIN: I can’t tell them apart without my glasses. It’s just like

when I was trying to choose some pork chops at the store the

other day, I couldn’t tell which one…

PETRA: You’re awful – just go away. You’ve got that job interview

today, so please leave now before you drive me completely

mad. Henry, did you fall asleep in there? Can you hear me?

HENRY: (From under the restroom door.) What?

PETRA: It’s time for you and the boys to mosey on home so that Jane

won’t get mad again. Can you hear me?

HENRY: Sure thing. We’re leaving in a jiff y.

WENDELIN: Son, do you realize that I haven’t seen you for years.

I don’t even know what you look like any more. And when you

visit, all you do is sit in the bathroom.

HENRY: Yep.

WENDELIN: You think that’s normal? Not to mention those stupid

magazines we’ve got in there. Since when do you read “Good

Housekeeping,” son? “National Enquirer?” Since when, son?

PETRA: Just leave. Please. Go to your interview, please. Get going.

Otherwise we’ll start fi ghting, and he’ll stop visiting with the

kids altogether…

WENDELIN: Right. I’d really miss all those wise things he’s got to

say: Yep… sure thing…no problem… chill… you know… I’m,

like, whatever…, …

PETRA: Please, just be gone. You’re a real pain in the a…

WENDELIN: Not in front of the boys, OK? Look, now

Mickey’s moving too…

(Wendelin grabs his raincoat and his briefcase, and disappears

behind the front door. Lights out.)

64

2. THE AVENUE

(City center. Jerome and Rita, standing on opposite sides of a busy

street, are stealing glances at each other. Rita, her right arm raised,

holds a magazine entitled ‘National Awakening’. Jerome, his left arm

raised, holds a magazine called ‘Street Roots’.)

RITA: (To herself.) Is he winking at me, or what was that? I can’t

believe it. Yes he’s defi nitely winking. Now he did it again.

Yeah, sure. Its’ like I’m going to wink back at you, right, you

dirty bum. Some hobo.

JEROME: (To himself, but in the end quite audibly.) Wow, look how

she chatters. With her teeth. Not her real teeth any longer

I guess, but still… its so graceful. She’s a lady alright. Poor

thing, underestimated the cold.

RITA: I better move somewhere else.

JEROME: (Calling after her and waving.) Hello, young lady there,

‘afternoon!

RITA: Young lady, you bet… (She notices that against her will she

has waved back at him.) And then you go and wave at him,

that’s great, just great. (She turns around fi xing her clothes

and hair.)

Sure, now fi x yourself too, check if you look sharp… You’ve

really hit the bottom, my dear… (To Jerome.) What?

JEROME: I beg your pardon?

RITA:You actually replied to him! It must be the cold… I guess I feel

sorry for him, poor thing. Come on RITA:, you shouldn’t deny

that little cripple a bit of kindness. Besides, I’m sure he lives

on cheap wine from a plastic bottle and has purple feet with

long yellow toenails – haha!

(Rita startles, because Jeroma is now standing next to her.)

JEROME: Almost banged your head into the shop window, right?

I’m sorry, I didn’t want to scare you.

RITA: Do you need something?

JEROME: No.

65

RITA: You’re … homeless, aren’t you? (Aside, whispering.) No,

he’s a pilot, right? What a stupid question!

JEROME: It’s  very theatrical, the way you talk to yourself…

sideways…

RITA: Well, I  do love the theatre, you know? (Again, she looks

“sideways” with a horrifi ed expression.)

JEROME: Do you think I smell bad?

RITA: What? No. Yes. I mean no. What do I care. It’s your business.

(She hands him the magazine.) Here, take one.

JEROME: Th anks. I can’t give you one of mine. I’m sorry. Cash only,

you know? (Indicating a medallion pinned to his coat.) I’ve got

a license, see. (In a singing voice to Wendelin, who is passing

by.) Street Roots – latest edition, interesting stories, only a few

pennies…

WENDELIN: No thank you – I’m a Fascist. (He passes, but returns

immediately.)

Th at wasn’t funny. I’m sorry. I’ll take one. (Wendelin pays, and

hurries on to his job interview.)

JEROME: Some character, eh?

RITA: Do you always sing it?

JEROME: I’m trying to make the sales a bit more interesting, you

know…

RITA: Are you an alto?

JEROME: No, I’m Jerome:. What’s your name?

RITA: I don’t say it out loud. My name doesn’t suit me. It’s too worldly

and… kind of cabaret-like. My parents were too ambitious.

JEROME: OK, I get it.

RITA: RITA. My name is Rita. (Aside.) You never cease to surprise

me!

JEROME: Rita… Yeah, you’re right, it kind of reminds me of some

broad with one of those feather thingies round her neck…

RITA: Boa. With a boa. I should be going.

JEROME: Hey listen. Since you gave me the “National Awakening”,

how ‘bout I pay you back with a cup of coff ee. Sort of a poor

66

people’s awakening. I’ve made more than enough today for

two from a vending machine.

RITA: Mister! I’m a  married woman, and I  have strong moral

convictions. I’m… I’m… a total clean freak… good bye!

3. THE INTERVIEW

(A  tastelessly appointed offi ce of the Metropolitan Public Transit

Offi ce. Wendelin is being interviewed by a  colorless bureaucrat

named Benjamin Zabriski.)

ZABRISKI: (Putting down a fi le he just fi nished reading.) You’re

disabled.

WENDELIN: Among other things, yes, if I may say so.

ZABRISKI: I beg your pardon?

WENDELIN: What I mean to say is that I don’t want “disabled” to

be the only thing written on my gravestone.

ZABRISKI: Your grave’s your business, OK. So, what’s wrong with

you?

WENDELIN: Compulsion to repeat sounds. (Zabriski raises his

eyebrows in anticipation.)

I can’t resist repeating certain sounds – theme songs, jingles,

diff erent car and truck horns, animal sounds, and stuff like

that. (Zabriski’s phone rings. He looks at Wendelin probingly.)

WENDELIN: I don’t necessarily repeat everything.

ZABRISKI: Ever been in a funny farm because of that?

WENDELIN: You’re very direct… no, it’s not like I’m a psychopath.

But it did make teaching high school very diffi cult.

ZABRISKI: You seriously got on disability because you repeat

cat’s meowing?

WENDELIN: Th ere’s also something wrong with my heart.

ZABRISKI: Why do you want to be a fare inspector?

WENDELIN: Adrenalin. I  need adrenalin. Fare inspector is an

embarrassing profession, and…

67

ZABRISKI: What do you mean embarrassing? Th ey shouldn’t be

riding for free – those assholes!

WENDELIN: … and it is mutually degrading. And… and I need

a more fl exible work schedule, and… I need to get out of the

house.

ZABRISKI: You may need to deal with some pretty gnarly characters

sometimes, you know that?

WENDELIN: I’m not afraid

(A  pasty-faced female clerk in squeaky shoes enters. Wendelin

immediately, and completely accurately, recreates the squeaky sound

with his mouth. Zabriski and the pasty-faced clerk stare at him in

amazement. Lights out.)

4. THE TRAIN STATION

(Th is time Rita is standing in the arrival hall of the Prague main train

station. She is again selling her magazine, ‘National Awakening’. Next

to her stands a tall boney woman. Jerome stealthily approaches from

the ticket counter. He is trying to slick back his dirty, tangled, and

unmanageable hair.)

JEROME: ‘s me again… Don’t be scared, don’t run away. (A little

packet wrapped in a fat-stained paper falls out his coat pocket.)

Shoot… the bologna! I’m sorry, my dinner, you know. (Rita

doesn’t react, the tall boney woman next to her even less so.)

Obviously, I’m not trying to mess with your marriage, really

I’m not. And voilà. (He pulls some coins from his pocket and

puts them into the cash box hanging round his neck.) I have

just purchased for you a copy of the latest ‘Street Roots’. On

the page before last is a story about me.

RITA: (Pointing towards the tall woman.) Th at’s Radka.

(Radka appears to be either made of stone or to be a yogi-like creature;

she doesn’t fl inch.)

JEROME: Hi Radka. I’m…

68

(Roo, a little man with an extremely bushy beard and hair creeps up

behind Jerome.)

ROO: Th is is my spot.

JEROME: I’m not working, Roo.

ROO: Th is is my spot. Th is is my spot! My spot!!!

JEROME: And I’m telling you that I’m not here to work today. I’m

here on a private matter.

ROO: Th is is my sales spot!

JEROME: You deaf or what? I’m telling you that…

RITA: Let’s go…

JEROME: What would you expect – Roo’s an old junkie. Only a year

ago he was stumbling about, sniffi ng glue from a paper bag,

and now he’s thinks he’s mister hotshot.

RITA: Th e coff ee’s on me. (She looks around, pointing to a little coff ee

bar in the middle of the main train station arrival hall.) Lets

go over there – it’s called Dallmeier… Sounds sort of Viennese,

don’t you think? Only the barista is wearing a turban.

(Rita and Jerome walk towards the coff ee bar, leaving the statue-like

Radka behind.)

JEROME: (Referring to Radka.) Is she always so pissed?

RITA: She’s waiting for the end of the world.

JEROME: When’s that coming?

RITA: It was supposed to be on May 28th. Th is being September

already, she’s a bit annoyed.

JEROME: Can I cheer her up somehow?

RITA: No. Not unless you have a nuclear bomb handy. Plus, she’

s rented out her apartment since June for a dollar a year, and

she’s been living with us since then.

JEROME: Your husband’s fi ne with that?

RITA: My husband doesn’t move.

JEROME: Is that so?

RITA: He sleeps. Jerome.

Oh, is he in that artifi cial, you know…

69

RITA: In a  coma you mean? No. He’s  perfectly healthy. (To the

turbaned barista.) I’ll have … this… Mocaccino. No sugar.

(Back to Jerome.) He comes home from work and goes to

sleep. He used to go to sleep at eleven at night. Th en at ten, at

nine, eight, half-past-seven, at six, half-past four, and now he

usually goes to bed somewhere between half-past three and

four in the afternoon.

JEROME: Wow.

RITA: And now he ‘s arranged to work part-time so that he can go

to sleep by noon.

JEROME: Is he narcoleptic?

RITA: No. He tells me not to take it personally, and says that sleeping

simply makes him feel wonderful. Th at those dreams are his

world, and that they allow him to be himself. We have no

children, so I  let him sleep. We’ve been together for thirty

years; he’s got the right to want a change in the relationship.

JEROME: I really admire the way you deal with it.

RITA: You do stink today, I do have to say. Lets buy Radka a sandwich

and a body wash for you…

(She is leaving.)

JEROME: And will you read the story about me?

(He fi nishes his coff ee in a paper cup, and follows her. Lights out.)

5. NIGHT WATCH

(Petra and Wendelin are reading in bed. Wendelin reads a newspaper,

Petra a  library book wrapped in a  protective plastic cover.

Wendelin’s pyjama top is buttoned all the way up, which is unusual

for him. Th e book in Petra’s hands begins to sag – she’s falling asleep.)

PETRA: I think I’m ready to turn in…

WENDELIN: Wait, I want to read you something, OK?

PETRA: Is it long?

WENDELIN: No.

70

PETRA: OK. Instead of a good night kiss… (She quickly glances at

him.)

WENDELIN: A tragic accident occurred yesterday in the village

of Nova Ves. Fifty-eight-year-old Richard W. was caught

under an overturned trailer fi lled with pig dung… the trapped

man had evidently suff ocated under the pressure of the

dung. Th e accident was reported by a regional government

spokeswoman… she added that …. according to preliminary

information… etc, etc… Now that’s something isn’t it?

PETRA: Very appetizing, thank you. Instead of a good night kiss…

WENDELIN: No wait, I think that this adds insult to injury.

PETRA: Th at he suff ocated under a heap of dung? Isn’t it worse if

you freeze to death?

WENDELIN: No, no, no, that’s not what it’s about. Just imagine how

he ended up, this…

(Wendelin’s vision seems to have stunned him for a moment. Lit by

the bedside lamp and in his buttoned-up pyjama top, he looks like

a suff ering martyr.)

WENDELIN: (Continuing.) …maybe he was a decent, honorable,

principled human being. Maybe he didn’t steal, didn’t cheat,

didn’t abuse his wife, didn’t drink, was helping others in need,

and didn’t care about politics. He never lied, he read poetry,

continued educating himself, and searched for the meaning of

life, and… today, if he becomes a topic of conversation, people

will say: yeah, that’s that guy who got buried under a heap of

dung. And then they’ll either try hard not to crack up, or – and

this is more likely – they’ll split their sides laughing.

PETRA: Th at will never happen to you, darling.

WENDELIN: Because nobody will ever remember me. Th ey’ll go

like: Wait, Wendelin, WENDELIN… Which one was he? Was

he the guy that… you know… the one with that…? No, no,

I think maybe he was… Or was he the other one with the…

you know what…? I really don’t remember exactly… Oh well…

whatever…

71

PETRA: You’re anxious, aren’t you? You need to take it easy on your

weak heart, you know that, don’t you? By the way, how did the

interview go today? Did they want you? And if not, don’t let

it get you d…

WENDELIN: Th ey did. I’m going to be a fare inspector.

(Th ere is a relatively long silence, then…)

PETRA: Lets discuss that over breakfast tomorrow, OK? I’m beat.

Just after you left, Mickey broke the shoe shelf.

WENDELIN: If you think it’s a stupid idea you can say so. It’s fi ne

with me.

PETRA: Let’s not talk about it now, OK…

WENDELIN: You can say it, it’s fi ne.

PETRA: Well… It has a bit of a secret police feel to it. It’s a little

STASI-like.

WENDELIN: What do you mean? Th at’s completely absurd!

PETRA: It’s just the feeling I have.

WENDELIN: I’m going to fi x that shoe shelf.

PETRA: But don’t overdo it, else you won’t be able to fall asleep

again.

(Lights out.)

6. THE WAIT

(Rita is pacing back and forth on a sidewalk.)

RITA: Nice job, girl. Here you are waiting for a hobo on a street

corner, and he’s thirty-seven minutes late, and you’re waiting

around like a  leghorn, which, as we know from crossword

puzzles, is a breed of white chicken… so here you are, loafi ng

about the street like a  piece of stale bread, while mister

homeless is taking his time. (Aside.) Leave me in peace will

you!? Maybe he had an accident… (Back to her normal voice)

Yeah, sure. Somebody stole the urine-soaked sleeping mat

that he keeps under a bridge somewhere. A terrible crime…

72

(Aside again.) What if he got beaten up by skinheads, I don’t

know… (Back to her normal voice) One bum more or less, who

cares… (Aside.) Now, that would be a bit too theatrical, don’t

you think, sweetie…?

(An hour later. It begins to drizzle.)

Oh for god’s sake… Ninety-two minutes late. Th at’s  it. I’m

done! I can’t believe that I even put on lipstick… for some

stinkpot! (She quickly looks around, afraid that someone has

overheard her.) Oh my god, those two tramps over there are

checking me out. I’m sure they think I do quickies for food

stamps… What am I doing here…? I mean who else should

be on time if not the homeless…? I’m cold. I’m going. I was

actually looking forward to it.

(Lights out.)

7. A MANATEE UNDER THE SHADOW OF A DAISY

(Wendelin paces up and down. He walks in straight, narrow lines

towards the back and the front of his living room, and than back and

front again. His arm repeatedly shoots away from his body revealing

an open palm. It reminds us of a morning Tai Chi exercise in front of

a Chinese factory. Alternatively it could also be a dance of ibises, if

you think about it. Or, with some imagination, it could be like one of

those alternative movement theatre troupes of Russian vegetarians

who convulse naked on the fl oor, and during the whole performance

you worry whether they have a magnesium defi ciency, and try to

fi gure out who is male and who’s female. Every so often Wendelin

mumbles something.)

WENDELIN: What? Aha? And why not? You don’t have one? Wait

a moment! No problem. (Petra stands by the door, and watches

him with rapt attention.) Whatever you want, feel free to hit

me, if that’s what you want… (He screams, falls over onto the

carpet, and holds his belly.)

73

PETRA: Wendelin? Did you join a community theatre behind my

back? (Wendelin, laying immobile on his side, stares ahead.)

You don’t love me any longer, is that it?

(Wendelin doesn’t move.)

WENDELIN: I’m rehearsing for possible occurrences in fare control

situations.

PETRA: Are you planning to get beaten up?

WENDELIN: Anything’s possible. Th is young boy for example had

no idea what’d gotten into him when he attacked me.

PETRA: I see…

WENDELIN: He had screws, rivets and rings sunk into his face so

that somebody would notice him. He just gulped down eight

cans of RedBull, and he had his skateboard that he’d saved up

for two years tucked under the seat. He had a termite hill of

hair and gel piled on top his head, but still, nobody noticed

him,. Not his parents, not his buddies, not the girls. Until

I did. Th e fare inspector.

(Short silence.)

PETRA: Maybe you should see somebody?

(Wendelin quietly lies on the fl oor.)

WENDELIN:(Barely audible.) What for?

PETRA: You’re inventing kids that beat you up.

(Wendelin doesn’t say a word.)

PETRA: You are not happy, are you?

(Silence. Th en from the street below the sound of a  streetcar bell.

Wendelin imitates the sound faithfully.)

PETRA: Look, your slipper fl ew all the way behind the armchair.

(She pulls something from behind the armchair.) Look, I  found

a Sudoku book. (Pause.) Henry brought the costumes for the ball.

WENDELIN: Why didn’t he stay a while…

PETRA: He’s here. In the restroom. Aren’t you Hank?

HENRY Yep.

PETRA: I’m telling your father that you brought us the funny

costumes.

74

HENRY: Yep.

WENDELIN: You let him have the new “Good Housekeeping,”

didn’t you? Th e one with Christmas cookies recipes.

PETRA: Th ere are no magazines in the bathroom! I moved them

into this stand over here. Just don’t start fi ghting again. I’ll get

the costumes.

(Petra leaves. Wendelin sits down, and absentmindedly pulls an

especially colorful magazine from the aforementioned stand.)

WENDELIN: (Squints and reads.) We’ll give you the body of

a twenty-fi ve-year-old, but let you keep your wisdom… (His

eyes grow wide in alarm, and he magazine falls from his hands

onto the carpet. To the Audience.) You want to know when I got

old? When I suddenly became an old man, even though up until

that moment, getting old never even crossed my mind? It had

nothing to do with the heart episode or my disability, no sir. It

happened the fi rst time someone off ered me a seat in a crowded

streetcar. When that young lady saw in me the pallid, shriveled

up creature that I’ve become. Th at was the breaking point. Ever

since that moment I have become a fi gure of a man encased in

wax. Nothing from the outside penetrates the casing. I don’t feel

anything. But since I always rinse my coff ee cup after myself,

and since I’m what people consider witty, nobody, except that

young lady, has noticed yet. Th erefore, I will attempt to enter

the arena of a streetcar, and by inspecting fares, come back

to life again. And if I don’t wake up then, I’ll join a chicken

farm where a crowd of large broilers desperately crow over each

other, and I will compulsively repeat their crows until I become

one of them, and in the end the good people will eat me up…

(He again aimlessly fi ngers through the magazine, squints and

starts reading anew.) Th e story of a girl who escaped unscathed

after a rhinoceros stood on her earlobe for half-an-hour…

(Enters Petra with a big pile of costumes in her arms.)

PETRA: Th is will crack you up.

WENDELIN: I’m sure it will.

75

PETRA: Here, this is yours, and I’ll be the fl ower.

(Wendelin crows.)

PETRA: What was it? Nobody’s keeping chickens around here…

WENDELIN: I’m sorry.

PETRA: (Examining her costume.) Th is is some stretch fabric or

something… I’ll have to put it on naked, so I’m going to the

bathroom to change and then I’ll come show you how I look,

OK? Isn’t this fun?

WENDELIN: (Trying to untangle a grayish ball of material.) And

I’m going to be what?

PETRA: (Helping him.) Not like this. Th is is how it goes. See, this is

the head with the snout.

WENDELIN: I’ll be a pig?

PETRA: No, not a pig. You’ll be a… what is it… like mannequin of

something… it lives in the ocean… you know… (Towards the

restroom door.) Hankie, what’s the animal dad’s going to be?

HENRY: A manatee.

PETRA: (Trying to dress Wendelin in the costume by pulling the

grayish material over his suit.) And now he swims underwater,

and his little eyes are… (She starts laughing. Her laughter

sounds genuinely nice.) You look absolutely adorable, dad!

Hankie, come and look at your daddy, he’s a riot.

HENRY: Hmm…

WENDELIN: Trying to breathe in this thing is gonna be fun…

(Petra runs off to the bathroom. Wendelin fi nishes putting on his

costume. Th e ball of the manatee’s snout bonces against his nose. He

is almost disappearing in the grayish mass of the material. Suddenly

the wall of the apartment starts dissolving, and a vision appears. It

is as if the wall starts to bulge and bend, and the plaster liquifi es. An

enormous manatee, or – as this particular kind of a sea creature is

also called – sea cow slowly swims into the newly formed depressions

among the wavy peelings of paint and plaster on the wall. Th e

creature almost deliberately ploughs through the space between the

armoire and the framed oil painting of an autumn harvest scene. Tied

76

to the end of its tail by strings, the manatee is pulling several tin cans.

Colorful strips of fabric, various beads, rice, photographs, confetti,

little plastic stars, etc… are streaming out of the cans. Th e creature

lingers for a while and then slowly swims away, as the vision fades.

At that point, Petra enters the room. She is now fully costumed as

a gigantic daisy. Her face is lined with daisy petals, her trunk, tightly

packed in a green elastic suit, represents the stem of the fl ower, and

green leaves are fastened to her wrists.)

PETRA: (Singing and dancing to the tune of Frank Sinatra’s song.)

Sunfl ower good mornin.’ You sure do make it like a sunny day.

Sunfl ower fair warnin.” I’m gonna love you if you come my way

– well daddy, what do you think?

WENDELIN: Sunfl ower?

PETRA: Daisy.

(Wendelin watches Petra’s sprightly dance. Her costume allows her to

move wildly, bordering on a break dance, which surprises her as much

as it surprises Wendelin.)

WENDELIN: We are a fi ne pair of misfi ts, aren’t we? A sea monster

and a fl ower. Something tells me we’re going to win a crystal

chandelier in the raffl e.

PETRA: (In the direction of the restroom.) Hankie, it’ time to fl ush

and mosey on home. Your dad and I are leaving for the ball

now. And don’t forget to tell Jane that we’re taking the kids

right after lunch tomorrow, OK? (She bends over to pick up

something by the wall.) What are those old photos doing here?

And an empty spam can?

(Lights out.)

77

8. THE GATE KEEPERS

(In front of the grand entrance to a large ballroom on an island on the

Moldau. A crowd of masked ball-goers are streaming up the marble

staircase toward the entrance. Since it is dusk and there is a fi ne

drizzle, the whole scene creates an illusion that there are no human

beings under the masks and costumes. Th e creatures look real. Th is

is especially true of the various animal and plant costumes. Th ere

is an elephant calf here, a tulip there, Cliff ord the Big Red Dog over

here, etc…

Th e only distinctly human beings are Rita, Radka, and a nervous-

looking Security Guard. Rita holds a magazine in her right hand

raised above her head, and Radka clutches the wooden stick of a sign

with the words “THE END IS COMING!” Th e oversized animals and

plants pass by them without showing any interest. Jerome appears.)

JEROME: Good evening, Rita. You too, Radka.

(Rita doesn’t react. Neither does Radka, but nobody expects her to

anyhow…)

JEROME: You’re angry with me aren’t you? I mean because I didn’t

show up the other day. Can I explain?

RITA: I don’t care.

JEROME: You don’t?

RITA: No I don’t. I really couldn’t care less. (With her left hand, she

makes a gesture as if throwing something over her head.)

JEROME: I see. So… you’re selling TV Guides now?

(Rita glances at what it is that she’s actually holding in her hand, and

quickly hides the TV Guide in her handbag. Th an she looks away and

freezes.)

JEROME: Rita, please, please talk to me. (He kneels.)

I beg you.

(Th e nervous Security Guard approaches.)

78

SECURITY GUARD: (To Jerome.) Hey, mister, what’s going on here?

You going to the ball? Or are you bumming money or what?

(To Rita.) Is he bothering you?

JEROME: Leave me in peace.

SECURITY GUARD: Do you have a ticket to the ball or something?

RITA: Th e gentlemen is helping me to fi nd my mask.

SECURITY GUARD: Oh, in that case …

RITA: I’m supposed to be a chinchilla, but must have dropped the

headband with the ears… and the fangs.

SECURITY GUARD: Yeah… My boss wanted me to be decked up

too, so I’m supposed to wear this thing … (He pulls a beaver

snout with large protruding fangs over his face.) I mean, look at

it! How the hell am I supposed to do my job in a thing like that?

I can’t even eat my sandwich with it on! I mean, everybody

would laugh at me if I tried to enforce anything. (He thinks

for a while.) I mean, would you respect anything I said if I was

wearing that thing?

(He leaves.)

JEROME: You handled it terrifi cally.

RITA: We’d better go somewhere else. Let’s have some tea on the

riverside walk.

SECURITY GUARD: (Returning.) By the way, what’s  this thing

actually supposed to be – a beaver or a nutria, or what?

RITA: A beaver.

JEROME: Beaver, defi nitely.

SECURITY GUARD: OK. Th anks. And for god’s sake, take a shower

man!

(He leaves.)

RITA: You really do smell terribly today.

JEROME: I know. Listen Rita, I’d rather go down to the park and

sit under the trees. I have some punch in the thermos, that’ll

warm you up.

RITA: We could watch the river go by.

79

(Th ey are slowly walking away from the illuminated entrance leaving

Radka behind. Standing perfectly still among the steady fl ow of

arriving creatures, with her sign held high above their heads, she looks

like a pole of a sinking sailboat.

Th e next two scenes will be played simultaneously in two diff erent

settings: the ballroom, where the costume ball is in full swing, and the

park ,where Rita and Jeroma are drinking punch.)

9. SHRIMP COCKTAIL

(Wendelin, the manatee, and Petra, the daisy, are sitting at a table.

Th eir table mates are a Woodpecker and a Cactus. Th e Woodpecker

nibbles on peanuts, the Cactus yawns. Petra, the daisy, sways back

and forth to imaginary music, and Wendelin, the manatee, sweats

profusely.)

PETRA: (Excited and cheery.) I  bet you don’t know who’s  the

headliner tonight. You don’t, do you?

WENDELIN: No. You tell me.

PETRA: He was that idol of our youth, the one who looked like

Garry Glitter. He called himself Th e Zapper, sang in English,

and did all this crazy dancing, and used to bang the amps with

his guitar. You know him.

WENDELIN: Oh yeah, that one. But he must be way over sixty by

now, surely?

PETRA: Way over… and as little as he is, he’s also put on few pounds

lately. I see him eating lunches in our cafeteria every day. And

he still colors his hair, and wears, like, ten gold chains round

his neck.

WENDELIN: I can hardly wait…

WOODPECKER: Peanuts?

WENDELIN: No thank you. Peck on.

WOODPECKER: I’m Willie, and this prickly pear here is Eddie. (To

Petra.) Watch out, he’s got some nasty pricks.

80

(Th e Woodpecker bursts out laughing at his own joke.)

WENDELIN (To Petra.): Lets dance…

PETRA: Th e band’s not playing…

(Wendelin drags her by the leaf on her wrist into the middle of the

ballroom.)

WENDELIN: Why do we have to sit with those morons?

WOODPECKER: (Calling after them.) Hey, watch you don’t get

defl owered young lady! Haha!

(Th e Cactus stops yawning and waves his prickly hand for a waiter,

to order more alcohol.)

PETRA: Why are you so morose?

WENDELIN: Did you really want to watch me strangle a woodpecker,

the dentist of the woods? No seriously, I’m boiling in this

manatee suit. Look… over there. Th ere’s a woman dressed

as a shrimp.

PETRA: I  know her. She works in accounting. But she’s  a  slut.

A nymphomaniac., and she’s already three sheets to the wind.

(Th e Shrimp twirls her purse, and with her wobbly thin legs practices

diff erent dance steps. She sees Wendelin.)

THE SHRIMP: Hello, Mr. Whale.

WENDELIN: Manatee.

THE SHRIMP: Who cares… you’re just like me… we are both gifts

of the sea; frutti di mare…

PETRA: (To Wendelin.) You’d better go and buy some raffl e tickets.

I’ll be right back. (Referring to her costume) Th is is tight as

a drum too, just to let you know.

(Th ey are leaving. Th e Shrimp bumps into a grizzly bear carrying two

plastic cups of beer.)

81

10. A DRINK

(Rita and Jerome are picnicking under a tree. It is night.)

RITA: (Holding a thermos in her hand.) Th e lid’s pretty mucky, but

the tea is excellent.

JEROME: Let me wipe it off …

RITA: No, no, it would make it even muckier… why didn’t you come

the other day?

JEROME: I couldn’t move.

RITA: Great. You remind me of someone I know too well… Rita, the

woman who immobilizes men.

JEROME: Some mornings I wake up, and I can’t do anything at all.

(Rita extracts something from her mouth.)

RITA: I found a…

JEROME: Clove. Just throw it overhead. Oh, you threw it into your

hair. You have very nice hair.

RITA: It’s  colored., and it’s  horribly… nappy. Some days it gets

so thick that I lose a pencil in it, and I can’t fi nd it for days.

Sometimes for two weeks. Mostly it only comes out when

I sneeze really hard… Is there rum in this?

JEROME: A little bit. Rita, did you read about me in Street Roots?

RITA: Of course. I even clipped you out. I could barely recognize

you on that picture though.

JEROME: Th at’s because I don’t know how to look into the camera…

Did you also read how my life turned upside down?

RITA: I did. Th at you were locked up, for eight years.

JEROME: And?

RITA: I bought pepper spray.

JEROME: I’m a murderer, Rita. I killed a fellow man.

(A moment of silence.)

JEROME: My own brother.

(Silence.)

RITA: Why?

JEROME: Because.

82

RITA: I see.

(Silence.)

JEROME: Th at’s the worst thing about it. I killed my brother and

I was neither drunk nor very upset when I did it. It was just

some dormant fi re inside me that suddenly fl ared up and

I  really wanted to punch him in the face because he was

emotionally blackmailing our mother, and I thought that the

punch in the face would be like in the movies where such

things always make a diff erence. So I did it, and he fell back

and stopped moving. Th ey say he burst some little vein in his

head, or something.

RITA: Th at’s…

JEROME: And then everything fell apart. My family, my work, then

prison… I loved my brother, I loved him terribly. We never

ever fought before, not even as kids. And then, suddenly my

knuckles are burning, and he’s lying there lifeless, one of his

arms hanging over the side of the sofa… He looked like an

overturned cardboard fi gure…

RITA: It sounds to me more like an unfortunate accident than

a murder.

JEROME: Who cares. Because of that one punch I lost everything.

My mother died of grief a few months later, my wife left me

and took my child, my friends tried, but they really couldn’t

because I  made them nervous, so they would avoid me

whenever they could, and then in the slammer, I  got this

depression, which I still haven’t gotten out of, and everything

I ever owned went down the drain…

(Silence.)

JEROME: (Continues.) And when I got out, the idiot that I am, I also

hit the bottle, and that black hole in my head, that tunnel of my

anxiety grew wider and wider, and there was nothing I could

do to make it stop growing, there was no lid to cover it with,

no nothing..

83

RITA: But you do keep some hope, do you?

(Jerome stares at his boots for a while, and then rubs his face with

both hands.)

11. HOMO ZAPPER

(Th e plant and animal life in the ballroom comes to attention; the

MC announces the entrance of Th e Zapper. An older, small, roundish

gentleman all decked up with heavy gold and silver chains gallops

onto the stage. Fake leather pants. His long thinning hair which is

augmented by a wavy perm is absurdly tied back with a bandana.

His tight, colorful, and partially unbuttoned shirt and a sequined vest

reveal excessive amounts of gray chest hair.)

THE ZAPPER: (Trying to work the crowd.) Far out! You’re an

awesome audience! I mean, I haven’t been on stage for almost

fi fteen years, but let me tell ya I haven’t seen a crowd like

that, ever (Pointing to the audience) Hi there – what are you…

a wolverine?! Nice piece of fl esh you brought with you. What

is she – an antelope? OK, do we want to get some groove

going? Do you want to rock’n’roll?! Are you on the bus or

off the bus?! You know what I mean. Lets hit it! (He tries to

make a leg split, bumps into the mike stand which falls off the

stage, and he hits his tailbone on an amp.) I’m getting hot, I’m

feeling like dynamite. I’m Th e Zapper, but they used to call me

Nick Jugger, haha! (As he attempts to make a hand stand, his

numerous chains rip out fi stfuls of chest hair, and the buttons

of his tight shirt snap, allowing his fat stomach to spill out in

all its porky majesty.)

PETRA: Wendelin, stay here, don’t run away. He’s  just a  little

nervous, that’s all.

THE ZAPPER: Well, boys and girls, the world today doesn’t

look kindly at music that comes straight from the heart.

Everything’s computer-like, everything’s “virtual.” All feelings

84

are fake nowadays. Hey you girls there, stop shaving your arm

pits, fuck’em, fuck’em all. And to all of you guys out there: go

on and smell of sweat; it’s OK to grab your crotch! Because

that’s who your are. Th e fi rst song, I’m going to dedicate to

that little Bambi over there. (He blows her a kiss.)

THE WOODPECKER: (From his table.) Hit it, Zappster! (To the

Cactus.) Wake up, dick, this is like history in the making!

THE CACTUS: Did you eat all the peanuts?

(Th e Zapper “hits it,” and no words can express the disaster that

follows. He sings in sixties “English,” but it is not English, it’s some

incoherent pseudo-English. But no wonder. His idea of what English

is supposed to sound like is the direct outcome of the isolation brought

about by the proverbial Iron Curtain. It is a rambling mixture of

sounds that are supposed to resemble English words, a gibberish that

should have disappeared along with the aforementioned curtain. But

thanks to Th e Zapper, it has survived…)

WENDELIN: Help…

(Th e Zapper is now in the “groove,” which is evidenced by the showers

of sweat making puddles on the stage. After he fi nishes his song, he

freezes in a heroic posture, eagerly expecting audience reaction –

which, when it eventually comes, is less then stormy. A pair of Bunnies

stops at Wendelin’s and Petra’s table.)

A BUNNY: Well hello there. If it isn’t the Weleks

PETRA: And who might you be, Mr. Ears?

A BUNNY: Pete Banasek, who else!

PETRA: Oh, Hellooooo! Amazing costume, I totally didn’t recognize

you! Jenny darling, that bunny suit makes you look slim as

a rake.

A BUNNY: It’s not…

PETRA: Maybe I  should have chosen a  thinner fl ower too…

haha!… But seriously Jenny, we should talk about that Sudoku

competition, so that we …

A BUNNY: (Indicates “time out” with his bunny paws.) Hey, hey,

ehm, wait, it’s not Jenny, it’s… eh…

85

(Th e Bunnies are quickly moving on.)

PETRA: What does he mean its not Jenny?

WENDELIN: He got himself a younger one.

PETRA: What…

WENDELIN: What I’m saying is that he’s got himself some younger

rabbit meat… one that makes fresher droppings and can jump

much higher … that’s what I’m saying.

PETRA: Th at bastard… But then again, it’s true that Jenny would

never fi t into a bunny like that.

WENDELIN: Well, then she could go for a rabbit hutch, makes no

diff erence.

PETRA: Th at’s not funny, you know…

THE ZAPPER: What’s up kids? Did you dig my fi rst tune?

(Th e Shrimp appears from the crowd.)

THE SHRIMP: (To Th e Zapper.) Are you serious or what? What was

that all about?

THE ZAPPER: What was what?

THE SHRIMP: Are you like a retard or something?

THE ZAPPER: (Wiping his face and the back of his neck with

a towel.) Chill out, baby…

THE SHRIMP: Do you even know any English whatsoever?

(Th e Zapper stops dead and suddenly ages by fi fty lightyears. Th en

he slowly walks away.)

PETRA: You didn’t need to do that. He’s old school that’s all. Th ere

wasn’t much English around under the Communists. So what?

Th e Zapper has never been the sharpest knife in the drawer,

that’s true, but he did have the moves…

THE SHRIMP: You… you… old geranium bitch, why don’t you go

back to your compost heap too?

(Suddenly Th e Zapper runs back, and slaps Th e Shrimp in the face

with such force that she keels over to the fl oor.)

THE ZAPPER: What do you know about life? What the fuck do

you know about how night after night we worked our asses

off in extra jobs so that we could buy some crappy second-

86

hand guitars? How happy we were with our fi rst combo amp?

How we wanted to be the Zeppelins, and how we made music

almost for free, but from the heart? What do you people today

know about how little we needed to be happy then? How

I used to go to Hungary to buy vinyl on the black market, and

how I would open a bottle of cheap wine when I got my hands

on a new Iron Maiden album? Who do you think you are to

write us off over and over again, as if everything on this blue

planet had begun only with you?

(Th e Zapper kicks Th e Shrimp on the fl oor, and is half taken off , and

half leaving of his own volition. Th e Shrimp is dragged to safety by

the Security Guard. Th e beaver snout keeps pushing up over his eyes,

and he almost trips over Th e Shrimp. He angrily tears the mask off

and tosses it over to the balcony.

Petra is crying, and Wendelin: leads her to the table, where Th e

Cactus continues drinking one beer after another.)

PETRA: He didn’t deserve such an awful humiliation. He was always

broke, and because of his love for music his wife kicked him

out of the apartment, and he had to live in a hostel somewhere,

and he used to wear the same fake jeans jacket every day,

and he had this shabby orange comb sticking out of the back

pocket of his washed out Wranglers…

WENDELIN: Th at must have been years ago, wasn’t it?

PETRA: (Wailing.) And he was so horribly lonely, always trying to

bribe girls with a glass of wine to get laid. And I was one of

the girls! Because I felt sorry for him! But still, the sex wasn’t

that bad; I don’t care what others say!

THE WOODPECKER: Holy-moly matrimony!

WENDELIN: (To Th e Woodpecker.) Mind your own business would

you? (To Petra.) Did we already know each other then?

PETRA: (Blowing her nose.) Not yet. I mean… yes, but at that time

you still felt kind of unapproachable. Just like now.

CACTUS: I’m off to the little boys room.

(He leaves.)

87

WENDELIN: I’m suff ocating.

PETRA: (Sniffl ing.) Why would you want to be a  fare inspector

anyhow? You’ll mess up your whole life, don’t you see? You’ve

always been such a proud and lovely person… And now you

want to pester people, put them under stress, and be despised

by everybody. Yes, they’ll despise you! You’ll be no better than

a dog-catcher, chasing after some poor little mongrels, netting

terrifi ed runaway mutts, and…

(She cries. Wendelin stares ahead, watching two orchids dancing

wildly.)

WENDELIN: I don’t know why. I just… Something has to change.

I’ll get some drinks.

(Wendelin leaves for the bar. Th e convulsing orchids are now joined

by an equally passionate lizard; Petra, the daisy, is drying her eyes

with a handkerchief, and Th e Woodpecker taps out the beat of the

music on the table.)

12. A BATH

(Rita a Jerome sit silently under the trees and drink their punch. Th ey

each seem to be to themselves, in their own individual “bubble.” )

JEROME: (After a while.) Your forehead’s sweating from the tea. It

looks nice how your curls stick to it.

RITA: Oh yes, of course, my beautiful curls. I’ve got so much hair

that in the summer it feels like running around in a fur hat.

My little oven head. I’ll have another sip.

JEROME: Tell me some more about you, Rita. What did your parents

call you? Princess Rita, maybe?

RITA: No nothing like that. Just Rita. My brother called me Ritalin.

And in school, as you can guess, Retard., but I’ve never tried

to be RITA Hayworth to anybody. I’ve got no need to play

a “cover girl” for anybody; been there, done that, and no thank

you! … I’m sorry.

88

JEROME: OK. So I’ll call you… Rita.

(Jerome suddenly freezes, and becomes completely still. Rita doesn’t

notice.)

RITA: Th ere’s really nothing special about my life either. I don’t have

children; for thirty years I’ve worked as a hospital clerk, and

… Well, I guess you’re probably more interested in why I’m

hawking the ‘National Awakening’, right? I mean, it makes

sense that you, as a homeless person would be peddling Street

Roots, but frankly, there’s really no good reason for me to sell

this publication. I’m not even a bigot. I don’t know… maybe

I should have joined some sect instead, chanting and banging

my head in shame against a  fl oor… What am I  doing…?

I guess I’m not all there… it’s not like I’m drinking too much,

or anything… I hate it at home because my husband sleeps all

the time. I had this one best friend, but last year she died of

throat cancer. So now I’m even grateful for pacing the streets

with that nutty Radka. I mean, when I’m with her I’m really

not scared. If she should die… I don’t know…

JEROME: Oh stop it… What’s that sign of hers all about?

RITA: Apparently she dug out the guaranteed new date for the end

of the world somewhere.

JEROME: And when’s that?

RITA: Soon, evidently. Don’t make any plans for summer vacation.

JEROME: Damn, I already had my eye on a trash box in Italy.

RITA: I’m sorry…

JEROME: Th at’s OK. What really got me was this other hobo the

other day. He was yelling at his dog: Where’s your spot? Come

on, where do you belong? Where’s your spot!? Your spot!!!

(Th e drizzle is turning into rain.)

JEROME: I like how you laugh. Do I still smell bad to you?

RITA: Want me to lie?

JEROME: No.

RITA: Like a goat.

JEROME: I’ll undress and jump into the river, OK?

89

RITA: Are you drunk?

JEROME: No, don’t worry. I just want to shed my reeking skin like

a snake, and then, in front of you, my best friend, I want to

wash all that mud and grime off of me. Like the Indians in that

river of theirs….

RITA: Listen to me, I only met a fl asher once before, and you should

know that I did scream quite hysterically, and…

JEROME: I’ll keep my briefs on.

RITA: What if you start drowning?

JEROME: You’ll pull me out. Well, wanna jump in with me?

RITA: Not in your dreams. I don’t live out my romantic fantasies on

principle. And a late night skinny dip is one of ’em.

(Jerome is undressing.)

RITA: (Aside.) For someone who fell through the social net, he’s got

a decent body.

JEROME: I bet it will be freezing. Wow, the briefs are even uglier

than what they’re hiding.

RITA: I worry about you.

JEROME: (Climbing over a  low embankment wall.) Grab

a paddleboat, so that you can spot me. Th ere’s one over there

that looks like a swan.

RITA: Th at would be like a  scene in some second-rate German

opera, wouldn’t it? (Checking the paddleboat.) I don’t think so,

it’s chained up and locked. Well, I’ll at least climb in, and stand

there so that I can see you in the water. Let me make sure

I have my ID on me… for the inevitable arrival of the police.

(Jerome’s head pops out behind the embankment wall once again.)

JEROME: Th is is the most beautiful night I’ve had in the last ten

years. Th ank you.

(He lowers himself into the river.)

90

13. THE SWAN

(Wendelin, the manatee is crossing the dance fl oor towards the bar.

He’s  sweating profusely and breathing heavily. A  water lily with

a cigarette in her mouth passes by, and in a tired voice Wendelin

makes a passing remark to her. Something like, ‘Smoking’s outside

only.’ Th e water lilly mockingly snaps back at him, and Wendelin

imitates the sound of the retort.

Suddenly he shields his eyes with the back of his hand. He’s blinded

by radiantly bright light emanating from an enormous swan, which

is slowly gliding towards him through the middle of the dance fl oor.

It creates a  wholly unexpected eff ect in the midst of an already

pretty bizarre masked ball. It is as if everything else in the scene had

disappeared into a shadow.)

THE SWAN: Hello, darling.

WENDELIN: I beg your pardon?

THE SWAN: Don’t look so surprised. I came specifi cally for you.

WENDELIN: I guess you’re mistaking me for someone else. Th ere

must be more manatees here tonight.

THE SWAN: I don’t want to belong to anybody else. Will you allow

me to bow my s-shaped neck all the way to your patent leather

shoes.

WENDELIN: (Now completely dumbfounded by the language and

the appearance of Th e Swan.): No, no… Please don’t bow to

me, that’s absurd. Th is must be some sort of a mistake.

THE SWAN: No, no mistake…

(Th e creature opens up by fl ipping over its swan head. Th e head of

a beautiful woman with hair that is even more luminous that Th e

Swan itself emerges from the depths of the brilliantly white feathers.

Her face looks like a Botticelli, painted on one of his good days.)

THE SWAN: Getting warmer?

WENDELIN: (Trying to focus in the bright light.) I’m sorry, I don’t…

91

THE SWAN: I’m the “Beautiful Woman” of your imagination. Th e

one that appears when you hear the words – “beautiful” and

“woman.”

WENDELIN: (Wiping of his sweat from beneath his manatee mask.)

I’m sorry, but I don’t really understand what it is that you …

THE SWAN: Who knows? I may be a magic swan. For example, how

old do you feel tonight?

WENDELIN: About thirty-nine.

THE SWAN: Well, you look about hundred.

WENDELIN: Th anks. I need a drink.

THE SWAN: Move apart my feathers here and listen to my heartbeat.

Th e rhythm is the same as yours…

(Wendelin doesn’t protest, and begins to slowly lay the side of his head

onto Th e Swan’s breast. With every inch of his approach the enormous

wings on Th e Swan’s back are spreading wider and wider…)

THE SWAN: You’re really tired, my dove… Rockaby baby in the

treetop, When the wind blows, the cradle will rock, etc… (Th e

little teeth in her half-opened mouth begin to clatter, faster

and faster. As Wendelin is closing his eyes, he is attempting to

imitate the sound.)

What’s that smell?

(Wendelin opens his eyes again and looks at the disgusted expression

on Th e Swan woman’s  face. Behind them, something/someone is

approaching. It is a festering brownish pile. It stops next to Wendelin

and from its inside we hear a man’s voice.)

THE PILE: I’m the man from under the dung. Yes, the suff ocation

was painful, but mercifully death came quickly. You were so

worried about my reputation, Wendelin. But speculations like

that are pointless. Forget about it. Compared to the grand

chess game of the universe, and the never-ending smile of the

oceans, the concern about reputation is a trifl e. I know a bunch

of souls that aren’t mentioned in even the most obscure books,

millions of souls that disappeared completely. Yet, they are all

incredible dancers. Th e important thing is that even under all

92

that shit I still look sharp. I reek therefore I am. And I will be.

If they had an interview with me on television, I’m sure that

that’s the one sentence they’d leave in : “I reek therefore I am,”

and they’d cut everything else out.

(He leaves.)

THE SWAN: Wendelin?

WENDELIN: Yes?

THE SWAN: Where were we? Oh yes… Now, look into my eyes.

More, don’t cheat. How old do you feel today?

WENDELIN: Fifty-nine, exactly.

THE SWAN: You look sixty-two.

WENDELIN: Th at’s better.

THE SWAN: If you took me somewhere, people would look at us

funny. If we made porno together, they’d label the box as

“geezer sex,” and shelve it in the special section for perverts,

behind a heavy curtain.

WENDELIN: I’ve gotten old, but you didn’t. One morning I woke

up and found myself fi led in the section for deviants. What

can I do?

THE SWAN: Unbutton your shirt. I have something for you.

(Th e Swan pulls out two freshly hatched cygnets from her feathers

and lays each of them gently onto Wendelin’s open palms… Th en

she slowly, almost ritually tips her swan mask back over head and

disappears. Wendelin blacks out momentarily, and the stage goes

dark as well.

Th e lights come back on. Wendelin stands with his back to the

audience trying to catch his breath. Th en he turns around holding

two objects wrapped in plastic.)

WENDELIN: (To Petra.) We won two frozen chickens in the raffl e.

93

14. WINDMILLS

(We are back under the trees. However, rather than Rita and Jerome,

we see Th e Zapper and Th e Shrimp sitting on a park bench.)

THE ZAPPER: So what? So I  lose my shit sometimes and get

screwed up, doll, but you were pretty fucked up too…

THE SHRIMP: W…What?

THE ZAPPER: You’re pretty hammered already, aren’t you, peach?

Wouldn’t be cool if I caught some yucky shrimp cocktail from

you, if you know what I mean…

THE SHRIMP: You’re much smaller up close. Sort of pocket-sized.

And stop trying to tuck in your gut.

THE ZAPPER:Yeah. As if I would tuck it in because of you. Get

a grip, you fucking hag. You look like fi sh bait in that outfi t.

Take it off , sunshine.

THE SHRIMP: Not in a million years. If you want to see what’s under

this, you’ll have to use your imagination.

THE ZAPPER: Th e tits and pussies that I make up wouldn’t fi t in

there anyhow… Haha!

THE SHRIMP: You’re a bit of a ding-dong aren’t you? So simple you

don’t even come with instructions.

(Pause.)

THE ZAPPER: Dyke.

(Pause.)

THE SHRIMP: Douche bag.

(Pause.)

THE ZAPPER: Double-Dyke.

(Pause.)

THE SHRIMP: Retard.

(Pause.)

THE ZAPPER: Whore.

(Pause.)

THE SHRIMP: Fun, fun, fun…

(Nothing…)

94

THE ZAPPER: Wanna hear a joke?

THE SHRIMP: Hmm…

THE ZAPPER: OK. So this headcase is writing a letter, right? What

are you writing, they ask. A letter, he says. And to whom? To

myself. And what does it say? I don’t know, haven’t got it yet.

(Silence.)

THE SHRIMP: Th at’s  an old one. (Silence.) As old as you. You

could’ve been my father.

THE ZAPPER: I’d rather shit bricks than that… coulda been, yeah….

I could have screwed your mother. Actually, I bet you I did.

THE SHRIMP: It’s possible. Considering she let my dad do her,

everything’s possible… Let’s make out or something. I’m horny

like twenty-two hours a day, and I have a bad reputation. What

about you?

THE ZAPPER: I just had a dream last night that I died doing it.

(Silence.)

THE SHRIMP: Th at’s fucked up.

THE ZAPPER: I heard that in Hawaii,they stick little windmills into

the graves to cool off the dead.

THE SHRIMP: Awesome… so now we’ll yak about death. I really

hit the jackpot today.

(Silence.)

THE ZAPPER: I love music. I love it. But I just can’t get into it the

way I used to. Not even the chicks smell the way they used to,

to me. Why not?

THE SHRIMP: I’m gonna pee by the tree over there. Don’t turn

around.

(She squats behind the tree. Th e Zapper takes of his bandana, and

stuff s it into his pocket.)

THE ZAPPER: So I don’t know English, big deal.

(Th e Shrimp comes back and sits down.)

THE SHRIMP: Wanna do it, Elvis? But I’m staying in the shrimp.

95

THE ZAPPER: It’s a chill off er, it’s not that, but I don’t think that

I have it in me any longer to roll in the hay in the middle of

Prague with some seafood delicacy.

THE SHRIMP: Ah, screw you. You have a smoke?

THE ZAPPER: Only the cheap ones. (He off ers her one.)

THE SHRIMP: Th e cheap ones, eh. Th e old days must have been

pretty crummy for you, no shit.

THE ZAPPER: Yeah, I could never shop in the hard currency stores

for American cigarettes, that’s all, clear as day. (He stops to

ponder something, while Th e Shrimp falls asleep holding her

cigarette ready to be lit stiffl y in her outstretched hand.)

Oh yeah, I was a beautiful child with golden hair. Oh, the curls

I had when they were taking my picture in some posh studio

sitting on a wooden hobby horse! How I proudly held the reins

in my little hands, with some smart-looking knitted cap on

my head, and how my parents were thinking: Th is little boy

of ours will change the world; he’ll make it into a beautiful

fairytale place. And now I’m sitting here like some washed out

old stripper, those guys from the band over there didn’t even

look back when they kicked me out just now… Oh fuck… And

I’ve got a wedgie. (Pause. He notices Th e Shrimp is sleeping.)

Now that she has fallen asleep, I should at least look under the

mask to check her face so that I know what I’m missing. (He

carefully lifts her mask a little. And its the same for me with

everything…)

(Silence.)

What if I did Italo-disco?

(He sings in a raspy voice.)

Spagetti Carbonara, et una CocaCola, naaaaaaaaa naaaaaaa,

naaaaaaa….

96

15. WATER LILY

(Th is is a scene that doesn’t need to be here. Really. It is a severed

tailend of the fi rst half of our story. A load of empty tin cans is pulled

by the manatee from the previous vision in Wendelin’s living room.

It is as if the content of one of the cans tied to the manatee’s tail had

spilled out, and became the following dumbshow in a streetcar.

We fi nd ourselves in the belly of a streetcar. Since our vantage point

is the back of the tram, the silhouette of the female conductor is the

farthest from us. Wendelin slowly walks up the aisle between the

seats towards us. Little beads of sweat shimmer above his half-closed,

drowsy eyes. He looks as if he were about to faint. However, he goes

on. He thrusts his arm away from his body with the much-rehearsed

idiosyncratic, tai-chi-like motion, and opens the water lilly of his

palm revealing the fare inspector badge. Th ere is a collective shrug in

the shoulders of all passengers. Some calmly off er their fare tickets to

be examined. Others are frantically going through all their pockets,

purses, briefcases, etc… Nonetheless, even they manage to fi nd the

proof of their legality as law abiding users of public transportation.

Wendelin is left with only two more rows of seats. And it is only now

that he stops dead in his tracks. He is staring into the face of a young

man with a termite hill of hair and gel piled on top his head, and

a skateboard tucked under his seat. Th e Young Man’s eyes are two

empty black holes, his mouth twisted in an unpredictable grimace.

Wendelin palm with the badge shakes, and Th e Young Man slowly gets

up… Th ey are standing face to face, breathing heavily. Th e Young Man

pulls up the back of his T-shirt and with a lanky arm scratches his

naked back. Wendelin puts down his arm, the water lilly of his palm

closes, the doors of the streetcar make a hissing sound, Th e Young

Man takes one long jump through the door, and disappears into the

crowded street.

Th e doors hiss again and close. It is as if the sound was a signal for

the pair in the last row of seats. Th e man and the woman stand up

and approach each other leaving the width of a swan’s neck between

97

them. Jerome takes off his newspaper bag, pulling the leather strap

over his head. He removes the baseball hat from his head,and unpins

the medallion from his breast. He hands it all to Rita. Subsequently he

removes the fare inspector badge from Wendelin s open palm, holds

it up high in a ritual fashion, and fi nally puts it in his mouth and

swallows. Lights out.)

PART TWO: THE COASTS OF BOHEMIA

16. RITA AND RITA AGAIN

(Rita is sitting on a bench in a radiology offi ce, clutching her purse

on her lap.)

DOCTOR: Th is is highly irregular, Rita.

RITA: I know, I know.

DOCTOR: To be completely honest, I fi nd your request somewhat…

eccentric.

RITA: Sure, sure, I know.

DOCTOR: (Handing her an apple.) Here, you can have it back.

RITA: Th ank you. (She puts the apple in her purse.)

DOCTOR: Would you care to inform me, Rita, why I just X-rayed

an …

(Th e light boxes on the wall of the radiology offi ce light up, revealing

X-ray pictures of an apple.)

RITA: Well, whenever something signifi cant happens in my life,

when something shakes me up, something goes down, or

I don’t know what… I get this attack of awful superstition.

Th e last time that happened… actually… it’s been a long time.

Well, and now it’s back, and… (She makes sure the apple is still

in her purse.) … every Christmas Eve I’d cut an apple in half

by the tree – it’s an old custom – and I’d see if the cut in the

core forms a star or a cross… if I’ll live or die the following

98

year… normally I consider it a more or less harmless tradition,

but this year… I just couldn’t stand the pressure of waiting till

Christmas, and I simply… I brought the apple here.

(Th e radiologist stares at her for a moment, and then he pulls a pencil

out of the pocket of his lab coat, and points to the illuminated X-rays.)

DOCTOR: As you can clearly see here… and over here it’s even

more noticeable, the core is defi nitely a star, and…

RITA: (Getting up quickly.) Th ank you. Good bye.

(Lights out. Lights on. We see Rita again, as if several minutes later,

standing on a city street. It is windy. We notice a change in her. It

is diffi cult to say exactly how she has changed, but let us try: Rita

seems to be “sharper,” more focused. Her facial features became more

pronounced, more defi ned. And, considering her normally elegant

taste in clothes, she is also dressed more frumpily, looks somewhat

disheveled. But then again, that may only be because of the wind.)

RITA: Jerome swam in the river for about forty-fi ve minutes. At

fi rst he was sort of ritually wading about, dabbing himself

with the cold water, and under the moonlight he looked quite

extraordinary. Th en he tried breast stroke, but the way he

comically craned his neck above the water made him look

decidedly less dignifi ed. I was standing in the gigantic, swan-

shaped paddleboat and all of a sudden I was struck with an

enormous sense of dread. I was terrifi ed that the dark surface

of the water would close over Jerome’s head, I sensed that

there was some sort of icy logic in this whole situation, and

I was asking myself why I hadn’t heeded the warning signs.

I was convinced that the black water would swallow him and

return him – all bloated, lifeless – only several days later,

somewhere twenty miles downstream. My legs shook in

terror, and I wanted to cry out to him, but my voice got stuck

in my throat and died there like the engine of an old lawn

mower. I slid down Th e Swan’s neck and cried in despair, but

then he surfaced a few feet further down, climbed ashore in

those awful briefs of his, and I couldn’t catch my breath, and

99

stared at the appendix scar on his belly that reminded me of

a mouth of a gigantic newt. He didn’t show up for our next

two dates. But when he fi nally came for the third one, he was

cheerful, couldn’t stop telling jokes, and even tried to make

Radka dance with him, which of course was a completely crazy

idea. Later he found a Lego piece in my frizzy hair, which

I have no idea how it got there, but I guess my neighbors’

boys must have thrown it in. Later in the evening we went

for a beer in the Old Town, he non-alcoholic and me with

alcohol, of course…, and I went on and on … (Aside.) Well,

lassie, you were pretty tanked that evening. (As if to reply to

herself.) So what? Mind your own business, you… (Back to

normal.)…and I was telling him how we had this old family

legend about a treasure chest hidden in some secret chamber

in our old house, and how I managed to fi nd that chest behind

the chimney, and how excited I was to open it, and how all

that I found in it were seven sets of fake teeth. Only seven old,

used up dentures, and nothing else, and Jerome laughed and

laughed, and the next day he hung himself in the city park.

(Rita barely dodges a streetcar racing down the tracks.)

RITA: Th e trams seem to be going faster today, don’t you think? As if

someone stole them and needed to get away. I’m going home.

I’ll strip naked and look at myself in the mirror. Th at’s what

I’ll do. (Aside.) And shut up, won’ t you?

17. THE TRAM

(We are again inside a streetcar. Th e stage version of it, however, seems

to suggest that we are in an old, grimy airplane. Th e plastic partition of

the conductor’s cabin allows us to see that the conductor is a woman.

Most of the seats are occupied; nobody is standing. Wendelin enters

the tram. He is about to announce his presence to the conductor, but

suddenly he stops dead.)

100

WENDELIN (Recovering his bearing.) Elizabeth? Is that you?

THE CONDUCTOR: Wendelin…?

WENDELIN: Are you… what are you doing here?

THE CONDUCTOR: Well, it looks like I’m driving this tank – or

what do you think?

WENDELIN: You’re driving a tram – you?

THE CONDUCTOR: I always liked to drive, you remember, don’t

you? But driving a car feels so lonely. So when Rob died, and

I retired, I took this job, part-time.

WENDELIN: I had no idea that Robert…

THE CONDUCTOR: Relax, he was eighty-one, there’s  nothing

tragic about it. But if you’re gaping at me because you can’t

get over how old I’ve got, then… Where are you going?

WENDELIN: I’m actually… I’m working here.

(Th e Conductor, Elizabeth bursts out laughing. To Wendelin, her

laughter “still sounds like a glockenspiel.”)

ELIZABETH: In which hand do you have it? Let me guess… the

right. Far from the heart.

WENDELIN: In the right one.

(Moment of silence.)

WENDELIN: Betty, I…

ELIZABETH: Don’t worry, it’s just this revolting uniform, my boobs

look better without it… Now, run along.

(Wendelin, with slight Tai-Chi motion, stiffl y spreads out his arms,

and the water lily of his palm slowly opens, revealing his fare inspector

badge.)

WENDELIN: Fare control. Please have your tickets ready.

(A shiver of chill runs down everybody’s spine. Even of those who paid

the fare. Surprisingly even Th e Chinese Tourist feels it.

While Wendelin walks up the aisle, let us introduce the individual

passengers. Th e Chinese Tourist has already been mentioned.

Additionally there is an obese woman on crutches; a man in a suit;

a young man and his girlfriend with an excessive layer of makeup,

bordering on the grotesque; another man with his face buried in

101

a turtleneck and under a baseball hat; a very decrepit old grandmother

a young man in a track suit an old, delicate, shortsighed man of about

fi fty; an enormous bearded giant of a man, and … and Radka, with

her sign leaned against an empty seat. Furthermore, there are several

other passengers, who – apart from the occasional vocal contribution

to the general atmosphere – have no bearing on our story.)

WENDELIN: In order… thank you…

(Th e man in Th e Suitt is frantically patting himself down, and going

through his numerous pockets.)

THE SUIT: Come on, I remember, I KNOW I put it in here…

WENDELIN: No problem, I can wait…

THE SUIT: (Triumphantly and with tremendous relief pulls out his

ticket.) Here! Here it is! I, like, totally started sweating.

WENDELIN: In order. Th ank you.

THE GRANDMOTHER: I  don’t need one anymore, mister

inspector.

WENDELIN: In order. It’s pretty stifl ing here…

THE CHINESE TOURIST: (Says something in Chinese. Neither we

nor Wendelin can understand him.)

WENDELIN: Th ank you, in order.

THE CHINESE TOURIST: (Says something in Chinese. Neither we

nor Wendelin can understand him.)

WENDELIN: Yes of course. Welcome to Prague. Enjoy your stay…

THE SHORTSIGHTED: I’ve got a yearly pass. Look at it, isn’t it

lovely.

WENDELIN: I beg your pardon? What is, the pass?

THE SHORTSIGHTED: No, no. I mean the picture of the little girl

in the magazine here. Th e one that survived the rhinoceros

standing on her ear. (Trying to show a picture in the magazine.)

Look, here she is discussing it with students in a school. You

see. I always wanted to have a daughter. But all I have is a son,

and he’s growing for the gallows. My wife has psoriasis, so we

never really get to go out. I sleep on the sofa in the living room

because I snore.

102

THE YOUNG MAN: What a retard…

THE SHORTSIGHTED: I’m sorry, young man?

THE YOUNG MAN: He’s, like, gaping at me! (To Th e Shortsighted.)

Stop gaping, gapefuck.

(Th e young man’s girlfriend laughs.)

THE SHORTSIGHTED: (To Wendelin.) What can you do?

He’s stronger than me. But I’m sure that Th e Little Girl here

with the rhino would be able to talk some sense of shame in

him.

(Wendelin quickly moves on towards the man under the baseball hat.

He has no idea that this is only the beginning. He gently pokes the

slumped fi gure in the shoulder. Th e sound of the moving tram almost

obscures the man in the suit’s cell phone conversation.)

THE SUIT:…so, I, like, totally know that I have the damn ticket

somewhere, but I was this close to blacking out when that

inspector showed up… Why?… because my car conked out…

Yeah, the last time I took the tram was, like, ten years ago.

Twelve maybe… And the Czechs still reek like hell, I mean,

that’s a fact… Haha… yeah, perfume, well, moth balls maybe…

(Pause.) Really? Well maybe it was the Gypsies… right … and

let me tell you…

(At that very moment, the man under the baseball hat jumps up,

pulls a scarf over his face, and removes something wrapped in plastic

from under his coat.)

THE BOMBER: Everybody sit down facing front, hands on the

backs of the seats in front of you. Th is is a kidnapping! And

this is a bomb, and if you do anything stupid, I’m gonna set

it off ! OK!?

(Th ere is pandemonium of diff erent sounds and reactions. Th e

confused and jerky physical movements alternate with moments

of complete stiff ness, screams and various other vocal expressions

mix with deadly silences, etc… Many passengers are automatically

grabbing their cell phones.)

103

THE BOMBER: No phone calls! If I see anybody with a phone I’ll

cut their throat!

ELIZABETH: (Trying to call the central dispatch.)Th is is number

6601, it seems that we have…

THE BOMBER: (Putting a knife to her neck.) Don’t even try! Turn

it off !

ELIZABETH: OK.

THE BOMBER: Are we clear about it?

ELIZABETH: Clear as day. No, actually it’s not clear to me. What

are you trying to accomplish?

THE BOMBER: Th at’s none of your business. Th is is a kidnaping,

and that’s it. You go where I tell you to go. Straight through

the stops, and don’t even think about opening the doors. (To

the passengers.) Quiet everybody!!!

ELIZABETH: Th is is a street car, you are aware of that? I can’t just

willy nilly go off the tracks.

THE BOMBER: You think I’m stupid?! You go where I tell you to go.

ELIZABETH: And where’s that?

THE BOMBER: To the Heroes’ Square, and further on.

ELIZABETH: What Square?

THE BOMBER: Th e Heroes’ Square.

ELIZABETH: And where’s that supposed to be?

THE BOMBER: I’ll let you know soon enough. Right now, just go

your usual route.

THE SUIT: (In a half whisper.) Dude, what the fuck…?

THE CRUTCHES: Are you going to kill us?

THE BOMBER: Th at’s up to you.

THE CHINESE TOURIST: (Says something in Chinese. Nobody can

understand him.)

THE TRACK SUIT: (Whispers to Wendelin.) You going to disarm

him? You’re the inspector, right?

WENDELIN: Me…?

(Th e young man starts vigorously towards the kidnapper.)

104

THE YOUNG MAN: Listen asshole, fuck off , OK. You may be

psyched out from watching too much American crap on TV,

but nobody here gives a shit for your war games, so piss off ,

OK? Somebody open the door so that I can kick him out…

(Th e bomber punches the young man in the face. he falls down on the

fl oor, and holds his bleeding face in his hands.)

THE BOMBER: I’m not in the mood, so don’t even try to talk to

me anymore…

(Th e young man’s girlfriend squeals, but she doesn’t have the courage

to approach her boyfriend.)

THE SUIT: What the fuck, what the fucking fuck?! What do you

want, you want money or what?

THE CRUTCHES: Are you going to kill us?

THE BOMBER: Shut up! Everybody shut up! I’ve had it up to here

with everything…

THE TRACK SUIT: Th ere’s a fare inspector here, and he’ll negotiate

with you. (He pushes Wendelin forward.) Go, and make it

quick, Chelsea’s on at four.

WENDELIN: I’m very sorry, but… what is it that you are trying to

achieve here… Are we to consider ourselves your hostages?

Do you want to trade us for money, or…

THE BOMBER: (His eyes, visible between the scarf and the pulled-

down baseball hat, stare at Wendelin for a little while, sizing

him.) I want to get out of here. Just to get out.

THE SHORTSIGHTED: Where to?

THE BOMBER: (After a short pause.) To the coast.

THE SUIT: Jesus Christ…

THE YOUNG MAN: You knocked out my teeth, you asshole…

THE BOMBER: Get lost, and stop talking to me, didn’t you hear

me the fi rst time?

THE SHORTSIGHTED: Are you an Arab?

THE BOMBER: What?

THE SHORTSIGHTED: Are you an Arab terrorist?

105

THE BOMBER: Why should I be? I’m from here. You think the

Arabs are the only people who have the right to be pissed off

nowadays, or what?

THE SHORTSIGHTED: (Whispering to Wendelin.) If only that little

girl that got trampled on by the rhino were here… she’d talk to

him, tears would start rolling down his cheeks, and he’d would

realize that what he’s doing here is evil…

THE CRUTCHES: (Whimpering.) I have to babysit my grandchildren

this afternoon, and… and…

THE CHINESE TOURIST: (Says something in Chinese. Th is time

something much longer. But still, nobody can understand.)

THE BOMBER: If anybody else tries to interfere with me, the bomb

here is gonna go off and blow us all to smithereens.

(All women, with the exception of Elizabeth scream. Actually there is

one more woman who doesn’t screech. Th e lanky and boney Radka.

She holds up her sign as high as the ceiling allows, and for the fi rst

time, she speaks. In a booming voice.)

RADKA: For all your sins will ye suff er on this day! Your eyeballs from

your sockets into the dust will pop, and your lips drenched in

frothy blood will for mercy beg… alas, all in vain!

(A moment of thick silence.)

THE CRUTCHES: (Wailing loudly.) I  will never again see my

grandchildreeeeeeeeeeen….

THE GRANDMOTHER: What is happening? Is there some trouble?

Did we already pass…?

THE SUIT: Where the fuck am I, like, seriously? Is this, like, some

freak convention or something? A loony fucking bin right?

THE TRACK SUIT: Awesome… so Chelsea just kicked off , v Bolton.

I should have left earlier, idiot. Why didn’t I at least set up TI-

VO? Shit.

ELIZABETH: Th e people waiting at the stops are yelling after us

pretty angrily. It’s only a question of time before someone calls

it in.

THE BOMBER: Everything’s just a question of time…

106

ELIZABETH: I’ve never heard of Heroes’ Square.

THE BOMBER: It’s in…

(Th e Bomber seems confused.)

ELIZABETH: Aha. Well, who would have known.

THE BOMBER: Stop blabbering. Just get me to the Heroes’ Square,

and I’ll take it from there.

ELIZABETH: We should open the windows to get some fresh air.

THE BOMBER: Don’t even think about it.

THE GIRLFRIEND: (To Th e Bomber.) You disfi gured him! (To Th e

Young Man.) He, like, totally disfi gured you. Watch out, the

blood’s dripping on my shoes. Th ey’ll be ruined, you can’t like

wash off blood.

THE YOUNG MAN: Take a picture of my face. Take my picture…

THE GIRLFRIEND: But the camera’s  in the phone, and I’m not

allowed…

THE BOMBER: Don’t even try.

THE YOUNG MAN: Ask if somebody has a camera, hurry up. As

long as its fresh…

THE GIRLFRIEND: (To the passengers.) Does anybody have… (To

Th e Young Man.) You need it, like, rightaway?

THE YOUNG MAN: (To himself.): Dude, that’s gonna be sick when

I post it on Youtube, a real bloody porthole, no special eff ects,

nothing… (To Th e Girlfriend.) Nobody? Look, that Chink over

there he’s… Get a move on… He’s got one, go! Get it, scramble!

(Th e Girlfriend is asking the Tourist for the camera in English, and he

somewhat reluctantly gives it to her. She gives it to Th e Young Man,

who immediately eagerly begins to fi lm himself.)

THE YOUNG MAN: (Puts on a considerably disgusting theatrical

performance.) I  have tried to free the hostages by myself,

but with nothing but my bare hands, I just couldn’t get any

traction…

THE SHORTSIGHTED: (Quietly to himself.) How would you say it,

my little girl trampled on by a rhinoceros …? (To Th e Bomber.)

107

Mister, why oh why did you kidnap us? And how much money

will you want for us?

(Some tiny little valve in Th e Bomber’s  head, somewhere back in

the right hemisphere, opens up. and all his pain and anguish starts

pouring out.)

THE BOMBER: Because I’ve had it up to here! Up to here! I want to

be free, do you get it? I want to have the freedom to be poor!

THE SUIT: And who’s like keeping you from it, dude? Sorry, but

like who?

THE GRANDMOTHER: Are we not stopping at… ?

THE BOMBER: Everything’s keeping me from it! Even the people

who promised… my friends… my best buddies… everybody

promised me that they won’t get off on expensive boutiques,

outfi ts, cars… cars, and vacations, and everything. “Goodness

cannot be measured in goods,” one of the more spiritual ones

told me… But it’s all bull! Everybody’s raking in money, and

parading around decked up in this and that brand, and ogling

each other to no end! Yes sir, they ogle each other, that’s a fact,

and they spy on each other to see what the other one’s wearing,

and they look at me, at me, with whom they swore that they’d

never get turned on by that stuff , and they look at me like

I’m some sort of a prole, with sympathy, because I’m always

dressed in no more that a couple of cheap outfi ts, which I wear

on alternative days, and which are already pretty washed out,

because I can’t aff ord any new ones, because I’m bleeding, and

I don’t want to go into debt like all of you, because then the

bankers, the bastard bankers would hold a whip over my back,

and they’d force me to slave for them to pay off the interest and

stuff , and if I don’t want to end up in the slammer, then, while

I’m perfectly free to have a big mouth in the tavern, I still have

to schlep that pile of debt, and… and I even let them send my

kids to war – fuck – because I have to earn money, and I don’t

even have time to think whether I’m actually living a decent

life, and…

108

WENDELIN: Do I know you from somewhere…?

THE BOMBER: (Screaming.) Th at’s none of your business!

(He lights a cigarette with trembling fi ngers, and each time he inhales

he turns his back to the passengers, in order to quickly pull down the

scarf from over his mouth.)

THE TRACK SUIT: It’s half time. I hope Chelsea’s holding up.

THE SUIT: (Quietly to Wendelin.) Total mental case. He’s  got

nothing to lose. All he wants is to be in the news. It’s one of

those psychos who’d, like, think nothing of eating their own

mother’s earwax just to get on TV. We need to do something,

there’s no other way.

THE CHINESE TOURIST: (Says something in Chinese. Still,

nobody can understand him, and frankly, nobody except for

Th e Shortsighted cares.)

THE SHORTSIGHTED: (Slowly, to Th e Chinese Tourist.) We don’t

understand you, you know?

(Th e Suit taps on the shoulder of a bearded large man, Th e Giant.)

THE SUIT: ‘scuse me, you’re a big guy, I meant you’re like a total

giant, and you may be able to like, you know… you could

neutralize him, right? Hey… you’re sleeping, like sleeping?

He’s seriously, like, snoozing!

THE GIANT: (Half opens his eyes.) Wh…What, what is it…?

THE CRUTCHES: (Completely hysterically.) Th ey’ll fi lm it. Th ey

will come with their cameras. Th ey always do when something

happens, and when there’s a shot of me dead, I’m sure that my

skirt will be pushed all the way up here, and everybody will

see my horribly hairy leeeeegs, and my runny stockings and

my patched-up underwear… and even my grandchildren will

seeeeeeeeeeeee it….

HE BOMBER: (To Elizabeth.) You! Be quiet over there! Where are

we?

ELIZABETH: Th e Charles Bridge.

THE BOMBER: We’re almost there.

109

ELIZABETH: I fi nd it really stupid – kidnapping a streetcar. Are you

planning to kill yourself?

THE BOMBER: (It’s the valve again.) I want to run away! Th at’s all

I want to do! I’m sick and tired of smiling at everybody and

pretending that everything is fi ne, when everywhere I  go

I see traitors, I see them even in my home, where my wife

and my two boys are seriously stressing me out and sucking

me dry, and they constantly lay into me, and they whine to

me, complaining that, because of me, people look at them as

paupers and as hicks and as all those have-nots, who’ve got no

i-pods and all those things, and they keep pressing me to at

least milk my parents for some money… and I’ve had enough,

I can’t take it anymore. So I’ll just screw it all, and simply ride

past the Heroes’ Square all the way to the coast, and there

I will feel good, because to get to the coast of Bohemia, for

that I don’t need no airport fees, I don’t need no “last-minute

all inclusive,” and I never made any trouble, but now I will,

yes, sir. I will make big trouble, because my life is rotten from

top to bottom, and I want to start smashing some heads with

a sledgehammer, like the warriors of old, and I want to scream

in freedom, I want to yell and holler, but all the screaming

makes me so sick that I don’t even know what I should scream

for or about, but still I will scream, and I do scream, scream,

scream!!! (He turns around to take a puff , but his cigarette falls

from his fi ngers and rolls somewhere under the seats.)

Everybody, please leave me in peace. I’m, like, fuck, forty years

old but I’m a total nobody, I’m nothing. Feel free to keep paying

off your own fucking mortgages and leases and stuff , but let

me burrow myself into the sand at my coast of Bohemia, and…

(To Elizabeth.) Leave, I’ll take over from now on.

ELIZABETH: You know how to drive it?

THE BOMBER: Yeah.

(Th e Bomber takes over the console. Elizabeth walks up the aisle to

Wendelin.)

110

ELIZABETH: You’re white as a corpse. Do you remember how we

used to tease you – Wendelin the white, always gets it right…

WENDELIN: Th at was ages ago. I’m not feeling too well right now.

(After a while.) I never stopped loving you, Elizabeth, you

know?

ELIZABETH: Oh, stop it.

WENDELIN: I’m not coming on to you. I’m just telling you.

ELIZABETH: What I think is that you need some “lovin” before that

madman blows us all up… that’s all.

WENDELIN: He looks incredibly familiar, I just can’t…

ELIZABETH: It was the right thing to do…then. We are too similar,

you and I.

WENDELIN: So what?

ELIZABETH: Just think a moment. Do you remember how bad the

sex was, and no wonder: it was like sleeping with your twin.

WENDELIN: We were bound together by fate, and at the same time

afraid. Th at was It.

ELIZABETH: Th e “It” and the Ego.

WENDELIN: Funny. Funny.

ELIZABETH: As the wise man said: If the guy doesn’t recognize

the bitch in his woman, and if she doesn’t see the stud in him,

they’ll never mate.

WENDELIN: I found you very attractive.

ELIZABETH: Same here. But that alone doesn’t make for good sex.

As I always say, only during sex do you recognize a true friend.

WENDELIN: Th at’s what I liked about you – your quick wit.

ELIZABETH:

WENDELIN: listen, everything is the way it was supposed to be,

don’t worry.

WENDELIN: Are you sure?

ELIZABETH: Absolutely. I couldn’t have given you children, you

know? You’d have died of grief.

(Th e Grandmother tugs at Elizabeth’s sleeve.)

THE GRANDMOTHER: Miss conductor, look, it’s that big swan!!!

111

ELIZABETH: It is a paddleboat, miss. You can rent them, you know.

THE GRANDMOTHER: Won’t it take off in the air and fl y away?

ELIZABETH: No it won’t. But our tram might, granny. (To

Wendelin.) Well, now you see, we haven’t lived together, but

we will die together.

RADKA: Ha! Desist from your wretched scheming and senseless

contrivances, ye loathsome fools! Let only the tiniest of

rivulets of the righteous follow my lead, but all ye others,

shooo! Shoooooo!!! Ye will be dismembered by slimy, barbed

and putrid beasts, with their fangs will they fl ay ye alive, and

your intestines will they rip out of your living bodies and wrap

them around a dirty pole while your off spring will watch and

lament in vain, ye venal sonsofbitches, ye’ll suff er for your

sins today!!!

(You may not believe it, but Radka actually briefl y smiles.)

18. RITA, JUST BRIEFLY.

(We are behind a mirror in RITA’s room. All we see is Rita’s face above

the top of the mirror. Later we also see her hand tossing away the last

piece of clothing. Th e naked Rita looks at her refl ection. Th at’s all.)

19. PAINTING ON GLASS.

(It looks as if Rita’s mirror has transformed into one of the windows

of the tram. A sound of police sirens from close by.)

THE GRANDMOTHER: Th e police…

THE SUIT: Just what we needed, a swarm of cops! (To Th e Bomber.)

So are you, like, going to negotiate with ‘em?

(Th e Bomber doesn’t react.)

THE SHORTSIGHTED: Friends, this doesn’t look good. For

example, nobody’s going to pay ransom for me. Th erefore,

112

let me at least dream a little: I wouldn’t mind some toast with

a salmon spread.

THE SUIT: Did you hear me? I’m asking whether you’re going to

negotiate.

THE BOMBER: I’m not. Either they let me pass through to the

coast, or I’ll kill us all.

(Another burst of hysteria. Th e obese woman with Th e Crutches keels

over from her seat. She’s gagging and choking, and she convulses on

the fl oor.)

ELIZABETH: Hurry up. Wendelin, come and help.

WENDELIN: jumps to her and together they try to revive the poor

woman on the fl oor.

WENDELIN: Keep her tongue out… Let’s pick her up.

ELIZABETH: I’m going to slap her a few times, then she’ll come to…

She’s just hysterical, that’s what I think… What’s that look? I’m

not going to beat her up, just few little smacks, don’t worry.

WENDELIN: N..no, it’s not that, it’s only… she has this peculiar

smell. I almost forgot that I have a sense of smell, and then

suddenly this… this… familiar smell…

ELIZABETH: Well if you need to sniff her, sniff on…

WENDELIN: I’m sorry…

ELIZABETH: She’s coming to.

THE CRUTCHES: (Her face close to Wendelin’s.) Wendelin?

(At fi rst, Wendelin frowns suspiciously, but then his whole face opens

with a sense of clear recognition.)

WENDELIN: Martha?

THE CRUTCHES: I didn’t recognize you at fi rst.

WENDELIN: Neither did I…

THE CRUTCHES: It’s been… how long…forty-two years since we

broke off ? And about thirty-six since we had our last coff ee

together… I mean wine.

WENDELIN: You were my fi rst girlfriend…

THE CRUTCHES: And look at me now. Not a pretty picture, right?

I can barely walk, I’m diabetic, and I live alone, and now they

113

found some cyst under my belly here, and every four hours

I have to put this foul-smelling ointment on it, and each tube

costs twenty dollars, imagine twenty dollars!, and I have…

WENDELIN: Ugh.

THE CRUTCHES: Yes?

WENDELIN: No, nothing… Hey… sorry…, but I… I have to deal

with this kidnapping now. (He leaves.)

ELIZABETH: (Going after him.) What was that?

WENDELIN: I shouldn’t have met her. She completely ruined my

memory of that beautiful girl that she used to be…

(A brief projection of several of Martha’s black and white photographs

from forty years ago is seen on one of the tram windows. Only the

most observant viewer can discern the briefest of glimpses of the

images of a young Wendelin. His pictures show his profi le, and we

see him scooping something with a big ladle from a large pot. In the

background, a scene from a youth camp.)

ELIZABETH: Would you rather have me or that little hottie with

the Chinese guy’s camera over there?

(Wendelin doesn’t reply.)

ELIZABETH: Th ere you go. As yet another wise man has said: What

great mystery did happen to us?

THE SUIT: Hey listen, we’ve got to do something. If the bomb goes

off , we’re fucked; fucked beyond all recognition, and I seriously

don’t want to end up being scraped off the walls, claro?

THE YOUNG MAN: Somebody has to disarm him. I’m, like,

wounded. I can’t do that. (To Th e Girlfriend.) Turn it off , will

ya?

THE CHINESE TOURIST: (Says something in Chinese, this time

with an exclamation mark.)

THE SUIT: (To Th e Chinese Tourist in very bad English.) Doo yoo

can Kung-fu, or sometzink?

THE CHINESE TOURIST: (In equally bad English.) I not Enlish

speek…

114

THE TRACK SUIT: (With a dismissive gesture.) Is he like some

Mongoloid, or what?

THE CHINESE TOURIST: I am soui, soui… (Sorry, sorry.)

THE TRACK SUIT: Fucking rice gobbler.

THE SUIT: (Irritated, to Th e Track Suit.) Yeah sure, but you, on the

other hand, look like you’re fi t. I’m sure you could take him

down, right?

THE TRACK SUIT: My left knee is shot, not me.

THE GRANDMOTHER: Is something wrong?

ELIZABETH: Nothing special, miss. It’s just the usual: the willing

coalition of Czech warriors trading their epaulets…

(Wendelin laughs out loud and sits down heavily.)

THE SHORTSIGHTED: I don’t mind taking him down myself…

haha… I’m sorry, but that idea actually made me laugh. He’d

squash me like a cockroach. (After a while) But if it would

make you happy, I can do it.

THE TRACK SUIT: (To the sleeping Giant.) As far as I’m concerned,

you’re the strongest of us all.

THE GIRLFRIEND: I can’t believe it, he’s sleeping! He must have,

like, nerves of like steel or something.

THE YOUNG MAN: Or he’s totally wasted.

WENDELIN: Excuse me, are you OK? Mister?

THE GIANT: I beg your pardon? I’ve already shown my ticket.

WENDELIN: Our tram has been kidnapped by a terrorist.

THE GIANT: Th at’s… disconcerting.

THE SUIT: You’re the biggest dude here… I mean that you could

like disarm him. Th e main thing is the bomb. He’s got it in

the plastic bag, and if he chucks it on the fl oor we are toast…

THE SHORTSIGHTED (To the Giant): I’ll go with you!

THE YOUNG MAN: (About Th e Shortsighted.) What a freak.

THE GIANT: I’m going.

(And without any further ado, the Giant rises in all his humongous

majesty form his seat and starts towards the conductor’s compartment

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in the front. However, he doesn’t make it all the way there. Radka

forcefully hits his head with her sign.)

RADKA: Ye will not escape! Ye will not escape the punishment!!!

(Th e Giant turns around and walks back to his seat. He doesn’t seem

to be aff ected by the bloody slash on his head.)

THE SUIT: (To Radka.) Are you, like, in cahoots with him or what,

you stupid twat? Do you, like, seriously wanna croak here or

what?

(Radka’s answer is a loud screeching laughter coming in quick bursts.

Few answers ever have sounded more hopeless.)

ELIZABETH: I still don’t know what he meant by Heroes’ Square.

THE SHORTSIGHTED: (Peering out of the window.) Th is is Lazarus

street isn’t it? I bought my orthopedic sandals over there –

look, look over there… that store there!

(Wendelin kneels down by the Giant. His head wound is bleeding

profusely, and is trying to wipe it off with paper napkins.)

THE SUIT: (Hysterically.) Am I, like, going to fucking bite it here

today, or, like, what? I work every fucking day. Day in, day out,

all I do is grind, and I fi nally bought a condo and some decent

wheels, and now all I fucking get is kicking the bucket in some

fi lthy public tram.

WENDELIN: It’s bleeding quite a lot… Try to hold it here… Robert?

(Th e Giant, Robert, looks at Wendelin, and briefl y examines his face.)

THE GIANT: Wendelin? Hi.

WENDELIN: I barely recognized you. With that beard…

ROBERT: Don’t worry. Plus, I’m fat.

WENDELIN: Every year I plan to write to you, but… you know. In

College we were basically joined at the hip, and… well, you

kind of disappeared….

ROBERT: I  lived abroad for a while. Th en I got married and we

moved up North.

WENDELIN: How ‘bout basketball? Did you play some more?

ROBERT: No. Because of my knees.

WENDELIN: Were you teaching?

116

ROBERT: For two years only. I went into business. Th en we tried to

have kids, but it didn’t work, and… you know.

(A projection of a College Basketball team appears on one of the

windows. Th e long-legged, tall and trim young man in the second

row on the right is Robert. Wendelin kneels at the bottom in the front.)

THE GRANDMOTHER: Is this going to the bus terminal?

(Wendelin imitates her high-pitched voice.)

WENDELIN: I’m sorry.

ELIZABETH: I noticed it earlier. You’ve got a tic?

WENDELIN: (To Robert.) Yeah. How can you be so calm in the face

of death, as it were.

(Th is is the fi rst time that the actual word “DEATH” has occurred in

the play, isn’t it? It’s peculiar.)

ROBERT: It doesn’t faze me. Don’t hold it against me.

WENDELIN: You don’t ever get fl ustered?

ROBERT: Not really. I don’t believe in experiences any longer. Say

you experience something special, something extraordinary.

Time passes, and you lose contact with that experience, and

all that remains is a sort of a foggy memory, a murky record.

In short, nothing that would have the capacity to fi ll you again.

It’s as if it never happened. So you need more and more new

experiences, but they die like mayfl ies too, and then, very

laboriously, you start making them up, because the real ones

are dead, but it’s all really good for absolutely nothing. It’s like

trying to make fi re with wet wood, and all you do is hold all

those long hungry monologues about it, which nobody except

for you is interested in …

WENDELIN: But here, there’s a real threat of death, Robert, and

death is a relatively satiating experience, don’t you think?

ROBERT: We simply slumber into that eternal sleep few days earlier

than planned. So what?

THE SUIT: I wouldn’t even try to talk to him if I were you. He’s got

whacked in the noodle. Plus, he obviously popped a handful of

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Xanax or something for lunch; he’s not gonna help us. What

should we do?

ELIZABETH: Somebody should try to talk to him again.

THE SHORTSIGHTED: If anybody thinks it should be me, raise

you hand…now.

ELIZABETH: I think it should be you Wendelin.

WENDELIN: Me?

THE SHORTSIGHTED: Try to trade the bomb for your inspector

badge. He may be a collector, who knows? It wasn’t funny,

I  know. Humor makes people come together, but not my

humor. Now that I  think about it, I only got a  laugh once.

My wife and I were having lunch at a restaurant, and some

youngsters actually rolled up a drug and began smoking it

right then and there. Of course it vexed me greatly, so I got

up and said loudly: You see, it begins with weed and ends up

with marihuana!

THE YOUNG MAN: I think I’m going mental, like, seriously.

THE GIRLRIEND: Can you kiss me with that broken mouth.

THE YOUNG MAN: No.

THE GRANDMOTHER: Are we not stopping on Steel Street?

THE BOMBER: (Communicating with the central dispatch over

a  mike.) No, I  repeat, I’m now in control of number six.

I demand free passage to Heroes’ Square, and then to the

coast.

DISPATCHER: Hold off with your demands for now, yes? Stop the

tram at Peace Square, and let all passengers exit, yes? We are

sending the police and the ambulance in your direction.

THE BOMBER: Th ere is no such thing as Peace Square, don’t you

understand? It’s a lie! A name like that is a mockery! If you

even try to block my passage in any way, shape or form, I’m

going to detonate the bomb. Is that clear?

DISPATCHER: Wait, that…

THE BOMBER: (To the passengers.) No more talking. It looks pretty

bad for us. You can use your phones.

118

20. THE ICEBOX

(Another brief look into Rita’s  life. Rita is visiting the morgue.

Th e attendant is opening one of the cooling boxes, wheeling out

Jerome’s dead body. Rita nods, confi rming Jerome’s identity. Th en she

stares at the body, motionless. Music. When the attendant indicates

by shifting his feet on the fl oor and coughing discreetly that it’s time

to close the box, Rita bends over Jerome and says:)

RITA: After you died I started to have dreams again. For example, last

night I dreamt about a bluejay in a forest made of pink plastic

bottles. Also, today on television there was a documentary

about Rafael Kubelik, the conductor. When I looked at his face

as he conducted the orchestra, I realized that beauty does exist

after all. See you later.

21. PHONE CALLS

(Th e passengers have formed several private bubbles for themselves.

Some are sitting, others are standing, others yet are squatting. Th ey are

all talking on their phones. Th e only exceptions are Th e Grandmother

and Robert. She is looking out of the window, and he is sleeping. In the

windows we see projections of X-rays of various apple cores.)

THE CRUTCHES: (Haltingly.) I… I think I will die in here… he

wants to kill us… yes, yes… Please kiss little Pete and little

Miriam for me… this is terrible…

THE SHORTSIGHTED: (Exceedingly carefully dialing a number,

and listening to the receiver.) It’s ringing… nobody’s picking

up… (Singing.) Hear, hear, hear, your daddy’s here…. they must

have both forgotten their phone again.

THE SUIT: Hi there, yeah what’s up… Yes, I know I haven’t been

in touch for a while… Listen… yeah right, it’s been more that

a year, yeah… sure… hey listen… oh, you’re in the middle of

something, sure thing, OK, so yeah, bye.

119

THE TRACK SUIT: Yeah. It’s me. Listen, I’m calling because, you

know – they, like, kidnapped us in this tram… what? No, no,

no… that’s not the issue… no… listen, what’s really important

right now is that you make sure that at half-past-seven you

record Manchester with Aston Villa at Eurosport, What?

…at eight? OK, at eight…. and then at ten, there’s Detroit

v Montreal on C-Span, OK ? and right after that the highlights

from all the other games, OK? Oh, and also, after midnight,

car racing on twenty-four… the Japanese Grand Prix, you got

it? OK.

(Radka starts singing some battle chants. If the Israelites had the same

power of voice as she has, they would have brought down the walls of

Jericho with half the people.)

THE YOUNG MAN: We are basically… I don’t want to… I’m really

scared that… (He begins to cry loudly, and his voice turns into

a series of incomprehensible wails, sniffl es, and brays.)

THE GIRLFRIEND: Fuck, I’m out of minutes! Th at’s, like, totally…

like, whatever…! (To Th e Young Man.) Hey, listen, hey,

what’s the…? Can I have your phone?

(Th e Young Man dismisses her with a rude gesture and crawls under

the seat with his phone and all.)

THE GIRLFRIEND: Great. Th at’s frickin’ great!

THE SHORTSIGHTED: (Listening to another unanswered ringing.)

Let’s see if my dear little wife picks up… Hallo, hallo, darling,

little darling, where are you hiding…? Why aren’t we picking

up the phone when hubbie hub’s calling…?

THE SUIT: Dude, I like seriously don’t know whom to call at such

short notice…

THE CRUTCHES: And don’t forget to kiss my little Irene for me,

and tell her to keep that sewing kit of mine, she always liked to

play with it… (She cries and turns to Elizabeth.) Should I call

the gas company to cancel my service, and the water?

(Elizabeth shrugs, and watches Wendelin who’s getting ready to call

Petra.)

120

WENDELIN: Hi. Not very good. Th e tram I’m in has been kidnapped,

can you believe it? No wait, I’m not kidding… it’s not a joke…

(Whispering to Elizabeth, who is listening in very closely.)

What?

ELIZABETH: (Also whispers.) I want to hear your wife’s laugh.

WENDELIN: (Into the phone.) I really mean it. We’ve been snatched

by some maniac, and it’s looking pretty bad. Listen Petra….

What …? I forgot the pills?… Under the coat hanger? Well…

anyhow, Petra… In case the police don’t get us out of this…

he’s got a bomb, you know… Can you wait a minute, I have

to sit down, I’m a bit wobbly… Yeah, you tell me… Sounds

ridiculous doesn’t it? … Close to Peace Square… No, no,

it’s OK, it’s OK… no, no, don’t even try to come here… because

then you’d forever have this image in your head, if we were

to… anyhow, I’ll call you later, OK? (He puts the phone in his

pocket and breathes heavily.)

(Elizabeth is about to stroke Wendelin, but she pulls back midway.)

ELIZABETH: I don’t have a cell phone any more. Never used it

anyhow. You’re completely drenched in sweat.

THE SUIT: So, who should I call? Let me think, let’s call, let’s call…

fucking who?! (He thinks for a while.) My folks, maybe? (He

dials, and listens.) Th e number you’ve dialed is no longer in

service. OK… (He thinks for a while.) All right, my brother.

(He’s going through his contacts.) Yeah, but I don’t have his

number stored…

THE TRACK SUIT: Yeah, it’s me again. Hey, listen, let’s do this,

actually… why don’t you tape… (Reading from the papers.)

…at eight Bayern Munich against Stuttgart on the German

channel, OK? Soccer, not ice hockey for Christ sake! Yeah,

and write it down, OK.

THE CHINESE TOURIST: (Says something in Chinese, but nobody

can understand.)

121

(At this point, Radka begins to supplement her “war chants” with

stripping down to her underwear, and with a sort of self-fl agellation

with the sign pole.)

THE SHORTSIGHTED: (To Elizabeth.) Th ey’re not picking up. You

know, I have bit of an inkling, that they don’t want to talk to

me. Th ey always kind of roll their eyes, when I say something…

like this. (He demonstrates.) Do you think that I’m senile?

ELIZABETH: I wouldn’t know.

THE SHORTSIGHTED: Personally, I  think that being senile is

kinda funny. But they don’t let me. Th ey, meaning my son

and his girlfriend.

ELIZABETH: You know, I heard somewhere that relatives are like

mountains: It’s far more interesting and pleasant to observe

them at a distance. I’ve lived by myself for quite some time

now. It helps me to focus, you know? I don’t need to keep

explaining myself any more, I don’t need to fi ght with him

over dirty socks or dinner plans… Been there, done that. I’ve

already said everything I needed to say; I’m quarreled-out,

fought-out, partnered-out, thank you very much, and if, for

example I want to spend the entire afternoon watching my

tea seeping into the tea cup, I’m perfectly free to do so. Like

a quince, I’m just peacefully drying out and shrinking on that

little branch of mine. I may be completely selfi sh, but who

gives a damn. I don’t know…

(She strokes the little bespectacled man on his bald head.)

THE SHORTSIGHTED: Th ank you.

THE GIRLFRIEND: (Addressing the two.) Th at’s why nature’s getting

rid of you. Th at’s why you’ve got all those, like, diseases killing

you like fl ies. You’ve got no immunity and stuff because you

can’t have kids any longer, and you’re completely superfl uous.

You’re, like, “out.” Th at’s, you know, evolution.

ELIZABETH: No, that’s eugenics my dear, but at least we have had

a life, which is something you won’t be able to say once your

122

not-yet-used womb fi lled with shards fl ies out of the tram

and splatters all over the pavement in front of the National

Th eatre over there.

(Th e Girlfriend starts screaming and hysterically attempts to stuff the

i-Pod headphones into her ears.)

22. IT’S NEVER TOO LATE TO HAVE A HAPPY CHILDHOOD

(Wendelin wipes off sweat. He gets up and walks towards the

conductor’s cabin. Radka is kneeling, all exhausted from her self-

fl agellation. She doesn’t even react when Wendelin almost trips over

her; all she does is mumble raspy litanies through her clenched teeth.

Th e Bomber stops the tram, emerges from the conductor’s cabin, and

walks up the aisle towards Wendelin.)

(Th e two men meet in the middle and stand facing each other,

motionless and silent. A  projection of Th e Little Girl, her face

surrounded by countless microphones, appears in one of the tram

windows.)

THE SHORTSIGHTED: Look! Look, there she is! Th e Little Girl

with the ear that got stepped on by the rhinoceros! Oh,

that’s so beautiful. I’d die for a hotdog now…

(Th e Shortsighted throws his arms around Th e Chinese

Tourist’s shoulders and begins to explain his admiration for Th e Little

Girl: with the ear and the rhino to him. Wendelin gets weak in the

knees, and for a brief moment he staggers, looking as if he were going

to faint.)

(On the right tram window, we see a fi lm projection of a TV anchor

reporting on a terrorist attack in a Prague tram. A subscreen inserted

above his shoulder shows scenes of the mayhem. However, the entire

projection is mute.)

WENDELIN: (Swallows dryly.) You have to do it, do you?

THE BOMBER: Yes. Th ere are times where one needs to screw it

all. I’m not a slave, am I? I have my rights, don’t I? (He takes

123

off his baseball hat and combs through his sweaty hair with

his fi ngers.)

WENDELIN: You very much remind me of… Henry?!

THE BOMBER: What is it, dad?

WENDELIN: Henry…

THE BOMBER: What?

WENDELIN: Are you out of your mind?!

THE BOMBER: You look horrible.

WENDELIN: What’s all of this?! Why? Is that a real bomb, that thing

under your jacket?

THE BOMBER: It is.

WENDELIN: I hardly recognized you… We, we haven’t seen each

other for such a long time… I mean, I don’t even remember

when I saw you last. All I do is hear you muttering from behind

the restroom door.

THE BOMBER: I feel good there.

WENDELIN: Where’s that?

THE BOMBER: In our restroom. I mean your restroom now. I liked

it ever since I was a child. I would sit there hidden from the

whole world, and I’d imagine that on the outside there were

all sorts of monsters or Nazis looking for people but they

could never fi nd me, because I, I was safe there. And I’d enjoy

looking at all sorts of little things in that restroom. Th e thin

tin wire for hanging the little window curtain for example,

or that little portrait of mom’s from that street artist in Paris

where she doesn’t look like herself at all… and, just for your

information, I never read magazines in there like you keep

saying; all I do there is imagine things. Or that doll in some

traditional dress from…

WENDELIN: Th e Baltic.

THE BOMBER: …in that Baltic dress. Grandma hung it there,

still wrapped in the protective plastic so that it wouldn’t get

ruined… that one is gone though.

124

WENDELIN: Somebody knocked it down by mistake and it broke.

Probably with their shoulder, while fl ushing.

THE BOMBER: Aha. By the way, that old lady over there reminded

me of grandma, and you know why? Because she died at least

half-an-hour ago, and nobody noticed.

(Wendelin, with grieving expression in his face, turns around and

looks at the motionless grandmother in her seat. We hear muffl ed

sounds from the outside.)

WENDELIN: Th ey’re shouting something outside.

THE BOMBER: It’s the police. Th ey say I should give up.

WENDELIN: Something’s stinging (Points to his chest.) in here. Are

you angry with us?

THE BOMBER: Th at’s exactly the question I was waiting for.

WENDELIN: So are you?

THE BOMBER: Yeah. I’m angry with you, because ever since I was

a child, I’ve felt that you’re not with us; that you’ve never been

with us any of the way. Th at we didn’t “fulfi l” you. You were so

incredibly restless all the time. I’m not very good at talking,

so, I… I… Well, your mind was simply somewhere else. I don’t

know where, but…

WENDELIN: In Hell.

THE BOMBER: Th at’s your business. I just didn’t like that you never

really saw me. Th at you were never really with me. Not even

when I proudly recited kindergarten nursery rhymes for you,

or was telling you what happened in school on that day… and

you were home a lot, but still… Do you understand what I…

WENDELIN: (Nods in agreement.) What now?

THE BOMBER: We’re going to the coast.

WENDELIN: Th ey’ve put up roadblocks all over. Th ey can see in

through the windows. What if they shoot you?

THE BOMBER: Like in the movies, right? No, no, don’t worry,

we’re almost there. We’ve arrived on Heroes Square, and from

here… it’s a mere throw of this thing here…

125

(He triggers the bomb, throws it in the middle of the aisle, and we hear

a deafening explosion. Blackout.)

23. DARKNESS

(As opposed to the usual theatrical blackout, there is something else

added to this particular darkness: several visions playing out on the

very border between reality and dream, dream and hallucination.

Th e shattered windows of the tram are fi lled with fl eeting refl ections of

scenes from Wendelin’s life. Of special note is a scene of that traditional

Communist ritual of “welcoming new citizens.” We see Wendelin in an

ill-suiting shirt from East Germany, holding a little bundle, the baby

Henry, in his arms, and Petra, who is wearing a Hong Kong-made

synthetic wig that used to be oh so stylish in those days.

In between the pieces of shattered glass we get the occasional glimpse

of Radka’s body fl ying around, supported by wings black as night. We

can also make out the fi gure of Th e Shortsighted little man kneeling

in the middle of a fl owerbed among gigantic snowdrops. It all looks as

if it were drawn by William Blake, on one of his good days.)

24. MOVEMENT

“Right now, the time is coming. It’s just about time, and that’s it, and

nothing more.” (Josef Čapek: Th e Limping Pilgrim)

25. THE COAST OF BOHEMIA

(Sound of waves. It is dusk, and we are on a sandy beach. By the Czech

ocean, on the coast of Bohemia. Should we decide to run on the sand

for few miles to our right, we’d run into the equestrian statue of Saint

126

Wenceslas, the Czech Patron Saint, halfway buried in the sand, like

the Statue of Liberty in the original “Planet of the Apes…”

Wendelin is sitting on a sand dune. Next to him a little girl. It’s the one

we saw on TV surrounded by microphones. She is carefully studying

Wendelin.)

THE LITTLE GIRL: Do you like the sea?

WENDELIN: I do, and the sand is still warm from the sun. It warms

your feet when you walk on it, and… Why are you looking at

me like that?

THE LITTLE GIRL: Just so.

WENDELIN: I know you from somewhere.

THE LITTLE GIRL: (Reciting from memory.) Th e rhinoceros stood

on my earlobe for half-an-hour, yet I escaped unscathed.

WENDELIN: I see. Th e darling of our entire nation. Did it hurt?

THE LITTLE GIRL: I don’t really remember. I only know that my

belly was rumbling, and then my hair tickled my nose, and

that he smelled a little bit.

WENDELIN: Th e rhino?

THE LITTLE GIRL: (She nods.) And you, did it hurt?

WENDELIN: A lot. Here in my chest.

(Th e Little Girl lays her palm, as big as a freshly opened water lily,

on his chest.)

THE LITTLE GIRL: Is it better now?

WENDELIN: Yes, much better.

THE LITTLE GIRL: Wendelin, will you collect some shells for me?

WENDELIN: (Nods in agreement.) Are you here in order to give me

some message, some revelation?

THE LITTLE GIRL: No. I just want those little shells.

WENDELIN: (Gets up and inhales deeply.) I’ll collect as many as you

want, but fi rst, I’d like to take a little swim.

THE LITTLE GIRL: I’ll build a sandcastle in the meantime.

127

(Wendelin takes off his shirt and goes into the sea. Just before he

disappears in the waves, he spies Th e Swan. Th e Swan slowly and

quietly glides across the water towards him, and when it is about four

or fi ve lengths of a swan neck away from him, its beaked head fl ips

back, revealing the same swan woman we saw earlier.)

THE SWAN: Hi.

WENDELIN: I’ve never seen a swan in the ocean before.

THE SWAN: Well, sooner or later it was bound to happen. Come

closer.

WENDELIN: You look beautiful.

THE SWAN: You don’t look too bad either. Don’t worry,

there’s nobody here who’d frown at you for “getting yourself

a young one.” Even closer.

(Wendelin approaches her. He is only about two lengths of swan

feather away from her.)

WENDELIN: You’ve got a faint ring of dried salt around your lips…

and your eyebrows are made of tiny little fi ne black feathers…

I never noticed that before.

THE SWAN: Well, you’ve never been that close to me. You know

what’s really marvellous?

WENDELIN: No. Tell me.

THE SWAN: It’s marvellous to dive all the way to the bottom of

the sea, blindly pick up a stone, put it to your ear, and in that

bubbly underwater voice to say, “Hallo?” Wanna try it?

WENDELIN: All the way to the bottom, stone to the ear, and

“Hallo?”?

THE SWAN: “Halloooooooo?”! Yep. Go, try it.

(So Wendelin dives underwater, periodically coming up to get more

air. Each time his body disappears, Th e Swan-woman lets out

a “Hallooooo?” from behind her tiny little teeth, while the wings on

her back continue to open up wider and wider, until we get the feeling

that she has spanned them across the two hemispheres that make up

our world.

128

Each time Wendelin emerges to the surface, he grows increasingly

drowsy, and when the span of Th e Swan’s  wings has reached the

maximum width imaginable to men, when Wendelin lays his head

on Th e Swan’s graceful, fi ne-feathered chest, then and only then do we

hear Th e Little Girl screaming from her spot on the beach:)

THE LITTLE GIRL: Hallo! Halloo! Hallooo!! Halloooo!!!

Hallooooo!!!!

(Wendelin turns towards the voice and opens his eyes wide. Th e

Swan’s wings slowly begin to fold up, until they disappear on Th e

Swan’s back.)

(Blackout.)

26. TWO BEDS, TWO CHAIRS

(Rita sitting on a chair. With a pair of scissors, she is cutting out

various shapes into a very large sheet of thin wrapping paper. She is

cutting out stars, butterfl ies, etc… When fi nished, she uses the cut-off s

to fold origami. She manages to make an ibis with moving wings. Th e

ibis in her hands fl ies around the room for a little while. Th en Rita

takes a sip of wine from a glass and throws the cut-out sheet over her

head like a veil.)

(On the other side of the stage, we see the fi rst of the two beds. One

is an IC unit hospital bed. On it, Wendelin is connected by diff erent

tubes and wires to various machines. He has already regained his

consciousness, and noticed Petra sitting on a chair nearby.)

PETRA: Oh, Finally… Wendelin, it’s me…

WENDELIN: (Swallows.) Petra.

PETRA: I was so worried I’d lose you… It was awful.

WENDELIN: Did I drown?

PETRA: What do you mean? No, you had a huge heart attack.

WENDELIN: When?

129

PETRA: Well, apparently right when you walked into the tram and

took out your Inspector badge. You collapsed and fell over

backwards. Th at’s why you have that cut on your temple here.

WENDELIN: I see…

PETRA: Th e ambulance brought you to the hospital. When they

called me I jumped into a cab, and then I got here and I tried

to talk to you, and… and you died!

WENDELIN: Really?

PETRA: Yes! Clinically, I mean no… I maen yes… but really for about

ten minutes you were completely dead… Th ey tried to get me

away from you, but I was so completely out of it, and I didn’t

know what to do, so I just screamed at you “Hallo! Hallo! Hello!

like into the phone, because as I said, I was really completely

out of it, but then, thank God, they somehow managed to

jumpstart you again…

WENDELIN: What’s with Henry?

PETRA: With Henry? Why, he got here right after me. He was

horribly scared, he was shaking like a leaf. He’ll be so happy

to hear that you came to.

WENDELIN: When’s he coming back?

PETRA: He’s here. He’s been here the whole time. He just went to

the restroom right now.

WENDELIN: Listen, we should get him that Baltic doll back in

there. (He laughs.)

PETRA: (Happily.) You really are something, you Mister joker, you,

and to think that I nearly croaked here for all that worrying!

Anyhow, you shouldn’t strain yourself. Here – I brought you

some pops and some magazines.

WENDELIN: “Allure?” “More?” Am I a woman over forty?

PETRA: So I was stressed out.. all right? But I got you the papers

too, here. Th ey say that they’ll make a movie based on that girl

with the rhinoceros.

WENDELIN: I’ll take a little nap now.

130

(We now see bed number two on the opposite side of the stage. Rita

slowly, almost stealthily approaches. She has the earlier mentioned

cut-out sheet of paper over her head like a veil, and she holds a copy

of ‘National Awakening’ above her head. She turns on the light. She

bends over an “object” hidden under the thick and fl uff y blanket, and

pokes it three times. Nothing happens. Rita repeats the set of three

pokes, and the object moves. Robert’s  bearded face emerges from

under the blanket. His little eyes squint at his wife.)

ROBERT: What are you doing…?

RITA: (Very theatrically.) I’m waking you up. Wake up!!! Live!!!!

ROBERT: What time is it?

RITA: It’s just about time. Th e time is coming. And I came to get

you!!! Get up!!!!

ROBERT: What’s that magazine?

RITA: What’s that magazine? What do you think it is? Now let me tell

you how sad it is to be buying magazines. I come to the kiosk

and say: give me Newsweek, give me Good Housekeeping,

give me Glamour, give me the TV Guide, give me People, give

me the Atlantic, give me Elle, give me… give me Rita.

ROBERT: I’ll take a little nap now.

RITA: No. Either you get up now and give me Life, or I’ll leave you.

(Rita decides to walk down towards the lip of the stage. At the same

moment, Petra too leaves Wendelin’s  bedside, and walks down

towards the audience. Both woman stop front center, and bow to the

audience.)

(Blackout.)

27. CURTAIN CALL

(Allow me to somewhat pedantically but nonetheless strongly suggest

the curtain call for this here play. I fi nd it of utmost importance that

the curtain call be created and delineated by Th e Zapper. I want the

curtain call to be Th e Zapper’s fi nal musical creation. I want it to be

131

fi lled with the mishmash of his pseudo-English and pseudo-Italian

singing. I want the curtain call to resemble the climax of a late night

TV show, or the fi nal collective bow of all the artists involved in a huge

benefi t concert. It doesn’t need to be funny.)

THE END

132

Magdaléna Frydrych

Gregorová

(1982)

Magdaléna Frydrych Gregorová was born in Třinec. After fi nishing

her studies at a  Polish grammar school in Český Těšín, she

studied theatre dramaturgy at the Drama Faculty of the Academy

of Performing Arts in Prague. During her studies, she wrote and

published her fi rst larger dramatic work Porcelain Doll (Panenka

z porcelánu, 2004), which was broadcast as a radio play on the Czech

Radio. In the season 2005/2006, she was a resident playwright at the

Th eatre LETÍ, for which she wrote the play In Ages (Na věky, 2005). In

2007 she was awarded the Evald Schorm Prize for young playwrights

for her play Dorotka (2006), which had its Czech premiere in March

2008 by Švandovo Th eatre in Prague. Her play Vltavínky (2009) was

staged by Klicperovo divadlo Hradec Králové in December of 2009.

For the radio show Tearoom (Čajovna) broadcast on Vltava Radio,

she wrote a radio drama Playground, which was directed by Lukáš

Trpišovský. Magdaléna Frydrych Gregorová ranks among the most

talented Czech contemporary playwrights. Th e main characteristics

of her work are softly cruel poetics, minimalist expression and

tragicomic topics.

LIST OF PLAYS:

• Panenka z porcelánu, 2004; première 25. 1. 2007, Divadlo Letí,

Prague (rehearsed reading)

• Na věky, 2005; première 12. 12. 2007, Divadlo LETÍ, Prague

(rehearsed reading)

• Dorotka, 2006; première 1. 3. 2008, Švandovo Th eatre, Prague

133

• Život je sen, 2009

• Vltavínky, 2009; première 5.12. 2009 Klicperovo divadlo, Hradec

Králové (Studio Beseda)

TRANSLATED PLAYS:

• Dorotka: English – Dorotka

134

Magdalena Frydrychová

DOROTKAA play

Translated by Michaela Pňačeková

Th is play is fully protected under the copyright law of Czech Republic and is

subject to royalty. It cannot be nor used nor changed without an appropriate

written permission given by the DILIA Agency. Th e providing of this play

to a  third party for uses other than production due is also subjected to

DILIA permission.

A violation of this restriction and using this play without the permission will

be interpreted as an infringement of copyright law and will underlie to the civil

and criminal liability.

All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the DILIA Agency

Krátkého 1, Praha 9, 190 03, Czech Republic, www.dilia.cz

135

Characters:

Adéla, 30 years old

Dorotka, her sister, 16 years old

Kryštof, a singer, about 30 years old

Marek, a neighbor, 17 years old

Th e Vicar

Th e play takes place in a village far from town. Adéla and Dorotka

own a pub there. Th ey rent the room upstairs to Kryštof. Marek lives

in a house nearby. Th ere is a pond behind his house. Th ere is sky above

their heads.

136

SCENE 1

(In the pub. Kitchen. Dorotka and  Adéla are coming from their

father’s funeral.)

ADÉLA: Th at was beautiful. Th e fl owers. Th e candles. Th e vicar

talking. Hence, we said our goodbyes to our father. He talked

so nicely. Dorotka?

DOROTKA: I don’t know.

ADÉLA: Th e vicar…talking. About heaven. Th at life is just a path

we walk on, and that at the end there is heaven, and that life

is eternal.

DOROTKA: He said the same thing when our mother died. Also

when our aunt died. He also said it at our grandparents’

funeral too. He is always saying it.

ADÉLA: So maybe it’s true. And Kryštof, how he sang…He sang

beautifully. He was standing there and singing like an angel.

I haven’t cried like that in a long time.

DOROTKA: You’re always crying. Th ere weren’t many people.

ADÉLA: Th ere were. And they brought fl owers and garlands.

Everyone was so sad. You could see that they really liked our

dad. Th e vicar was sad too. Th at’s why he gave such a speech.

DOROTKA: Th e vicar had a hangover. Because he sat here yesterday

till midnight.

ADÉLA: Our dad died. Shame on you. We are lucky that the vicar

is our regular guest.

DOROTKA: Th at’s true. He spends so much money here that he

nearly supports us.

ADÉLA: And what else should he do? People die. Th ey don’t go to

church anymore.

DOROTKA: Th ey don’t go to church because they die. Th at’s logical.

You don’t know what you’re saying anymore.

ADÉLA: I know very well what I’m saying. People neither go to the

pub nor the church. Th ere are very few of them. Simply, there

are no people anymore.

137

DOROTKA: Th ere are people, but sometimes I think they are not

here. It’s a dump. Everyone is dying and crying here.

ADÉLA: It’s no wonder. He drinks because he is unhappy.

DOROTKA: Everyone just cries here. Even the vicar!

ADÉLA: Being a vicar doesn’t have to mean that he has to be happy

all the time.

DOROTKA: Our vicar doesn’t believe in anything. Th at’s why he

drinks.

ADÉLA: He is unhappy because people don’t go to church. Because

people don’t believe in anything! Not even God.

DOROTKA: He doesn’t believe in God himself. Th at’s the way it

is. Otherwise he wouldn’t drink. Otherwise he wouldn’t have

had a hangover at our dad’s funeral. His being a vicar doesn’t

necessarily mean that he has to believe in God.

ADÉLA: Dorota!

DOROTKA: What?

ADÉLA: You know what? You yourself believe in nothing. Look at the

sour face you are making. Even at your own father’s funeral,

you make a sour face. Sour as a lemon. Not for one second

did I see you cry. You don’t like anything. Nothing touches

you. Not the fl owers. Not the candles. Not the vicar. Nothing.

DOROTKA: Nothing.

ADÉLA: You will go to confession tomorrow. You have sinned.

DOROTKA: How?

ADÉLA: You know very well.

DOROTKA: I don’t know how I have sinned. I don’t know, Adéla.

ADÉLA: You will go to confession and tell the vicar that you have

sinned. Th at you said he doesn’t believe in God.

DOROTKA: Whenever you don’t like something, you send me to

confession.

ADÉLA: Because I’m worried about you. You aren’t interested

in anything. You don’t believe in anything. You don’t enjoy

anything.

DOROTKA: You are scaring me again.

138

ADÉLA: I’ve never scared you.

DOROTKA: Everybody has always scared us. Our mother, aunt,

grandmother. If we are naughty, we sin and will end up in

hell. Because God will get angry. And now you are scaring me.

ADÉLA: I’m not scaring you. You are scaring yourself. You are

sixteen and don’t know anything except how to make a sour

face. At your age I also didn’t believe in anything. You will

learn in the course of time. Experience. Th at will teach you.

DOROTKA: You’re scaring me again.

ADÉLA: Really? How?

DOROTKA: By using experience.

ADÉLA: You can’t avoid that. You’ve got everything ahead of

you. Eventually, you’ll understand that one must believe in

something in the end. Sometimes there are things that happen

in life, and one has nothing left in the end but to start to

believe.

DOROTKA: Don’t scare me.

ADÉLA: I’m not. Th at’s the way it is.

DOROTKA: So you wish that something would happen to me?

ADÉLA: I don’t. I’m warning you.

DOROTKA: To warn and to scare are the same thing.

ADÉLA: You know what? I won’t argue with you today. We buried

our father. (Pause.) Do you think it’s OK to argue after we’ve

just buried our father?

DOROTKA: To argue is never OK. Never.

ADÉLA: You see?

DOROTKA: Th ere is nobody else. Nobody else is left. We are all

alone.

(Adéla brings a plate with a piece of cake.)

ADÉLA: Cake. Here you are.

DOROTKA: We’ve ended up alone in a pub. A pub that nobody

goes to.

ADÉLA: Did you say something?

(Adéla leaves to get another plate. Dorotka doesn’t notice.)

139

DOROTKA: I said we’ve ended up all alone in this pub. Th at the only

person who comes here is the vicar and he gets drunk because

he doesn’t believe in God. Th is place is a dump! Th at’s what

I said. And I won’t eat cake I hate just because every time

someone dies we eat it. I hate cake, you get it? I hate this pub.

And I hate God because he took our dad from us.

(Dorotka is crying very quietly. Adéla comes back with a plate.)

ADÉLA: Come on. Don’t cry. We won’t argue anymore. OK?

DOROTKA: Hmm.

ADÉLA: Have your cake.

DOROTKA: Hmm.

ADÉLA: Come on. It’ll be fi ne.

DOROTKA: No, it won’t.

ADÉLA: What?

DOROTKA: It won’t be fi ne.

ADÉLA: What?

DOROTKA: Nothing will be fi ne.

ADÉLA: It will be fi ne. Don’t cry.

DOROTKA: I will.

ADÉLA: What?

DOROTKA: Cry. I will cry whenever I want to. I will look sour

whenever I want to. So stop it. Stop telling me what to do.

Stop scaring me. Stop!

ADÉLA: I’ve played your mother for ten years. You don’t see that!

DOROTKA: On the contrary. I do.

ADÉLA: You don’t see anything. Only yourself. You see only yourself

all the time.

DOROTKA: And stop telling me what I should see.

ADÉLA: I play your mother. You were seven when she died. You

cried all the time. And then you suddenly stopped. Out of the

blue. You stopped crying. I put you in a crib. Since then your

face has looked sour. You aren’t even able to cry. Nothing. I’ve

taken care of you.

DOROTKA: You are not my mother. So stop taking care of me.

140

ADÉLA: You’ve got nobody else.

DOROTKA: And I’m not going to confession.

ADÉLA: Why not.

DOROTKA: Just ask.

ADÉLA: Don’t make me angry.

DOROTKA: Just ask me.

ADÉLA: I’m asking. Why won’t you go?

DOROTKA: You’re not asking. You’re not asking me about anything.

You’re just saying it. ‘Why won’t you go?’ Th at’s not a question.

Th at means ‘you’re going’. It’s an order.

ADÉLA: Don’t make me angry.

DOROTKA: I won’t confess when I actually didn’t do anything.

ADÉLA: You’re arguing all the time. Th at’s a sin.

DOROTKA: You’re arguing too. Th at’s not a sin?

ADÉLA: I go to confession. I am not the one who doesn’t believe. I’m

not the one who condemns the whole world. Eat your cake.

DOROTKA: Besides, there’s another person for me here.

ADÉLA: Marek?

DOROTKA: And?

ADÉLA: He doesn’t go to church.

DOROTKA: He came to the funeral. Our dad’s funeral. So many

people didn’t come. He did.

ADÉLA: Marek and Dorotka. You’re not children anymore.

DOROTKA: He’s my friend. Th e only person who’s there for me.

ADÉLA: Did you invite him for cake?

DOROTKA: No.

ADÉLA: You see? Your friend. And you didn’t even invite him for

cake.

DOROTKA: You’d ask him again why he doesn’t go to church. You

would talk too much as always.

ADÉLA: You do me wrong again. Have your cake.

DOROTKA: Aren’t we going to wait for Kryštof?

(Pause.)

ADÉLA: God! How he sang.

141

DOROTKA: Like an angel.

ADÉLA: He’ll make good someday. He’ll be the only one of us to

succeed. He’s been here for two years, but I’ll never get used

to it. He sings more beautifully every day.

DOROTKA: Like an angel.

ADÉLA: And you’re going to confession tomorrow.

DOROTKA: If he stays here, he won’t succeed.

SCENE 2

(Kryštof enters. He sits down.)

KRYŠTOF: I simply can’t handle funerals.

ADÉLA: You sang so beautifully.

DOROTKA: Like…

ADÉLA: Like a professional. Actually not ‘like’.

KRYŠTOF: I mean psychologically. Simply depressing.

ADÉLA: Yes. It was very sad. So many fl owers.

KRYŠTOF: Not many people though.

ADÉLA: Not many. Enough.

KRYŠTOF: I  sang. What else is there left to do? My voice was

trembling with emotion. You were standing there, so lonely.

I’m getting depressed.

ADÉLA: We didn’t notice. I mean that your voice trembled. Have

a piece of cake. Coff ee?

KRYŠTOF: Yeah. And a shot of alcohol. I have to wash it down it.

Th e vicar had a hangover, didn’t he?

ADÉLA: But he spoke beautifully. About eternal life. About heaven

and that…

DOROTKA: Th at life is just a path we walk on and that heaven is at

the end and that life is eternal.

KRYŠTOF: He hasn’t drunk that much the entire time I’ve known

him.

142

ADÉLA: It’s the times we live in. People don’t believe in anything,

and they are worried because of it.

KRYŠTOF: Mostly, people don’t believe in love. In nativity. Th ere

is death everywhere. Depression. You’re young, you’re pretty.

You must believe in love. What else should one sing about?

When one’s healthy and in love. My condolences.

DOROTKA: Are you going to sing tonight?

KRYŠTOF: I don’t know whether it would be suitable.

DOROTKA: You sing every Tuesday.

ADÉLA: Our dad would have liked it that way. We’ll set up the stage

as usual. Come on.

KRYŠTOF: I don’t know.

ADÉLA: Yes you do. We’ll invite guests. Th ere should be an after-

the-funeral party – to celebrate our father’s life.

KRYŠTOF: Alright. I will sing. But no getting depressed. (Pause. He

drinks.) I wanted to tell you something.

ADÉLA: Good news?

KRYŠTOF: Yes. Well, I don’t know. I just got an off er. It’s sining.

ADÉLA: Oh.

KRYŠTOF: It isn’t anything big.

ADÉLA: You have to start somewhere. Th en me and Dorotka will

that you were our tenant. Th at we’ve known you. An artist.

A career. And us still here.

DOROTKA: In this dump.

KRYŠTOF: As I say, it’s not a big thing. It’s just an off er.

DOROTKA: Where will you sing?

KRYŠTOF: It’s more of a job position. But it’s still better than singing

here in church.

ADÉLA: In the city?

KRYŠTOF: Yes. If I accept it, I’ll have to leave. Accepting that off er.

Singing master. At a primary school. But OK, it’s a position.

ADÉLA: Th at’s good.

DOROTKA: When will you leave?

143

KRYŠTOF: If I accept it, in two months. If I accept that off er. I’ll

have to leave in two months. We’ll fi nd somebody to rent your

room to. Somebody instead of me. If I accept it, of course.

ADÉLA: Th at’s logical. Don’t look back. Such an opportunity might

not come around again.

KRYŠTOF: I’m still considering it. I don’t want to regret it later,

you know.

ADÉLA: But you never know that. In advance. Just simply don’t

worry about us. We will manage somehow by ourselves here.

What do you say, Dorotka? Opportunities don’t wait.

DOROTKA: Like an angel. Like an angel. Like an angel.

SCENE 3

(At the pond. Dorotka and Marek.)

DOROTKA: When I was little, my mum used to sing a song to

me. About Dorothy. Th at Dorothy only had a white camisole

because she was poor. An orphan. She didn’t even have shoes.

And she was blind too. But she had her guardian angel.

MAREK: I’ve never believed in those.

DOROTKA: In guardian angels?

MAREK: My dear guardian angel… But there is none. Where?

DOROTKA: But Dorothy could see him even though she was blind.

Everywhere she went, the angel followed her and protected

her. Th e fi rst verse was about how she wanted to cross the

river on a footbridge. Th e second was about how she was on

some rocks with a chasm all around. He guarded her. Dorothy

in a white camisole. My heart stopped every time my mum

sang. Just the thought that there was someone so unlucky.

Afterwards, I cried the whole night. I was so sorry for her.

MAREK: But she had her angel, didn’t she?

144

DOROTKA: I pretty much doubted that. I suspected that my mum

made the angel up so that the song wouldn’t be so sad. Dorothy

was always alone for me.

MAREK: But, nothing ever happened to her. She neither fell in the

river, nor in the chasm, right?

DOROTKA: She didn’t. She went further and further. Barefoot

in white camisole. I had to think of that all the time. How

horrible it was. But I never thought of the angel. As if he never

existed. I only thought of Dorothy.

MAREK: People shouldn’t sing that. After all, it’s  rubbish. Why

would a blind girl climb up somewhere. Onto some rocks. Or

through a river.

DOROTKA: I don’t know; it’s just a song. Maybe she was looking for

something. I don’t know why I thought of it. I haven’t thought

of it in years. Have a piece of cake. Actually, I’m also an orphan

now.

MAREK: You don’t look like an orphan.

DOROTKA: Because I’m not blind or in a white camisole?

MAREK: You look normal. I have both parents, both grandmas,

both grandpas. Nobody has died yet. Only our hamster. Sorry.

DOROTKA: If they died, you would still look the same.

MAREK: I don’t think so. Something would defi nitely change.

DOROTKA: I have only you now.

MAREK: You’ve got Adéla too.

DOROTKA:To torment me. She sends me to confession. And to

the doctor’s as soon as I sneeze. Th at’s not a life. Th at’s not

having someone.

MAREK: And what about that singer of yours?

DOROTKA: I haven’t got that one either. He doesn’t care. He thinks

I’m a little girl.

MAREK: Do you remember sometimes how we used to sit here and

look up at the sky at night?

DOROTKA: You wanted to kiss me a few times.

MAREK: It was always in a friendly way.

145

DOROTKA: I didn’t want to.

MAREK: You slapped me. Once.

DOROTKA: Twice. In a friendly way.

MAREK: But we’re not kids anymore.

DOROTKA: We are. We still are. When mum died, I never thought

about Dorothy. She stopped existing. Blind in a white camisole.

I could never cry at night anymore. I look sour now. Adéla says

so. Look at me. How do I look? Th at’s not sour. Th at’s nothing.

MAREK: We’ll watch the stars together again. I want to. I’ve decided

that I want to be an astronomer.

DOROTKA: Dad used to say that all people were waiting for

a miracle. From heaven. Just waiting for a sign. For rebirth.

Waiting for life to become diff erent. To make sense sometime.

MAREK: No miracle is going to come from heaven. It’s improbable,

from the astronomic point of view.

DOROTKA: He kept repeating that to me before he died. He

whispered it in my ear. But I have no idea what he meant by

it. I didn’t manage to ask him.

MAREK: Your dad wasn’t normal.

DOROTKA: He went to therapy. But he was normal. More normal

than you might think.

MAREK: You can’t wait for a sign all the time. Nothing is coming.

You remember when we used to sit here at night and watch

the stars? Th ey were close enough to touch because they were

refl ected in the pond. All the stars were refl ected.

DOROTKA: Yeah. We couldn’t tell what was above and what was

below.

MAREK: I’m so interested in the sky. I’m interested in everything

that’s happening there. All the processes, the stars, the Milky

Way. All those constellations. Someday I will understand it all.

DOROTKA: You don’t believe in heaven.

MAREK: I believe in a heaven full of stars. Because I can see them.

DOROTKA: You don’t go to church. Heaven is God. At least I think

so. I said I hated God. Th at’s a terrible thing to say.

146

(Marek wants to kiss Dorotka.)

DOROTKA: Stop it.

MAREK: Don’t make such a face.

DOROTKA: I have to go. Kryštof is singing tonight.

MAREK: I wanted us to watch the stars together.

DOROTKA: Not tonight.

MAREK: Forget Adéla. She only talks rubbish. Don’t let her keep you

down. Don’t always wait for everything. Be yourself.

DOROTKA: I’m empty. Is that being myself? Th e vicar doesn’t

believe in God. He drinks vodka. Adela restrains me. What

shall I do? I’m sitting in this dump and you want to kiss me.

You’re the only person I’ve got. And you’re saying I should be

myself. Bye.

MAREK: I really don’t get you sometimes. I don’t know what your

point is.

DOROTKA: Nobody gets me. Nobody knows what my point is.

Nobody believes in anything, you astronomer.

(Dorotka leaves. Th e sky darkens. Th e pond too. Marek is watching it.)

SCENE 4

(Th e pub. Kryštof is singing on a small stage. It is a long and sad song.

Adéla, Dorotka and the Vicar are listening. Th e Vicar is drinking

vodka.)

VICAR: You sing divinely. We’re lucky to have you.

ADÉLA: I invited a few guests. Friends of the family. No one came.

DOROTKA: Because there is no family.

VICAR: Th ere is a family if there are the two of you. Everything’s on

your backs now. Th e pub. Th e worries. Suddenly there are no

people. I preach at mass and only fi ve people are there. One

can close a pub but one can’t really close a church.

ADÉLA: One must believe.

147

KRYŠTOF: Five people are enough. Even three are enough. Actually

one is enough if the one is really listening. And if one sings all

alone, it’s still not so bad. Can I buy you a drink, sir?

VICAR: Th en another glass of vodka.

KRYŠTOF: One glass of blessed vodka for Mr. Vicar. (Pause.)

I apologize.

VICAR: I shouldn’t be drinking. Maybe just wine. Our Lord’s blood.

Th at would at least be dignifi ed. For a vicar. But I can fall

asleep only if I drink vodka.

DOROTKA: And if you pray…

ADÉLA: Dorota…

VICAR: And if I pray. I know my own sins. I guess it’s not very

appropriate for a vicar to talk about his wrongdoings in a pub.

ADÉLA: Our Lord drank alcohol too. He could even change water

into wine. And people loved him for it. Pubs and churches

have something in common.

VICAR: People confess in church; a vicar, in a pub. Pour me some

more, Adéla.

DOROTKA: Here people go neither to church nor to the pub. Th is

place is a dump. My dad went insane here. Nothing could help

him. (Silently.) Not even God.

(Pause.)

ADÉLA: Here you are.

VICAR: I hear you’ve got an off er.

KRYŠTOF: I have. Th ough I am still not sure. Well, considering it.

VICAR: Don’t worry about the church. Before you came, my

housekeeper sang at mass. She used to be a singing master.

At primary school. She will be singing again if you leave.

Although she defi nitely can’t sing like you. You know, she’s just

a teacher, whereas you’re an artist.

KRYŠTOF: As I said, I have to think it through.

ADÉLA: Won’t you have some more?

KRYŠTOF: Th e next round is on me.

DOROTKA: Do you know the song about Dorothy?

148

KRYŠTOF: No.

VICAR: About the blind Dorothy?

DOROTKA: My mum used to sing it to me. Barefoot in a white

camisole. An orphan.

VICAR: She had a guardian angel. He guarded her day and night,

night and day.

DOROTKA: Is it possible that some people have one of those and

others don’t?

VICAR: Th at’s impossible. Everybody’s got one.

DOROTKA: Neither mum or dad had one. So I’m not sure.

ADÉLA: Th ey did. Everybody’s got one! And those who don’t believe

are called heathens. Go to your room and go to sleep. You’ve

been at the pond the whole day. You’ll be sick and we’ll have

to call for the doctor. Health is the most important thing we

have. And stop making that sour face. Th at’s because you’re

unhealthy. Cough and cold all the time. Day in day out.

DOROTKA: But I’m healthy.

ADÉLA: You’re not. You dribble all the time. Cough at night. And

then you think about stupid things, because of a lack of sleep.

KRYŠTOF: I think she’s got a pretty healthy colour.

VICAR: One more, and then I’m going to bed.

ADÉLA: I’ll walk you home. I need a breath of fresh air. Your light

will be out before I get back.

DOROTKA: My light will be out when I want it to be out.

ADÉLA: You see, Mr. Vicar? Only worries are left. We must believe.

VICAR: I  should be saying that. Good night. We must believe.

I should be saying that. Dear God, don’t leave us. I should be

saying that. Don’t leave us. People. Good night, Dorotka. One

mustn’t remain blind.

ADÉLA: Let’s go, Mr. Vicar.

VICAR: I’m a blind man. I won’t fi nd my way back to the vicarage.

Too much vodka. Jesus Christ! You’ve replaced my blood with

vodka. I shouldn’t have said that. Forget it. God bless. Come

to the mass. God, don’t leave us.

149

ADÉLA: I’ll walk you home. Let’s go.

VICAR: I must confess. I must see the bishop. Good night. I must

see the bishop! I’ll tell him everything. I’ll ask him whether

it’s possible not to have a guardian angel. (Laughing.) Is it ever

possible? A vicar who can’t see. Don’t leave us! God bless.

(Adéla and the vicar leave. Th e night is still dark.)

SCENE 5

(Dorotka’s room. Dorotka is lying on her bed. Kryštof knocks on the

door.)

DOROTKA: Switching off !

KRYŠTOF: It’s me. Can I come in? Th at’s a horribly strong wind

outside, isn’t it?

DOROTKA: In summer there’s always a strong wind blowing.

KRYŠTOF: I should have gone with them.

DOROTKA: She’s always saying that. She says she needs some fresh

air, then drags the vicar back to the vicarage. Tonight the wind

really is strong. I won’t be able to sleep with all that noise.

KRYŠTOF: I’ll wait until she’s back.

DOROTKA: Have you already seen this picture?

KRYŠTOF: Th at’s the Virgin Mary.

DOROTKA: My mum gave it to me. Every time my father came to

say good night, he kissed me on my forehead and then had to

kiss her too. Such a stupid habit. I’ll get rid of it. I’ve sinned.

And she’s been watching me do it.

KRYŠTOF: You haven’t sinned, Dorotka.

DOROTKA: It’s just a stupid picture. It doesn’t mean anything. I’d

better remove it because of Adéla. No. I’ll remove it because

of myself. I said I hated God. Th at’s a sin. No one understands

that.

KRYŠTOF: I do understand. We all have our sins.

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DOROTKA: Look at the face she’s making. Sour, in my opinion.

KRYŠTOF: She’s smiling.

DOROTKA: Th at’s not a smile. I look like her now.

KRYŠTOF: She conceived the Son of God. So she’s smiling.

DOROTKA: What a load of crap. You talk like Adéla. She conceived

the Son of God. But where is he?

KRYŠTOF: He died for our sins.

DOROTKA: He died for my sins, and I don’t care. Can you hear how

much I’m sinning?

KRYŠTOF: Th ere’s  not enough love in the world. People don’t

believe in love. Th at’s the problem.

DOROTKA: Something must change. I don’t know what will happen

otherwise. You’ll leave, and we’ll stay here.

KRYŠTOF: Maybe I won’t leave.

DOROTKA: I don’t want you to leave! I’m selfi sh. Always thinking

only of myself. Stay with us. Do you see how selfi sh I am?

A little selfi sh girl. Stay.

KRYŠTOF: Good night.

DOROTKA: Will you kiss me on my forehead?

(Kryštof kisses Dorotka on her forehead.)

KRYŠTOF: Her too?

DOROTKA: No.

(Dorotka removes the picture of the Virgin Mary.)

DOROTKA: Stay.

KRYŠTOF: OK. For you.

DOROTKA: Will you sing to me? Like an angel? My angel?

KRYŠTOF: Th at’s not me.

DOROTKA: For me.

KRYŠTOF: Sometimes I feel like I’m totally alone. I had so many

dreams, but I was left alone with them.

DOROTKA: Me too. (Pause.) Another kiss?

(Kryštof kisses Dorotka.)

KRYŠTOF: So good night.

DOROTKA: Good night.

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(Kryštof comes to the door. He opens it, then closes it. Dorotka is

standing on the bed. She’s watching him. Kryštof turns the light off .

He comes back to Dorotka.)

SCENE 6

(In the pub. Kitchen. Adéla is wearing her Sunday clothes. Th ey are

eating breakfast.)

ADÉLA: You look fl ushed. Do you have a fever?

DOROTKA: I don’t have a fever.

ADÉLA: A tree was uprooted last night. What a strong wind. It fell

across the road. Now nobody will come to the pub anymore.

DOROTKA: Nobody comes here. It’s the same anyway.

ADÉLA: It’s cut us off completely.

DOROTKA: We’ve been cut off already. For a long time.

ADÉLA: It was an old tree. But a giant. No one will be able to move

it.

DOROTKA: If you really want to, you can move anything. At least

something’s changed.

ADÉLA: You really don’t have a fever? You have a cold, don’t you?

DOROTKA: Adéla, it’s summer. Why should I?

ADÉLA: You’ve been sitting at the pond.

DOROTKA: It’s summer.

ADÉLA: It isn’t warm.

DOROTKA: But it’s summer.

ADÉLA: I was tidying up your room.

DOROTKA: And?

ADÉLA: And nothing.

DOROTKA: So stop tidying up my room. I will clean it myself.

It’s my room.

ADÉLA: You’re always forgetting something. For example, to sweep

the fl oor under your bed.

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DOROTKA: It’s my fl oor under my bed.

ADÉLA: I’m not saying anything. It’s your room. Your bed. Your

fl oor.

DOROTKA: So why did you say it? “I was tidying up your room.”

ADÉLA: Just because. Accidentally.

DOROTKA: You don’t say anything accidentally. You never do

anything accidentally. You don’t clean my room accidentally.

You’re always cleaning my room and….

ADÉLA: No and…It’s  your room. And nothing. Your bed. And

nothing. Your fl oor. And nothing.

(Silence. Th ey are eating. Adéla starts to cry. Silently. Th en a  bit

louder.)

DOROTKA: Why are you crying?

ADÉLA: I’m not crying.

DOROTKA: So what are you doing?

ADÉLA: Eating my breakfast.

DOROTKA: You’re crying. I’m asking why.

ADÉLA: Just because.

DOROTKA: Don’t say “just because”. Nobody cries just because.

And neither do you.

ADÉLA: What do you mean?

DOROTKA: Nothing.

ADÉLA: You are constantly doing me wrong.

DOROTKA: I can’t listen to your crying. I don’t know why you are

always crying.

ADÉLA: Why can’t I cry just because?

DOROTKA: So ask me.

ADÉLA: Don’t make me angry.

DOROTKA: Ask.

ADÉLA: I’m asking why can’t I cry just because?

DOROTKA: You’re not asking! You’re saying: “I’m crying just

because.” But I know that’s not true.

(Silence.)

DOROTKA: What shall we do with that tree?

153

ADÉLA: Suddenly you’re interested in that tree.

DOROTKA: I’ve always been interested in that tree. Only you don’t

see it.

ADÉLA: I’m not going to argue with you.

DOROTKA: Hmm.

(Silence. Th ey are eating. Adéla starts sobbing again. She stops eating.)

ADÉLA: How could you do it!?

DOROTKA: What?

ADÉLA: I take care of you. I’m like your mother. I don’t think of

myself anymore, yet you do this. After all I’ve done for you!

DOROTKA: What?

ADÉLA: Torturing me like this. All the time. Seeing nothing.

Ignoring everything. You’re so selfi sh. And now this. Nothing

is sacred to you.

DOROTKA: What are you talking about?

ADÉLA: You know very well.

DOROTKA: I don’t know.

ADÉLA: And what’s more, you don’t know. Torturing me like this!

After all I’ve done for you. Selfi sh. Removing the picture of

the Virgin Mary. Stuffi ng it under the bed. With all the spiders

there. Making it dirty like that. How could you do it?

DOROTKA: It’s my picture.

ADÉLA: Yes, my. My! You egoist. Destroying everything. My

picture! Our mother gave it to you. Constantly torturing me

and ruining your own life. Disgusted all the time. What is it

that you actually want? Took away the picture. Doesn’t care

about anything. About yourself. About me. About God.

DOROTKA: Stop.

ADÉLA: In a dump! And? I’m in that dump too. I take care of you.

We own a pub. I work all day, cook, do the washing. Only you

don’t see anything. You removed Mary. You won’t confess.

We’re all alone. Do you understand?

DOROTKA: Don’t shout.

ADÉLA: Sick all the time. Without faith. Without life.

154

DOROTKA: Without a father!

ADÉLA: Without Kryštof!

DOROTKA: What?

ADÉLA: He’ll surely leave. I won’t see him again. I’ll be all alone. Th e

only person I have. Th e only person who doesn’t torture me!

DOROTKA: Stop it.

ADÉLA: Pull yourself together. Everyone died and all the rest will

leave us. Th ere’s no one.

DOROTKA: Th ere is someone, Adéla. He’s not leaving. He told me.

(Adéla starts eating again.)

DOROTKA: In the afternoon I’ll talk to Marek, and we’ll move the

fallen tree. Th ere’ll be a road again.

ADÉLA: Dorotka and Marek. Is Mary under the bed because of him?

(Pause.) I knew it. It’s because he doesn’t go to church. He is

always inciting you to do things. It’s his family. Th ey didn’t

raise him well. Do you want to end up like him?

DOROTKA: He hasn’t ended up yet. In any way.

ADÉLA: You’re not kids anymore.

DOROTKA: Marek’s going to be an astronomer. He’s going to study

the stars. And everything up there in the sky.

ADÉLA: Today, you shouldn’t be the one talking about heaven.

You’ve thrown Mary to the spiders. Don’t forget.

DOROTKA: Kryštof won’t leave. He can’t. Who else would sing

for us?

ADÉLA: As long as he keeps singing, everything makes sense.

DOROTKA: Kryštof.

ADÉLA: What?

DOROTKA: Nothing. I  just have the feeling sometimes that the

life isn’t so bad. Sometimes I don’t even feel afraid. Although

you’re scaring me.

ADÉLA: I’m not scaring you. But I probably will.

(Adéla stands up and leaves the table.)

ADÉLA: Going to church.

DOROTKA: Already?

155

ADÉLA: To confess. To doubt is to sin.

DOROTKA: I always doubt.

ADÉLA: And that’s why you’re like that, Dorotka.

(Adéla leaves. Dorotka is getting dressed.)

SCENE 7

(At the fallen tree.)

MAREK: What a wind. I didn’t sleep at all last night.

DOROTKA: I didn’t sleep much either. We won’t be able to move it.

(Marek is walking on the tree.)

MAREK: It was alive and now it’s not. Such force.

DOROTKA: Dead.

MAREK: Fallen.

DOROTKA: Everybody’s dying here. In this dump. Something is

fl owing out .

MAREK: Th at’s sap.

DOROTKA: It’s bleeding.

MAREK: Don’t touch it.

DOROTKA: Why?

MAREK: you’ll get dirty. It’s sticky.

DOROTKA: It’s not sap. It’s blood.

MAREK: Th e tree was old.

DOROTKA: But mighty. Look, it’s all over my hands.

MAREK: You’ll be sticky.

DOROTKA: What can we do?

MAREK: It’s completely blocking the road.

DOROTKA: Nobody comes here. Maybe nobody will leave.

MAREK: I told you. It’s all over you. You see?

DOROTKA: I can’t go to church like this.

MAREK: You won’t be able to wash it off . Maybe you will. Maybe

somehow you’ll manage..

156

DOROTKA: Mum used to always make sure that we went to church

clean. A white blouse and a skirt. Black shoes. A ponytail. No

sneezing. Sit quietly in church. Don’t sneeze. Don’t breathe.

I got dirty every time. Somehow. On the way to church. Mum

said that I jumped into puddles on purpose. Nothing was on

purpose. Adéla was always clean as a whistle. Not a stain on

her. I could never manage that.

MAREK: Are you going to mass?

DOROTKA: Yeah. But like this? Adéla went ahead. To confession.

I’ve sinned terribly. Tonight. I’ve sinned in an indescribable

way. I can’t go to confession. Never again.

MAREK: Forget about it. You don’t have to be scared all the time.

My grandma says that people are afraid. Th ey’re afraid of

something all the time. Church, that’s fear as well. Don’t get

dirty. Don’t breathe. Do that. Don’t do that. Confess. Don’t

confess. Fear all the time.

DOROTKA: Sometimes I’m scared. Really. I’m afraid of myself.

Adéla says I am scared of myself. But it’s true. I sin and I feel

great. As if I had a fever. Th at’s not normal.

MAREK: It’s all over you now.

DOROTKA:So it won’t wash away. And? Th e tree’s bleeding. But

I feel great. I sin. I’m scared. And I feel wonderful.

(Dorotka is licking her fi nger.)

MAREK: Th at’s really not normal.

DOROTKA: But it’s sweet. Not sour.

MAREK: Dorotka, Now I’ve got only you as well. Yesterday I said

to my parents that I want to study astronomy. Dad laughed.

Mum cried.

DOROTKA: Taste it.

MAREK: My mum wants me to go to law school. A lawyer like my

grandpa. I don’t have a head for that. Dad was furious. He told

mum that her father was a rat of a lawyer. My grandpa from

mum’s side. My grandpa from dad’s side is a mechanic like my

dad. So dad said I have to be a mechanic too. Th at I must have

157

an honest job. My mum cried even more and told him that if

I were like him, I’d have an honest job but that I’d end up here,

in this dump and that I’d never make good money. Dorotka,

don’t eat it. You’ll poison yourself. It’s sap.

DOROTKA: You’ll be an astronomer. You’ll study the stars in the

sky.

MAREK: I don’t even own a telescope.

DOROTKA: But you can recognize all those constellations by now.

And you’ve got books. Don’t worry.

MAREK: I’d stay in this dump just for you. But I won’t be a mechanic.

I’d rather drown in the pond. Can you imagine that?

DOROTKA: No. You can’t drown. You can’s stay in this dump either.

For me. You’ll be an astronomer.

(Adéla comes. Step by step. She sits on the tree. Numb.)

DOROTKA: Hello. (Pause.) What’s up? Why aren’t you at church?

ADÉLA: God punished us. It happened.

DOROTKA: What’s happened?

MAREK: I wouldn’t sit on that. Sap is fl owing out. It’s sticky.

ADÉLA: What?

MAREK: You sat down in the sap.

DOROTKA: You sat down right there. Right on the wound where

it is bleeding.

ADÉLA: What?

DOROTKA: Th e tree. Maybe it hasn’t died yet.

ADÉLA: Now it’s here.

DOROTKA: What’s here? What’s up with you?

ADÉLA: Retribution, Dorotka. Th e wind.

DOROTKA: It uprooted the tree. Never mind. It was old.

ADÉLA: For a terrible sin he punished us.

DOROTKA: How?

ADÉLA: Th e wind.

DOROTKA: It’s just a tree.

ADÉLA: Not the tree! Th e church. It was blown away.

DOROTKA: It blew the church away?

158

MAREK: Th e wind?

DOROTKA: Th e church?

ADÉLA: It doesn’t exist anymore. It’s  there but without its roof.

It’s not there.

MAREK: It probably didn’t blow it very far…

ADÉLA: I came there and the vicar’s housekeeper was sitting on the

threshold. Sitting there as if nothing had happened. I hadn’t

noticed anything. I wanted to go inside and she said that the

church was closed today.

DOROTKA: And where’s the vicar?

ADÉLA: Don’t know. Disappeared.

(Kryštof enters. He sits on the tree.)

MAREK: I wouldn’t sit on that.

KRYŠTOF: Never seen such a thing. A wreck. And nothing. Never.

ADÉLA: Th e funeral yesterday. Candles. Flowers. Ruins today. Th at

must be sorted out. Th e vicar is missing. Th e wind. Th e wind

has come and God is missing. It took everything. Your father.

Th e roof. Th e vicar. It left only ruins here.

KRYŠTOF: How do you want to sort this out? It’s impossible. Ruins

left in place of the church. With no roof. Maybe he’s drinking

somewhere.

ADÉLA: God?

KRYŠTOF: For God’s sake! Th e vicar!

ADÉLA: Th e vicar doesn’t drink for God. He drinks for himself. And

to think, I’ve been pouring vodka for him. God’s wrath. On

me. On the vicar. On you, Dorotka. Where else should he be

drinking? Who else would be pouring drinks for him? Where?

I own the pub!

DOROTKA: God only wanted something to change.

ADÉLA: You don’t believe in God. So don’t say who wanted what.

(Marek presses his fi nger against the tree.)

MAREK: It’s fl owing from here too.

DOROTKA: So sticky.

ADÉLA: Dorota, why do you look like that?

159

DOROTKA: It’s from the tree. It’s fl owing. Look.

MAREK: Sap.

ADÉLA: Who’ll wash it off ? It’s ruined. It’s all over you.

DOROTKA: You too.

(Adéla stands up. Marek licks his fi nger.)

MAREK: You were right. It’s sweet.

ADÉLA: You can’t wash it away.

KRYŠTOF: I’ve never seen such a thing. Never.

(Dorotka approaches Kryštof. She makes a stain on his face.)

ADÉLA: It’s really sweet. And sticky.

DOROTKA: Now it’s all over all of us.

ADÉLA: Now we can throw everything away. Th e skirt. Th e Sunday

blouse. Th e church is closed. Th e vicar is missing.

MAREK: It’s fl owing from everywhere. Th e sap’s everywhere. Look.

From here as well.

ADÉLA: Don’t touch it. Dorota!

DOROTKA: Bleeding like this.

KRYŠTOF: I’ve never seen such a thing.

ADÉLA: It has to be rinsed away quickly.

(Adéla leaves. Dorotka hugs Kryštof. She kisses him.)

MAREK: So the roof was blown away by the wind. It’ll be in the

newspaper. Tomorrow by the latest. Maybe on TV. Th at

doesn’t happen very often. What a wind. See you.

(Marek leaves.)

SCENE 8

(Kryštof and Dorotka are left alone. Dorotka has smudged Kryštof

on the face.)

DOROTKA: A sin. Horrible. But beautiful. It isn’t normal.

KRYŠTOF: It shouldn’t have happened.

DOROTKA: What?

160

KRYŠTOF: Th e roof.

DOROTKA: Hmm.

KRYŠTOF: Everything’s destroyed. Ruins are all that’s left of the

church. I can’t deal with situations escalating like this. Th e

depression is coming again. I have to sing it all away. Haven’t

seen such a thing. It’s worse than an earthquake.

DOROTKA: Never mind.

KRYŠTOF: What?

DOROTKA: It’ll be alright again soon.

KRYŠTOF: It won’t. It won’t be alright. It can’t be fi xed just like that.

DOROTKA: Nothing can be fi xed just like that.

(Dorotka sits on the tree. Kryštof is pacing around.)

KRYŠTOF: Can’t go on like this anymore. I used to have dreams

for my life, you know. Music conservatory. Art. Shiny shoes.

Shoulder-length hair. And singing. To sing till people cry. To

move them to tears. Real tears! So that they are really moved.

When I sing here, in church, sometimes they cry. Yeah, but

only at funerals! It’s not real. No real tears.

DOROTKA: Maybe it’ll come.

KRYŠTOF: I’ve had such dreams. Jazz in a café. Singing. In the

evenings. Really living. Or musicals. Art. Living it. You

understand? To move everyone to tears. Living it!

DOROTKA: I  don’t cry anymore. Since mother died. Quietly

sometimes. For a while. Otherwise never.

KRYŠTOF: Th at’s  exactly what I  mean. But I  understand you,

Dorotka. You can’t experience anything here. Really. I sing in

the pub and only Adéla is ever there. She’s listening, and when

I  look I can sometimes see a tear in the corner of her eye.

A small tear. Nothing more. (Pause) A singing teacher! What

is it? Depression. Th at’s the only thing you can experience

that here. Really.

DOROTKA: I also worry sometimes. But now we’ve got each other.

Th at’s beautiful. Th at’s something diff erent.

161

KRYŠTOF: No, Dorotka. It isn’t. You deserve the best. You deserve

somebody! You’ve got everything before you. I’m nobody.

Nothing. A total loser.

DOROTKA: You are somebody. Th ere’s nobody else. I’ve only got

you.

KRYŠTOF: A loser.

(Kryštof sits on the tree. Dorotka hugs him. He isn’t reacting, just

staring in front of himself.)

DOROTKA: What’s happening?

KRYŠTOF: Nothing. A total loser.

DOROTKA: And at night?

KRYŠTOF: Nothing. A loser.

DOROTKA: How so?

KRYŠTOF: You deserve a life. A real life! And I can’t provide that.

A singing master. At a primary school, for God’s sake!

DOROTKA: But I deserve you. You’re real! Th ere’s nobody else.

(Kryštof hugs Dorotka intensely. Th ey fall from the tree. Kryštof stands

up. Silence for a while.)

KRYŠTOF: For God’s sake. What have I done.

DOROTKA: What?

KRYŠTOF: What kind of person am I. What actually happened?

For God’s sake.

DOROTKA: What?

KRYŠTOF: Little girl, I’m not a loser. I’m a monster.

DOROTKA: Kryštof?

KRYŠTOF: Forgive me. Forget me. What am I  saying?

What’s happening…

DOROTKA: What’s happening?

KRYŠTOF: Forgive me, Dorotka. I’m not a man.

DOROTKA: What’s gotten into you?

KRYŠTOF: I’ll burn in hell.

DOROTKA: We’ll both go there. It’s our mutual sin. A terrible one.

So what? We’ll burn there together.

162

KRYŠTOF: Shut your mouth! Never say that again. Ever. You’re

a saint. You’ll go to heaven. You’ll be laughing at me from

above. At me, the monster. In the pit of hell. You’re only

sixteen. What have I done?

DOROTKA: I’m not a child anymore. I removed the picture from

the wall. I wanted to!

KRYŠTOF: No, you didn’t want to. Forget about it. Forget that you

wanted something. Nothing. Listen to me. You didn’t want

anything! I did. I am the monster. A loser. A depressed loser.

What’s happening? What’s going to happen? Forgive me.

(Kryštof is hugging Dorotka. He’s crying.)

KRYŠTOF: God’s  started punishing me. He took the church.

It’s  started, Dorotka. Forgive me, little girl. I  deserve

punishment. Punishing. Suff ering. No singing! My vocal cords

torn out. To suff er. To howl. In fl ames. Hell. To die. End.

DOROTKA: Stop it.

KRYŠTOF: Dorotka, that’s the end. I’m a monster. Th ere won’t be

anything anymore.

DOROTKA: Let go.

(Dorotka frees herself from his embrace. Silence for a while.)

KRYŠTOF: So. Th is is better. Good.

DOROTKA: Leave me alone.

KRYŠTOF: Forget about everything, Dorotka. Forgive me for all

of this. Sometimes one can’t control oneself. I can’t control

myself. Like yesterday night. Forgive me. I’m a loser. What

shall I do? Say something. What shall I do?

(Kryštof wants to embrace her.)

DOROTKA: Nothing. I want….

KRYŠTOF: What? Say it.

DOROTKA: Nothing. Let go.

KRYŠTOF: You’re so pretty. Full of hope. I am a nobody.

DOROTKA: Pretty?

KRYŠTOF: Yeah.

DOROTKA: Full of hope?

163

KRYŠTOF: Yeah. But still young. You know, everything’s ahead of

you.

DOROTKA: What?

KRYŠTOF: Everything, Dorotka.

DOROTKA: Th ere isn’t anything or anybody anywhere.

KRYŠTOF: Everything’s ahead of you!

(Th e vicar comes. He’s got a nearly empty vodka bottle in his hand.)

VICAR: God bless all good people. Th e last bottle. It was hid in

my room. In a crack in the fl oor. Hid very well so that the

housekeeper wouldn’t fi nd it. (Laughs) Trust me, very well hid.

She was searching and found nothing. It was well hid for bad

times. I always had a sip when the bad times came. It was in

easy reach. Th e bad times have come. Th ey came last night.

When I realized that, I ran to my room and found it there.

It was right there. So I drank it. When I came around I left.

Where? I don’t know. To the church? No way. I didn’t have

courage for that. For some things, you can’t get up courage

even if you drink a whole bottle of vodka. But I have found

good people here. Look. I have no more. Th e last swallow.

(Th e vicar empties the bottle and drops it.)

VICAR: Th ere’s none left. And won’t be. It can’t go on like this!

Hiding vodka. From the housekeeper, that’s fi ne. But from

God? I can’t hide so well. And from myself? Th at’s completely

impossible. (Laughing.) One can’t hide anything from oneself.

Not so well as not to fi nd it later. You’re good people. Well

hidden. What am I saying? Yeah. One can’t hide anything from

oneself. Nothing. Believe me. It’s God’s will. Where to go now?

What will happen? God knows. And nothing will be hidden.

Nothing. So farewell.

(Th e Vicar leaves slowly. Kryštof is silently singing an unknown song.

Dorotka runs away.)

164

SCENE 9

(Evening. At the fallen tree. Marek is sitting on it. He’s got a backpack

on his back. Dorotka comes.)

DOROTKA: What are you doing here?

MAREK: Waiting.

DOROTKA: For what?

MAREK: For you. It’s been two hours now.

DOROTKA: It’s nighttime. I was at the pond.

MAREK: I knew you would come. To look at the tree.

DOROTKA: Th e sap is still fl owing from it. Look.

MAREK: Strange. Still fl owing.

DOROTKA: It is. Bleeding like this. Since the morning.

MAREK: I wanted to say goodbye.

DOROTKA: Why?

MAREK: I’m leaving.

DOROTKA: Where?

MAREK: Away. I have a backpack, you see? Packed.

DOROTKA: Oh.

MAREK: If I hadn’t said it, you wouldn’t even have noticed. I’m

leaving. Because I have no one here. No one.

DOROTKA: You’ve got your family. And me.

MAREK: I don’t. You’ve got Kryštof now.

DOROTKA: Th at’s why? Because of that?

MAREK: Don’t ask anymore. I’m leaving home. I’ve packed my stuff .

My parents argued. Th ey argued about what would become

of me. But that’s my business. And you won’t watch the stars

with me anymore.

DOROTKA: Why?

MAREK: You’re asking as if you really don’t understand!

DOROTKA: But I don’t.

MAREK: You do. We’re not kids anymore. We won’t always sit down

by the pond and watch the stars together. Or throw stones

165

in the water so that the stars will twinkle. Not anymore. We

aren’t kids. Goodbye.

DOROTKA: Th at’s really nice. My friend and he’s fl eeing. What

about me?

MAREK: Exactly. What about you. You think only of yourself.

Th at’s why I’m leaving.

DOROTKA: You have nowhere to go. Where do you want to go?

MAREK: Away. None of your business. I won’t stay in this dump

any longer. Alone.

DOROTKA: So run away.

MAREK: Really?

DOROTKA: Hmm.

MAREK: So bye.

DOROTKA: And what have you got in that backpack?

MAREK: Stuff .

DOROTKA: What stuff ?

MAREK: Everything I’ll need.

DOROTKA: You think it’s enough to simply pack and leave?

MAREK: I’m going to do it. I’m serious.

DOROTKA: So bye.

MAREK: I’m not a kid anymore.

DOROTKA: Th ink it over one last time.

MAREK: No, I’ve made up my mind. I’m going. Don’t say anything

to my parents if they ask. Don’t say anything to anybody. Not

even to Adéla.

DOROTKA: When will you come back?

MAREK: Never.

DOROTKA: Because of me? Because I only think of myself?

MAREK: Yes. Also because of that.

DOROTKA: But I don’t think about anything anymore. I don’t even

know what to think about.

MAREK: Th ink about what you want. About who you want!

DOROTKA: Just so you know, you’re the one thinking of yourself!

Farewell.

166

MAREK: Damn. I really liked you.

DOROTKA: You’ve got it all mixed up.

MAREK: I’ve got it all straightened out. It’s fi nally clear to me.

DOROTKA: If you really liked me, you wouldn’t leave.

MAREK: Th at’s why I’m leaving.

DOROTKA: You’ve got it all mixed up.

MAREK: I won’t waste time explaining. I’ve said everything I wanted

to say.

DOROTKA: So go.

MAREK: I’m going! Bye.

(Marek leaves. He leaves the backpack under the tree. He comes back.

Dorotka hands the backpack to him.)

MAREK: And don’t forget about me. For you, it’s all clear. Life’s ahead

of you.

DOROTKA: All ahead of me! What is ahead of me? Behind me

there’s wasteland. Th e stars. Th e pond. Th e ruins. And the

funerals. I’m pretty. Behind me and above me. Stars. Trees.

Th e sky. Blood. Sticky. I’m full of hope. In me. Wasteland.

Plenty. Ruins. Trees. Blood. I’m still young. Just myself…

MAREK: What?

DOROTKA: Just myself. I  can’t see. Nowhere. Ahead, behind.

Nowhere!

(Marek pulls out a bundle of books from the backpack. He puts it on

the tree.)

MAREK: As a keepsake. (Marek is holding the backpack. He puts it

slowly on his back. Dorotka is numb. She’s watching him.)

MAREK: I have to go now. So bye.

(Marek leaves. Dorotka is standing there. Some stars can be seen in

the sky.)

167

SCENE 10

(In the pub. Kryštof is singing on a small stage. Adéla is listening. Th ere

is a picture of the Virgin Mary on the wall. When Kryštof fi nishes, he

drinks from a bottle on a table. Dorotka enters. She takes a glass of

water. She wants to leave.)

ADÉLA: Dorotka, wait.

DOROTKA: I only came for some water. I’m going to my room.

ADÉLA: What’s with you? Look at me. You’ve got dark circles under

your eyes. So pale. I’ve been watching you for some time.

I don’t like what I see. Are you ill?

DOROTKA: Please, don’t start.

ADÉLA: Pale. What do you think, Kryštof?

KRYŠTOF: I don’t think so.

ADÉLA: Pale as death. (To Dorotka.) You’re going to the doctor.

Th e sun’s shining and you’re pale. Th at’s because you’ve been

sitting in your room the whole day.

KRYŠTOF: I was at the vicarage today.

ADÉLA: How is Mr. Vicar?

KRYŠTOF: He’s  left his room today for the fi rst time. First time

since then. He gave some instructions to the housekeeper

and then went right back. I didn’t even see him. Very strange

atmosphere there. Kind of depressing.

ADÉLA: For the last three weeks they have been trying to fi gure

out what to do about the church situation. For three weeks!

Church says they don’t have money for a new roof. People

without a church. Th e vicar withdrawn. What a time… (To

Dorotka.) like death.

DOROTKA: Time is death. You don’t know what you’re saying again.

ADÉLA: I know what I’m saying. Th at you’re going to the doctor’s.

DOROTKA: I’m going somewhere. To my room.

ADÉLA: Wait. Two people came to the pub yesterday. Th ey had

coff ee and talked about that tree. Th ey asked how long the sap

has been fl owing from it.

168

KRYŠTOF: Maybe they are scientists.

ADÉLA: Some things are outside of science.

DOROTKA: It’s still bleeding. From morning till evening. Every day.

ADÉLA: Some things can’t be understood. Th ey just are.

DOROTKA: It’s a miracle. Th ey should leave it alone.

ADÉLA: It would be a miracle if life fi nally appeared in this place.

KRYŠTOF: Everything will come, you’ll see. People. Business.

Th ey’ve been talking about it. A  church without a  roof is

a disaster. Th ey’ve been writing about it in the newspapers.

All the time. At least something. And the tree, it’s a sensation.

ADÉLA: What sensation? A tree is no sensation. Nor is the church.

It’ll all be forgotten soon. People have other worries. Here

today, gone tomorrow.

DOROTKA: I’m going to my room.

ADÉLA: Wait. We don’t see you anymore. Kryštof is singing and

you’re hiding in your room. All the time. Before, at least you

used to listen.

DOROTKA: Before, at least I used to make a sour face. (She looks

at the picture.) Like her.

ADÉLA: She just spent nearly a month under the bed, so don’t be

surprised. (Pause.) Something’s wrong with you.

DOROTKA: So ask.

ADÉLA: You want to make me angry again.

DOROTKA: Ask.

ADÉLA: I don’t have to ask. I can see that there’s something wrong

with you.

KRYŠTOF: I want to tell you something. I sang for the last time

today.

ADÉLA: Th at’s clear. With such an audience. Right?

KRYŠTOF: Th at’s not it.

ADÉLA: What is it then?

KRYŠTOF: I’m leaving.

(Pause.)

KRYŠTOF: As you know, the church is gone. I’ve lost my place here.

169

ADÉLA: And when are you leaving?

KRYŠTOF: Soon.

ADÉLA: How soon?

KRYŠTOF: Tomorrow. Late afternoon.

ADÉLA: Are you going to teach singing?

KRYŠTOF: No. I was off ered something else. Via an advert. I found

a job. Well paid. Fairly. Of course, I’ll send you the rent money

until you fi nd someone instead of me. A substitute for me.

I had to take it. Yes, it’s pretty rash. Nothing ventured, nothing

gained.

(Silence.)

ADÉLA: Where are you going to sing?

KRYŠTOF: Nowhere. I won’t. I’m fi nished with singing. (Pause.)

Sometimes one has to put aside one’s ideals, otherwise one

can’t move on. Dreams are beautiful, but you have to face

reality by yourself. And opportunity doesn’t wait. It’s a job as

the head of a business department. Organizing and stuff . Th ey

wanted someone fl exible. Contact with people. So I took it.

DOROTKA: With people.

ADÉLA: Th at’s clear. Th ere are no people here. Th ere’s nobody here.

Right? No real contact. I hope you aren’t too worried about us.

KRYŠTOF: No, not at all. Actually yes. I like you all. I feel anxious

already. I get depressed at the thought of you abandoned here.

Don’t say anything. You’re young, pretty. Everything’s ahead

of you. Love. You just have to trust yourselves.

(Adéla is trying to suppress her tears.)

ADÉLA: I’m not young anymore.

KRYŠTOF: You’re a woman at her best age.

(Adéla is crying. Dorotka drinks water from a glass.)

KRYŠTOF: Just no tears. You have to start living. Sell the pub. Get

out of this dump. It’s too depressing here. Only tears. Only

ruins. You can’t live a normal life here. Go away from here.

Th ere’s life somewhere. It’s waiting somewhere. You just have

to do something about it.

170

ADÉLA: Th ere’s life somewhere. But where? I don’t see where.

KRYŠTOF: Adéla, you have to pull yourself together. Damn the pub.

Th e commitments. Nothing is stopping you. Just don’t feel

sorry for yourself. Don’t cry. Endure.

ADÉLA: I won’t endure it any longer. I can’t.

KRYŠTOF: You can! It’s enough to want to.

ADÉLA: I can’t stand it.

KRYŠTOF: I also told myself that I couldn’t endure it. Th ere’s just no

life here. Everyone’s dying here. Two years were enough and

now I understand. You have to get out of here!

ADÉLA: And what shall I do?

KRYŠTOF: You fi nally have to fi nd someone. A man. Start living.

Set up a family. Two kids, maybe three. A man with a good

job so that you won’t have to count every penny. You just can’t

spend the rest of your life here. Buy something to wear. Always

the blouses. White doesn’t suit you. More colours, Adéla. Go

to the hairdresser’s. Invest in yourself! Free yourself and let

your charm out. Let yourself be seen. Men will fi ght over you.

Trust me. It’s in you!

ADÉLA: I love you.

KRYŠTOF: I shouldn’t have sung today.

ADÉLA: For God’s sake. What did I want. Dorotka, hand me a glass

of water. Suddenly my mouth is dry. It’s  burning terribly.

I shouldn’t cry so much, I know. I’ve been crying all the time.

You don’t like it. I know that you mind it. Dorotka buries

herself in her room and you want to leave. (Dorotka hands

her a glass of water.) Th anks. I have to drink something. (She

drinks. She spits the water at Kryštof accidentally. She cries.)

I’m sorry. I have to go to the bathroom. It’s as if I have a lump

in my throat. It’s stinging. Burning terribly. Really. You can’t

imagine how it hurts me. I can’t stand it anymore. I really don’t

feel well. Sorry.

(Adéla leaves. Dorotka takes the glass of water and pours the rest of

the water on Kryštof.)

171

DOROTKA: People just don’t believe in love.

(Dorotka leaves. She stops at the door. She returns. She gives a big kiss

to the Virgin Mary. She leaves afterwards.)

KRYŠTOF: Depression. Th at depression again. I shouldn’t have sung

anything today.

SCENE 11

(In the church. Th e next day late afternoon. Dorotka enters the church.

Th e vicar is sitting on a bench.)

DOROTKA: I heard that you don’t leave your room.

(Pause.)

VICAR: One has to look the truth and God in the eye. What are you

doing here? Th e church is closed.

DOROTKA: It isn’t. A church can’t be closed. Can I sit? Just for

a while.

(Dorotka sits down.)

DOROTKA: Are you sick? Don’t you feel well? Will you go to see

the bishop?

VICAR: I will. Sure I will.

DOROTKA: You’ve sat in your room for three days. Adéla was

waiting for you every day. She was watching for you.

VICAR: Somebody after all.

DOROTKA: Me too. From the window of my room. I got used to

you visiting us.

VICAR: God bless you, Dorotka.

(Th e vicar wants to leave.)

DOROTKA: Wait. I want to tell you something. I’ve sinned.

VICAR: I can’t give you absolution. I have to go to confession myself.

DOROTKA: Wait. We all have our sins. But I didn’t come to confess.

I just want to tell you something. (Silently.) I said I hated God.

And I also kept the Virgin Mary under my bed for a few weeks.

172

Th en the wind blew the roof off . And there’s one more sin that

I can’t even tell you about. Kryštof is leaving. Today.

VICAR: I know.

DOROTKA: And only ruins are left of the church.

VICAR: One has to believe. In something.

DOROTKA: But I don’t believe. I said I hated God because he took

our dad away from us. And now I said it aloud too. In church.

VICAR: Me too.

DOROTKA: What?

VICAR: I said it aloud too.

DOROTKA: You too? He heard it. For sure. Both of us. What is

going to happen now?

VICAR: He doesn’t only hear the bad things. He hears the good

things too. And the people who don’t believe in anything don’t

talk like you.

DOROTKA: I want to tell you that something’s changed. I can’t

completely understand it. But it has. I  don’t even know

whether it is good or bad. How it’s changed. I don’t know. But

somehow it has. Th e wind uprooted the tree that night. And

it’s still bleeding. Flowing. It’s a miracle. Do you understand?

VICAR: You don’t have to understand.

DOROTKA: You do sometimes. But what?

VICAR: You have to ask.

DOROTKA: Ask? But who? I’m asking all the time. But probably

idiotically.

VICAR: Farewell.

DOROTKA: Wait a  moment. What did you do? In that room.

Hidden.

(After a while.)

VICAR: I hid something. And I couldn’t fi nd it, you know? I couldn’t

remember anything.

DOROTKA: You can’t hide anything from yourself. Are you still

searching for it?

173

VICAR: At fi rst I was searching for it, but I didn’t fi nd it. Th en I cried

and swore for a week. At myself. At God, too.

DOROTKA: And now what?

VICAR: Now I must fi nd them. Th ey got scared. Both of them.

DOROTKA: I know. Being scared of yourself. But searching for

something all the time? (Pause.) Sometimes I feel the urge but

don’t know where to look. For example, like for Marek. I don’t

know where to look for things. Always asking for something.

So ask. But whom? I’ll probably do it wrong. Are you OK?

VICAR: I’m going. Goodbye, Dorotka. I nearly forgot: Marek was

looking for you here.

DOROTKA: Marek?

VICAR: He was here before you came.

DOROTKA: Marek was here? He was looking for me in the church?

So he is back?

VICAR: He was asking for you.

DOROTKA: Where did he go?

VICAR: Don’t know. To the pond maybe. He said he was going to

the pond.

DOROTKA: He’s going to drown himself. For God’s sake. Goodbye.

VICAR: Dorotka?

DOROTKA: Never mind. Yes and the thing you hid in the crack

in the fl oor, stop looking for it. You’re wasting your time. So

goodbye.

(Dorotka runs out of the church. Th e vicar is standing.)

SCENE 12

(At the pond. Marek. Dorotka comes running.)

DOROTKA: Wait. Don’t do it, Marek.

MAREK: What?

DOROTKA: Don’t jump.

174

MAREK: Where?

DOROTKA: Into the pond.

MAREK: Why?

DOROTKA: You wanted to drown yourself.

MAREK: No, I don’t.

DOROTKA: You came back and looked for me in the church. But

I came after. I talked to the vicar. He isn’t looking for the vodka

anymore. He has stopped. He doesn’t remember that he drank

it. But he hid it so well that he isn’t looking for it anymore.

MAREK: Oh.

DOROTKA: Get it?

MAREK: No.

DOROTKA: Never mind. Where have you been? When did you

come back? Are you still angry?

MAREK: No.

DOROTKA: You’re not going to drown yourself?

MAREK: No. Why? It was raining yesterday. Look, the shore is all

drenched. Dorotka, what’s happening?

DOROTKA: I was worried about you. You haven’t even written.

Nobody went looking for you. A boy runs away from home

and nobody goes looking for him.

(Pause.)

MAREK: I was at the cottage. At my grandma’s and grandpa’s.

DOROTKA: I thought you ran away. Forever. Th at I wouldn’t see

you again.

MAREK: I  did run away. But then I  went to the cottage to see

grandma. Sorry. But I was angry with you. You just let me

go. Sorry.

DOROTKA: You’re such a child!

MAREK: Wait, Dorotka.

DOROTKA: I’m leaving.

MAREK: Sorry. Don’t go anywhere.

DOROTKA: What do you want?

175

MAREK: I won’t leave you again. I don’t care about Kryštof. Seriously.

I won’t do it again.

DOROTKA: But I don’t care anymore.

MAREK: You do. You were worried that I’d drown. You really don’t

know how glad I am.

(Dorotka slaps Marek across the face.)

MAREK: Ouch.

DOROTKA: Th ere.

MAREK: I was bored to death.

DOROTKA: You deserved that, you cottage dweller.

MAREK: And what else is going on?

DOROTKA: Bye.

MAREK: Wait. Th e tree.

DOROTKA: What about the tree?

MAREK: It’s gone..

DOROTKA: Why?

MAREK: My dad got angry because it was always in the way. Th ey

should have gotten rid of it a long time ago, supposedly. Th ey

to it away. You can get through now.

DOROTKA: Oh.

MAREK: Are you upset.

DOROTKA: At least he rests in peace.

MAREK: Who?

DOROTKA: Th e tree.

(Dorotka wants to leave.)

MAREK: Just wait.

DOROTKA: I’ve read all the books. Do you still want to be an

astronomer?

MAREK: Yes.

(Adéla comes.)

ADÉLA: What are you up to again?

MAREK: Hi.

ADÉLA: I was at the church. Dorotka, I was looking for you. Th e

vicar was talking chaotically. Who wants to drown?

176

DOROTKA: Do you remember? Life is a path. And there’s heaven

at the end and life is eternal.

ADÉLA: Dorotka, for God’s sake!

DOROTKA: Th e vicar said so. He always used to say that.

ADÉLA: (To Marek.) What have you done to each other?

(Dorotka goes to the edge of the pond.)

ADÉLA: Come on. Don’t be crazy! Come back.

MAREK: Dorotka, I’m sorry. I’ll be an astronomer. I won’t ever go

anywhere. Not even to the cottage. Maybe to the cottage, yes.

But I’ll be back.

ADÉLA: Come back. Or I’ll come to fetch you.

DOROTKA: Forever heaven. Heaven. Forever?

MAREK: Come back. It’s really slippery.

ADÉLA: Come back right away. Come on.

DOROTKA: I’m not a child anymore. It can’t be taken back.

(Dorotka is still standing on the very edge of the pond.)

ADÉLA: I’ve only got you left.

DOROTKA: You have. But not only me.

ADÉLA: What happened!

DOROTKA: So ask.

ADÉLA: Tell me. What happened?

DOROTKA: Th e vicar was wrong. At the end there is no heaven.

ADÉLA: What?

DOROTKA: Life is a path and there is heaven at the end. It isn’t so.

It’s here.

ADÉLA: Dorotka!

DOROTKA: It’s here, Adéla. Have you ever seen heaven in the pond?

It’s there. Look. It isn’t at the end. When I looked up, heaven

was in the church too. It’s written in books. It’s everywhere.

Do you understand?

ADÉLA: Dorotka! I’m scared.

DOROTKA: You’ve got it there too. Inside. You know?

ADÉLA: No. I don’t think so. Come here. I don’t know.

DOROTKA: Marek!

177

(Marek goes to Dorotka.)

ADÉLA: You will both fall in there.

DOROTKA: Adéla, it’s summer. Come and look.

ADÉLA: It’s slippery. Drenched. Don’t go in there! We’re all alone.

DOROTKA: We’re all alone all the time. You get it? Kryštof is leaving,

but we’ve been alone for a long time. I’ve been all alone for ten

years at least. Since my mother died. Maybe longer. (Pause.)

I don’t know about you; but I’ve probably been alone since

I was born. I just don’t remember.

ADÉLA: I’m coming over there!

DOROTKA: Fine. Come on.

(It’s getting dark. Adéla comes towards them to the very edge of the

pond.)

ADÉLA: Aren’t you scared all alone?

DOROTKA: I am. Terribly.

ADÉLA: Me too.

DOROTKA: Like Dorothy. She was terribly scared. Blind and

barefoot. But she went.

ADÉLA: Where?

MAREK: Onto the rocks and across the river.

DOROTKA: She was also alone. An orphan. She was even worse off

then we are. Much worse. But she had somebody. Although

she was all alone. And she was also looking for something

that wasn’t mentioned in the song. She was defi nitely looking

for something. Why else would she go? Maybe she really had

somebody. Maybe there was someone there for her.

(Marek is throwing stones in the water.)

ADÉLA: She had someone although she was all alone?

DOROTKA: Yes.

ADÉLA: How so?

DOROTKA: I don’t know. Th e stars are twinkling on the surface of

the pond.

ADÉLA: She had someone even though she was all alone? But who?

DOROTKA: You have to answer that yourself.

178

ADÉLA: What?

DOROTKA: Who she had.

ADÉLA: Th at’s illogical. Either she had someone or not.

DOROTKA: Illogical?

ADÉLA: Who could she have had when she was all alone?

DOROTKA: Someone…

ADÉLA: But who?

(Dorotka laughs.)

DOROTKA: So ask.

ADÉLA: Who?

DOROTKA: You have to discover it yourself.

(Pause.)

ADÉLA: I’m thinking about it…maybe…

DOROTKA: So who? Who did she have?

ADÉLA: So you… you don’t know who?

DOROTKA: Sometimes I do. And sometimes I don’t.

ADÉLA: So if you don’t know it again next time…just ask.

(Dorotka silently sings a  song. We can’t hear the words, just the

melody. All three of them look at the pond.)

THE END

179

Arnošt Goldfl am

(1946)

Arnošt Goldfl am graduated in theatre

direction from the Janáček Academy

of Performing Arts in Brno (JAMU) in 1977. Whilst studying, he

directed and played with the satirical theatre Večerní Brno (Evening

Brno), and after graduation was briefl y employed there. From

1978 to 1993 he worked with Hanácké divadlo in Prostějov, which

changed its name to HaDivadlo after moving to Brno. He helped to

create the poetics of this theatre, working there as director, actor

and author. He is presently a director in theatres in Prague (Studio

Ypsilon, Divadlo v Dlouhé, Dejvické divadlo) and Hradec Králové

(Klicperovo Th eatre), writes plays, teaches at JAMU and occasionally

acts in fi lms. Arnošt Goldfl am has written more than forty plays and

dramatisations. His plays can be divided into two groups: in the fi rst

he follows a (non-illusive) theme of the confl ict of generations, and

tries to capture the „spirit of history“; in the second he pays attention

to the banal situations of life, exaggerating them and taking them

to extremes. Characteristic for him is a feeling for embarrassment,

grotesque realism and satiric exaggeration.

LIST OF PLAYS (selection):

• Horror, 1981; première 14. 12. 1981, Studio Fórum, Olomouc

• Biletářka, 1982; première 18. 2. 1983, Hanácké divadlo,

Prostějov

• Červená knihovna, 1985; première 1986, Státní divadlo Brno,

Reduta, Brno

• Agatománie, 1985; première 22. 4. 1987, Viola, Prague

• Písek /Tak dávno…, 1987; première 5. 3. 1988, HaDivadlo, Brno

• Lásky den, 1994; première 8. 4. 1994, HaDivadlo, Brno

180

• Sladký Th eresienstadt, 1996; première 1. 11. 1996, Divadlo

Archa, Prague

• Já je někdo jiný, 2001; première 25. 10. 2003, Klicperovo divadlo,

Hradec Králové

• Ředitelská lóže, 2003; première 10. 2. 2004 at the same time

in Divadlo Komedie, Prague; HaDivadlo, Brno and Klicperovo

divadlo, Hradec Králové (rehearsed reading)

• Z Hitlerovy kuchyně, 2007; première 10. 11. 2007, HaDivadlo,

Brno

• Ženy a panenky, 2009; première 2. 3. 2009, Dobeška, Prague

 

TRANSLATED PLAYS:

• Agatománie: English – Agathamania

• Biletářka: English – Th e Ticket Girl, Norwegian – Den kvinnelige

Billetkontrollor

• Červená knihovna: Danish – Mit livs novelle, German –

Gartenlaube, Norwegian – Misseroman

• Horror: German – Horror

• Já je někdo jiný: German – Ich ist jemand anders

• Lásky den: German – Der Tag der Liebe

• Modrá tvář: German – Das blaue Gesicht

• Návrat ztraceného syna: German – Die Heimkehr des verlorenen

Sohnes

• Několik historek ze života Bédi Jelínka: German – Aus dem

Leben von Fritzchen Hirschl

• Písek: Russian – Pěsok

• Smlouva: German – Der Bund

• Zkouška: German – Die Probe

• Sladký Teresienstadt: English – Sweet Th eresienstadt

• Ženy a panenky: English – Dolls and Dollies

• Direktorskaja loža: Russian – Ředitelská lóže

• Dámská šatna: English – Green Room

• Z Hitlerovy kuchyně: German – Hitlers Küche

181

Arnošt Goldfl am

DOLLS AND DOLLIESTranslated by Eva Daníčková

Th is play is copyright and subject to protection under the Copyright Act.

Th is work may be used solely for dramaturgical purposes in association with

a production of it.

Any other use, in particular its duplication or making it available to third

parties, is subject to the sanctions of §152 of the Penal Code. In the event of any

intent to produce or otherwise use the play, you undertake to seek performing

rights to the work from Aura-Pont s.r.o.

All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the Aura-Pont Agency

Radlická 99, Praha 5, 150 00, Czech Republic, www.aura-pont.cz

Address for correspondance: Veslařský ostrov 62, 147 00 Praha 4

182

Characters:

Doll 1, the youngest one, still a child, who plays with dolls

Doll 2, young, school-aged girl, a teenager, sister of Doll 1

Doll 3, youthful, middle-aged woman, mother of Dolls 1 and 2,

pushing forty

Doll 4, woman of about sixty, mother of Doll 3 and the

children’s grandmother

Doll 5, woman of about eighty, slightly senile, the great-grandmother

Dolly, living doll, made alive by any means: acted, graphically

designed, mechanically assembled, a robot …

Note: I imagine, although it does not necessarily have to be so, that

the characters appear in reverse order. For example, the youngest

one is played by the oldest actress and vice versa; the oldest is played

by the youngest and so on. Why? I don’t know-there is no rational

reasoning for it.

183

DOLL 1: Right, I’m gonna tell you something about myself. My

name is Heddie. I’m seven and a half. I love my , and I play

with them all the time. Th ey are called: Heddie, like me, then

Heddie Ginger, Linda, and Adrienka. I play with them a lot.

Only sometimes I forget about them. I might leave them lying

around somewhere, and they just lie there and maybe I don’t

even dress them up. Th en they get mad at me, and they start

crying and calling for me. I always hear it, and I  run over

straight away, and what do I see? Heddie Ginger is lying on

the fl oor, and Heddie next to her, and they aren’t even dressed

since the last time, maybe they forgot, and now they’re cold,

and that’s why they’re crying. So I tell them off at once, and

I get them dressed, and I give them some food, things like like

milk, a pepper, bread rolls, and tomatoes. Th ey don’t need

much. When they’ve eaten and they’ve warmed up, they are

all comfy and happy, and they go to doll’s school or sing one

of the songs I’ve taught them. I’ve taught them many songs,

and I’ve made them all up – like this one:

We are little dolly-girls

Teeny-tiny dolly-girls

We have tiny hands and feet

Teeny-tiny hands and feet

Something like that. I’ve made up songs about animals,

about myself, about me, so many songs. Th ey are all diff erent.

Th is one is also really nice:

Animals are diff erent plenty

Lots of diff erent dolls I have too

Dolls and people they are alike

Beasts are diff erent altogether

So, that’s the songs I taught them, that we sing together.

I sing the best, Heddie’s second best, and then Heddie Ginger.

Adrienka also sings but her voice is like some old boy’s, and

she kind of croaks. So I always say to her: “You’d better not

sing, just listen”. Yeah, and Linda, she can sing really well too,

184

but she’s really stubborn. Like, I tell her to do something, and

she doesn’t wanna. Th ey always tell me at home, when I’m like

that. Th ey say-why are you so stubborn? But I’m not always

stubborn. But that Linda, she really is. Th e other day, I was

mad at her, and I said to her, “Stop annoying me. I’ve got the

others to look after as well.” But she kept on bothering me. So

I went, “What’s the matter?” And she went, “I’m hungry.” So,

I said, “How can you be hungry, we’ve just eaten?” And she

went, “It was disgusting. I feel sick. I was a little bit sick in my

mouth.” and I went, “How can you be sick? Both Heddies ate

it. Adrienka ate it, and they all liked it, and you always have to

complain! Why, tell me, why?” But she wasn’t saying anything,

and she just glared at me, so I turned her head backwards so

she couldn’t see us. She was quiet after that. And I also told her

that if she carried on being naughty I was gonna leave her like

that, and she’d never see in front of her, she’d always be looking

backwards so she wouldn’t even see herself in the mirror from

the front. And she went, “I don’t mind, and it’s better this

way, and I’ll see the hair at the back of my head, and it’s got

all sorts of benefi ts.” Th e other girls then started to be jealous

because she was showing off so much, and she would shout

something about…, something like, like…that she could talk

to whoever was sitting behind her in the classroom, and they

could look at each, and she didn’t have to look at the back of

somebody’s head, and not even at the teacher which was even

better. Th ings like that.

So she was showing off , and the other girls started bothering

me as well, until I had to twist all their heads, and it got me

so mad that they were so dumb. I didn’t even dress them, and

I just left them there. If they’re so dumb, le them enjoy it! And

I even told them that it’s really so stupid to copy each other

like that. I said: “If one of you twists her head, do you all have

to do the same? And if the others twisted their heads right

off , would you want that too?” I said something like that. And

185

I left them there to do as they pleased. Th at’s because they

don’t really know what they want but if one of them starts

something, they all want to copy her. Only it’s  always the

dumbest one who makes something up, so it ends up being

some stupid thing.

(Th e doors open and Doll 2 looks in.)

DOLL 2: What’ya up to, dopey?

DOLL 1: I’m playing.

DOLL 2: What are you playing at?

DOLL 1: Nothing, I’m just talking to myself.

DOLL 2: (Enters.) I stopped playing with dolls ages ago because

it’s no fun.

DOLL 1: I like it. And it is fun. And you don’t play with them because

they don’t respect you. Th ey respect me because I know how

to deal with them.

DOLL 2: My classmate Clara also stopped playing with dolls and

she took them all and put them in an electric oven and

cooked them. Th en she brought the dolly cake to school, and

we pretended to eat it and that it was really delicious. We all

laughed so much that one boy, Paul, nearly pissed in his pants.

DOLL 1: Th at’s so not funny.

DOLL 2: Tell you what. Let’s cook yours, too.

DOLL 1: No way! I’d kill you.

DOLL 2: I’d like to see that!

DOLL 1: You’d see! Don’t you dare! Just touch my dolls and you’ll

see!

DOLL 2: What will I see? You’re weaker than me. You’re as dim as

Knight Rider, and your silly dolls aren’t even alive, so there.

I’m bigger and stronger. Th e boys are already checking me out.

And one of them said he liked me, just so you know.

DOLL 1: He must be blind as well as dumb.

DOLL 2: You’d be surprised!

DOLL 1: I’m not interested in boys.

186

DOLL 2: Th at’s because you ‘re still a kid. But if you cooked your

dolls, you’d grow a few years straight away. What do you say?

DOLL 1: No way. What would I get out of it? Nothing. I’d only be as

dumb as you are. I’d keep on looking to see if my boobies are

growing or something.

DOLL 2: Th at’s so not true. Anyway, mine have already grown. And

I don’t talk to dolls because I know they aren’t even alive. Th ey

don’t feel no pain or nothing.

DOLL 1: Th ey do so! Th e other day, Heddie…

DOLL 2: You are Heddie.

DOLL 1: So is she, and this one, too. Her name is Heddie Ginger. So

we are the three Heddies.

DOLL 2: You are the three mentalists.

DOLL 1: You can say what you like, we won’t listen to you. And

that Heddie, she banged her head the other day, when she

was walking around with her head turned backwards, and she

cried so much. So she feels everything. And I also told her

about you; how you always look in the mirror to see if your

boobies are growing and if you can see them yet, and she was

laughing so much. We were all laughing at you.

DOLL 2: Th at’s because you are jealous. Look, they’re dead. Th ey

don’t feel nothing and you can whack them all you like. And if

you don’t catch me, I’ll beat the shit out of her. She don’t feel

nothing, anyways.

DOLL 1: Leave her alone!

DOLL 2: You have to catch me fi rst!

DOLL 1: You’re hurting her!

DOLL 2: No I’m not, because she’s not alive, anyway. She’s dead,

dead, dead…

(Doll 2 takes one of the dolls and starts hitting something with it, Doll

1 starts crying and tries to catch her, they argue. During the following

dialogue, Doll 1 catches Doll 2, rips the doll out of her hand and starts

hitting Doll 2 with the doll. Doll 2 laughs.)

187

DOLL 1: It’s not true. Th ey are all alive, and they feel everything.

Th ey cry like us, and laugh, and everything. Only you have

to believe in them. If you don’t believe in them, they pretend

that they aren’t alive. So even when they are in pain, like now,

you can’t tell. Because you don’t believe in them and because

you are mean. But they know, and if you don’t stop annoying

them, they’ll show you. You’ll see.

DOLL 2: Wow, I can’t wait. I’m already trembling with fear.

DOLL 1: You’ll see. Maybe not now, but one day. Well, maybe.

(Th e doors open, Doll 5, the great-grandmother, looks in. She starts

talking in fairytale fashion.)

DOLL 5: So, what are you doing, children? Whatever are you playing

with? Are those dolls? I’ve never had any dolls. I only had a log

of wood, so I glued a little bit of oakum onto it – that was the

doll’s hair – then I drew some eyes, a nose and a mouth on

the wood, and my mother hammered in some old aluminium

spoons to the sides to make the arms, and old forks to the

bottom to make the legs, and there I had a doll. We had plenty

of those logs. So I had plenty of dolls in the end. Only my

stepfather wondered where the old forks and spoons kept

disappearing, and he cursed a little. But I had a secret shelf

in the barn and I stored all the new dolls there. Th ere were

lots of them and so it was quite lively there. Th ere was always

something happening there. Sometimes we’d be cooking

lunch, but there wasn’t enough food because it was during

the war. And we were not rich, far from it! We were poor. You

can imagine, with so many hungry logs to feed, it was not easy.

Each of the logs was reaching up with its spoon and fork, and

there was nothing to put on them. We cried all through the

nights, me and my dolls. One day, I said, “It can’t go on like

this.” So many mouths to feed and I, being a single mother,

had no man to help me out. And the fear that the stepfather

was going to come! Imagine, there was a whole group of about

188

forty of fi fty log dolls. I can still remember them; I had them

all sorted alphabetically!

DOLL 2: Blimey, now she’ll want to name them all!

DOLL 1: I fi nd it interesting.

DOLL 2: (Ironically.) So what did you call your log dolls?

DOLL 5: What was that, dear? Did you say something?

DOLL 2: (Shouts.) Names! What were your dolls names?

DOLL 5: What dolls, dear? I never had any, only those sorry ones,

made out of logs of wood. And there were plenty of them,

plenty!

DOLL 2: (Quietly.) Fucking great…(Aloud.) So what were they

called?

DOLL 5: I still remember their names; I could tell you all of their

names, one after another.

DOLL 1: So tell us, great-grandma!

DOLL 5: Very well, I will tell you, my darlings. Listen up. Alice,

Agnes, Amelie, Barbara, Betty, Bella, Bertha, Bobby, Cecily,

Darlene, Dana, Dita, Dara, Denise, Elisabeth, Emily, Eddy,

Fifi , Gizel, Hannah, Hedvika, Helen, Ivanka, Irene, Ines,

Josephine, Jane, Jenny, Julie, Jackie, Jasmine, Karla, Laura,

Louisa, Leonora, Lena, Mary, Miry, Milly, Milena, Ophelia,

Olive, Petra, …

DOLL 2: (Quietly.) What a load of old shit… (Aloud.) Th at’s enough,

enough, great-grandma!

DOLL 5: I remember them all! Th ere were so many of them, Paula,

Rennie, Rosie, Sasha, Silvia…

DOLL 2: (Shouts.) Enough!

DOLL 5: (Tearfully.)…but there are only a few left, dear, I’d really

like to fi nish, I won’t be long, it’s nearly fi nished, I just want

to fi nish, don’t be so mean. Why are you so mean? What have

I ever done to you, my darling girl?

DOLL 2: It’s not fun any more. It’s boring.

DOLL 1: It’s not boring at all!

189

DOLL 5: I was never bored with them, ever! On the contrary, it was

so fascinating. Him, that stepfather, he was after them like

mad. He called me to him and he was really nice to me and he

sat me on his lap and he’d say, “Where are you hiding those

pretty dolls, I’d like to meet them”. And he would always touch

me all over and I needed to pee after that. But I couldn’t say

anything to him, he was my stepfather and my mother always

said, “We are lucky to have him, nobody else would look after

us.” And one day, I asked her why he’s always touching me,

she told me to be quiet, it’s because he loves me. She said if

he didn’t love me so much, he wouldn’t touch me. And when

I asked her why he touches me everywhere, she said she didn’t

know why he touches me here and not there, it’s just the way

it is. So why does he want to take my dolls away, I asked her.

But my mum didn’t know and she was all surprised, she asked,

what dolls, and why would he want to have them. And I said

to her: “Don’t you know, mum? My dolls Alice, Agnes, Amelie,

Barbara, Betty, Bella, Bertha, Bobby, Cecily, Darlene…”

DOLL 2: We’ve heard it already!

DOLL 5: (Absorbed in her thoughts.)…all my lovely dolls with arms

made out of spoons and legs made out of forks and hair made

out of oakum, and maybe he wanted to play with them too, just

like I did, and maybe he wanted to touch them too, just like

he touched me, so that’s why he wanted them, that stepfather.

DOLL 1: You should have turned their heads backwards, so they

wouldn’t look at him.

DOLL 5: And that mum of mine never said anything, she just walked

away. She was a bit strange. But we are all strange.

DOLL 2: Not me. I’m not weird. And I won’t be. I’m not thick so

I’m not weird.

DOLL 5: Th e next day, I went to have a look at my dolls, to fi nd out

if they slept well. I had them in a big box, tucked away in the

shed. But the box was gone and the dolls were also gone. It was

cold and raining outside, and stepfather was roaming about

190

downstairs in the launderette. I went down there and he was

just starting up the boiler and he was burning one doll after

another in the fi re…Dana, Dita, Dara, Denise, Elisabeth, Emily

and Eddy…(Tearfully)…and he was laughing like mad, and

when he saw me he wanted to sit me on his lap and comfort

me. He said the dolls came to see him by themselves and now

they are jumping into the fi re one after another. I acted as

if nothing happened, as if I believed him. I even sat on his

lap, and when he stroked my face, I bit his hand with all my

strength. Blood doesn’t taste very nice, remember that, girls.

Th en I ran away.

(Doll 3, the girls’ mother, enters and she goes straight for Doll 5, the

great-grandmother.)

DOLL 3: What are you doing here?

DOLL 5: Me?

DOLL 3: Who else? Is there anyone else here? No. Must be you.

DOLL 5: I’m telling the girls a story…about the dolls that I used to

have. I used to have many dolls. I had Alice, Agnes, Amelie,

Barbara, …

DOLL 3: Where are you supposed to be?

DOLL 5: I don’t know; don’t be mad at me, pet, I’ve forgotten.

DOLL 3: Where are you supposed to be?!

DOLL 5: In my room?

DOLL 3: And what have I told you?

DOLL 5: What have you told me, pet? I honestly don’t know, I can’t

remember.

DOLL 3: So start remembering or I’ll help you remember.

DOLL 5: Hang on, hang on, I’ll remember. Just give me a minute.

It doesn’t come so fast any more, my head isn’t what it used

to be. You know, my darling, I used to be so sprightly, always

busy, but I’m not any more. I’m old now, everything hurts,

I  can’t take much any more…well, I  can’t take as much as

I used to. I don’t think I have a place here any more.

191

DOLL 3: Go ahead, die, nobody’s stopping you. C’mon, what did

I say to you?

DOLL 5: Th at I’m old?

DOLL 3: And?

DOLL 5: And stupid?

DOLL 3: And?

DOLL 5: Th at I get all muddled?

DOLL 3: Hmm…

DOLL 5: (She suddenly remembers and blurts it out, as if she had

said it many times before.) Th at I’m an old, crazy lady…

DOLL 3: Bag!

DOLL 5: …an old bag, who can’t even see or hear properly any more,

which is only a burden to everyone, who is in the way, and who

shouldn’t really be here any more. Th at only because people

are merciful, I’m allowed stay here and I get food and all the

care that I don’t even deserve, because I’m an old sponger, and

I should be happy that I can be here with you, and that you are

all so nice to me even though I don’t really deserve it. I have to

keep on repeating that to myself, that none of what I get, and

take, and use, is deserved, because I’ve never been of any use

to you. I was always in the way, and I’ve cost you a lot of money

that you had to earn for me, and you have to keep on earning

now that I’ve overstayed my welcome. And that lovely room

I’m staying in would have belonged to the children a long time

ago, and when that happens, it’ll have to be painted anyway,

but I won’t be here any more, and it should be sooner rather

than later. I have to keep on reminding myself, because every

day I’m here is a day too long and a day that’s wasted, empty,

and lost. Right?

DOLL 3: Too right.

DOLL 5: But, pet, I like my little room and even if I had another

room, even smaller, I would go there, and I would like it too.

You are all so nice to me, I don’t really have anyone any more,

and I’ve only got you. I’d be long dead without you. A knock

192

or two from you, my pet, it doesn’t hurt, because I know that

I annoy you and everyone else more than enough, and that

you’ve been taking care of me for way too long, and that you

should relax sometimes and not bother with me, the crazy old

bag, who can’t even hear or see properly any more and who is

just in the way of everyone…

(She again eagerly and mechanically repeats the same learned words,

until Doll 3 stops her.)

DOLL 3: Stop it! Stop it! You keep on repeating it out of spite; do you

really think I’m stupid? No, I’m not stupid at all, even though

you think so!

DOLL 5: But, pet, I don’t think that at all…

DOLL 3: You do! You all do! And why? Because it’s true!

(Th e doors open and Doll 4 enters energetically. She picks up on the

last few words…)

DOLL 4: What’s true? What’s true? I tell you what the truth is. Th e

truth is that if it wasn’t for me, this place would go down the

dump, because there’s  no discipline here. Nobody knows

what to do, or how, nobody would even know how to make

a toast, you wouldn’t even know how to use the toilet! You’d

walk around in old rags and look for bread crusts in dustbins.

You wouldn’t even know how to run water from the taps and

you wouldn’t know what a toothbrush is. Th at’s how it is. Th e

children, those poor girls, they’d wake up every morning in

their own excrements, if it wasn’t for me! Because they’d be

nobody who’d be capable of explaining to them what it means

to be human and live by the values that give life a meaning!

And what is it, which gives our lives a meaning? It’s the good

old sense for order and commitment, that if I  have these

children or this old mother here, that I have to give them all

they need, so they can carry on with life. But not just carry on

willy-nilly, but continue with dignity, worthy of going higher

and further than before. And that’s why you should be glad

that you have me here. Every day you should kneel on broken

193

glass and pray to God that he kept me for you and that, before

I  leave, you’ll know everything you need to know in order

to live. You should beat your heads against the shards, until

there’s blood running down your face, and thank the Lord; and

it will still not be enough.

DOLLS 1 AND 2: Hello, Grandma.

DOLL 1: I’m playing with the dolls. Th ey are my babies. I’m their

mummy. If they’re good girls, I’ll teach them how to beat their

heads against the shards.

DOLL 2: Isn’t she thick, Grandma?

DOLL 3: Yeah, right, I was waiting for you to butt in and show

everyone that you are the best and the smartest! But nobody

here cares if you are the clever one and I’m the stupid one.

But I’ll tell you something! It’s because you never gave me the

opportunity to grow beside you. You brought me up so that

there would always be someone next to you who would be

the opposite of what you want to be! Of course you are the

best and the smartest, you can do everything and you know

it all, you always set an example. And that’s why you never

taught me anything, nor even let me fi nd something I’d be

good at! You simply pushed me into a narrow alley that gets

tighter and narrower, and it leads in only one direction: to

a helpless, stupid, worthless, and hopeless personality, of one

who is good for nothing apart from demonstrating how great,

amazing, and precious you are!

DOLL 4: Shut up and bring the food, bitch.

(Doll 3 goes to get the food without saying a word; she brings back

some food after a while and starts serving it. In the meantime…)

DOLL 5: Th at’s really nice of you to send that lovely girl for food.

We were hungry. I am so hungry I could eat a scabby dog.

Children, have you ever eaten a dog?

DOLL 1: I wouldn’t eat a doggy! I’d like to have a doggy to play with,

not to eat it. I would teach him to carry my dolls in his mouth.

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DOLL 2: I don’t munch on mongrels. If we ever bought one, it would

have to be for protection. It would make sure nobody could

sneak in. Like some paedophile or something.

DOLL 4: Don’t say paedophile, say paedofan. Paedofan is correct.

Do you even know what it means?

DOLL 2: Sure, It’s some weirdo who likes kids and buys them all

sorts of presents. I don’t even understand how anyone can like

little kids. Just look at her!

(She points at Doll 1.)

How can anyone like that? Only by mistake. Or maybe some

weirdoes would, like those paedofans. Th at’s why people say

that teachers are paedofans. One of our paedofans for example

is totally mad. She told us the other day, that you can go to

school for, like, twenty years. Like, if someone wants to be

doctor. Th at’s such bullshit. You’d be so old by the time you

fi nished school, you’d be ready to snuff it.

DOLL 5: At one time, during the war, we ate all sorts of things at

home. Once we had squirrels, and some people were catching

crows and eating them, but apparently the meat was very

tough. And these Vietnamese, they eat everything. Whatever

crawls on the fl oor, they catch it and put it into a saucepan.

Th ey are always boiling something in a saucepan. Th ey stick it

in and when it’s cooked, they shove it in their mouth. Grown

ups, kids, even babies in cots, all of them eat the stuff . And

they are as happy as Larry. And they are very hard-working.

Th ey have to be because they are always on the prowl. To catch

some bug or a mouse just with your hand is no easy business,

it takes practice. Th at’s how they learn it. It comes in handy

in life. It’s not very tasty though. Once, when I was little, just

like you (Pointing at Doll 1.) I found a dead mouse. I wanted to

know what it tasted like-but it wasn’t very nice. It wasn’t nice

at all. It was disgusting. I can still taste it in my mouth today.

It was as tough as old boot and it tasted as if it was dunk in

shit. And the hair got into my mouth; I was still spitting it out

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a week later. Yeah, that’s how it was. Yeah, yeah, and now, here

we are. But I’m happy, I’m really happy here. I’m only a crazy

old bag who can’t even see or hear properly any more, I’m in

the way and I shouldn’t even be here any more. Just because

there are people here who are merciful…

(Doll 3 comes back with some food; she’s grumpy and curses under

her breath.)

DOLL 3: Yeah, right. Of course, it’s nothing, giving birth to children,

looking after a man who is just like a kid, you whip him into

shape and he disappears God knows where, doesn’t even call to

see if I need anything. Some old fl oor mat has a better life than

me, who works and works to exhaustion, who doesn’t know

what it’s like to take a break and who isn’t even appreciated

here. But I have my dreams too! You might be surprised, but

I do. I saw it on telly, in this commercial. Th ere was this girl;

I think it was some actress or something, she put this spray

in her hair, then she kept running around, talking to people,

fi lming a movie, and in the evening, her hair was exactly the

same, bouncing just like it was in the morning. I only mop the

hall and my hair is a bloody mess. Th at’s why I’d like that spray

that really holds your hair. And I saw more things that I’m

interested in. But I won’t say anything, I’ll keep it to myself, it’ll

be my secret. Nobody knows anything, only me and Him up

there, I’ll go to Him and I’ll be free from you forever. Nobody

will torture me any more.

(As she is saying this, she serves the food, probably some sort of

breakfast, everyone takes a toast and butters it, and everyone eats.)

DOLL 4: Shut up and eat.

DOLL 5: If anyone wants some bread crusts, help yourselves. Or

I could dunk them in milk. A sprinkle of sugar, or if the milk

is hot, I could mix it with honey and it’ll be like a milky soup.

It’s alright, it’s edible.

DOLL 3: But one day I’ll have enough, and I’ll pull myself together

and leave. I’ll put on my best frock and spray my hair with that

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magic spray. I’ll shave my legs so they’ll be completely smooth

for two weeks. I’ll put on a miracle mascara to make my lashes

look longer. I’ll put on a lippy so my lips will be all shiny and

seductive and I’ll get a room in a hotel.

DOLL 5: You know, pet, I saw…

DOLL 3: For Christ’s sake, don’t call me pet or I’ll strangle you!

DOLL 5: …just such a hotel on the telly the other day. People lived

there and they walked around in pretty clothes. Th ey were

wheeling their suitcases behind them, big suitcases, they

were wheeling them all the time, everywhere they went. And

they killed someone in one of the rooms. Th e police were

investigating it.

DOLL 2: And? What happened next?

DOLL 5: I don’t know, I didn’t watch the rest, it got ugly. Th ey keep

on slaughtering each other. I didn’t want to see that. I don’t

like that kind of stuff , I always switch it off . I can’t watch it.

DOLL 2: You should have watched it to the end. Th is way you don’t

even know anything, I don’t get it. You don’t even know who

played the dead guy.

DOLL 4: You did want to watch it to the end, mummy, but I switched

it off ; it’s not a programme for you. An old person should

watch programmes about nature, they are nice. A volcano

erupts, isn’t that beautiful! Th e colours, the whole horizon is

ablaze. Or hunting in the jungle, and the love games of animals

in the nature, and earthquakes so strong a beautiful palace

goes down like a house of cards in a second. Isn’t that better

TV for you, those kinds of things? Real life that happens on

this planet. Th at’s what you should be interested in. I tell you

something, mother. Even someone who doesn’t have much

time left on this earth, whose days are getting shorter, like yours,

who doesn’t know the day or the hour, even a person like that

should look ahead and try to learn something new, until the

last second. You know, it all comes in handy. Even if you were

dying in a lot of pain, the thought that everything passes could

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help you. Hadn’t you known that, you’d suff er all the way to

the end. Th is way you can die assured that you suff ered a little

at the end of your long life. To be honest, in your case, it was

full of luxurious lazing. I don’t begrudge you, and I’m merely

stating the facts. Without knowledge, there is no action, and

without action, there is no fulfi lment. Remember that. And

without fulfi lment, there is no satisfaction. Remember that

when you are near the end because there isn’t much time left

for you, dear mother, despite all of us wishing for your sake

that there was.

DOLL 3: I will leg it, sod you all. You won’t exploit me forever, and

I won’t be your maid all my life.

DOLL 4: Shut your gob.

DOLL 3: Just so you’re not surprised.

DOLL 2: You keep on threatening, and nothing ever happens.

It’s because you are such a wimp. You can’t take it. Someone

barks at you, and you shit yourself. Granny has no respect for

you. She bosses you around, and you say nothing. I defi nitely

don’t take after you. I don’t even let anyone tell me what to do

at school, and it’s because I’m popular, and also because I’m

pretty and the boys like me, and I’m successful, and they all

stand behind me, and I’m also funny. Th e other day, one of the

teachers was telling me to get my act together or else I could

fail at the end of the year, and I just turned around and looked

at her and I said, “You wouldn’t dare! You try to fail me, bitch,

and I tell everyone that you hit me, and you’ll get sacked, and

you’ll end up cleaning shit on the underground.” And the boys

were like, “We would testify that it happened like that,” and

she just completely lost it. She shut up after that.

DOLL 4: I agree with you on some level. One has to have one’s own

opinions, but obviously not as vulgar as yours are. For example,

if that was me, I’d tell the teacher quietly but fi rmly that I was

considering submitting a written complaint in which I would

accuse her of carrying out a physical assault, and stating that

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this statement would be supported by a number of witnesses.

Th e way you said it may have scared her off , but my eloquent

but fi rm warning would shock her. Th is system is widely

used in medicine, especially in psychiatry. Shock therapy.

Remember that.

DOLL 2: Who cares, it’s all the same bullshit. But I don’t care. I really

don’t give a shit. What counts is that I’ve won. I blew her into

tiny bits, like atoms or whatever is, like, this small.

DOLL 1: (Feeding her doll and talking to her.) Why don’t you want

to eat? Such nice food, and you don’t want it. Any other child

would be happy to have something to eat, and you are making

a fuss. If you carry on like that, you won’t grow up properly,

and you’ll be like a little kid forever, and everyone will laugh

at you. Isn’t that right, won’t you laugh at her? Look how they

will laugh at you!

(Everyone turns to the doll with a smile to keep their youngest one

happy, and they laugh for a long time.)

DOLLS 2, 3, 4, 5: Hahahaha, hee hee hee…look at her, isn’t she silly,

she won’t eat…such yummy food…hahahaha, hee hee hee.

DOLL 4: Missing breakfast, missing dinner

Is so very bad for you

Limbs could drop off easy-peasy

Inside organs shrivelled, queasy

One by one your hair gets thinner

Freaky creature you will be

Just don’t eat and you will see

DOLL 5: Naughty little girl I was such

Sausage and mash didn’t like much

I was worm food before I knew

In my body holes they made through

Long time it took, almost ages

Before I made any changes

Mother worked hard, tried her best

Stepdad tried too, got no rest

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Couple of years would you believe

Pretty again, what a relief

Whether you think true or false

I am candid, don’t think worse

DOLL 3: Let them worry, feed you and fret

Spread the butter on your bread

One day they might not be bothered

No more breakfast, lunch and tea

Don’t miss comfort when it’s off ered

Th is much food you’ll never see

DOLL 2: I don’t care if you eat or not

You aren’t alive, you can’t die

I eat fresh food, like a carrot

Your choice, you can laugh or cry

DOLL 1: Come, it’s lovely, have a little

Full of goodness, vitamins

Made for you, my little pickle

Dolls grow up to mannequins

You can lie down after dinner

I will even tuck you in

Of the dolls you’ll be the winner

Not to sleep is such a sin

Enjoy this, the sweetest moment

You must enjoy lovely days

Walk on the grass, not the cement

Your skin catching sunny rays

Face of kindness looking at you

Teeth like pearls in smile that beams

For a laugh there’s no need to queue

Eyes so kind like sweetest dream

Ear so sharp it never misses

Lips are made for mummy kisses

DOLLS 1, 2, 3, 4, 5: Hahahahahahahaha, hee hee hee hee hee….

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DOLLy: Oh God, how tiring, how exhausting, how hard it is, to be

buried in this stiff body. Tiny hands of my little tormentor

stuffi ng a  curious substance into my mouth, tweaking my

head, breaking my arms and legs, what an eternal pain and

suff ering. How beautiful would it be to become the mistress

of my own body one day and do only what I want to do. No

one knows what it’s like to be left in the cold, half-naked, with

your face pressed to the fl oor, or in boiling heat, for weeks or

months, in a pile, unable to breathe in the humid weather, only

half-alive. To fl oat in water full of dead, swollen fl ies, forgotten

and unnoticed. On a park bench or under it, in a pile of rotten

leaves, waiting for the impossible, for a new opportunity to get

out of there, into the light…All of this is almost impossible

to describe. No one understands what kind of a  life it is…

Without a chance to complain, without hope to improve in the

long term, without change, without knowing that perhaps one

good moment will last a little longer to be able to experience

it fully.

(At this point, Doll 1 roughly grabs Dolly and sits her somewhere or

moves her limbs somehow, cutting her off .)

DOLL 1: So you really won’t eat this? Such nice food I made for

you, and you don’t want it? I made such an eff ort, as if I was

cooking for the Queen, all for nothing. Do you think you are

some sort of a queen here? Or a princess? If you are naughty,

you won’t get anything. No more bed stories, no more nice

soft pyjamas, sitting on my lap and singing lovely songs for

little girls, no more walks in the bouncy pushchair, nothing.

DOLL 5: Th ese are diff erent times, my children. When I wanted

to take my log dolls out, it was such a worry, so much hassle.

Not like these days, wrap the baby in white or pink blankets

and off you go! Th ere were no such lovely prams in my days.

Just a cart with wooden wheels. It all clattered and rattled

and bounced and everything kept falling out. I was all sweaty

before I managed to take all of my 50 dolls, all of those 50

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logs, and put them in that little cart of mine. My poor little

child’s  arms were all tired and fl oppy, this fl oppy, before

I managed to get all the dolls together. And how they carried

on, when I took them out! I told them, I said, stop yakking,

can’t you be quiet for a little while? But they wouldn’t stop.

So one day I  took a horse rug and I put it under the dolls

and that kept them quiet. I threw the other half over the top

of them and they were as quiet as nuns. But how worried

I used to be! It was my dear mummy who used to say: “Enjoy

yourself while you are young”. And so I was worried for days

on end and I took the dolls in the cart to the dark alleys so

I wouldn’t bump into my stepfather, but he always found me

and up I went to sit on his lap. And so I cuddled the dolls,

the stepfather cuddled me; mummy said that there is a lot of

mess and chatter about, like at a funfair, and then my youth

passed me by before I noticed. Who could have known? And

my dolls burnt down, my mother gone too, stepfather gone,

God knows where, and I’m all alone, I only have that little

room…now they are going to take my room away and kick

me out…But I can’t walk as far as I used to, my darlings! Two,

three steps, and I drop like a sack of potatoes. It’s true, don’t

say it’s not. I fall down, and who cares? Who will show mercy

to an old, useless, good-for-nothing woman, who can’t even

see or hear properly, who annoys everyone, who is useless

and who shouldn’t even be here any more. But people have

mercy, someone will see me on the fl oor and they’ll say, “Look,

there lies a granny, she must have been tired or something, she

made her bed on God’s earth.” He’ll pick me up and wrap me

in a horse rug so my old bones won’t rattle and take me home.

At the end of the day, beggars can’t be choosers.

DOLL 3: Do you want to fi nish me off ? She goes on ranting and

drives people to insanity! I have taught you what to say and

you know it. But you aren’t stupid; you know how to turn

the whole thing against me! Look who’s  suddenly the bad

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one, whose fault it all is, and who is abusing a helpless, old,

weak, mouldy granny, and who throttles her so she can’t take

a breath? Of course, it has to be me. Th ere’s nobody else here

who would play the role of the victim so well, no one you could

grill and burn as easily as me! But I’ve been saying it for years,

I won’t let you carry on. I’ll leave you all and run away! Don’t

worry about me. I know people who won’t let me down. Th ey

will help and support me. I might even get to walk on the red

carpet, smelling like fresh wind from the sea and my skin as

smooth as silk. I’ll fi x my teeth and all.

DOLL 4: Shut up, you zero, you silly twat, you…you…doofus! How

dare you talk about my mother in this way? Don’t worry,

mummy, nobody is going to hurt you here. You brought me

into this world, it was your blood supplying me with food,

water, and oxygen inside the womb, it was you who whispered

lullabies to me and who sang to me quietly!

(She sings.)

Sleep my baby, sleep now

When you come the world is ready

To meet you, greet you and applaud

To envy us this gift from God

(Addressed to Doll 3.)

And I  came into this world the hard way, unlike you,

I ejected you into the arms of ten doctors in spotless white

coats and twelve nurses in tiny green uniforms and knitted

gloves, while the air conditioning was humming above our

heads and a beach with swashing sea waves was projected

onto the ceiling, and I was watching all that and dreaming

about the magical world, and I didn’t even know when you

came out, it was that simple. And because it was so simple,

I didn’t even get to know you properly, I still don’t know you,

I don’t even know who you are’ and I’m amazed how rude

you are; how common and banal your thoughts are, of all that

goes on in the head. My coming into this world was redeemed

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by the suff ering of my dear mother, the crying and howling,

moaning and wailing, mine and hers. I came into this world

the hard way and there was nobody there to help me. From

her womb I stretched my tiny arms helplessly, calling for help,

pleading. No one was there then who would say “Come, I’m

here to help.” Nobody but me, choking in a pool of blood, I had

to use the last remains of strength to claw myself out and the

poor old woman, the poor old woman you won’t even take the

bedpan from and fl ush the shit down the toilet, that poor old

woman wiped my body with a wet cloth and she said a few

words that I’ve never ever forgotten since. She said, in her

simple, unforgettable, matter-of-fact way; she said a few words

I’ve decided to engrave on my gravestone. Th ey will follow

me from the beginning to the end. Remember those words,

they’re the essence of everything, they are, as the Germans say,

the core of the poodle, the bottom line. She said, “It’s over!”

Th en she fainted. In the meantime, I was crying softly, until

the savage midwife came, in fact you remind me of her a lot.

She came in; picked me up with one rough, man-like hand

and span me around, juggler-style, like a pinwheel, checked

me over and said “Good, very good.” Even that rough woman

said “Very good.” Since then, I have grown and grown, looked

around and learned, and I’m still here, and you should thank

God for that, because without me, as simple as you are, you

wouldn’t even know how to fart, and that’s how it is.

DOLL 2: I wouldn’t have kids if you paid me. I’d have to be, like,

totally, totally thick, to want to have kids. No girl wants to

have kids; she’d have to be really thick. It ruins your tits. I’d

be like some old granny then, shuffl ing around, tits hanging,

dragging me down, a thousand years old, well, just old, like

forty or something. And on top of it all, having to look after

the kids. Not even have my nails done, ever. Hanging around

on the street, dragging a pram. Th e kid in the pram constantly

screaming wooooooaaaaah, wooooaaaaah. If only it grew up

204

in, like, a month, maybe I could take it. But this way? I’d have

to go bonkers fi rst; no way would I do such a thing.

DOLL 5: Small children cry, and nobody is there to help them. Right

now, somewhere a baby cried, and nothing. Nobody gets up

to see to it. Children cry all over the world and people sit and

don’t move. I think I’d like to go now. I don’t like it here any

more. It’s not nice here.

DOLL 4: No, Mummy, I won’t let you go. I won’t let you die. I know

what you want, the time has almost come, but I won’t let you.

Th e minute I see you going weaker, I’ll get up and give you

strength.

(She demonstrates.)

For example, if you can’t walk, don’t worry, I’ll give you a hand!

I’ll lift you up, support you and move your legs. I’ll put a chair

behind you, you’ll grab hold of it, lean on it, and we’ll manage.

You will be running again in a week, a month, or a year. I’m

not in a hurry; I’ve got all the time in the world. We could

struggle with many things: with eating, for example. You can’t

chew it all at once? I’ll sit with you, and I’ll feed you! Here,

there’s a spoonful, put it in your mouth, chew it, nibble it,

masticate it, liquefy it, and swallow it, and another bite. Or

I could pre-chew it for you, then I’ll spit it out onto the spoon

and you just have to swallow it. It’ll happen, don’t you worry.

Th at’s why I’m here, to help you, to pay you back all that you’ve

had to suff er for me. All that hardship. I’ll reimburse you for

everything, don’t you worry, nothing will be left unpaid. In the

end, the slate has to be as clean as baby Jesus’ gown.

DOLL 1: Heddie and Heddie Ginger are both well-behaved, and so

are Linda and Adrienka. Maybe every mummy who likes her

babies as much as I like both Heddies and Linda and Adrienka

should keep her babies in her tummy forever. She could just

take them out to play or eat, and after that, put them back into

her tummy. She could keep them there, especially if they’re

sick, because it’s warm in the tummy. Maybe there isn’t that

205

much light there, but they could have a torch, because a torch

isn’t nearly as big as a whole baby. Not many things are that

big, and so anything that’s smaller they can have in the tummy;

like that little hairdresser’s salon that Heddie Ginger got. You

can take the cable out and plug it in, and they can even blow-

dry their hair. A whole dolls room could fi t in there, and even

a fridge and a washing machine, and the dirty laundry water

would come out with pee, that wouldn’ t be a problem. Th ey

could watch telly there, but only kids’ programmes, because

they are only small, my girls. Th e tummy is a house for little

girls. But not too big a house because everything wouldn’t fi t

in there. Anyway, nobody has got everything, not even some

powerful witch. Yeah, that’s how it is. Yeah, that’s right. Or, the

mummy could get bigger with the babies. When the babies

grow up, the mummy would be as big as a house. Th at would

be really great. If there was a small lady on the street, you

could tell she hadn’t had babies yet. And if there was a big

one, everyone would know that she was somebody’s mummy

straight away. Also she could make bigger steps, and she

would manage everything better. Everyone would bow to

her and greet her because she was already a mummy. And if

somebody didn’t say hello to her, she could even smack them.

But because her hand would be so big, nobody could take

a  smack from such a mummy. Not even another mummy,

a smaller one, because she hadn’t had so many babies. And all

the mummies would always go out together, holding hands,

singing and dancing in a circle, just like when you dance and

sing Ring-a-Ring of Rosies. But they would sing another song.

Come, sis, Mum, Gran, Great-Gran, come, let’s sing and dance.

DOLLs 2-5: (Overlap.) Leave me alone, don’t be silly, come on,

darling, etc.

DOLL 1: Come, come into the circle, I’ll show you, I’ll teach you!

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(Th e music starts, and the women stand in the circle, hold hands and

dance and sing a rather dull song. Th ey may even play some musical

instruments that Doll 1 has given them. Th ey are toy instruments.)

Round and round we keep on going,

singing such a lovely song

Feet are tapping in the rhythm; skirts are fl owing,

dum da di dum

Faster, faster, faster still,

we dance and hold hands all night long

Dance and sing, don’t ask me why,

it’s a funfair, we could fl y.

Red and yellow, green and purple,

colours fl ying in a circle

What a beauty, all is spinning,

all are equal, no one’s winning

Like a rainbow from south to north,

fi rst and second, then third and fourth

Who can’t sing and dance like we,

they must from the circle leave

(In the end, they all fall to the fl oor and start to get up, still laughing

and happy, according to their characters. Every time Dolly starts

talking, the women stop and freeze, and only start moving again when

Dolly has fi nished. Dolly starts talking now.)

DOLLy: You can dance around in the circle, but it will never be

beautiful. Spin around and whine your daft songs, but I, the

cast away, the doll that is pushed aside and tormented, I won’t

join you. But it’s possible not even this is true, only I say I’m

”tormented,” somebody else could say I’m loved, spoiled, well

fed and well dressed, and what can I do? Oh God, does it really

matter that much? Sometimes I’m forgotten, put away, even

banished or lost and found again. Just a silly doll, a dead object,

a spiritless toy, only a toy and nothing else. I’m of no use to

anyone, only to the delightful little girl who strolls around the

fl at with the doll in her hand, or goes around with the pram,

207

and the little madam goes and clashes with everything that

stands in her way. Th e whole fl at, the whole world is full of

enemies, alive and dead. Crash! Boom! Th ere’s been a crash!

Poor old doll falls out of the pram and gets thrashing for not

being careful enough. She’s put back in the pram, literally

thrust under the blankets and she’ll be stuck there until her

mistress thinks of something else. Th ere is a whole array of

whims and role play. A mean nanny, a strict teacher, the nicest

mummy, a cruel sister, a possessed governess, a perverted

carer, a brutal doctor, a runaway horse, a fi ghting dog, a cruel

dragon, everything good and bad that you can imagine. Th e

doll is tortured with starvation, stuff ed like a  goose with

cones, the food is literally rammed into her throat, she is being

watered with all sorts, milk sealed in plastic bottles, and the

doll can drink and drink and never takes a sip. She’s forced into

thick coats in the summer heat; she is tossed around dressed

only in knickers and shoes in the freezing cold. Th ose shoes

are so tight they don’t come off ; they are drawn on the dolls

feet, with socks and all. Such a doll can’t ever do anything of

her own will, by her own wish. Poor Doll can only dream and

long for a better life. Yes, that is the main and the only joy of

the doll race. Unlike those who own her and who rule over her,

she is able to dream; she has to dream. Th is ability, which her

mistresses gradually lose over the years, becomes the main and

the only joy in her miserable life. Th e doll dreams her life away

and she will experience what the living will never know; what

they could only long for, if they were able to imagine it, but

they almost never can. And so the doll’s real hard life becomes

more and more secondary, unimportant and uninteresting.

It’s the inner world of the dolls, their dreams, my dreams! It

is that which pushes reality to the very edge and beyond. And

the main and the only place is then taken up by our eternal and

never-ending dream; the idea that what happens is only in our

heads and in our hearts. Even when the head is a plastic shell

208

and the heart a small light bulb, fl ashing in a see-through red

capsule. All this can’t be taken away from us because none of

our mistresses knows anything about it, their imagination and

their power doesn’t reach that far.

(When Dolly fi nishes her monologue, the rest begin moving and

talking again.)

DOLL 5: It’s been such a long time since I’ve had so much fun. To

spin around in the circle like a small doll, sing a lovely song,

hold hands with all my loved ones,. How long has it been

since I’ve done anything like that? Fifty, a hundred, a thousand

years? Th is is what I imagine death to be like. I’ll become light;

I’ll be lighter than a feather; my legs will be what they used

to be, I’ll put on a colourful dress, stand in the middle of our

room, and I’ll spin round. As fast as the wind, and faster still;

so fast that my arms will be totally free, as if they weren’t really

mine; as if they were tied by a string or an elastic band, like

a doll’s arms. And the string gets tighter and tighter, and my

arms stretch further and become longer and longer; so long

that they brush against everything that’s in their way. It should

probably hurt but it doesn’t, because I can’t feel anything, I see

nothing but coloured spots, my head is spinning as if I was

falling through a funnel. I’ve become a tiny coloured ribbon

in the wind, that suddenly whips me off into the air and then

I’m gone. Th at’s what I sometimes dream about in the night, in

my sleep, if I manage to fall asleep. But most of the time I don’t

manage; my legs drag me into the bed as if they were made

of steel, that’s how heavy they are. Sometimes I think my bed

won’t stand such heavy legs, and that it will collapse, I think

to myself. I can’t get comfortable; on my back, I feel dragged

down, my shoulders and my back hurt when I’m on my side

and I can’t manage to turn onto my stomach by myself, and

even if I do, I can’t get up. I have to slowly get up on all fours,

like this. Th en I have to grab onto something, like the bedside,

and shuffl e myself to the edge of the bed, and then I sit down,

209

and then I’m ok. Or somebody helps me, takes my arms, yanks

me up-and here I stand. On my own, it’s hard, so it is.

DOLL 3: I wouldn’t get up at all. It makes no sense. Why bother

getting up? Is it even worth it? It’s  good that I  found out,

stupid me, I always help you out, drag you up by those arms

with brittle bones, dried up and knobbly, covered with skin

that’s shrivelled like an old lizard’s, and then all you do is get

in the way. But now that I know, I’m going to yank your arms

properly and I’ll rip them off ! One after another. You won’t

even bleed, anyway. Th en I’ll rip your legs off , wrap it all in

a parcel, write an address somewhere in South America, and

I’ll send you off to some museum or for medical research.

Th ey will open the parcel and they’ll be all bowled over! Th ey’ll

think it’s some old mummy, from America, at least a thousand

years old but a special space-saving one, stored in bits, arms

and legs separately. Th ey’ll put you together again, with bits

of wire, and stick you in a glass box where you’ll stand like

a dummy. Th ey’ll wax you up or give you a lick of paint; they’ll

even dress you in some feathery or beady dress, like a squaw,

golden beady headband, lucky you, you’ve never even dreamt

of such a thing! People will come and gawp at you. We’ll come

too, me and the girls here, on a Sunday.

DOLL 4: Shut up!

DOLL 2: No way I’m going to some stupid museum. Not me! I’m not

interested. Not one bit. I’m surprised that anyone goes; that

anyone likes museums. I can’t imagine who does, only some

old dazed idiot or little kids, coz’ they have to go. Th ey tell

them at school, and they have to go – no way they can protest.

DOLL 1: I know all kinds of diff erent songs. If you wanted to, we

could sing and dance together all the time. But you’d have

to be very good, like my dolls. Th at way we could play, but

you’d be living dolls. Th ey haven’t invented those yet. And

there aren’t really any old dolls, wow that would be great! Like

a grandma doll or a great-grandma doll. You could have some

210

disease or we could pretend there’s a funeral. I’d dress you all

in black and we’d march in a procession and we’d sing this

really sad song.

Little doll passed away, too old to live more

She couldn’t walk again, had a fall, was sore

She couldn’t chew either, not a tooth inside

She toppled down to the fl oor, Death comes, you can’t hide

Let’s dig a little grave, a little hole for you

Th ere you lie, dear Dolly, rest in peace, bless you

DOLL 4: What a lovely song, who taught you that?

DOLL 1: Nobody taught me, I made it up myself.

DOLL 4: What a clever little girl you are! But it’s not very nice to

sings songs like that, it’s blasphemy. A funeral isn’t something

to make fun of.

DOLL 1: But I like to play the funeral game, I enjoy it. And if I have

that old doll, she’ll have to go in the grave. And if you tell me

off , you will go in the grave too! I’ll sing you a song too, but

not a nice one like that, if you tell me off .

(Doll 4 slaps Doll 1 in the face.)

DOLL 4: No, little girl, you will not play such games. You have

to listen to me, and I  tell you that it’s not good for a  little

girl; you will simply not play like this if I have a say in the

matter. Children should play happy, cheerful games, from the

beginning of life, not its end. It’s not acceptable to remind

a person of her end. It’s disrespectful, it’s not to be talked

about, it really isn’t very nice, it’s off limits. I don’t like to

say it but you will have to listen to me. Because, if you don’t,

something’s going to happen.

DOLL 1: (Crying.) What’s going to happen?

DOLL 4: Well, it can’t be without a punishment, that’s for sure. You

start singing some such song and digging a hole and burying

a doll in there, and now imagine: all of a sudden, there’s a fl ash

and thunder, and the fl ash comes down from the heavens and

boom! It will hit you right on the head, and your hair will be

211

in fl ames, and it will burn you, and you will run around with

your head on fi re, and even your dress will catch fi re, and

you’ll be like a live fi reball. You will be in a lot of pain, and

then you’ll die. Th ey will also put you in a hole in the ground,

but this time for real.

DOLL 1: I don’t believe that.

DOLL 2: I don’t believe that either. It’s just what people say to scare

little girls. It doesn’t work with me, I even fi nd it funny. When

I hear anything about heavens and fl ashes and thunder and the

like, some chapels or something, it makes me laugh.

DOLL 4: Other things could happen. Somebody will hear your

loathsome song, and suddenly he’s there. You’ve never seen

him before. He’s going to start talking to you in a voice as

sweet as honey.

DOLL 1: I don’t like honey.

(Another slap.)

DOLL 4: It’s a simile, my darling. It means that he will speak with

a sweet voice that will charm you so much that you will submit

to him. It will be as if you had the loveliest dream. But you

won’t know who it is; you won’t be able to see this man in the

face. But when you are totally infatuated, as it’s not possible

to resist the voice, you will go after him, as if in a dream. You

will walk and walk, you won’t know how long. He will then ask

you to give him your hand. You will do it and he will squeeze

your hand so tight that you won’t be able to wiggle out, and

not even crying will help. His grip will be as hard as steel. He

will lead you further and further and you will get used to the

grip. Your feet will then start hurting and you will cry and

plead again for him to carry you. He will pick you up and

squeeze you so tight that your bones will crack. He won’t let

go no matter what you do. A strong wind will come and lift

you up into the air and you will be cold for a bit and hot again

and you will fl y far, far away, until you will see a burning crater

of a volcano underneath you, a real blazing fi re. You will fl y

212

high up above until you are as cold as stone, frozen and blue.

Th en he will let go of you. You will fall and you’ll keep on

falling into that terrible fi re, it will take forever and you will

be full of fear and pain. You will be frozen stiff on one side

and burnt by the terrible volcano blaze on the other. You will

wish for it all to stop, wish for an end but it will never come.

You’ll see the demon circling high up above, be sure that it

will be the demon HIMSELF and you will hear him laughing.

You will never forget that laugh; it will ring in your ears, if

they can still take it in. All this will last a long time, a whole

eternity. You know, my darling, I don’t wish this on you. How

could I want such a horrible end for our beautiful doll? Of

course, I wish you all happiness and joy in life, to walk around

in pretty dresses, to eat only the nicest things, to drink lovely

fruit juice and milk from the cows fed on ever green pastures,

and that’s why you have to do as your grandmother says. I have

only your best interests at heart. How could I wish for you to

be afraid of something? I wouldn’t be capable of such a thing!

However, you have to take in all the good that I’m trying to get

into your head. You have to take it in just like I have to accept

everything that is my fate. Even our suff ering is a gift of a sort;

think of it that way, my child. So, what do you say now?

DOLL 2: What a load of old shit!

(Doll 4 slaps Doll 2 in the face.)

DOLL 4: Th ose kinds of remarks you can keep for your daft

classmates. Don’t think that you are invincible!

(Doll 3 slaps Doll 4 in the face.)

DOLL 3: Here you go, sent straight from that devil of yours!

(Doll 4 slaps Doll 3 in return.)

DOLL 4: Th at hand you just slapped me with will rot and fall off ,

remember that! I curse your hand!

DOLL 3: At least the hand had a little fun, so now it can rot! Now

you can curse the other one if you want.

213

(Doll 3 slaps Doll 4 in the face with the other hand, the latter exclaims

fanatically, almost apocalyptically.)

DOLL 4: I curse you!

DOLL 3: No, I curse you!

DOLL 4: I do! I curse you!

DOLL 3: I do! I curse you!

DOLL 4: You? You curse me?

DOLL 3: It’s all, “Me, me, me,” all the time! Don’t you know anyone

else? Only yourself? Huh? What have you got to say?

DOLL 4: Yes, of course it’s about me and not you! You are nothing,

a nobody, a mere insect, unlike me! So yes, it is all about me!

DOLL 3: No, me!

DOLL 4: Me!

DOLL 5: Come on, what is this? Have you forgotten about your

great-grandmother? Your great-grandmother doesn’t mean

anything to you? Th e great-grandmother doesn’t deserve any

attention? Nobody has to look after me any more…I don’t

need anything any more, I don’t deserve anything, nobody

has to like me…no, no, I can be all forgotten now, as if I was

never here, yes, yes…

(Doll 2 slaps Doll 5 in the face.)

DOLL 2: Here’s one for you to stop you moaning. Th ere you go. Got

what you wanted?

(Doll 4 slaps Doll 2.)

DOLL 4: Don’t you think you’ll get away with that! You aren’t big

enough to slap someone yet, and not too small to get one

either. You still need to be disciplined, and if nobody else takes

on that responsibility I will have to, yes, I’ll have to take on that

task. And if it’s needed, it won’t be just a slap. Th ere’s plenty

more where this came from, if needed.

(Doll 4 slaps Doll 2 in the face, the latter immediately returning the

slap.)

DOLL 2: OK, there’ll be plenty more, so here is one for you.

(Doll 3 begins to slap herself.)

214

DOLL 3: Th at is my punishment, for letting myself be abused all

these years: just deserts; I deserve to be slapped no end, but

not from you or anyone else; I have to punish myself for being

so stupid and taking everything; for being so obedient and

thinking it was the right way to be. My cheeks are all tough

from the slaps. It doesn’t even hurt any more, and I have to

beat myself up with all my might to feel anything at all. I can

feel hardly anything anymore. If I asked one of you to kick

me now, I wouldn’t even feel it. If I gave you a stick to beat

me with, I’d have to ask you where it was I was whacked. I’m

so beaten up after all these years that I can’t feel anything.

Nothing at all.

DOLL 4: And I can give you some more; all you have to do is ask!

DOLL 2: And I can give some to you!

DOLL 1: Everyone in one big huddle

Five and twenty on the drum

Who gets beating, not a cuddle

Has to sit down on her bum

(Doll 4 hurls herself at Doll 3 and starts beating her up. Gradually,

all the other women join and begin to beat each other senselessly.

Doll 1 uses one of the dolls as a weapon, Doll 5 uses her stick – she

can even have the two sticks that supported her a while ago. Th e fi ght

looks stylised after a while, like a fi ght in a silent movie. Dolly or the

other dolls start talking again, at which point the women freeze in

a live picture. Th e music starts. Dolly sings and dances, every now

and then the women moan, sigh, cry in the rhythm, as if in a dream.)

DOLLy: Far away an ocean island, country without men and wives

Who looks for it, cannot fi nd it, undisclosed to human eyes

Th ere we live alone and lonely, godforsaken, empty dolls

Collected all over the world, some of us hot,

some of us cold

Taken to the new land with care, sea so soothing,

look what we wear

Given new clothes, dress to dream of,

215

golden-red veil, tailored with love

Little shoes from softest leather,

that can be worn every weather

To the table then invited, fed and watered, all delighted

Everything is true and honest, not a bad wolf in the forest

Sun-kissed beaches rich with fi ne gold,

not a drop of blood that is cold

Skin so soft like smoothest velvet,

cheeks are chiselled, lips are perfect

Sea is humming faraway tunes, we are happy,

playing in dunes

Who is tired, lies down resting,

somebody else fi ne wine testing

Good friends brushing our golden hair,

happy voices ring through thin air

Wind blows light and playful and warm,

call each other sir and madam

Soft bed, calm sleep, safety all night,

dance and sing we do when it’s light

Life goes by as sweet as a dream, dolls are lucky,

so it must seem

Doll is all you have to be, nothing human scaring here

(Th e music goes on, maybe even gradually gets louder, the women are

slowly waking up during the following dialogue, stretching as if from

a long sleep.)

DOLL 1: I had the best sleep ever. But where are my dolls? Heddie,

Heddie Ginger, Linda and Adrienka? Who’s taken them?

DOLL 5: As if I was still a young girl… so much strength, I can move

any way I like. I could even dance if I wanted to or I could go

and play with my log dolls; with Alice, Agnes, Amelie, Barbara,

Betty; with all of them. But I don’t need anything; it’s enough

to know I could. I could!

DOLL 2: Did I just sleep or what? I’m not that thick to sleep in the

day, or am I?

216

DOLL 4: Blessed sleep… We were given a gift for life.

DOLL 3: Yeah, at the end of the day, I’ve got the right to take a rest

as well, and nobody can say anything. Th at’s right. I won’t take

any more abuse from anyone!

(Th e wind picks up, and gradually, as if the wind was too strong, the

women get thrown to the fl oor, onto the wall or against the furniture,

as if it was the end of everything, or it can be done in a stylised manner

and choreographed as a dance. Every blow is accompanied by a gust of

wind or a musical emphasis. Dolly then comes in and walks amongst

the scattered women, holding a small watering can full of ‘blood’. She

waters all the women. Th e watering should be noticeable rather than

subtle. An alternative is that Dolly covers Dolls with white sheets

or one big white sheet or similar, and the blood suddenly seeps from

below. Th e music gets louder, a sudden blackout.)

THE END

217

Václav Havel

(1936)

 

As the son of an entrepreneur and

builder, Václav Havel was barred

from higher education for political reasons. Instead he took an

apprenticeship in a  chemical laboratory and graduated whilst

employed. He later worked as a stage hand, assistant director and

dramaturge at the Th eatre on the Balustrade (Divadlo Na zábradlí).

In his twenties he started writing for literary and theatre magazines,

but it was not until 1967 that he was able to graduate in dramaturgy

from the Th eatre Faculty of the Academy of Performing Arts. His

plays Th e Garden Party (Zahradní slavnost, 1963), Th e Memorandum

(Vyrozumění, 1965) and Th e Increased Diffi culty of Concentration

(Ztížená možnost soustředění, 1968) introduced a new spirit onto

the Czech and later international theater. In the summer of 1968 he

spent several weeks in the USA, but in 1969, after the invasion of the

Warsaw Pact armies, he was – as a leading cultural representative of

the Prague Spring – completely silenced. With his new plays, which

included Th e Beggar‘s Opera (Žebrácká opera, 1975), Audience and

Private View, and also his essays, manifestos and his everyday attitude,

he became the natural authority for independent movements in

Czechoslovakia and a leading representative of international culture.

He was imprisoned several times by the Communist authorities,

on the last occasion in 1989. Following the “Velvet Revolution”, of

which he was the best-known representative, he was from 1990-1992

President of Czechoslovakia and from 1993-2002 President of the

Czech Republic. In a television questionnaire in 2005 he was voted

the third greatest Czech in history, an exceptional achievement by

international standards: in no other country has a living individual

achieved from such a popular pastime such a high ranking. After

his presidency ended he returned to writing plays with Leaving

218

(Odcházení, 2007), his fi rst play in twenty years. 2011 marked his

debut in fi lm direction when he adapted Leaving for the screen.

 

 

LIST OF PLAYS (selection):

• Zahradní slavnost, 1963; première 3. 12. 1963, Divadlo Na

zábradlí, Prague

• Vyrozumění, 1965; première 25. 7. 1965, Divadlo Na zábradlí,

Prague

• Ztížená možnost soustředění, 1968; première 11. 4. 1968,

Divadlo Na zábradlí, Prague

• Audience, 1975; première 9. 10. 1976, Akademietheater, Vienna

(Austria)

• Vernisáž, 1975; première 9. 10. 1976, Akademietheater, Vienna

(Austria)

• Largo desolato, 1984; première 13. 4. 1985, Akademietheater,

Vienna (Austria)

• Pokoušení, 1985; première 23. 5. 1986, Akademietheater, Vienna

(Austria)

• Asanace, 1987; première 24. 9. 1989, Schauspielhaus Zürich

(Switzerland)

• Odcházení, 2007; première 22. 5. 2008, Divadlo Archa, Prague

 

TRANSLATED PLAYS (selection):

• Metamorfóza: English – Metamorphosis

• Zahradní slavnost: Dutch – Het Tuinfeest, English – Th e

Garden Party, German – Das Gartenfest, Russian – Prazdnik

v sadu, Spanish – Una fi esta en el jardín

• Vyrozumění: English – Th e Memorandum, French – Le rapport

don‘t vous êtes l’objet, German – Die Benachrictigung, Russian

– Uvedomlenie, Spanish – El comunicando, Turkish – Bildirim

219

• Ztížená možnost soustředění: English – Th e Increased

Diffi culty of Concentration, German – Erschwerte Möglichkeit

der Konzentration, Russian – Trudno sosredotochitsia

• Anděl strážný: English – Guardian Angel, French – L’ange

Gardien, German – Der Schutzengel

• Motýl na anténě: English – A Butterfl y on the Antenna

• Spiklenci: English – Conspirators

• Horský hotel: English – Th e Mountain Hotel, French – Hôtel des

Cimes, German – Das Berghotel, Russian – Gostinica v gorach

• Žebrácká opera: English – Th e Beggars’ Opera, French – La

grande roue, Polish – Opera zebracza, Spanish – Ópera de los

mendigos,

• Audience: English – Audience, French – Audience, German –

Audienz, Portuguese – Audiencia, Russian – Audiencija, Spanish

– Audiencia

• Vernisáž: English – Vernissage, Private View, French –

Vernissage, Polish – Wernisaź, Portuguese – Vernissage, Russian

– Vernisaž , Spanish – Inauguración

• Protest: Belorussian – Pratest, Bulgarian – Protest, English

– Protest, French – Pétition, German – Der Protest, Polish –

Protest, Portuguese – A Petião, Russian – Protest,

• Chyba: English – Mistake, French – Tant pis, German – Der

Fehler, Russian – Probljema Spanish – Error

• Largo desolato: English, French, German, Polish, Russian,

Spanish – Largo Desolato

• Pokoušení: English – Temptation, French – Tentation, German

– Die Versuchung, Polish – Kuszenie, Russian – Iskushenije,

Spanish – La Tentación

• Asanace: English – Redevelopment, Slum Clearance, German

– Sanierung, Polish – Rewaloryzacja, Russian – Rekonstrukcija

• Zítra to spustíme: English – Tomorrow!, Russian – Zavtra

vystupajem

• Ela, Hela a autostop: English – Hitchhiking

220

• Odcházení: Bulgarian – Ottegliane, Catalan – Anar-se’n,

Croatian – Odlaženje, Danish – Afsked, Dutch – Het vertrek,

English – Leaving, French – Sur le départ, German – Der Abgang,

Hungarian – Távozás, Latvian – Aiziešana, Polish – Odejścia,

Rumanian – Plecare, Russian – Uchod, Spanish – Retirándose,

Swedish – Avgång, Turkish – Ayriliş

221

Václav Havel

LEAVINGA play in fi ve acts

Translated by Paul Wilson

Th is play is copyright and subject to protection under the Copyright Act.

Th is work may be used solely for dramaturgical purposes in association with

a production of it.

Any other use, in particular its duplication or making it available to third

parties, is subject to the sanctions of §152 of the Penal Code. In the event of any

intent to produce or otherwise use the play, you undertake to seek performing

rights to the work from Aura-Pont s.r.o.

All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the Aura-Pont Agency

Radlická 99, Praha 5, 150 00, Czech Republic, www.aura-pont.cz

Address for correspondance: Veslařský ostrov 62, 147 00 Praha 4

222

Characters:

Dr. Vilem Rieger, the former chancellor

Irena, his long-time companion

Grandma, his mother

Vlasta, his elder daughter

Zuzana, his younger daughter

Monika, a friend of Irena

Bea Weissenmütelhofová, a political scientist and multicultural

socio-psychologist.

Albín, Vlasta’s husband

Hanus, a former secretary to Rieger

Victor, a former secretary to Hanus

Oswald, a servant in the Rieger household

Dick, a journalist

Bob, a photographer

Patrick Klein, a deputy minister and later, vice-prime minister

Knobloch, a gardener

First Constable

Second Constable

Th e Voice

Setting: Th e play is set in the orchard of the Rieger villa.

Note: Quotations from “Th e Cherry Orchard”, by Anton Chekhov, are

taken from Michael Henry Heim’s translation, published in “Chekhov:

Th e Essential Plays”, Th e Modern Library, New York, 2003. Th e

quotations from Shakespeare’s “King Lear”, with minor adjustments,

are taken from the Kitteridge Edition.

223

ACT ONE

(Th e orchard outside the Rieger villa. Upstage steps lead to the entrance

to the villa, on one side of the stage. On the other side, opposite, is

a coach house, and centre upstage, a gazebo. Centre downstage is a set

of garden furniture, a table with some chairs set around it. A swing

hangs from the branch of a tree. Rieger’s daughter, Zuzana, is alone

on stage. She is sitting on the swing, which is swaying gently back and

forth; she has a large set of earphones on her lap, along with an open

laptop on which she is writing something with both hands. She has

a mobile phone clamped between her shoulder and ear.)

ZUZANA: (Speaking into the phone.) Yeah – Aha – Okay –

Marvelous – Brilliant – Me too – Very much. No, you’re the

one, Lily – Okay, talk to you soon – Bye.

(Zuzana turns the phone off , slips it into her pocket, puts the earphones

on and continues working on the laptop, oblivious to her surroundings.

A short pause, then Rieger strolls slowly onto the stage. He’s a graying,

elegant man of about sixty in a navy-blue blazer and a cravat. Irena,

his companion, about forty, enters with him, along with Monika,

Irena’s self-eff acing friend, and Grandma, Rieger’s mother. Th ere is

a somewhat regal, ceremonial air about their entrances. Rieger, who

is clearly the focus of attention, sits down, while the women gather

around him. A short pause.)

IRENA: Are you warm enough?

RIEGER: Yes –

IRENA: You can’t possibly be warm enough!

RIEGER: I assure you, darling, I am quite warm enough –

IRENA: Let me bring you a blanket –

RIEGER: I don’t need a blanket. I don’t want a blanket. I am quite

comfortable as I am –

GRANDMA: Let him be. Stop treating him like a child.

IRENA: Monika, would you please? Th e brown one. It’s right there

in the hall, on the armchair –

MONIKA: You mean the beige one?

224

IRENA: Yes –

RIEGER: Monika, please – I’m perfectly fi ne –

(Monika, at Irena’s  silent command, exits into the villa, passing

Oswald on the steps. He’s a general factotum in the household. He is

carrying a glass with a hot toddy in it on a tray, along with a serviette

and a spoon. He stands in the background, ready to serve.)

GRANDMA: Th ere are several beige blankets in there, and they’re

in a  bit of a  mess, they haven’t been to the cleaners in

donkey’s years, and anyway, they’re not very warm –

RIEGER: What’s keeping those reporters? Weren’t they meant to

be here by now?

(Victor, Hanus’s former secretary, enters from the coach house.)

VICTOR: I simply don’t understand it, sir. People can’t just come

and go as they please when you’re visiting the chancellor! I’ve

called them and apparently they’re on their way.

IRENA: Vilem, you have to tell them exactly what you think. None of

your diplomatic pussy-footing around. People would be very

disappointed in you –

VICTOR: Precisely. You have to be fi rm.

GRANDMA: Vilem doesn’t need to be told what he should do.

He’s always had a way with reporters.

(Victor exits into the coach house. Monika enters from the villa

with a beige blanket. She hands it to Irena, who drapes it around

Rieger’s shoulders.)

RIEGER: I think it’s time for my afternoon toddy –

(Oswald steps up to the table, lays out the napkin and the spoon, and

then sets down the drink.)

RIEGER: Th ank you, Oswald. How did you sleep?

OSWALD: Very well, thank you, Mr. Chancellor.

IRENA: (To Oswald.): It’s time to peel the potatoes for dinner. When

you’ve put them on to boil, empty the washing machine and

hang everything out to dry on the line over there among the

cherry trees. Th e clothes pegs are in their usual place under

the sink, and be careful not to spill the rubbish when you’re

225

getting them. You might take the rubbish out while you’re at

it, – but not until you’ve fi nished hanging out the laundry. And

don’t forget to put in a new bin liner.

(Zuzana’s mobile phone starts to play the “Ode to Joy.” She works

a little longer at her laptop, then closes it, removes her earphones,

takes her mobile phone out of her pocket and puts it between her ear

and shoulders, leaving both her hands free; she slides off the swing,

takes the computer and earphones and walks toward the villa.)

ZUZANA: (Speaking into the phone.) No, Lily, you don’t have to,

really – Right – Yes – Right – No, there’s nothing to worry

about! – Exactly! – Exactly! – No, absolutely not! – Great! –

Great! – Brilliant! – Okay, talk to you soon. Bye –

(Zuzana exits into the villa.)

IRENA: (To Oswald.) Don’t even think about just emptying the

rubbish and putting the old liner back in the bin. It makes an

awful smell. Monika will be along shortly to make sure you’ve

done it properly, and generally give you help and advice. Won’t

you, Monika?

(Monika nods. Oswald bows and exits, with the tray, into the villa.

He passes Hanus, Rieger’s former secretary, on the steps. Hanus is

carrying a huge, garishly painted portrait of Rieger.)

HANUS: (To Rieger.) Good news, Vilem. You can keep this Th e

chancellery stamp on the back is so smudged that if it comes

down to it, we can always say we simply didn’t notice –

RIEGER: Let them have it. It’s a shoddy piece of work anyway.

GRANDMA: I want it! I’ll hang it in my bedroom.

RIEGER: Mother, please. We’re not going to clutter the house up

with fourth-rate fi nger paintings.

IRENA: We’ll keep it. But it doesn’t belong in Grandma’s  room.

She can put up some of your childhood pictures if she wants.

It’s going in my room. Besides, it’s not half bad, is it, Monika?

(Monika shrugs her shoulders. A  short pause. Hanus looks

questioningly at those present, and then takes the portrait back into

the villa. Victor enters from the coach house.)

226

VICTOR: Th ey’re here!

GRANDMA: Who’s here? Th e reporters? How many of them are

there? Wouldn’t it be better if they stayed on the other side

of the fence?

IRENA: Monika, would you be kind enough to take Grandma inside?

She can watch television, or read yesterday’s Keyhole.

(Monika ushers Grandma into the villa. On the steps they pass

Oswald, who enters carrying a  tray with three bottles of beer. He

stands respectfully in the background. Victor comes out to meet Dick,

a reporter, carrying a bag over his shoulder, and Bob, a photographer

with several cameras slung round his neck.)

VICTOR: Mr. Chancellor, this is Dick. He’s the famous reporter,

and this is Bob, who’s going to take a few pictures, if that’s all

right with you –

RIEGER: May I ask which paper you work for?

DICK: Various foreign journals, all world-class papers, I hasten to

add. And some domestic ones as well –

RIEGER: Which domestic ones?

DICK: Well, for instance, I work for Th e Keyhole. I interviewed you

fi fteen years ago, in Athens, do you remember?

RIEGER: I’ve given so many interviews –

DICK: It was right below the Acropolis –

RIEGER: I was there with Papandreou, wasn’t I?

DICK: Exactly.

RIEGER: Very well, please take a seat –

(Dick sits down at the table, and takes a set of notes, a notebook, and

two recording devices from his bag. Victor stands a little way off . Bob

walks around, looking for interesting shots and taking pictures with

diff erent cameras. Dick shuffl es through his notes until he fi nds what

he is looking for.)

DICK: (Reads.) Can you tell us, Mr. Chancellor, how, after so many

years spent in –

IRENA: Would you mind introducing us?

227

RIEGER: Yes of course, sorry. Th is is Irena, my longtime companion

–

DICK: Dick –

IRENA: It’s an honor to meet you, Dick –

DICK: (To Rieger.) Your longtime companion is utterly charming –

RIEGER: Th ank you.

DICK: (Reading). Can you tell us, Mr. Chancellor, how, after so

many years spent in –

IRENA: Excuse me, but is there anything I can get you?

DICK: Th at’s kind of you, but I’m fi ne. Or – come to think of it,

a couple of beers would hit the spot. For Bob and me.

RIEGER: I’ll join you.

DICK: Do you think I could have a bit of cinnamon with that?

(Oswald steps forward with the tray and puts three bottles of beer

on the table, pulls a small packet out of his pocket, and shakes some

cinnamon into Dick’s beer.)

IRENA: (To Oswald.) Did you fi nd the clothes pegs?

OSWALD: I haven’t looked yet.

IRENA: Well, when you do, be careful not to knock over the bin.

And could you send Monika out?

(Oswald bows and exits, with the tray, into the villa.)

DICK: (Reading.) Can you tell us, Mr. Chancellor –

RIEGER: I’m not the chancellor any more –

DICK: Can you tell us, Mr. Former Chancellor, after so many years

spent in high offi ce, how you feel in the role of an ordinary

citizen again?

RIEGER: I feel quite comfortable about it, mainly because I now

have far more time to spend with my family. On the other

hand, it’s only now that I realize how deeply people believe

in the traditions, values, and ideals that I’ve come to embody

in their eyes, and which now that I’ve left offi ce appear to be

losing ground with each passing day –

(Monika enters from the villa, Irena removes the blanket from

Rieger’s shoulders and hands it to Monika.)

228

IRENA: Would you be kind enough and bring me my compact – the

new one – my hairbrush – the old one, and my lipstick – the

dark one. Th ey’re either in the left-hand shelf in my bathroom,

or on my night table, or on the fi rst shelf from the top in the

right-hand cupboard in the hall – or wherever –

MONIKA: Wouldn’t you like me to bring you your dark glasses and

that silk wrap from the Prcek Brothers?

IRENA: What a lovely idea! Yes, please do. (Monika exits into the

villa.) I’m sorry, but I didn’t know you were going to be taking

pictures as well –

DICK: (Reading.) Which of the values you fought for, Mr. Former

Chancellor, do you consider the most important?

RIEGER: At the very core of my political thinking there was always

the individual human being – a free, happy citizen, constantly

learning new skills and steeped in family values –

IRENA: Dick, don’t you love the way he can put things in a nutshell?

I’ve always admired that –

VICTOR: Th e chancellor speaks beautifully and expresses himself

very clearly. I hope you’ll put it all down exactly as he said it.

RIEGER: Th e government exists to serve the citizen; the citizen does

not exist to serve the government.

VICTOR: I’d quote that word for word!

RIEGER: I’ve always wanted our country to be safe and secure. And

not just our country. Th e whole world. And safe and secure,

not just for humanity, but for all of nature. (He declaims.) Not,

however, at the expense of economic growth!

THE VOICE: I  would remind the actors to play their parts as

civilly and naturally as possible, with no grotesque or comic

overacting. Th ey should not try to make the play more

entertaining by using exaggerated facial gestures. Th ank you.

(Hanus enters from the villa, carrying a telephone in each hand.)

RIEGER: Th is is Hanus, my former secretary. He’s helping me sort

out a few things. (To Hanus.) I hope they’re not government

property –

229

HANUS: Unfortunately, Vilem, they are.

(Hanus walks across the stage with the telephones and exits into the

coach house. Monika enters from the villa with the hairbrush, the

lipstick, and the compact, dark glasses and a silk wrap. She gives

everything to Irena, who immediately starts putting on her makeup.

Hanus enters from the coach house, walks across the stage, and exits

into the villa. Dick leafs through his notes. After some time, he fi nds

the next question.)

DICK: (Reading.) Mr. Former Chancellor, how did you turn the

ideals you stood for into public policy?

RIEGER: Well, for instance, I placed great importance on human

rights. In the name of freedom of expression, I  imposed

signifi cant limits on censorship. I  honored the right of

assembly, and during my terms as chancellor, fewer than half

of all public demonstrations were broken up by the police.

And I  respected freedom of association. Just witness the

dozens of citizens’ groups that arose spontaneously from the

grassroots – 

IRENA: Excuse me, Vilem, but you really should mention that you

respected the opinions of minorities as well –

RIEGER: And I respected the opinions of minorities and in some

cases I  had absolutely no hesitation in sitting down with

various independent or single issue groups –

VICTOR: In that regard, the Chancellor was truly broadminded.

Sometimes to a fault. You should have seen the kind of riff -

raff that turned up sometimes!

(Oswald enters from the villa with a bag of rubbish and a tray on

which there are three glasses, a small amount of beer in each one. He

puts down the bag and respectfully stands in the background.)

IRENA: I think he did a lot for women, too – 

RIEGER: I have always had great regard for women and I’ve always

surrounded myself with them –

DICK: Great headline!

VICTOR: (To Dick.) Th at’s something we might discuss later.

230

RIEGER: I  waged a  merciless war on bribery and corruption.

Everyone remembers the Klein aff air, surely. Would you like

a little more beer?

DICK: Well, but really, just a little –

(Oswald approaches with the tray, puts the beer on the table, takes

a package of cinnamon out of his breast pocket and sprinkles some

into Dick’s beer. He bows, and heads toward the villa with the tray,

just as Grandma is entering.)

THE VOICE: Th is business with the cinnamon: there is no

psychological or any other explanation for it whatsoever. Or

at least as far as I know there isn’t. For now, let’s just call it

a product of pure authorial whimsy, or of my somewhat self-

centered delight that I can come up with any harebrained idea

at all and the actors will have to play it with a straight face. But

what can I do? Th e simple fact is, I like it and I feel it belongs

there.

(Oswald exits into the villa. On the steps he passes Grandma, who

enters with a copy of Th e Keyhole in her hands. Irena fi nishes applying

her makeup, then puts on her sunglasses, takes them off again, plays

with her wrap and subtly strikes a number of poses while Bob dances

around her, taking pictures.)

GRANDMA: Let him be now! You can see how tired he is –

RIEGER: I’m not tired, Mother.

GRANDMA: Yes, you are. I can hear it in your voice. Anyway, you

always say the same thing every time –

IRENA: Th at’s not true! He spoke beautifully today.

VICTOR: I  agree. It turned out exceptionally well today. But as

the saying goes, best to stop while you’re ahead. One more

question, please –

RIEGER: Do you know what Tony Blair once told me? If you

don’t answer their questions, they’ll answer them for you.

Th at’s good, isn’t it?

DICK: Right, then, one more question. Does the loss of parliamentary

immunity bother you?

231

RIEGER: Why should it bother me?

DICK: And aren’t you worried that –

VICTOR: I’m sorry, but really –

DICK: And aren’t you worried, Mr. Former Chancellor, that

VICTOR: I’m sorry, but we really must wrap it up now –

DICK: … aren’t you worried, Mr. Former Chancellor, that you’ll be

forced to move out of here? Th is villa, after all, is government

property –

(Rieger, Irena, Monika, Grandma, and Victor all look at each other

in surprise. A pause.)

RIEGER: Th ey wouldn’t dare.

(Dick makes a  few more notes, then puts his notebook and his

recording devices into his bag, gets up and shakes hands with Irena

and Rieger. Bob takes some fi nal pictures.)

DICK: If we have any follow-up questions, may we come again?

IRENA: Of course you may, Dick.

(Dick and Bob exit, accompanied by Victor.)

VICTOR: I’m sure you’ll understand if we ask to take a look at your

piece before you publish it? Just a quick once-over, and we’ll

return it to you straight away. Could you do that for us?

IRENA: (Calls out.) We’ll choose the pictures together, won’t we,

Dick?

(Dick and Bob exit, Victor returns.)

VICTOR: Mr. Chancellor, my congratulations! You were magnifi cent!

RIEGER: Th e most important thing is to know how to call things by

their proper names, to address the big picture, put things in

their proper context. A good leader, of course, will surround

himself with a good network of think-tanks –

VICTOR: I’m sorry, what did you just say?

RIEGER: A  network of think-tanks. Did you notice that they

completely forgot to ask about the economy or social policies?

Or about education, for that matter. I deliberately mentioned

Klein, who was made deputy yesterday, and I expected them

232

to latch onto that and ask me more about it – but they didn’t.

Odd, isn’t it?

VICTOR: It’s sad, Mr. Chancellor, the sort of people you have to give

the time of day to. I’m going to carry on –

RIEGER: Can’t you just lay off for now?

VICTOR: We can’t let that bureaucrat, Hanus, do all the work!

(Victor exits into the coach house. Vlasta enters with her husband,

Albin. She is Rieger’s elder daughter. She holds a basket of fruit, Albin

is carrying some offi cial folders.)

VLASTA: Hello, Father; hi Grandma, hello Irena, hi Monika. I’m

bringing you some fruit. Help me, Albin –

(Vlasta and Albin put a variety of fruit on the table.)

IRENA: (Calling out.) Oswald!

GRANDMA: Vlasta, did you know what a reporter said here just

now? He said we might have to move out. Where would we

go, for heaven’s sake?

IRENA: Monika, would you mind looking to see what’s become of

Oswald? When you fi nd him, tell him, please, to bring me

three baskets with napkins and several fruit knives, and some

watered-down beer for Albin, and then to keep an eye on

those potatoes. When they’re ready, he should drain them

nicely, then let them dry and cool down, and then peel them.

But he shouldn’t use a regular potato peeler! He just has to

remove the skin with a little knife.

MONIKA: Does he know which one?

IRENA: He can use any knife he wants as long as it’s not the fancy

one Mrs. Putin gave us…

(Monika exits into the villa.)

VLASTA: People are talking a lot about your moving out. Th ey say

you don’t need fancy government digs any more. If the worst

comes to the worst, you – I mean you, Grandma and Zuzana –

can move in with us. You know, how much we love you, don’t

you, and how grateful we are to you for everything?

RIEGER: And what about Irena?

233

IRENA: No need to worry about us. Monika and I  will fi nd

something, a sublet somewhere. Th e main thing is that we

should be nearby –

RIEGER: Th at’s so kind of you, Irena.

(Hanus comes out of the villa with a huge bust of Gandhi in his arms.

He stands in front of Rieger.)

HANUS: I’m sorry to say we can’t keep this. Fifteen years ago,

someone included it in the offi ce inventory.

RIEGER: To hell with them!

HANUS: I almost hesitate to bring this up, Vilem, but a set of rulers

is missing as well. Do you know anything about it?

RIEGER: No, I don’t!

(Victor enters running from the coach house.)

VICTOR: (Sharply.) Th ey were all given out as souvenirs. Th ere’s none

left, and you shouldn’t be bothering the Chancellor with this

at all!

(Hanus exits into the coach house with the bust in his arms. Victor

follows him. At the same time Monika enters from the villa, carrying

a tray with a basket, some little knives, napkins and a glass of watered

down beer.)

IRENA: Well?

MONIKA: He’s probably gone to sleep somewhere.

(Monika sets everything down on the table and puts the fruit into the

basket. Albin takes the watered down beer. A pause.)

RIEGER: It was a gift from Indira –

GRANDMA: (To Vlasta.) Are you staying for dinner? We’re having

new potatoes with cheese and butter –

(Knobloch, the gardener, enters, carrying a rake.)

VLASTA: Shall we stay, Albin? (Albin shrugs his shoulders.) We’ll

just have a bite and then be on our way.

THE VOICE: I know that nothing much has happened so far, but

I wanted the play to start very slowly. Th at way, the audience

will be all the more grateful when the pace gradually begins

to pick up.

234

(Hanus enters from the coach house, walks across the stage, and exits

into the villa.)

RIEGER: How do you do Mr. Knobloch? So, are we going to have

a good crop of cherries this year?

KNOBLOCH: A bumper crop, if you ask me.

RIEGER: And what’s new out there in the big wide world? What do

people think about things? Have you seen any demonstrations

supporting me? Or any posters, at least?

KNOBLOCH: Th e lads in the pub are talking about the move –

RIEGER: What move?

KNOBLOCH: Deputy Klein says the government simply can’t aff ord

to be handing out villas to every Tom, Dick and Harry –

(Victor rushes in from the coach house.)

VICTOR: It’s just been on the radio!

RIEGER: What?

VICTOR: Deputy Klein announced in a  media scrum outside

parliament that the government simply can’t aff ord to be

handing out villas to every Tom, Dick and Harry – 

(A wind rises, and it starts to rain.)

END OF ACT ONE

ACT TWO

(Th e orchard outside the Rieger villa, one hour later. Everything is as

it was at the end of Act One. Th e wind and the rain have died down.

Th e stage is empty. After a few moments, Vlasta and Albin, who is

carrying fi les, Rieger and Irena, followed by Monika and Grandma

enter from the villa, one after the other.)

RIEGER: Will you stay with us a while longer?

VLASTA: Fine, but just for a while –

235

GRANDMA: Why were the large potatoes not properly cooked, and

the small ones overcooked?

IRENA: (To Monika.) Could you please tidy away all this makeup?

(Monika starts putting the items of makeup on a tray.)

VLASTA: (To Rieger.) Father –

RIEGER: Yes?

VLASTA: We – that is, Albin and I – would like to discuss something

with you –

RIEGER: Go ahead –

IRENA: Grandma, it’s time you were going inside. Th ere’s a cold

damp coming off the ground. Monika, could you please –

(Monika takes the tray with the makeup, the wrap, and the dark

glasses, then takes Grandma by the hand and exits into the villa with

her.)

VLASTA: Father, you know how much Albin and I love you. We

only want what’s best for you. It’s a bit awkward, but it’s what

everyone does, because you never know what might happen.

And so we thought – that is, Albin and I thought – that we

should – as a family, I mean – be ready for anything –

RIEGER: Are you referring to the possibility that sooner or later, we

might have to move out of here?

VLASTA: I’ve already made myself clear about that: you would

come and stay with us – at least for the fi rst few days, until

you found something else. But there are many other things to

consider as well.

RIEGER: Like what?

VLASTA: Oh, I don’t know. Th e furniture, the pictures, the books,

the bank accounts, living expenses. Th e long and short of it

is, Albin and I have already talked to a friend of ours, a lawyer,

and tried to come up with a proposal –

(Vlasta takes the fi le from Albin. Monika enters from the villa.)

RIEGER: You mean a will?

236

VLASTA: It sounds awful, doesn’t it? But what I mean by that is

a certain set of instructions in case there are any doubts about

what belongs to whom – 

IRENA: You mean when Vilem dies?

VLASTA: No need to jump to the worst conclusion. We all want

Father to live as long as possible. For that reason, our proposal

takes diff erent alternatives into account. It might seem

terribly formal, of course – in this family, everything has

always belonged to everyone – more or less – but given the

times we live in, anything might happen. For instance, they

could easily enact legislation to legalize the seizure of private

property in cases where there is justifi ed suspicion of evading

an investigation into suspect activity –

RIEGER: In other words, you want me to transfer my property to

my nearest and dearest –

VLASTA: To the members of your family –

RIEGER: What about Irena?

IRENA: Don’t worry about me – Monika and I have plenty tucked

away, don’t we?

(Monika nods.)

RIEGER: Th at’s so kind of you, Irena.

IRENA: (Calls out.) Oswald!

VLASTA: You should look this over, think about it, and perhaps

discuss it with someone. Albin and I don’t want to rush you,

we only think it would be pointless and silly to let ourselves

get caught out just because we weren’t thinking ahead. All we

have to do is come up with an arrangement that won’t tangle

us up in a lot of red tape, and won’t land us on the front pages.

IRENA: Vlasta’s right, Vilem. You know the kind of thing Th e Keyhole

can get up to. (To Monika.) Shall we go?

(Monika nods, and Irena and Monika exit. Vlasta hands the fi le to

Rieger, who puts it aside on the table. Vlasta, then Albin, embrace

Rieger and exit. Knobloch approaches with a rake in his hands.)

KNOBLOCH: So, you’re expecting a visitor?

237

RIEGER: Me? No –

KNOBLOCH: Deputy Klein said on television that he plans to pay

you a visit soon –

RIEGER: He said that?

(Knobloch exits. Shortly afterward Bea appears with a book in her

hand. For a moment she simply stands and looks at Rieger, who fi nally

becomes aware of her presence.)

RIEGER: Are you looking for anyone in particular?

BEA: You –

RIEGER: And how can I help you?

BEA: Would you be willing to sign my copy of this book of your

speeches?

RIEGER: Of course –

(Rieger motions Bea to come closer and sit down, and she does so,

somewhat hesitantly. Rieger also sits down and takes out a pen. Bea

opens the book to the title page and sets it in front of Rieger.)

RIEGER: Now, don’t tell me you’ve read the whole thing.

BEA: Actually, I’ve read it rather carefully, fi rst because I found it

absolutely fascinating, but also because I wrote my doctoral

thesis about you. It was my own idea. My thesis is called:

“Vilem Rieger’s Conception of Democracy” –

RIEGER: And how did it turn out?

BEA: Excellently. I’ve been interested in your ideas for years.

I probably know more about you than you do yourself. And

the longer I study you, the greater the impact your work has

on me –

RIEGER: So, you’re a political scientist?

BEA: Yes – but I’ve taken a couple of terms of multicultural socio-

psychology and intermedia communications –

RIEGER: May I ask what your name is?

BEA: Weissenmütelhofova. Beatrice Weissenmütelhofova. But you

can call me Bea, Mr. Chancellor.

RIEGER: Delighted, Bea. But I’m no longer chancellor.

238

BEA: For me, you will always be chancellor, Mr. Chancellor. (A pause.

Rieger takes one of the baskets of fruit from the table and off ers

it to Bea.) No, thank you. I didn’t come here to eat up your

food, or even take up much of your time.

RIEGER: You’re not eating up my food, or taking up my time. Go

ahead – have one.

BEA: Th ank you, I will. (Bea chooses an apple and eagerly takes

a bite. Grandma quietly enters from the villa. Rieger and Bea

don’t see her. Th ere is a longish pause, as Bea eats her apple.)

Is this from your orchard?

RIEGER: No, my daughter brought them. Th is is just a  cherry

orchard –

BEA: Once, in Charkov, you spoke very movingly about your

orchard. You said it was the symbol of our cultural tradition,

of how we shape the landscape in our own image –

RIEGER: Ah – that was so long ago. Do you mind my asking which

of my speeches, or ideas, most caught your fancy?

BEA: As I understand it, Mr. Chancellor, the basis and the main

source of your politics is the idea that the individual must be

at the very core of that politics, and that everything we do

in politics should be aimed at helping him, or her, develop

themselves in the broadest possible way. But the idea that

our country ought to be safe and secure was also important.

And how right you are about that! How could anyone develop

themselves in the broadest possible way in a place that was

unsafe or insecure? I also love the idea that you put forward

fi fteen years ago, in Taiwan: the notion that human beings are

made for freedom –

RIEGER: Ah, yes, I remember that speech made quite an impression

at the time. Chiang Kai-shek even asked me for my original

copy –

GRANDMA: I certainly hope you didn’t give it to him.

(Rieger and Bea turn to Grandma in astonishment.)

239

RIEGER: Mother, this is Bea – Bea, this is my mother. Bea wrote her

thesis about me –

GRANDMA: How lovely. Should I go looking for Oswald?

RIEGER: Just make sure he didn’t leave something burning on the

stove –

(Grandma goes back into the villa. A pause.)

BEA: I’d love to write your life story sometime. You must have

experienced so many fascinating things!

RIEGER: Yes, I’ve lived through quite a lot and I’ve accomplished

a great deal. Th ere’s so much that only a few people know

about, or that no one knows about at all –

(Irena and Monika enter. Th ey are carrying paper and plastic bags

with the shopping. When they see Rieger and Bea, they stop.)

IRENA: I see we have a visitor.

RIEGER: Th is is Beatrice Weissenmütelhofova, a political scientist

and multicultural socio-psychologist who has also studied

intermedia communications. She’s a student of my politics

and she’s going to write my biography. Th is is Irena, my long-

time companion, and this is Monika, Irena’s friend.

(Th e women shake hands.)

IRENA: I bought you a cap –

(Monika takes a sporty peaked cap with “I Love You” written on it and

hands it to Irena, who puts it on Rieger’s head.)

RIEGER: Th ank you, darling.

(Monika picks up all the bags and exits with them into the villa.)

IRENA: You have a very pretty admirer. But then, you always did.

And you always managed to fi nd time for them. It’s interesting,

men don’t seem to write about you –

RIEGER: Th ere’s Dobes .

IRENA: Th e one who writes for Th e Keyhole? Th at’s hardly something

to brag about. Anyway – please don’t let me interrupt you –

(Irena exits into the villa.)

BEA: I don’t think your longtime companion was too pleased to see

me here –

240

RIEGER: She’s very much in love with me, which means that she

can sometimes be a problem. I’d be delighted to tell you about

my life. I have a lot of time on my hands these days, and I’m

rapidly forgetting things, so the sooner we begin, the better –

BEA: Could I  come tomorrow, early evening? I’m really looking

forward to working with you. Well – goodbye.

RIEGER: Goodbye, Bea –

(Rieger hesitates a moment, then quickly kisses Bea on the cheek. She

strokes his hair, then picks up her book and runs off . Klein slowly,

somewhat ceremoniously approaches, accompanied by Knobloch,

with his rake, and Victor. Rieger quickly stuff s the hat into his pocket.)

KNOBLOCH: You have a visitor, Mr. Chancellor.

RIEGER: Patrick Klein. What a surprise! Please, sit down. Can I get

you something?

KLEIN: Some tea, perhaps –

RIEGER: Victor, would you do the honors?

(Victor bows and goes into the villa. Knobloch exits as well.)

KLEIN: So – how’s  life? I  suppose you have more time for your

family now. Or do you miss politics?

RIEGER: It’s something of a paradox, but it’s only now that I realize

how many supporters I really have. It seems I must, after all,

have embodied some values that people hold dear.

(Irena enters from the villa.)

IRENA: Hi!

KLEIN: Hello.

RIEGER: We were just saying that I have a lot of supporters.

IRENA: Yes, many people have expressed their interest and their

fellow feeling. Hardly a day goes by without some journalists

dropping in, or young students planning to write something

about him.

RIEGER: Irena’s  not exaggerating. But, as Havel once told me,

popularity isn’t everything –

(Victor enters from the villa with a cup of tea, followed by Monika.

Victor gives the tea to Klein.)

241

VICTOR: Can I get you anything else?

KLEIN: No, thank you. Unless there’s a tiny drop of rum to go with

it.

IRENA: Th e rum is just inside the door, on the left, above my hats

and below where Vilem keeps his shoes.

(Victor nods and exits into the villa.)

KLEIN: Clever young man.

RIEGER: Th at’s Victor, the former secretary of my former secretary

Hanus. He’s helping us separate our private things from those

that belong to the chancellor’s offi ce. You wouldn’t believe how

diffi cult that is. But of course, you’ll go through the same thing

one day. (Rieger laughs long and hard at his own joke.) And

what about you? How are you enjoying your new position?

KLEIN: You know how it is; so far, I’m just trying to work out

who’s with us, and who is merely pretending to be with us.

(Victor comes out of the villa with a bottle of rum. He goes up

to Klein and puts a few drops of rum into his tea.) Th ank you,

Victor. Do you mind if I ask you for one more tiny little thing.

I do love biscuits with my tea.

IRENA: Th ey’re on the table, Monika. Unless Oswald has squirreled

them away somewhere. He has his own little system of hiding

places. Not long ago, for instance, I discovered that he’d put

a box with fi ve kinds of cheese in it behind the refrigerator.

Imagine that – fi ve kinds of cheese! God knows how long

they’d been there, so of course I threw them out.

(Monika exits into the villa, Victor stands back.)

RIEGER: I hear you’re about to become a cabinet minister.

KLEIN: Th e boss told me that at this point in time, he can’t imagine

anyone better for the post, and he’s prepared to put my name

forward, so the matter’s on the table, but it’s not yet top of

the agenda.

RIEGER: Victor, you can go home now. You can carry on in the

morning.

242

VICTOR: With your permission, I’d like to fi nish sorting through

one more important box.

RIEGER: What’s in it?

VICTOR: Some of your private correspondence.

RIEGER: You can burn it.

IRENA: No, put it aside, and I’ll go through it later.

RIEGER: (Shouts.) Burn it!

KLEIN: Your archives shouldn’t really be destroyed. One day they’ll

have immeasurable value. At the very least, young Miss

Gambacci, at the Intergovernmental Historical Commission,

should take a look at them.

VICTOR: You can rely on me, Mr. Klein.

(Victor exits into the coach house. Monika enters from the villa with

a plate of biscuits. She puts it down in front of Klein, who immediately

starts to eat them, and will continue to eat them until his exit.)

KLEIN: Th ank you, Miss –

MONIKA: Monika

KLEIN: Th ank you, Monika. You are very kind and you have such

a nice name. I’ve always been soft on Monikas –

IRENA: She’s my friend. Monika, would you please try to wake up

Oswald?

MONIKA: If I can fi nd him.

(Monika exits into the villa.)

KLEIN: May I speak freely in front of Irena?

RIEGER: Certainly.

KLEIN: Th e reason I came –

RIEGER: I’m listening –

KLEIN: It would be unfortunate for you and your family, and an

embarrassment to the new leadership, if you suddenly had to

move out of here, given that you’ve made such a contribution

to the country, and everyone knows how you’ve made this

place your home over all those years, and how fond of it you

are, and that you really have nowhere else to go.

243

RIEGER: I appreciate your seeing it that way, Patrick. To tell you the

truth, I’d never given it much thought. I suppose I just took it

for granted that we’d be able to stay on.

KLEIN: As did I! I didn’t really pay any attention to the matter until

my advisors pointed out that someone could start digging into

this – and you can just imagine what a fi eld day a rag like Th e

Keyhole would have with that.

RIEGER: What do you suggest?

KLEIN: Th at the government rent it out to you. Naturally, for an

aff ordable sum – that’s something we could easily defend.

RIEGER: Th at wouldn’t be so bad. What do you think, Irena?

IRENA: As the queen of Sweden once said to me: Nothing is free –

KLEIN: I haven’t come here to off er some kind of deal, certainly not

where one’s hearth and home is concerned. I have to say that

any such interpretation would be a personal insult, not only

to me, but to the entire leadership. Th at is really and truly not

how we wish to do politics, and anyone who thinks we do

would be making a terrible mistake, one that we could simply

not let pass without some kind of response.

RIEGER: Easy now, Patrick. Irena didn’t mean it that way.

(Victor enters from the coach house carrying a stuff ed briefcase.)

VICTOR: Goodbye –

KLEIN: Look after yourself, Victor. I’m sure we haven’t seen the last

of each other –

VICTOR: We certainly haven’t, Mr. Deputy –

(Victor exits.)

KLEIN: On the other hand, it has to be said that the new leadership,

Vilem, does not wish to see you as an adversary and it certainly

has no intention of bringing anything to a head. What good

would that serve? It could only lead to instability. So it’s only

logical that part of the agreement would be that you too – at

least in public – would not come out against us in any way.

RIEGER: But Patrick, you surely can’t expect me to say things –

about certain people – that I don’t really believe?

244

KLEIN: We couldn’t care less what you think about us.

IRENA: So what’s your point?

KLEIN: (To Rieger.) It would be in the interests of political harmony

in the country if, at the appropriate time and in the appropriate

place and in the appropriate way, you were to let it be known

that you support the new leadership because you do not wish

to question the democratic system in this country and the

legal instruments that are now in place. After all, we too wish

to put the individual the centre of our political agenda, and we

too want our country to be a safe and secure place.

THE VOICE: I have the feeling that this dialogue, as important as

it is to the play, might also be somewhat boring. But it’s not

entirely my fault. Of course, I have an infl uence on my own

play, undeniably, but the main thing is that when I write, I try to

serve the logic of the thing itself, which seems more important

to me than my own feelings. For better or worse, I am merely

mediating something that transcends me. I can’t rule out one

other possibility: that I’m just making excuses for myself. How

easy it is, after all, to blame everything on “something beyond

ourselves.” Sometimes, when I see everything that gets blamed

on “something beyond ourselves,” I feel sincere regret.

(Th e actors all look at Rieger. A short pause.)

RIEGER: I’ll give it some thought.

KLEIN: Vilem – you know I’ve always had the highest regard for

you. Th at’s why I’m asking you to stand with both feet planted

fi rmly on the ground. If I don’t get a positive answer from you

by tomorrow, I’ll know what that means. (Klein gets up, takes

one more biscuit from the plate, and calls out to Irena) My

best to Monika!

(Klein exits.)

IRENA: Vilem?

RIEGER: Yes, darling?

IRENA: What was in that private correspondence?

RIEGER: I really couldn’t say.

245

IRENA: Something intimate?

RIEGER: You know very well I’ve always burned things of a sensitive

nature.

IRENA: It’s your pants that are on fi re, you liar! (She calls out in

diff erent directions.) Oswald! Oswald! Get up!

END OF ACT TWO

ACT THREE

(Th e orchard outside the Rieger villa. A day later. Oswald is alone on

stage, rearranging the garden furniture. Irena enters, accompanied

by Monika and Grandma. Irena sits down, the other women gather

around her.)

IRENA: Where’s Vilem?

OSWALD: Th e chancellor is taking a bath –

GRANDMA: Now? In the afternoon?

OSWALD: He’ll be out soon. I heard the water running out of the

tub ten minutes ago, and he’s probably now shaving, applying

aftershave, gelling and combing his hair. Th en all he’ll have to

do is get dressed.

IRENA: Aha, he’s got an interview. Monika, would you mind?

MONIKA: Th e maroon sweater?

IRENA: If it’s not wrinkled –

MONIKA: I’ll check –

IRENA: Th anks –

(Monika exits into the villa.)

IRENA: Oswald, could you please dig out that hand-painted plate

we got from the Ceausescus, put the fruit Vlasta and Albin

brought yesterday on it, get some napkins, small plates and

knives and bring it all out here.

246

GRANDMA: Are you expecting those reporters again? I wouldn’t

bother telling them anything more. Vilem’s  told them

everything.

(Oswald bows, and exits into the villa. He passes Hanus, who is

coming down the steps.)

HANUS: Is Vilem not here?

IRENA: As you can see.

HANUS: I  wanted to ask him about something. Just some fi nal

details about offi ce supplies.

IRENA: Don’t tell a soul, but he was really sorry to have to give up

the Gandhi.

HANUS: So was I.

(Hanus exits into the villa, passing Monika on the steps. She’s bringing

makeup, the maroon sweater and dark glasses. She puts everything on

the table. Th en Irena gets up, strips down to her brassiere and puts the

sweater on. She hands her discarded top to Monika, sits down again,

and starts putting on her makeup and combing her hair. Monika exits

into the villa with the clothing.)

THE VOICE: It happens all the time: I remember something I’d

forgotten, but then immediately afterward, I forget what it is

I’ve just remembered. It’s getting serious. I’m always forgetting

who’s  on stage, who’s  just exited, whether two people are

meant to be addressing each other formally, or familiarly,

what mood they were in when they left the stage, and so on

and so forth. I might easily have someone make an entrance

and then never have them leave the stage. Or, on the contrary,

they might exit at the beginning, then never return. Or I might

require them to enter when they’re already on stage, or exit

twice in a row without having entered in between. I think I’ll

write poetry instead.

(Monika exits into the villa. A few moments later Rieger enters from

the villa; he is nattily dressed and groomed, and he’s visibly applied

pancake make-up. His hair has been dyed a dark brown.)

IRENA: (Still putting on makeup.) Th ey’re blackmailing you.

247

RIEGER: I know.

IRENA: You should never have told them you’d think it over –

RIEGER: It’s just a turn of phrase –

IRENA: If you endorse them, you’d be spitting in your own face.

I couldn’t respect you anymore.

RIEGER: I know.

(Oswald enters from the villa with a tray, carrying a  large hand-

painted plate with fruit, along with napkins, small plates, little

knives, and a bottle of champagne and fl utes. He puts the fruit and

the other things on the table and retreats to the background, where he

stands, waiting to be of service. Victor enters from the coach house.)

VICTOR: Th ey’re on their way. Could I mention one small thing?

RIEGER: Did you burn it?

VICTOR: I think, Doctor Rieger, that you should be fi rm, but at the

same time, diplomatic. If you are too dismissive of the new

leadership too soon, it could be counterproductive, because it

could seem that you simply haven’t been able to accept it – that

you are still harboring a grudge, or nursing some bitterness,

or a sense of betrayal, or a feeling that you are irreplaceable,

or something like that.

IRENA: Some advisor you have!

RIEGER: Victor’s not my advisor; he’s the former secretary of my

former secretary, Hanus. Did you burn it?

VICTOR: I’m sorry, but I had to tell you what I think, forgive me.

When they get here, I’ll bring them in.

RIEGER: Did you burn it or didn’t you?

VICTOR: Time! Time! Th ere’s never enough time!

(Victor exits rapidly into the coach house. Irena fi nishes putting on

her makeup and brushing her hair; she puts away her makeup and

puts the dark glasses up on her head.)

RIEGER: Mother, would you look to see if any of our cherries are

ready to pick?

GRANDMA: If you’d like.

(Grandma exits into the villa. She passes Monika on the steps.)

248

IRENA: You were strutting about like a peacock in front of that

Weissenmütelhofova person yesterday, wasn’t he, Monika?

(Monika shrugs her shoulders.)

IRENA: It was ghastly to watch. I was utterly ashamed of you. Do

you think you have to demean yourself in front of every piece

of skirt that happens along? Monika, surely you agree –

(Monika shrugs her shoulders.)

RIEGER: Th at’s all nonsense. I behaved with that young lady the

same way I’d behave with anyone else.

IRENA: Listen to him. A lady? Ssssssss –

(Off stage, the Ode to Joy sounds, then suddenly stops. Zuzana enters

from the villa carrying an open laptop and earphones, with a mobile

phone clamped between her ear and shoulder. She heads for the

swing.)

ZUZANA: (Into the phone) Now? All right, why not, Lili. Yes – yes

– I can do that. Fine. Brilliant! See you soon. Bye.

(Zuzana puts the mobile phone in her pocket, sits down on the swing,

opens the laptop, puts on the earphones, and starts working on the

computer. She pays no attention to anything going on around her.

A pause.)

IRENA: Do you love me?

RIEGER: Yes.

IRENA: More than you love this house?

RIEGER: Yes.

IRENA: More than the orchard?

RIEGER: Yes.

IRENA: More than politics?

RIEGER: Yes.

IRENA: More than you love yourself?

RIEGER: Yes.

IRENA: I think you’re talking complete rubbish.

(Victor enters from the coach house and goes to meet Dick and

Bob, who are approaching. Grandma enters from the villa carrying

a basket. She walks across the stage and exits.)

249

THE VOICE: What I love about the theatre are entrances, exits,

and returns, coming out of the wings and onto the stage,

and from the stage back into the wings. It’s like going from

one world into another. And on stage, I  love gates, fences,

walls, windows, and, of course, doors. Th ey are the borders

of diff erent worlds, cross-sections through space and time

that carry information about their contours, their beginnings

and their ends. Every wall and every door tells us that there

is something on the other side of it, and thus they remind

us that beyond every “other side” there is yet another “side”

beyond that one. Indirectly, they ask what lies beyond the fi nal

“beyond,” which in fact opens the theme of the mystery of the

universe and of Being itself. At least that’s what I think.

(Dick sits down, opens his bag and takes out his notes, a notebook,

and two recording devices. He places everything in front of him, then

takes out several copies of Th e Keyhole, shows it to everyone present,

and then puts them on the table as well.)

DICK: Tomorrow’s Keyhole. For you.

IRENA: Th anks, Dick. Don’t you have today’s?

DICK: You haven’t seen it?

IRENA: We only have yesterday’s.

(Everyone except Zuzana takes a copy, some remain on the table.

Irena and Monika leaf through their copies for a while and then put

them down. Victor, who is standing a little way off , is holding his copy

in his hands. Bob walks around the stage, taking pictures, trying to

get shots of people holding Th e Keyhole.)

RIEGER: I have an idea, my friends. Th is is my fi rst major interview

after these huge changes in my life, and I enjoy working with

you. Let’s have a glass of champagne to celebrate!

(Everyone nods. Oswald immediately passes around the fl utes, opens

the bottle, and pours it. He removes a small packet of cinnamon from

his pocket and starts to put a little in Dick’s champagne.)

DICK: No, thanks – not today.

BOB: I’ll have some, thank you.

250

(Oswald sprinkles some cinnamon into Bob’s glass. Th ere is a general

toast.)

RIEGER: So – here’s to our health. May everything turn out well for

every one of us. It may be that diffi cult times lie ahead. But if

we stick together, if we can all just like each other, even just

a little, if we listen to each other and try to understand each

other, they can’t touch us.

IRENA: We’re with you, Vilem. Please, be with us.

(Dick shuffl es through his notes until he fi nds the question he was

looking for. He turns on the recording devices. As Rieger responds, he

writes down the answers in his notebook.)

DICK: (Reading.) Dr. Rieger, could you tell us what the essence of

your economic policies were when you were chancellor?

RIEGER: Th at’s a good question. Th e essence of my policy was an

eff ort to signifi cantly reduce the burden on taxpayers. All taxes

were gradually reduced, some were eliminated altogether,

such as the tax on the interest on inherited interest. Lowering

taxes was meant to stimulate economic growth, which in turn

would enable the government to gradually increase pensions

and social security payments, so that everyone would really

benefi t. Is that clear enough?

IRENA: Shouldn’t you mention your favorite slogan: “Less

government?”

RIEGER: Ah yes, less government, lower taxes and higher pensions

and benefi ts. Th at’s it in a nutshell.

DICK: (Reading.) And how did your policies impact on women?

RIEGER: Going forward, we intended to bring in a special bonus

for working women who also had a home and a family to look

after.

IRENA: You talked a lot about that. You called it “dish money”. We

used to make fun of it. Remember, Monika? (Monika smiles

and nods.)

VICTOR: Sorry to butt in, but it might be appropriate to point out

that these were policies with a very long time frame

251

RIEGER: Of course, it couldn’t all have been accomplished right

away. But on the other hand, we wanted to put an end to the

politics of procrastination.

DICK: As far as economic policy is concerned, I’d like to just ask

– (He quickly shuffl es through his notes.) – how you intended

– what you intended – (He fi nds the question.) – what you

intended to do to attract foreign investment?

RIEGER: We had several instruments for achieving that. Are you

drinking? Does everyone have enough? Oswald, could you top

people up?

(Oswald pours everyone more champagne. Hanus enters from the

villa.)

HANUS: Vilem ––

RIEGER: For instance, when a potential foreign investor wanted

to build something – a warehouse, let’s say – we would have

cut down the trees, cleared the undergrowth, leveled the

ground, brought in water, sewage, gas, electricity, internet

access, and built roads and parking lots. At the same time, this

would increase employment, which would in turn decrease

unemployment.

HANUS: Vilem ––

RIEGER: On the other hand, we wanted to provide incentives,

including zero-sum or negative-sum tax payments, and

special profi t-based rewards –

HANUS: Vilem ––

RIEGER: And then, thirdly we – what was the third thing, Victor?

VICTOR: I can’t remember, Dr. Rieger…

HANUS: Vilem, please …

RIEGER: Wasn’t it an off er to fund a polyfunctional promotional

campaign for qualifying corporations?

VICTOR: I don’t know. Yes. Maybe. Perhaps –

(Irena nods to Monika, who approaches Irena, who then whispers into

her ear while Monika nods.)

252

HANUS: Vilem – I’m sorry to interrupt, but we have a  minor

problem.

RIEGER: What is it?

HANUS: Several days ago, according to the administration

department records, you took out a hundred erasers, fi fty

colored pens, a  liter of ink, and ten packages of paper.

Shouldn’t we be returning some of that, at least?

VICTOR: (Shouts.) Don’t bring that up, Hanus!

HANUS: But we don’t want to leave ourselves open to attack over

such trivial items.

RIEGER: Don’t be such a nervous Nellie!

(Irena has fi nished whispering to Monika, who exits into the coach

house. Hanus exits into the villa. Dick, after searching for a while,

fi nds another question.)

DICK: (Reading.) How would you respond, Dr. Rieger, to critics

who accuse you of not waging a tougher war on bribery and

corruption, especially among our leading politicians?

RIEGER: Th e exact opposite is true. It was I, after all, who fi rst

drew the public’s attention to some rather shady transactions

involving Klein.

IRENA: When a politician buys fi ve luxury homes, all at the same

time, for himself and his extended family, doesn’t that strike

you as a little odd? Vilem talked about this openly and what

happened? Everyone attacked him for it, and Klein just

laughed. Isn’t that so, Vilem?

RIEGER: It is.

VICTOR: To be precise, we did not press charges, so in the formal

sense –

RIEGER: Charges or not, everyone knows that with just a little more

time, I would have given bribery and corruption a good run

for its money. After all, it’s been a priority of mine for the last

fi fteen years.

(Monika enters from the coach house, goes over to Oswald and

whispers something to him. He nods, then bows and exits into the

253

coach house. Monika gestures to Irena that something has been

settled.)

RIEGER: If I might venture beyond the bounds of your question:

I  have always believed that decency and morality were

extremely important in the marketplace. I simply wanted this

country to be a safe place. For everyone.

IRENA: You’ve already said that, Vilem.

RIEGER: Some things bear constant repetition. For instance, the

idea that there are times when freedom must be defended by

force. After all, that’s why we have an army, a police force, an

intelligence service, a counter-intelligence service, a second

police force, a militia, special forces, fi rst-strike commandos,

an army – and so on.

(Grandma enters with a basket full of cherries. She’s accompanied

by Knobloch, who is carrying a rake. Oswald enters from the coach

house with another bottle of champagne. He opens it and tops up

everyone’s glasses, while quietly laughing to himself.)

IRENA: I brought this champagne back fi fteen years ago from Paris.

We bought it on the Boulevard St. Germain with Jack Lang.

He loved this champagne, especially the 1915 – October cru.

(To Oswald.) What are you laughing at?

OSWALD: Yepichodov broke a billiard cue.

IRENA: What’s  Yepichodov doing here? And who let him play

billiards? I don’t understand these people!

(Oswald suppresses a  laugh, then quickly clears the unnecessary

things off the table, the empty bottles etc., puts them on a tray, bows,

and exits into the villa. Grandma shows everyone the cherries.)

GRANDMA: Th ere’s going to be a bumper crop this year. What will

we do with all those cherries?

KNOBLOCH: When I was young, those cherries would be dried,

pickled, marinated and made into jam. Th ey were so soft and

sweet and juicy, those dried cherries. Th ey smelled so good.

RIEGER: You’re not the only one who remembers that, Mr.

Knobloch. I’d rather hear what’s new. What are people saying

254

about me? Do they feel the same vast intellectual and spiritual

abyss between me and the current leadership as I do? Th e

thing is, these journalists here are going to write about it.

KNOBLOCH: People like Vice Prime Minister Klein.

RIEGER: What? He’s vice prime minister already?

KNOBLOCH: I heard it on the radio just a while ago. (He points to

Th e Keyhole.) May I?

RIEGER: Go ahead.

(Knobloch takes a copy of Th e Keyhole and exits. Grandma also takes

a copy and exits into the villa with her basket of cherries, looking at

Th e Keyhole as she leaves. Dick leafs through his notes, and fi nally

fi nds a new question. Grandma pauses before exiting into the villa.)

GRANDMA: Angelina had breakfast with Brad in an Indian

restaurant.

(Grandma exits into the villa.)

DICK: (Reading.) And now to change the subject a little – do you

still feel young, or do you feel you’ve aged?

RIEGER: Haven’t aged a bit, mentally or physically.

DICK: (Reading.) How does your long-time companion, Irena, get

along with your mother and daughters?

RIEGER: Irena gets along well with almost everyone. (Calls out.)

Mother! (Grandma appears in the doorway of the villa holding

Th e Keyhole.) Tell the gentleman how well you get along with

Irena.

GRANDMA: Just fi ne.

DICK: (Reading.) Do you think, Mrs. Riegerova, that your son and

his long-time companion Irena are fond of each other?

GRANDMA: Vilem’s rather afraid of her.

IRENA: He’s not afraid of me in the slightest, and he tries to get his

own way. But I respect that and I always try to accommodate

him, because I have enormous regard for him. And I love him.

DICK: And do you also love your long-time companion, Irena?

RIEGER: Yes. Could I say something –

255

IRENA: He’s terribly shy about some things and it’s impossible to

get a sensible word out of him –

RIEGER: Could I say something –

IRENA: – yet in other things he’s not shy at all.

DICK: What kind of things?

RIEGER: Could I say something about my education policies?

DICK: Go ahead.

VICTOR: We didn’t really accomplish a great deal in that regard.

RIEGER: I wouldn’t say we were complete failures either. I wanted

those who went through our school system to come out as

wise, decent, and well-rounded, well-educated people. Th at

was the main idea behind my plan for school reform. If it was

slow to be realized, that was mainly the fault of some teachers

who were not themselves suffi ciently wise, decent, or well-

educated –

DICK: Have you been faithful to Irena, your long-time companion?

RIEGER: (Insulted.) Of course I have!

DICK: When did you last have sex?

RIEGER: (Angrily.) Th at’s none of your damn business!

DICK: But it would certainly interest readers of Th e Keyhole.

RIEGER: (Shouting.) Fuck them!

THE VOICE: I would urge the actors to act naturally, not to raise

their voices pointlessly, to avoid pathos, to articulate their

lines well, to stick to the text, and not resort to histrionics.

Th ank you.

(Dick turns off the recording devices and puts everything back in his

bag.)

DICK: I  think that’s  everything. May I? (Dick positions himself

between Rieger and Irena, putting his arms around their

waists. Bob takes their picture from all angles.) Can we take

a few more shots inside?

IRENA: But please, be quick about it.

(Irena exits into the villa, followed by Dick, Bob, Victor and Monika.

Rieger exits last, but he stops on the steps.. Zuzana also stops.)

256

THE VOICE: When a playwright requires a character to be alone

on stage, or have a conversation the others are not meant to

hear, he usually tries to devise ways to usher the unnecessary

characters off the stage. Shakespeare didn’t worry about

such things. His characters simply walk on or walk off as he

required. Today, there are many complicated ways of getting

actors off stage. Often, they leave to prepare something to

eat. Th at’s also a way of ensuring that when it’s time for them

to come back, their entrance will be natural because in the

meantime, they will have got something ready, and they can

bring it on stage at the right moment. I wonder if having the

characters go into the villa collectively for a photo shoot will

seem too arbitrary a way of getting them out of the way so that

something can happen that they are not meant to witness?

Yes, I admit, I need them off the stage. I would add, however,

that it is customary for newspapers to run photographs of the

subject of a major interview at home, and for members of the

family to be present, if only to do a quick tidy up or make sure

the journalists don’t steal anything.

(Rieger notices that Bea is now on stage.)

RIEGER: Bea –

BEA: Is it true they’re trying to evict you?

RIEGER: Th ey’ll rent this place to me if I support them publicly.

Th ey said they would continue with my policies –

BEA: Th at’s bollocks. Th ey may say they are guided by your political

principles, but it won’t be genuine, because all they’re

interested in is power. You’ve been strong all your life –

that’s who you are – that’s your identity – and after all you’ve

gone through, you can’t just give up. We’re all going to try to

fi nd you a suitable place to live – 

RIEGER: Th at’s so kind of you, Bea.

(Bea kisses Rieger.)

BEA: You smell so nice

RIEGER: It’s partly for you –

257

BEA: You seem far younger than you do on television. You have

hardly any grey hair –

RIEGER: You have no idea how badly I  sometimes need

encouragement. And kind words from a young, pretty, wise,

well-educated creature make me feel twice the man.

(Rieger and Bea look at each other intensely for a moment, and Rieger

suddenly embraces Bea and begins kissing her. Bea gently struggles,

more for show, to get out of his embrace.)

BEA: No – not here!

RIEGER: Come!

(Rieger takes Bea by the hand and leads her quickly into the gazebo.

Th ey embrace and kiss. Oswald enters from the villa running. He is

laughing, and in each hand, he holds half of the broken billiard cue.

He examines the break, shaking his head, laughing. Th en he exits into

the coach house. Th e “Ode to Joy” sounds from one of Zuzana’s pockets.

She puts the computer aside, walks downstage, takes out the mobile

phone and turns it on. Th e “Ode” stops. Zuzana listens intently. For

a moment, there is utter silence.)

ZUZANA: (Into the telephone.) And your point is?

(At that moment, the wind rises and it begins to rain.)

END OF ACT THREE

(Intermission)

ACT FOUR

(Th e orchard outside the Rieger villa. Th e same day, a short while

later. Th e wind and the rain have died down. Rieger and Bea are

hugging and kissing in the gazebo. Oswald is sleeping in the bushes

not far away, but he can’t be seen.)

IRENA: (Calls from off stage.) Vilem! Darling! Where are you? (Irena

enters, followed by Monika. She stops close to the gazebo, then

258

something catches her attention, and she looks inside and sees

Rieger with Bea.) Vilem!

(Rieger and Bea quickly emerge from the gazebo, and rearrange

themselves in great embarrassment. Irena glares at Rieger for

a moment, and then slaps his face.)

RIEGER: Ow! (A short pause, then Irena slaps Rieger in the face

again.) Ow! (A short pause, then Irena starts quickly slapping

his face over and over, while Rieger tries to avoid the blows.)

Ow – I’m sorry – I can explain – Ow!

IRENA: What’s  there to explain? You’re a  ridiculous, selfi sh,

miserable, dirty old man. Or more precisely, you’re the parody

of a dirty old man.

BEA: Goodbye!

(Bea exits, Rieger comes up to Irena and tries to caress her. She pushes

him away.)

IRENA: Why do you think I had the French champagne brought

out? Because today is our fi fteenth anniversary! I deliberately

waited to see if you’d remember it. Naturally, you forgot. And

not only that, you betray me on this very day, and in the very

gazebo where we had such wonderful, wild times together.

RIEGER: You’re making too much of this. She merely kissed me –

I couldn’t very well push her away, could I?

(Monika leans toward Irena and whispers something to her. Irena

nods and then yells in diff erent directions.)

IRENA: Oswald! Oswald! Th e onions are burning. (Oswald gets up,

looks around sleepily, bows, and goes into the villa.) Have you

ever thought how much I’ve given up because of you? My fl at.

My place as a makeup artist with Prcek Brothers. Family. My

fl at. My cottage. My friends. My fl at. My best friend –

RIEGER: Best friend?

IRENA: You’ve never met him –– my fl at. I lived only for you and

through you. I did everything to satisfy your needs, to make

your life easy and harmonious. I  accepted a  role as your

shadow and enhanced your career in so many ways. I patiently

259

endured everything around you – including your mother.

You say the individual is at the heart of your politics, but you

haven’t a clue what love is. You’re just as cynical as all the rest

of them.

RIEGER: Who do you mean by “all the rest of them?”

IRENA: All of you lot. Monika, we’re leaving.

(Irena takes Monika by the hand and exits with her. Rieger goes to

follow her.)

RIEGER: (Calling out.) Irena! My dearest! Forgive me! It was just

a silly little thing – Vlasta enters with Albin.

THE VOICE: I don’t know what it is, exactly, but something bothers

me about that scene. Does it disrupt the poetics of the play? Is

it banal? Is it too fl at? Too much of a parody? Not enough of

a parody? Or, on the contrary, is it too highly emotional, too

overblown? But what can I do? I’ve done the best I can with it.

VLASTA: Have you looked at it yet?

RIEGER: Looked at what?

VLASTA: At the documents Albin and I gave you.

RIEGER: Not yet.

(Knobloch enters with his rake.)

KNOBLOCH: Well, it’s here, Dr. Rieger. A courier just came and

delivered the eviction notice. From today on, it says, you’re

living here illegally. Th ey’ve assigned you a bachelor fl at.

RIEGER: Where?

(Victor enters from the coach house.)

VICTOR: In some village or other about a hundred versts from here.

It’s too bad you were so infl exible. You might have won some

concessions from them. Now, clearly, it’s too late.

RIEGER: We’ll go and live with Vlasta.

VLASTA: I’m sorry Daddy, but Albin and I have talked this over

again, and we weighed all the alternatives and in the end, we

decided that that would not be a good solution, either for you

or for us. We’d be squeezed together like sardines, and we’d

soon be getting on each other’s nerves. We could give Zuzana

260

a folding bed in the kitchen for a few days, but what would we

do with Grandma? Where would we put her? In the village,

you’ll have peace and quiet. I’d give anything to be able to live

in the country!

(Grandma enters from the villa with a  frying pan in her hands.

Knobloch exits.)

GRANDMA: He burnt the onions. What should I do with this?

RIEGER: Just toss it out, Mother.

GRANDMA: Th e frying pan too?

RIEGER: Either clean it properly, or toss it out.

GRANDMA: Where’s Irena?

RIEGER: She’s gone.

GRANDMA: Where to?

RIEGER: I have no idea.

GRANDMA: Did Monika go with her?

RIEGER: Yes.

GRANDMA: Should we wait for her for dinner?

RIEGER: I don’t know.

GRANDMA: (To Vlasta.) Are you and Albin staying for dinner?

VLASTA: We’re going to Albin’s parents’ place.

GRANDMA: For dinner?

VLASTA: Yes

GRANDMA: And where’s Zuzana? She was just here a while ago –

RIEGER: I don’t know, Mother –

GRANDMA: Did she go dancing?

RIEGER: Perhaps –

GRANDMA: Where did she put her computer?

RIEGER: Mother, please – no more questions.

GRANDMA: Well, I beg your pardon. (She looks at the frying pan.)

I’ll probably have to throw this away.

VICTOR: It’s not a complete disaster –

RIEGER: What isn’t?

VICTOR: Th e interview –

261

(Victor exits into the coach house. Knobloch enters with his rake,

holding an open Keyhole in his hand.)

KNOBLOCH: “He had women on the brain.” Th at’s  the main

headline on page one. “He never professes his love, but

he’s very sensual, says his current mistress.” “Is he faithful to

her? No one knows.”

RIEGER: Is that today’s?

KNOBLOCH: It’s the day after tomorrow’s.

(Rieger tears Th e Keyhole away from Knobloch and looks at it. Victor

enters from the coach house with another copy of the same edition

of Th e Keyhole. He looks at it with Grandma, who has gone to stand

beside him. Vlasta and Albin huddle around Rieger and read his copy

over his shoulders. A pause.)

RIEGER: What kind of nonsense is this? Did they at least print the

whole conversation?

VICTOR: Yes, except for the political bits.

RIEGER: Why did you let them in here, for God’s sake?

VICTOR: Remember what Tony Blair once told you? If you don’t

answer their questions, they’ll answer them for you.

RIEGER: You idiot! I can’t imagine a more embarrassing way to end

my political career.

VLASTA: You should take a look at those documents; it’s in your

best interest, isn’t it, Albin?

(Albin nods. Rieger crumples the newspaper up and throws it at

Victor. Victor leaves. Knobloch leaves after him.)

GRANDMA: Where will we go? To Vlasta’s?

VLASTA: But Grandma, whatever gave you that idea? You wouldn’t

all fi t in! And Albin and I have our own lives to live; we haven’t

time to listen to all your questions. And where would you

sleep? Who would cook for us all? Zuzana will move in with

her boyfriend, and then what? Father needs a writing desk,

he’d be entertaining reporters all the time – it’s simply out of

the question. (To Rieger.) Will you look at them?

(Monika rushes in.)

262

MONIKA: Irena tried to jump off a cliff .

RIEGER: What cliff ? Did she actually jump?

MONIKA: I held her back.

RIEGER: Th ank you, Monika. You’re worth your weight in gold.

Please, keep a close eye on her, will you?

MONIKA: I will.

(Monika exits.)

VLASTA: It’s true we have a large fl at, but it’s laid out so badly that

Albin and I are always tripping over each other. And you can

hear every sound, every word people say. Fortunately Albin

never says very much. It’s enough to make you nervous about

going to the bathroom, isn’t it, Albin? I just felt a drop of rain.

Read it! Let’s go.

(Vlasta and Albin leave. Victor enters carrying a document. Th e wind

slowly rises and a light rain begins to fall.)

VICTOR: Excuse me, Dr. Rieger, but a promising off er has just come

up. Would you be interested in going on some kind of personal

speaking tour? You could tell entertaining anecdotes from the

life of a chancellor, sex it up here and there with spicy details

about other statesmen, interspersed with hit songs. You could

take Miss Irena along as your makeup person. And your entire

entourage could fi t into a minivan.

RIEGER: And who, precisely, is making me this off er?

VICTOR: Th e Show and Tell Tourist Agency run by Veprek, Einhorn,

Prcek, Gambacci Sr. and Associates.

RIEGER: Don’t respond – at least not just yet.

GRANDMA: So, what’s going to happen?

RIEGER: Th e village is going to happen. (To Victor.) Can you go

there tomorrow and take a look?

VICTOR: I’m sorry, Dr. Rieger, but in my opinion it would be more

sensible for you to pay a visit to Vice Prime Minister Klein as

soon as possible, if he’ll see you, that is. Or at least write him

a letter. Otherwise he’s threatening to make more trouble. One

has to have both feet on the ground.

263

RIEGER: My feet are on the ground! Are you going to check it out

tomorrow or not?

VICTOR: I’m sorry to say I already have something lined up with

one of the government agencies. It wouldn’t make a very good

impression if I were to cancel my fi rst meeting.

(Oswald enters.)

OSWALD: Dinner is served.

GRANDMA: And what will become of you, Oswald?

OSWALD: Me? I’m meant to be going to the Ragulins, to look after

their household. I’ll be something like a major domo.

RIEGER: Why don’t you all go to the Ragulins? And then straight

to the devil!

(Rieger snatches the frying pan out of Grandma’s hand, hits Oswald

on the head with it, then fl ings it away and exits energetically.)

GRANDMA: (To Oswald.) Are you all right? Come along now,

before you fall asleep.

(Oswald bows and exits into the villa with Grandma. Victor exits

into the coach house.)

THE VOICE: I  also love an empty stage. Th e question is, how

long can it remain empty? In my observation, nothing much

happens at fi rst: the audience is simply waiting. Next they start

to become restless because they don’t know what’s going on.

Th en they begin muttering and mumbling, because they’re

starting to suspect that something has gone wrong and that

the theatre’s at a loss to explain why the play is not continuing,

or why the curtain has not come down. Finally, people start

leaving, or they laugh. But the main point is that an empty

stage has its own special content, its own message. It is the

emptiness of the world, concentrated into a few minutes. An

emptiness so empty that it remains silent, even about itself.

(A pause. Th e stage grows subtly darker, the wind rises and the rain

becomes heavier. A soaking wet Rieger enters. Th e dye he has used

to colour his hair is fl owing down his cheeks in little rivulets. He is

followed by Hanus, cradling the bust of Gandhi in his arms.)

264

HANUS: I know that this bust means a great deal to you.

RIEGER: Mao-Tse-Tung admired it greatly, when he came to visit.

HANUS: I’ll leave it with you. I’ll take the blame for it. Let them lock

me up if they want. Morally, this belongs to you.

(Rieger and Hanus exit. Grandma enters from the villa, looks around,

and then calls out.)

GRANDMA: Vilem! Vilem! Where are you? We’re having eggs, and

fresh cherries!

(Grandma exits into the villa; Rieger enters with the branch of a bush

hanging round his shoulders. Hanus enters at a diff erent spot, carrying

the bust of Gandhi in his arms.)

HANUS: Are you here, sire? On such a night, even the creatures of

the night tremble in fear, and the beasts of prey hide in their

lairs.

RIEGER: I have no complaints against you, ye elements! I have not

given you my kingdom. Beat against me, if that is your wish.

Th e government is here to serve the citizen; the citizen is not

here to serve the government. I am a man more sinned against

than sinning. It is raining. Do you write verse?

HANUS: You have nothing to cover your head, sire. Here’s a hovel.

It will shelter you a little from the storm.

RIEGER: You are right, boy. Come, bring us to this hovel. (Hanus

puts the bust down, takes Rieger by the hand and leads him

into the gazebo, where they both sit down.) Blow, winds, and

crack your cheeks! Let the all-shaking thunder strike fl at

the thick rotundity of the world. Crack nature’s moulds, all

germains spill at once, that make ungrateful man!

OSWALD: Where is my lord?

HANUS: He is here. But let him be. Let quiet calm his torn senses,

which otherwise could not be made whole.

OSWALD: Dinner is getting cold.

HANUS: So be it!

(Oswald bows and enters the villa.)

265

RIEGER: Put a dog in offi ce, and see how he’s obeyed. Th e greater

thief hangs the lesser. Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plate

sin with gold and the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks.

Arm it in rags, a pigmy’s straw does pierce it.

HANUS: Th ere is reason in this madness.

RIEGER: We came crying hither. Th e fi rst time that we smell the air,

we wail and cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.

Let us have less government!

(In the following scene, various characters enter from various points,

say their line, walk across the stage and exit again. Only Rieger

remains on stage. Th e wind and the rain slowly die down.)

IRENA: How did you sleep last night?

GRANDMA: What paper do you work for?

VLASTA: Could I have a little more cinnamon? Will you have some

too, Albin?

ZUZANA: My regards to Monika.

BEA: Yepichodov broke the billiard cue.

RIEGER: Less government!

HANUS: I didn’t come here to eat your food or waste your time.

OSWALD: You have nothing on your head, my lord.

DICK: I’ve always been soft on Monikas.

BOB: It was right below the Acropolis.

VICTOR: I don’t want a blanket!

KLEIN: I’m not tired, Mother.

KNOBLOCH: We couldn’t care less what you think of us.

KLEIN: I’m not tired, Mother.

RIEGER: I don’t want a blanket.

IRENA: It was right below the Acropolis.

GRANDMA: I’ve always been soft on Monikas.

VLASTA: You have nothing on your head, my lord.

ZUZANA: You’re so kind, Irena.

MONIKA: I didn’t come here to eat your food, or even take up much

of your time.

HANUS: I like you, Albin.

266

(Gradually, unobtrusively, all the characters have reassembled on

stage: Rieger, Irena, Grandma, Vlasta, Zuzana, Monika, Bea, Albin,

Hanus, Victor, Oswald, Dick, Bob, Klein and Knobloch.

A rock version of the Ode to Joy comes up, quietly at fi rst. Everyone

begins to sway or move to the rhythm. Th e music grows louder, the

dancing more and more lively until fi nally it becomes very wild. Th en

the music suddenly stops. Everyone except Rieger quietly disappears

in diff erent directions. Th e lights suddenly come up full on stage, and

the wind and the rain suddenly stop as well.)

RIEGER: I feel worse now than I did when I was feeling my worst.

(Th e First and Second Constables enter.)

FIRST CONST: Would you mind coming with us, Dr. Rieger.

RIEGER: Where are you taking me?

SEC’D CONST: To the police station.

RIEGER: Why?

FIRST CONST: To provide us with an explanation.

RIEGER: I’m not going to explain anything to you.

SEC’D CONST: I’m afraid you are, sir.

RIEGER: Am I under arrest? With no recourse? For a twist of fate?

I demand to be treated decently. Ransom will be paid!

FIRST CONST: I kiss your bumblebee, my sweet piglet!

(Rieger is taken aback.)

THE VOICE: Could you do that once again, please?

FIRST CONST: I kiss your bumblebee, my sweet piglet!

RIEGER: (Cries out.) He didn’t burn it. I want to see a doctor! Th ose

damned letters! My brain begins to turn! Th at disgusting

young Gambacci! Oh, God!

(Th e constables come up to Rieger, each one grabbing him by the arm.

Rieger resists, refusing to go, and in the end he allows himself to be

dragged off , his legs stiff and motionless. Immediately after that Albin

streaks across the stage and into the villa. He is completely naked.)

END OF ACT FOUR

267

ACT FIVE

(Th e orchard outside the Rieger villa. A day later. Several large pieces

of luggage are lying beside the garden furniture, among them the bust

of Gandhi. Th e painting of Rieger from Act One is leaning against

one of the suitcases, facing the audience. Rieger is sitting on one of the

trunks. His hair is once more grey, perhaps even greyer than before. He

is not made up, and he looks somewhat more haggard and lethargic,

especially beside his youthful and elegant appearance in the portrait.

A short pause. Grandma enters from the villa with a handful of socks,

which she starts stuffi ng into one of the suitcases.)

GRANDMA: How are you?

RIEGER: My trousers are falling down.

GRANDMA: You’ve probably lost weight.

RIEGER: Probably.

GRANDMA: Would you like a hot toddy?

RIEGER: Not today.

(Oswald enters from the villa with a huge armful of damp laundry,

which he starts stuffi ng into one of the trunks. Hanus enters from the

coach house, walks across the stage, and exits into the villa.)

GRANDMA: Shouldn’t I be picking some cherries for the journey?

RIEGER: As you wish, Mother.

GRANDMA: Are we going to clear out the cellar as well?

RIEGER: I don’t know.

GRANDMA: Will they come for us fi rst, and take the luggage later?

RIEGER: Yes. Probably. Certainly.

GRANDMA: Or will they take the luggage fi rst, and come for us

later?

RIEGER: Probably. Possibly. I don’t know.

(Hanus enters from the villa with a pile of books in his arm, all of

them the same, most likely a set of encyclopaedias. He walks across

the stage and exits into the coach house. Knobloch enters, carrying

his rake.)

KNOBLOCH: Th ey’ve sold it.

268

RIEGER: Sold what?

KNOBLOCH: Th e villa and the orchard.

RIEGER: Seriously? Th e government sold it? Are they allowed to do

that? And who bought it?

KNOBLOCH: Vice Prime Minister Klein.

RIEGER: At least it’s someone we know.

(Knobloch exits. Vlasta enters with the naked Albin in her arms.)

VLASTA: He was sunning himself under the cherry trees and went

stiff with the cold

GRANDMA: Put him next to the stove for a while.

(Vlasta, carrying Albin in her arms, exits into the villa. Hanus enters

from the coach house, walks across the stage and exits into the villa.

Oswald fi nishes stuffi ng the laundry into the suitcase, bows, and exits

into the villa.)

RIEGER: He already has fi ve villas. What’s he need another one for?

GRANDMA: What did those offi cers want from you yesterday?

RIEGER: Oh, they only wanted some kind of explanation.

GRANDMA: And were they polite?

RIEGER: Yes, probably. Certainly, yes, they probably were. (Irena

and Monika enter; Irena is limping and Monika is supporting

her.) Irena! I was so worried about you.

IRENA: I’m such a goose. What have I ever got from you? Why

do I  always forgive you for everything? Why have I  not

accomplished anything to this day? Why am I ruining my life

with you, when I could have been so well off with – or with –

what’s his name? – or with –

RIEGER: Th e main thing is you weren’t seriously hurt.

(Hanus enters from the villa with a pile of books in his arms. He walks

across the stage and exits into the coach house. Knobloch enters with

his rake, and an open copy of Th e Keyhole in his hands.)

KNOBLOCH: (Still walking, he reads aloud.) “Former

Chancellor’s mistress pulls our reporter.” And there’s a picture

of him with his arm around Irena’s waist.

269

(Grandma, Rieger, Irena and Monika surround Knobloch and look

over his shoulders at Th e Keyhole. Hanus enters from the villa with

a pile of books. He walks across the stage and exits into the coach

house.)

GRANDMA: (To Irena.) You shouldn’t have let him stand so close

to you. It’s your fault!

IRENA: Get stuff ed, Granny.

(Knobloch exits with Th e Keyhole.)

IRENA : Did you sign anything for them?

RIEGER: I don’t know. Probably. Certainly I think I probably did.

GRANDMA: And what was it?

RIEGER: An account of our conversation. It was quite innocent. It

would have been hard to refuse.

(Hanus enters from the villa with a pile of books. He walks across the

stage and exits into the coach house.)

IRENA: Is it in your own handwriting?

RIEGER: Just the signature.

IRENA: In your own handwriting?

RIEGER: It was only an explanation. Th e document I signed merely

confi rmed that I had listened to what they had to say. And

that’s  true. And what if I did sign it? I have to think of all

of you. In any case, none of us knows what weapons these

bumblebees still have in their arsenal.

IRENA: What bumblebees?

(Hanus enters from the villa with a pile of books. He walks across the

stage, heading for the coach house.)

RIEGER: Can’t you give it a rest, Hanus?

HANUS: I’d be glad to, Vilem.

(Hanus exits into the coach house with his books. Oswald enters from

the villa with a case of beer. He puts it next to the suitcases.)

GRANDMA: Where’s Yepichodov?

OSWALD: He’s gone to play billiards at the Ragulins’.

(Oswald can scarcely contain his laughter. He bows and exits into the

villa. On the steps, he passes Zuzana, who is wearing a back pack,

270

carrying a laptop in one hand and a bag with various things in it in

the other.)

ZUZANA: Daddy, Gerard is inviting us all to come to his place.

RIEGER: Who’s Gerard?

(Hanus enters from the coach house and sits on one of the suitcases.)

ZUZANA: He’s French –

RIEGER: French?

ZUZANA: He represents the fi rm of Smith, Brown, Stapleton,

Bronstein and Stoessinger Inc. He has a lovely house.

(A horse whinnies off stage.)

RIEGER: How do you know him?

ZUZANA: He’s my partner. I’ll give the coachman the address.

RIEGER: I didn’t know you had a partner.

ZUZANA: Th ere’s a lot you don’t know, Daddy. (Zuzana puts her

things on the ground, takes her cell phone from her pocket,

punches in some numbers, puts the phone between her ear and

her shoulder, picks up her things again and starts to leave. She

speaks into the phone.) Hello? Yes, everything is okay. I’ll see

you soon. Bye –

IRENA: Bumblebees?

(Zuzana exits. Off stage there is the sound of a chainsaw and a falling

tree. Th ose present on stage listen attentively. Victor enters from the

villa with a cup of tea, a bottle of rum, and a small plate of biscuits.

He puts everything on the table, then pours some rum into the tea.)

VICTOR: Th e vice prime minister has big plans for this place.

HANUS: And what has this got to do with you?

VICTOR: He’s  made me his advisor. But that may not be his

last word. Th e position of deputy has opened up. Th e new

leadership has a rather good plan. It wants to substantially

lower the tax burden and at the same time, increase some

government services. In many ways, it’s  picking up where

you left off . For example, it wants to put the individual at the

centre of its policies.

RIEGER: Is Klein going to live here?

271

VICTOR: He’s quite happy where he is and doesn’t want to move.

He wants to use this place to start up some business ventures.

(A horse whinnies off stage and then a chain saw and a falling

tree can be heard. A pause. Klein slowly comes on stage.) So

– I’ve tried to speed up work in the orchard, Mr. Vice Prime

Minister.

KLEIN: Th ank you, Victor. You’re a pleasure to work with. Greetings

to you all. Hi, Vilem – hi Irena.

RIEGER: Greetings, Patrick. So – congratulations.

(Klein takes a cup of tea, sips from it, and takes a bite of a biscuit.)

KLEIN: I’m so sorry you have to go and live in some village. But

I couldn’t put this construction work off any longer. You’ll only

be a hundred versts away. Have you been to look at it? Is the

countryside pretty? Will there be room enough for all of you?

I see the carriage is already waiting.

RIEGER: I’d prefer that we went to Gerard’s. He’s one of our family

acquaintances. He’s got a lovely house, right here in town.

KLEIN: Is he the one from Smith, Brown, Stapleton, Bronstein and

Stoessinger, Inc.? I’m not certain, but I have the impression

that he’s about to land in a spot of trouble. I hear there was

some funny business to do with real estate deals, tax evasion,

that sort of thing. Gambacci gave me a  rundown just this

morning.

RIEGER: Gambacci? Th e one accused of bestiality?

KLEIN: Th ey never proved it. Now he’s chief of police. May I tell you

something of my plans for this place?

RIEGER: I’m sorry, Patrick, but are you even aware that they

interrogated me all night long?

KLEIN: Gambacci’s people?

RIEGER: Probably. Certainly. Yes, they probably were.

KLEIN: May I share some of my plans for this place with you?

RIEGER: I’m sorry, Patrick, but doesn’t it seem a little odd to you

that they came for me just yesterday evening?

IRENA: And then today, all those smears appeared in Th e Keyhole?

272

KLEIN: I’ll ask General Gambacci about it tomorrow.

RIEGER: Don’t tell me that –– person –– is a general!

KLEIN: We had to give him a  rank appropriate to his station,

otherwise he wouldn’t have the proper authority, after that

business with the young heifers. May I share some of my plans

for this place with you?

VICTOR: Mr. Vice Prime Minister, I think that everyone will fi nd

it most interesting. You’ve worked it all out in such exquisite

detail!

KLEIN: Here, where this unprofi table orchard now stands, we are

going to build a  moderately large social and commercial

centre. It will have three cinemas, fi ve stores, a  massage

parlour, a  hairdressers, a  boutique, the editorial offi ces of

Th e Keyhole, a butcher’s shop, a petrol station, a dance hall,

a tattoo clinic, a cinema, an antique store, a butcher’s shop,

and oh, did I mention the editorial offi ces of Th e Keyhole? And

three restaurants, including a Th ai establishment. Over there,

in the coach house, there will be a casino. Casinos are simply

part and parcel of the times we live in, aren’t they, Victor?

VICTOR: Th ey are, absolutely.

KLEIN: I have the right person to look after the billiard room. His

name is Yepichodov. And fi nally, over here, in the villa, there

will be a modern erotic entertainment club. Th e point is to

fi ll the entire area with life, all the time. And if, during the

day, the public is preoccupied with shopping in the mall, then

by evening this pretty villa will grasp the baton in the relay

race of life. Of course we’ll have to adapt it a little. In all this,

I rely on the principle of “less government.” Which is I why

I intend to license the erotic entertainment club to a friend of

mine who has no political axe whatever to grind; he’s a private

entrepreneur who’s  long had the very best credentials in

this fi eld, and he’s had loads of experience in many diff erent

countries. Hundreds of young Ukrainian women owe their

all to him.

273

RIEGER: Are you referring to Gambacci’s uncle?

KLEIN: (Shouting angrily.) It’s nobody’s business whose uncle he is!

THE VOICE: I know it’s inappropriate for me to interfere, but do

you think you could do that line with a little more civility?

KLEIN: It’s nobody’s business who’s uncle he is. (A horse whinnies

off stage, the sound of a chain saw and a falling tree. A pause.)

And what will you do now? Anything in the pipeline?

RIEGER: You know how hard it is. I’ve given my whole life to politics.

KLEIN: I might have an idea. How would you like to be an advisor

to my advisor, Victor?

RIEGER: An advisor?

KLEIN: Yes indeed.

RIEGER: To your advisor?

KLEIN: Yes indeed.

RIEGER: In other words, do I want to be an advisor to the former

secretary of my former secretary?

KLEIN: Well, when all is said and done, you understand how politics

works, and since you’ve given your whole life to it, it would

be a great pity if all that experience went to waste. Perhaps

if you’d been more cooperative, you might be higher up

the ladder today, but on the other hand, it’s still better than

forking manure and living in shame for the rest of your life

just because of some intimate little piece of fi lth you wrote

fi fteen years ago, and which Th e Keyhole is now about to

print. You must know that the Intergovernmental Historical

Commission – which is chaired by young Gambacci – is as

leaky as a sieve. So – will you take the job?

IRENA: He’s not taking it.

KLEIN: As you make your bed, so you lie on it. Might I ask you,

Monika, what you’re doing tomorrow evening? We might go

out to dinner. I know a marvelous Chinese restaurant where

they say the Prince of Bahrain himself once dined. You’d be

my guest – and I’d pay for everything, the food, the drink, the

food.

274

MONIKA: I’m sorry, Mr. Vice Prime Minister, but by tomorrow

evening I’ll be in Paris. Jack Lang is expecting me after eight

at the Deux Magots, isn’t he, Irena?

IRENA: I had to twist her arm, but Jack Lang isn’t one to take no for

an answer. He’s always been soft on Monikas.

GRANDMA: Are you going with her?

IRENA: Do you think I could just walk away from Vilem at a time like

this? What would he do without me? I’m sure he doesn’t even

know where the clothes pegs are. (To Rieger.) Bumblebees?

KLEIN: Well, Monika, you go right ahead and have a good time in

Paris. I trust your passport is in order. (Klein laughs for a long

time. Off stage, the sound of a chain saw and a tree falling. To

Rieger.) So what’s it going to be?

RIEGER: I’ll have to think it over.

IRENA : What in heaven’s name is there to think over?

KLEIN: What in heaven’s name is there to think over?

HANUS: What in heaven’s name is there to think over?

RIEGER: Th at’s easy enough for you to say, Hanus. You don’t have

a family. We can’t expect Albin to support us all, can we?

VICTOR: Th ey’re here!

IRENA: (To Grandma.) Could you look after the carriage?

(Victor hurries out to meet Dick and Bob, who are just arriving.

Grandma exits. Klein sits on the swing. Victor takes the plate of

biscuits, goes over to Klein, gives him a little push and at the same

time, off ers him the biscuits. Klein will go on eating them as long as

he’s swinging. Hanus approaches Rieger.)

HANUS: (Quietly.) Do you think it was wise to sign that statement?

RIEGER: (Quietly.) Leave me alone, you pathetic little –

(Dick takes a scruff y piece of paper from his pocket and studies it.

Bob takes pictures.)

HANUS: (To Dick.) Th at was a  rotten thing you did with that

interview.

275

BOB: We had nothing to do with it. It was edited by our new art-

director slash manager, Mr. Gambacci Junior, and our new

public relations consultant, Madame Gambacci Sr. –

DICK: (Reading from his piece of paper.) Good afternoon, Mr. Vice

Prime Minister. Our readers would like to know if the new

leadership will be taking up where the former chancellor left

off .

KLEIN: We have every intention, in the immediate future, of carrying

on with everything worthwhile in the preceding period, and

at the same time, ridding ourselves of everything that was bad

about the preceding period. Have I made myself clear?

VICTOR: Very nicely put.

DICK: (Reading.) And what is the main thrust of your policies?

KLEIN: Th e government is here to serve the citizen; the citizen is

not here to serve the government. We want this country to

be a secure place for free, well-educated individuals. And not

only for them, but for their families as well.

VICTOR: Bravo! Now you’ve really given your enemies what for, Mr.

Vice Prime Minister!

KLEIN: Didn’t I now, Victor? I think I’m in grand form today. I’ve

really made their heads spin.

(Dick examines both sides of his piece of paper. A horse whinnies

off stage. Oswald enters from the villa.)

IRENA: Have you brought all the laundry in from the orchard,

Oswald?

OSWALD: It’s in the suitcase.

IRENA: I hope you didn’t put it away damp, did you?

OSWALD: No. I don’t think so. Certainly not, I think.

(Oswald starts arranging all the luggage into a single neat pile. Hanus

adds to it the bust of Gandhi and the portrait. Dick, meanwhile, has

found another shabby piece of paper in another pocket. He turns to

Rieger.)

DICK: May I ask you a question as well?

RIEGER: Go ahead.

276

DICK: (Reading.) Is it true that your long-time companion, the

former makeup artist, Irena, has left you and that you have

a new mistress, a graduate student?

RIEGER: I’m sorry, but I’m not going to respond to that.

DICK: (Reading.) And could you comment on why you’re not going

to respond?

RIEGER: No I could not.

DICK: And could you tell us why you’re not going to comment on

why you’re not going to respond?

RIEGER: No I could not.

DICK: (Reading.) And could you off er an opinion as to why you

won’t tell us why you won’t comment on why –

MONIKA: Oh, for Christ’s sake, she’s already come back to him!

IRENA: Someone has to be here to make sure he doesn’t sign

anything else. (To Rieger.) Bumblebees?

(Bob approaches Dick and whispers something in his ear. Dick nods.

Off stage, you can hear the sound of a chainsaw and a falling tree.

Oswald and Hanus fi nish what they are doing. Hanus sits down on

one of the suitcases.)

OSWALD: (To Hanus.) Th ere was a  time when they sent dried

cherries by the cartload to Charkov.

(Oswald takes a bottle out of the case of beer, opens it, drinks from it,

and then carries it off to the gazebo and sits down in a way that makes

him virtually invisible. Dick turns back to Rieger.)

DICK: And something else, Dr. Rieger. Is it true that you’re thinking

of accepting a position as advisor …

(Knobloch hurries up with his rake, waving a copy of Th e Keyhole.)

KNOBLOCH: (Reading.) “Former chancellor refuses to leave

government residence!”

DICK: … of accepting a position of advisor to the advisor…

KNOBLOCH: (Reading.) “Vice Prime Minister Klein intends to

convert the former government villa into a place for use by the

general public. But its former occupant, the former chancellor,

Vilem Rieger, is complicating matters by refusing to move out.”

277

DICK: … of accepting a position as advisor to the advisor to the

advisor to the advisor to the advisor of the new Chancellor?

KLEIN: I’m the vice prime minister, not the chancellor. At least not

yet.

(Klein laughs for a long time. Oswald has fallen asleep in the gazebo.

Knobloch exits, taking Th e Keyhole with him. A  horse whinnies

off stage, followed by the sound of a  chain saw and a  falling tree.

A brief, tense pause ensues. Everyone looks expectantly at Rieger. Dick

is making notes on his shabby piece of paper. Bob takes the occasional

photo. Klein, with a push from Victor, swings gently on the swing.

Rieger takes out the hat with “I Love You” on it and ceremoniously

places it on his head.)

RIEGER: (To Dick.) Now look here, sir. Th e fi rst thing a man must do

is ask himself what he thinks the most important things in life

are. In my case, there are only two possibilities. Th e fi rst is that

from here on in, my life will feed off what went before. I will

constantly reminisce about the past, returning to it over and

over again, analyzing it, explaining it, defending it, comparing

it again and again to what exists now, in the present, persuading

myself just how much better everything was back then. In

other words, I could easily become completely obsessed with

my own footprint in history, my past achievements, my legacy,

and all the little monuments I have left behind me on my way

through the world. (Th e sound of a chainsaw and a  falling

tree off stage. Vlasta enters from the villa with Albin. Albin

is dressed normally, but he has a beige blanket around his

shoulders. Both of them stop to listen to Rieger.) But if I took

this attitude, I would ultimately be reduced to an obscure

fi gure on the margins of history, capable only of tarnishing

the reputation of others, of reminding others of all the famous

people I once knew, bitterly belittling everything that came

after me. (A  horse whinnies off stage.) And the outcome?

Everyone would think I was just a vain and embittered old

man who thumbed his nose at a generous off er to contribute

278

his experience to the service of his country. Th at, sir, is the

fi rst choice that lies before me. But there is another as well.

HANUS: Excuse me, Vilem, but if you ever need me for anything,

you know where to fi nd me.

RIEGER: Th ank you for everything, Hanus, but I have the impression

that it would be better, not just for me, but ultimately for

yourself as well, if we were not always seen together, in each

other’s company, like a couple of Th ai twins.

HANUS: Well – goodbye, then.

(Hanus strokes the bust of Gandhi on the head and exits.)

RIEGER: (To Dick.) But there is a  second choice before me: to

demonstrate clearly to everyone that serving my country is of

greater importance to me than my personal position. I have

been guided by that principle, sir, all my life and I don’t see

why I should back away from it now just because of the trivial

concern that I  would, offi cially, hold a  somewhat inferior

position to the one I  have held for so long.(Th e sound of

a chain saw and a falling tree is heard.) After all, what a man

does, in real terms, for his fellow man and what kind of real

infl uence he has, is more important than the position or

the title he holds. We are living, sir, in a democracy, and in

a democracy, it is quite normal and common for people to

hold certain positions, and then leave them again. Am I not

right about that, Patrick?

KLEIN: Sometimes that’s the way it is.

IRENA: Vilem –

RIEGER: What is it, darling?

IRENA: You’re lying to yourself, more than you have to, and more

than I can bear. I’d happily help you spread manure in the

village, and eat bumble – I mean humble pie– if I thought

that you had a backbone and I had a reason to respect you.

I’m leaving. I’m leaving for good. You can look for the clothes

pegs yourself, wrap a blanket round you yourself, make your

279

own hot toddies. Or you can get Weissenmütelhofova to do

it all for you. Come on, Monika. We’re leaving.

(Irena steps up to Rieger sharply and sweeps the cap with “I Love You”

on it off his head, tosses it away, grabs two large suitcases, and exits.

Monika takes one suitcase and exits as well.)

RIEGER: She’ll be back. She’s always come back before.

THE VOICE: I don’t know whether it’s better to have Irena come

back again, or to have her leave Rieger for good. Whichever it

is, it would have to happen, or at least something should tell

us it will happen, within the play itself, which means now, or

in the next few minutes. When the play ends, it’s all over. Th e

play’s world ends when the play ends, and all that remains is

our impression, our interpretation, our memories, our joy, or

our boredom. But I don’t want to hold things up while I make

up my mind, either. So, I’ll leave the matter open. I won’t be

the fi rst author, nor the last, who left things open-ended, not

because he intended to, but simply because he didn’t know

what else to do.

(A horse whinnies off stage.)

RIEGER: And something else, sir. Please be aware that the very fact

that civilization is now global has boundless consequences in

the sphere of politics as well. One of them is the burgeoning

infl uence of experts, of specialists, of people with specifi c

knowledge, because it is increasingly diffi cult for a  top

politician to know everything or have an opinion about

everything. As a result, the infl uence and the importance of

advisors is growing every day, along with the dependence

of politicians upon them. (Off stage, the sound of a chainsaw

and a falling tree.) After all, who can do the math when it

comes to lowering taxes? Who decides how many thousands

of bureaucrats have to be fi red to make room for less

government? Who decides how many fi ghter planes off ered

for sale by General Gambacci’s aunt are needed to make this

country a safe place? Th e advisors, that’s who. And how do the

280

advisors know with any certainty what’s what? Why they get

it from their advisors! I dare say, sir, that as an advisor to an

advisor, I may well have a greater infl uence on the realization

of my ideals than I had when I was chancellor, which burdened

me with so many purely ceremonial duties, often to the

detriment of my ability to insure that the individual was really

at the centre of my politics.

(A horse whinnies off stage. Bob again whispers something to Dick.)

DICK: Does your change of attitude toward the new leadership have

anything to do with your midnight interrogation, and with some

of the archival material that young Gambacci’s commission

unearthed?

RIEGER: As for the interrogation, as you call it, it involved no more

than providing a  standard explanation. And the archival

material, as you call it? Th ey were no more than standard

forgeries. But that’s not important. What is important is that

at this moment, I wish to serve my country where my country

at this moment in time most needs my help and where I can

best be of service to it. Politics is service. We want well-

rounded families. Long live growth! It’s all about the future.

Blow wind, and crack your cheeks! Th e world is a great stage

of fools! My trousers are falling down! Check!

(Klein, with Victor’s help, slows down and gradually stops the swing.

Off stage is the sound of a chainsaw and a falling tree.)

ALBIN Th at was one of the fi nest, most balanced speeches I’ve

ever heard you give, Vilem. You overstated nothing, and

understated nothing either. Am I not right, Vlasta?

VLASTA: Albin, you talk too much.

KLEIN: Albin is right. Vilem spoke like a man.

VICTOR: Th at’s exactly what I was about to say, Mr. Vice Prime

Minister. Th e Advisor to the Advisor spoke like a man.

KLEIN: Even though he may have slightly exaggerated the importance

of being an advisor to the advisor.

281

VICTOR: Yes, indeed, Mr. Vice Prime Minister. Advisors to advisors

certainly don’t play such an important role, at least not in our

country. I would say that at this moment, and in this country,

the greatest infl uence on politics lies with the Vice Prime

Minister.

KLEIN: Th ough in the future, when all is said and done, the most

infl uential of all ought to be the chancellor.

(Klein laughs for a long time. Grandma rushes in.)

GRANDMA: Th e carriage is waiting!

(Grandma takes the portrait of Rieger. Dick, Vlasta and Albin each

take two suitcases and they all exit. Bob exits too, but he takes nothing

with him because he is shooting the departure. Rieger throws the last

piece of luggage over his shoulder.)

KLEIN: Come back and see the place when everything is fi nished.

You always were fond of sex clubs. Remember Bangkok,

fi fteen years ago?

RIEGER: Goodbye house. Goodbye orchard. Goodbye gazebo.

(Rieger picks up the hat with “I Love You” on it, puts it on, only to

sweep it off again and bow ceremoniously to Klein. Th en he puts

the cap back on, picks up the bust of Gandhi, and exits. Knobloch,

carrying his rake, rushes in and calls out to Klein.)

KNOBLOCH: Wouldn’t you like some of this cherry wood for your

fi replace? It makes an excellent fi re.

KLEIN: You can deliver a wagonload to my villa.

KNOBLOCH: Which one?

KLEIN: How about the one where that Frenchman used to live, the

one Gambacci expelled from the country today.

(Knobloch exits. A sleepy Oswald emerges from the gazebo holding an

empty beer bottle. A horse whinnies off stage, and then only the clip

clop of the departing carriage is heard.)

OSWALD: Th ey’ve gone. Forgot about me. I bet my master didn’t

wear his fur coat, bet he put on that light one instead. Life is

over before you live it. I think I’ll lie down for a minute. No

282

strength left. He certainly left without his fur coat. Nothing

left, nothing.

(Oswald lies down behind a bush. Klein and Victor walk away from

the swing.)

THE VOICE: One of my friends suggested I end play end right here.

Just like Chekhov’s Cherry Orchard. But I think there needs

to be something more for the play to be complete. I apologize

to my advisor friend.

VICTOR: Are you warm enough, Mr. Vice Prime Minister?

KLEIN: Not really. I think I’ll put on my fur coat.

(Victor exits, followed slowly by Klein. Th en he sees that not far off ,

Bea is standing there with a book in her hand. He stops.)

KLEIN: Are you looking for anyone in particular?

BEA: You –

KLEIN: And how can I help you?

BEA: Would you be willing to sign my copy of this book of your

speeches?

KLEIN: You mean the one that just came out today?

BEA: Yes. “Democracy, Freedom, the Market, and Me”

KLEIN: Let me have it. (Bea opens the book and hands it to Klein,

who signs it for her.) You know what Molotov once told me

over a cocktail? Patrick, he said, never refuse to sign one of

your books.

BEA: It’s wonderful that you intend to keep the individual at the

centre of your politics. Th ank you.

KLEIN: You’re most welcome. Checkmate!

(Bea kisses Klein shyly on the cheek. At the same time, all the other

characters in the play begin to enter from all sides: Rieger, Grandma,

Vlasta, Zuzana, Monika. Albin, Hanus, Victor, Oswald, who emerges

from behind the bush, Dick, Bob, Knobloch, Th e First And Second

Constables. All of them gradually come downstage and surround

Klein and Bea. Bob starts to arrange them all for a group photo.

Th en he stands in front of them with his back to the audience and

starts taking pictures.)

283

THE VOICE: I’d like to thank the actors for not overacting. Th e

theatre would like to thank the audience for turning off their

mobile phones. Truth and love must triumph over lies and

hatred. You may turn your phones back on. Good night, and

pleasant dreams!

(Bob takes his place among the other actors. Th ey all bow. A  big

orchestral version of the Ode to Joy comes up on the sound system

and plays until the audience has left the theatre.)

END OF ACT FIVE

THE END

284

Petr Kolečko

(1984)

Petr Kolečko studied dramaturgy

and playwrighting at the Academy

of Performing Arts (DAMU) in Prague. His fi rst play staged

professionally was Without Orientation (Bez orientace, 2004)

which opened in Th eatre Na Prádle, Prague in 2004. He fi nished his

studies with the play Love, Dude (Láska, vole, 2007) in DISK Th eatre,

premiered in December 2007. His play Britney Goes to Heaven (2006)

was produced by the Divadlo Petra Bezruče. It was translated into

English, and a rehearsed reading was performed in December 2007

by the Immigrants Th eatre Project in New York’s Public Th eater.

Th ere was also a rehearsed reading of a Polish translation at the

Teatr pod Ratuzsom in Cracow in March 2007. In 2008, he won

a month-long International Residency at the Royal Court Th eatre in

London. Th ere he fi nished his next play, Gods Don’t Play Ice Hockey

(Bohové hokej nehrají, 2008), which premiered in Činoherní studio

in Ústí nad Labem later the same year. Since September 2009 he

has been the Artistic Director of one of Prague’s best fringe stages,

A-studio Rubín. Th e theatre has already produced fi ve of his plays,

of which Th e Salome Case (Kauza Salome, 2009) was nominated

for the prestigeous Alfréd Radok Award for the Best Czech play in

2009. Recently he has also cooperated with director Tomáš Svoboda

on two plays which have won big popular success: Jaromír Jágr, the

Kladno Lad (Jaromír Jágr, Kladeňák, 2009) is a show inspired by

the personality of the famous Czech hockey player (premiered in

Středočeské divadlo in Kladno); Porn Stars (Pornohvězdy, 2009) is

a musical set in the world of the porn video industry (premiered in

Roxy Club in Prague in December 2009).

Petr Kolečko also works for Czech Radio. His modern classical

tragedy, Th e Gloom of Points (Soumrak bodů, 2006) was recorded by

285

Czech Radio in 2006. He is also a member of the writers team of the

series, Life is a Dog, created by Czech Radio. He was a storyliner of

the TV Nova series Th e Street (Ulice). During the years 2003-2005

he was a member of a Brit pop group, Th e Slots, playing saxophone.

Occasionally he writes lyrics for Czech groups, both in Czech and

English.

 

LIST OF PLAYS (selection):

• Britney Goes to Heaven, 2006; première 29. 9. 2006, Divadlo

Petra Bezruče, Ostrava

• Soumrak bodů, 2006; première 17. 10. 2006, Divadlo DISK,

Prague

• Láska, vole, 2007; première 5. 12. 2007, Divadlo DISK, Prague

• Zlatý prsten Jana Třísky, 2007; première 7. 12. 2007, A Studio

Rubín, Prague

• Bohové hokej nehrají, 2008; première 19. 12. 2008, Činoherní

studio Ústí nad Labem

• Soprán ze Slapské přehrady, 2008; première 23. 11. 2008,

A Studio Rubín, Prague

• Kauza Salome, 2009; première 7. 5. 2009, A  Studio Rubín,

Prague

• Jaromír Jágr, Kladeňák, (with Tomáš Svoboda), 2009; première

9. 10. 2009, Středočeské divadlo Kladno

• Pornohvězdy, (with Tomáš Svoboda), 2009; première 15. 12.

2009, NoD/Roxy, Prague,

• Klub autistů, 2010; première 12. 3. 2011, Studio Beseda of the

Klicperovo divadlo, Hradec Králové

TRANSLATED PLAYS:

• Britney Goes to Heaven: English, Polish – Britney Goes to Heaven

• Bohové hokej nehrají: English – Gods Don’t Play Ice Hockey

286

Petr Kolečko

GODS DON’T PLAY

ICE HOCKEYTranslated by David Short

Th is play is copyright and subject to protection under the Copyright Act.

Th is work may be used solely for dramaturgical purposes in association with

a production of it.

Any other use, in particular its duplication or making it available to third

parties, is subject to the sanctions of §152 of the Penal Code. In the event of any

intent to produce or otherwise use the play, you undertake to seek performing

rights to the work from Aura-Pont s.r.o.

All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the Aura-Pont Agency

Radlická 99, Praha 5, 150 00, Czech Republic, www.aura-pont.cz

Address for correspondance: Veslařský ostrov 62, 147 00 Praha 4

287

Characters:

Tomáš, hockey player

Kristián, unrecognised songwriter

Eržika, gipsy girl

David, unemployed labourer, her brother

Eddie, labourer

Jarda, unemployed labourer

Rudolf, bar owner

Monika Gold, television presenter

River dogs

288

PROLOGUE

(Eddie, Jarda and David are lying, drunk, on the ground. Eddie wakes

up.)

EDDIE: Bloody hell, man, shut up!

(David wakes up.)

DAVID: Wad are you doin’, Ed? I’ve ’ad a dream, man.

(Jarda wakes up.)

EDDIE: I just wish they’d be quiet, man.

DAVID: Who, man?

EDDIE: Th em dogs, o’ course. Down by the river, man, can’t you

hear ’em? Th ey’re disturbin’ my afternoon siesta, man.

DAVID: What siesta, man? You’re not workin’ anyway, Ed, man.

EDDIE: Bollocks, man, I’ve been to work.

DAVID: What do they put in that rum, man? ’E’s a month behind

the time, man. An’ ’e’s hearing somoe dogs, man. Where the

hell are we?

EDDIE: But I can ’ear ’em… (To Jarda.)… You can ’ear ’em, can’t you?

JARDA: Sure, Ed.

EDDIE: See, man. He can ’ear ’em, man.

DAVID: You’re wakin’ me, man, over some bloody dogs, man, and

then arguin’… I’ve ’ad a dream.

EDDIE: What about?

DAVID: ’Ow am I s’posed to know, man, now you’ve woken me up

an’ keep goin’ on aboudogs… Wow, man. I dreamt it.

JARDA: What?

DAVID: ’Earin’ dogs barkin’, man.

EDDIE: Man.

289

I THE PUB

(Tomáš is sitting stage front next to a huge bag of ice-hockey kit. He

is holding some skates. He is apparently pondering whether to cut his

throat. A little way behind him is a bar, and behind that the barman,

Rudolf. Kristián is drinking at the bar. Th e radio is on.)

TOMÁŠ: Th e body is rich in meat

and black will be its blood,

dripping lazily with the paddle’ s beat

before slappers’ summons erupt

Th e paddle is my hockey stick,

inviting beasts on the white ice,

as their red begins oozing thick

my black‘ s better in a thrice.

Who then will the eternal thirst slake

of the ice and slappers in Pramen?

Who our off ered favour take,

where a sign for us to examine?

(Th e radio is playing the song “Th e weekend is fi ve days away, then

we’ll go collect our pay, like on every Fri-i-day.”)

KRISTIÁN: (Already pretty pissed.) Switch over, dammit, Rudolf.

RUDOLF: What’s up wi’ you, man?

KRISTIÁN: Can’t you hear it? ‘Fri-i-day’. It don’t work, man.

RUDOLF: What d’you mean, don’t work?

KRISTIÁN: Th e soddin’ beat’s all wrong. It needs a three-syllable

word.

RUDOLF: But it was you who recorded it.

KRISTIÁN: Th at’s why I wish you’d bloody switch over, man. If it

were Heidi Janků singin’, I couldn’t give a shit.

RUDOLF: I happen to like Heidi Janků.

KRISTIÁN: Stop fuckin’ wi’ me, Rudolf.

290

(He leans across the bar and switches to another station. Th e

announcer is heard to say: “In his Pramen Hockey Club strip

a magnifi cent performance was turned in today by defender Tomáš

Svatý, whose uncompromisingly tough play sustained the close lead of

the home side during the fi nal power play of the visitors from Hradec.

After today’s game Svatý shares joint fi rst place in the plus-minus

ratings for the whole competition.”

Tomáš staggers across to the bar and switches the radio back. It’s still

playing Kristián’s dire hit.)

What’s up, man?

TOMÁŠ: Nothing, man.

KRISTIÁN: Wadya mean, man?

(He switches back to the sports news. “Tomáš Svatý is having the best

season of his career.”)

(Tomáš switches back. Kristián puts up his fi sts.)

KRISTIÁN: Come on then, man. Come on.

(Tomáš ignores the challenge.)

TOMÁŠ: Bog off .

KRISTIÁN: So quit buggerin’ about wi’ the radio, man.

(Kristián switches back. Tomáš says nothing and switches back again.)

You asked for it.

(Hits Tomáš. Tomáš takes the hit and fails to respond.)

RUDOLF: Damn you, Krizza*.

(Kristián ignores the barman.)

KRISTIÁN: See, man. It’s like we say, if you’re not prepared to fi ght,

don’t bugger about with the radio.

(Switches back. Tomáš switches back again. Kristián thumps him

again. Again it leaves Tomáš unmoved.)

* Th e name in the original it means ‘rat’.

291

RUDOLF: Krizza, get the hell outa here.

(Rudolf runs round from behind the bar, grabs Kristián and tries to

get him out. Kristián resists and tries to get at Tomáš.)

KRISTIÁN: My name’s Kristián. You know I can’t stand these stupid

pub-type nicknames o’ yours. Krizza – that’s like for some

common worker.

RUDOLF: I’m tellin’ you, I want you outa here. I don’t want any

trouble.

KRISTIÁN: But this pillock’s buggerin’ about wi’ my programme.

RUDOLF: Someone or other’s  always buggerin’ about wi’ your

programme. Leastways it’s what you keep sayin’, Krizza.

KRISTIÁN But this jerk keeps switchin’ stations, dammit, Rudolf.

RUDOLF: Who cares, you get out.

(Slings Kristián out to the front of the stage).

TOMÁŠ: Th anks.

RUDOLF: You can get out as well, dammit. Nobody’s goin’ to bugger

about wi’ my programme.

(Tomáš leaves placidly and sits down stage front next to Kristián.)

II OUTDOORS

(Tomáš and Kristián sitting drunk stage-front.)

KRISTIÁN: I still ’ad a rum to fi nish.

TOMÁŠ: I had a vodka.

KRISTIÁN: You’re a  prick. Switchin’ stations like some jerk.

What’s that kit for anyway?

(Points to the sports bag.)

TOMÁŠ: Ice hockey.

(Tomáš starts digging about in the bag and gets out a drinking bottle.

Off ers it to Kristián.)

KRISTIÁN: You takin’ the piss? D’you really s’pose I’m gonna start

guzzling Isostar like some sportin’ halfwit?

292

(Tomáš takes a swig.)

Okay, give it ’ere.

(Pulls the IsoStar open and takes a swig. His face lights up.)

Jeeze, that’s good! Do you play just for the hell of it cos you

get this stuff to boost your performance?

TOMÁŠ: I actually play in the super-league. One shot to improve my

aim during power play, three shots when we’re a man down to

turn me into a real beast.

KRISTIÁN: Th at you are. I’m Kristián.

TOMÁŠ: Tomáš.

KRISTIÁN: Hey, I always thought those nutters that do sport don’t

drink.

TOMÁŠ: Th e nutters don’t. But once you realise that every day you

pull on your helmet and go in among them sweaty pillocks just

so as another sweaty pillock can dump a bit of rubber in the

goal, so that several thousand other sweaty pillocks can shout

“Goal,” then you just ’ave to treat yourself to a drop o’ vodka.

KRISTIÁN: A hockey-playin’ alkie, that’s good. Hang on, Tomáš.

Are you that one off the radio?

TOMÁŠ: Yeah.

(A sequence during which they spray each other with vodka from the

bottle, knock the stuff back, gargle with it, spit it out, anything.)

KRISTIÁN: (Sings the team anthem.)

Up and at ’em,

lads from Pramen,

have a jar of

Staropramen.

TOMÁŠ:Burn in hell and

we’ll say ‘Amen’

to all you lads

that’s not from Pramen.

KRISTIÁN: Mental, innit?

TOMÁŠ: Specially the Pramen-Staropramen rhyme. Th e lads up

front can’t even do a proper face-off because of it.

293

KRISTIÁN: Can’t be helped really, when they tell you to cram the

sponsor’s name in somewhere, sod ’em. What were I s’posed

to write?

TOMÁŠ: Sorry.

KRISTIÁN: I know it’s a load o’ crap. Like everything, man.

TOMÁŠ: Like everything.

KRISTIÁN: But you came out top o’ the plus-minus ratings, man.

TOMÁŠ: Th at’s just it.

KRISTIÁN: Aha, I get it.

(Eddie and Eržika come in through the portal, Eddie looks round,

failing to see Kristián and Tomáš. Eržika kneels down mechanically,

Eddie behind her, he hitches her skirt back and starts making love to

her from behind.)

Look at that, man… Some town, this, man… bit dodgy,

wouldn’t you say.

(Eržika mumbles something.)

TOMÁŠ: But…

KRISTIÁN: Pretend we’re fi shin’ or somethin’, man. Manners, man.

TOMÁŠ: We don’t ’ave any rods… She’s sayin’ somethin’.

ERŽIKA: Th ey’re waiting for you by the river, sad, like you, little

brother.

KRISTIÁN: Christ, man, that’s  ’er brother! You’d only get that in

a dump like this.

EDDIE: (To Eržika.) Whadda you on about? I ain’t your brother.

KRISTIÁN: Aha.

(Time stands still, Tomáš and Kristián gawp, Eddie has his way with

Eržika while she speaks.)

ERŽIKA:Th ey’re quiet,

just howling now and then.

When they catch the scent of the heroes

who’ll save this Pramen of ours,

just like they’ll save them.

Th e river hounds have been barking today

louder than at any other time,

294

Th ey’re here.

Find them, and all wounds will heal.

Th en they’ll fi nd life and love for us from the river,

as we rightly deserve.

River hounds have sharp teeth.

And black blood.

But no one can choose their teeth and blood.

We’ll be deserving.

Eddie completes his copulating and leaves. Eržika sits and

smiles. Tomáš immediately gets up and goes to her.

TOMÁŠ: Are you all right?

KRISTIÁN: We were just passin’, didn’t see a thing. You’re a bit off -

colour, by the looks of it, d’you know?

ERŽIKA: I knew you’d come. Heroes. You’ll save us.

(She kisses both on the forehead and runs off .)

KRISTIÁN: Wow, man.

TOMÁŠ: Wow, man.

(Th ey sit down, surprised, and gape.)

KRISTIÁN: We must a’ been dreamin’. It’ll be that bottle. Some

artifi cial muck must have got in with the real booze.

TOMÁŠ: Ahm.

KRISTIÁN: Expect it’s why you’re all as thick as shit. Comes o’

drinkin’ out o’ these ’ere bottles.

TOMÁŠ: Could be.

KRISTIÁN: What’s that you got in yer ’and?

(Points to a piece of paper.)

TOMÁŠ: A poem.

KRISTIÁN: Show me.

(Reads.)

Bit clumsy, but powerful stuff , man, powerful. ’Cept this

bit here, roaring whores.” I’d ’ave to alter it to “roaring slags”

– so it’d get through.

TOMÁŠ: Don’t think so.

KRISTIÁN: You some literature critic or a hockey-playing dingbat?

295

TOMÁŠ: Th e hockey one. All I meant was it was me as wrote it and

I don’ want to change it.

KRISTIÁN: Bugger me, man! You spend your days fellin’ hulks on

skates and your nights writin’ this stuff ?

TOMÁŠ: Yep.

KRISTIÁN: But like I say, a bit rough round the edges, but powerful.

Subject-wise like. I say, though, what’s it about?

TOMÁŠ: Dunno, read it.

KRISTIÁN: I ’ave done, but I still can’t tell. Th at punchline, when

someone comes and quenches the thirst of whores… What

prat was it that fi rst ’ad the idea that metaphors were a good

thing?

TOMÁŠ: Dunno.

KRISTIÁN: All a guy wants is to make a bit o’ money, do a couple

o’ television appearances and shag a few girls, but work out

metaphors to cover it all…

TOMÁŠ: Or play hockey.

KRISTIÁN: Listen, what if I recorded it? As it is I’m having a bit of

a crisis with writin’ lyrics.

TOMÁŠ: Why not?

III OUTDOORS

(A group of three workmen is sitting around drinking bottles of beer.

One of them is David.)

EDDIE: … so I tells ’im, “Put it there, eh, yeah.” An’ man, ’e, says,

“I will, man. An’ then it’ll be there, man, won’ it?” Th at’s what

I said, man. So if you wan’ it there, man, put it there, yeah,

makes sense.

JARDA: Yeah man, that Lee guy really is a pillock.

296

DAVID: Well, there you ’ave it, man, those slitty eyes, from Vietnam

or somewhere, yeah. Bloody Union, man. And us, black and

white, left kickin’ our ’eels down the labour exchange.

JARDA: You’re right there, David. Th e racism thing, man, it’s all over

the place nowadays.

EDDIE: Remember ’ow he cooked up that dog, man, the one we

found down by the river, yeah.

DAVID: Yeah man, you gotta hand it to them yeller buggers, yeah,

not even my kid sister can cook dog, man.

EDDIE: But then Lee can’t do the hairy tractor.

DAVID: What’ve you been doin’ with her again, man? What hairy

tractor?

EDDIE: Look man, I gave you my granddad’s ring, so let the tractor

get on with its ploughin’, yeah?

DAVID: Right, don’t matter anyway.

EDDIE: But Lee, man. How ’e took ’is knife to that mutt, yeah, that

were okay, man. But the way he sliced its tail off , man, yeah,

Vietcong I tells myself, man. In diff erent places they do things

diff erent, ’s obvious. But man, to see ’im sling the whole thing

into that boiling water, man, into the pot. Th e mutt wrigglin’

half-dead in it, eh, man, and I thinks, for chrissake, guys, what

is this? Where the bloody hell are we…

DAVID: But people ’ave to eat summat, right.

JARDA: Yep.

EDDIE: Obviously, Th at weren’t wot I meant, man. I’m talkin’ about

culture, innit, you pricks, right. Th ink about it. You’d never

toss a 100-kilo pig in boiling water, would you, man?

JARDA: No.

EDDIE: See, man, I was right.

(Th e Gipsy girl enters.)

High time, man.

DAVID: Hi, Eržika.

(Kisses his sister, she moves off a  little way and starts knitting,

humming a tune in her sweet voice.)

297

EDDIE: (Fands David some money.) Here, man.

DAVID: A hundred? You mad?

EDDIE: If you fi x it for ’er to see a gynaecologist, I’ll give you two.

DAVID: You’re being racist, man.

EDDIE: ’Ang on man, that’s a bit thick.

DAVID: Whitey’s bloody arrogance, man.

EDDIE: Try thinkin’ logically, damn’ you! ’Ere we are, the both of

us, havin’ a  joint dig at them yellow shits and you call me

a racist, eh?

DAVID: Th at’s all very well, an’ I’m glad, Eddy. But these sexually

racist innuendos, man. Like why does every gippo in every

dirty joke has to have crabs?

EDDIE: How the fuck should I know? I get all my jokes from my

old man.

DAVID: So there you ’ave it, man.

EDDIE: ’Ave what, David, man?

DAVID: Aw, sod it. Go on then, forget it.

(David takes the hundred. Eddie heads after the Gipsy girl. When he

touches her, she pulls away.)

GIPSY GIRL: You can’t have it today. I’ve seen them.

EDDIE: You what?

GIPSY GIRL: Outside the pub. Two of them. Heroes.

EDDIE: Fuckit, what ’eroes?

DAVID: ’Ang on, Eddie.

(Goes towards Eržika.)

What d’you see, sis?

GIPSY GIRL: Heroes. Outside Rudolf ’s pub.

DAVID: And what’s that you’re knittin’?

GIPSY GIRL: Bootees. Four bootees.

EDDIE: She don’t know what she’s sayin’, man. Probably overdid

the fuckin’ rum, at Rudolf ’s. Come on, man, I’ve given you

the money.

DAVID: You mean your heroes?

298

GIPSY GIRL: Yes. I’m not doing it today. I’ll never do it again while

the heroes are here. Th ere’s no need. Th ey’ll save us. Th ey’re

going to save the whole town. (To Eddie and Jarda.) You’ll

fi nd love. (To David.) And you’ll learn to forgive yourself, little

brother, and you’ll feel good.

You’ll all feel good. Everybody’s going to feel good. It’ll be

good in Pramen. And I’ll knit bootees. Four bootees.

EDDIE: Come on, the only thing that’s going to save me is a go on

the hairy tractor. Th en I’ll feel good for a while.

DAVID: Here’s your hundred, Eddie. Tractor’s given up ploughin’.

Come on, Eržika, let’s get home. We can have a chat. About

those heroes of yours.

(Th ey leave.)

EDDIE: (To Jarda.) To hell with it man, bloody psychics. Might as

well put your balls in the kitchen fridge, man.

JARDA: Too right, Eddie! Hell, man.

IV THE PUB

(Rudolf behind the bar. Kristián is sitting at a table with his guitar,

composing. He’s  trying to come up with a  tune for Tomáš’s poem.

He’s tackling it with relish.)

KRISTIÁN: Th e body is rich in meat

and black will be its blood

dripping lazily with the paddle‘ s beat

Before slappers‘ summons erupt.

RUDOLF: Don’t we call ’em whores, Krizza?

KRISTIÁN: Shit, Rudolf. Can’t you see I’m working… And kill the

telly for Christ’s sakes.

RUDOLF: I dunno, man, these moods you get into. It bugs you being

on the radio, so I buy a television, which you’re not on, and

that bugs you as well.

299

KRISTIÁN: Because I’m not on it, dammit, Rudolf.

RUDOLF: I don’t get it.

KRISTIÁN: Well turn the bloody thing off . What is it anyway?

(He glances at the television.)

‘High Notes’, I see. D’you the name of that blonde presenter?

RUDOLF: No.

KRISTIÁN: Monika Gold. Gold from getting pissed on, man. She

started in porn, in pissing fi lms.

RUDOLF: I see.

KRISTIÁN: And d’you know what’s worst?

RUDOLF: No.

KRISTIÁN: She’s got no musical sense… (Focuses on the television.)

Wow, man, I reckon she’s got the Nedvěds on.

RUDOLF: I happen to like the Nedvěds.

KRISTIÁN: Christ, Rudolf, you’re so bloody hopeless.

(Rudolf switches the television off . Kristián carries on writing.)

Th e paddle is my hockey stick,

inviting beasts on the white ice,

(Enters Tomáš.)

TOMÁŠ:as their red begins oozing thick my black’ s  better in

a  thrice. Th at’s not exactly the jolliest of songs, Kristián…

A quad vodka, Rudolf.

RUDOLF: Quad? Don’t be so soft. Have a whatsit.

TOMÁŠ: Okay, a whatsit.

KRISTIÁN: You’re crazy, man. It’ll kill yer.

TOMÁŠ: Th at’s what I’m hoping.

KRISTIÁN: How did it go?

TOMÁŠ: We won three-two. Except I tore one guy’s bottom jaw

away. I need something to wash it down.

KRISTIÁN: Wow, man, why?

TOMÁŠ: Th ree minutes from the end, I was chargin’ at the goal.

KRISTIÁN: You’re idiots, you lot.

TOMÁŠ: I’ll probably get a couple of matches’ ban, but at least I’ll

get more written, and drunk.

300

KRISTIÁN: D’you have to be waist-deep in shit all the time? Have

a fruit juice and lighten up a bit.

(Rudolf brings a whotsit and sets it down on the table in front of

Tomáš.)

TOMÁŠ: Give it to him.

KRISTIÁN: You’ve been overdoin’ the protein, man, haven’t you?

You’ll make me ill.

TOMÁŠ: Th at’s  the point. At least you’ll compose some decent

music, eh?

KRISTIÁN: What?

TOMÁŠ: Drink it.

(He starts forcing the whotsit down Kristián’s throat, managing most

of it.)

KRISTIÁN: Shit, man, you gone mad?

TOMÁŠ: You need to know what you’re singing about. And if you’re

singing about what I write about, then you’re singing about

pain.

KRISTIÁN: You what? What p…? Bugger me…

(Kristián twists round behind himself and vomits. Afterwards he

straightens up.)

I think I’ve had an idea.

TOMÁŠ: Really?

KRISTIÁN: Yep.

(He starts strumming a doleful tune.)

TOMÁŠ: Good! You know what? We’ll do a whole album like that.

I don’t mind doing some more lyrics for you. It could do some

good.

KRISTIÁN: A record about pain?

TOMÁŠ: Yep. Pain, my friend.

KRISTIÁN: I’m not sure that that’s the real path to fame.

TOMÁŠ: Ah but it is. Lots o’ people suff er pain, don’t they? An’

someone needs to say so.

KRISTIÁN: Mm… Th ey might have us on ‘High Notes’. With the

pissing bimbo.

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TOMÁŠ: What??

KRISTIÁN: Never mind. And now I’m going to have to drink

whotsit every day and puke.

TOMÁŠ: Either that or I can break your jaw.

KRISTIÁN: You’re a prat, Tomáš, honest?

TOMÁŠ: I’m off to write.

(He leaves. Kristián starts playing.)

V OUTDOORS

(Workmen 1 and 2 are sitting around with David and taking turns

swigging from a bottle of Irish whisky; a little way off , Eržika is knitting

bootees.)

EDDIE: Jeeze, this is great stuff , man.

JARDA: I’d rather have rum.

DAVID: Bollocks rum, man, crap made from potatoes, man.

EDDIE: Yeah, right, but this is also made from potatoes, man.

DAVID: You’re a  prick, man. You don’t expect me to waste my

sister’s  last earnings on potatoes, do you, man? Th is stuff ,

it’s Irish whisky, man.

EDDIE: So it’s made of Irish potatoes, man.

DAVID: Bollocks, man. It’s brown, man. Made of grain, man, some

kinda barley, man.

JARDA: Or rye.

DAVID: Bollocks, man, rye, dammit, that’s what they do in Germany,

man, this is Irish.

GIPSY GIRL: Irish whiskey’s made from corn.

(Continues dancing.)

EDDIE: Don’t you go pokin’ yer nose in, bitch. You won’t do it, right,

and now you go buttin’ in when we’re discussin’ grain crops.

DAVID: So what did you do with that thousand now my kid

sister’s not off erin’?

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EDDIE: Emptied my piggie-bank took my old lady to the water park,

man.

JARDA: Blimey!

EDDIE: What can you do, man, she kept belly-achin’ about wantin’

to go to the new water park outside town, man.

DAVID: Who built it?

EDDIE: No idea, man.

DAVID: How come, man? It wasn’t our lot, right, so I’d bloody

expect you to want to know, man.

EDDIE: Sod that, I’m takin’ the old lady on those bloody chutes, man,

so I’m hardly going to check who built it, right, no way. I bet

it were the bloody Germans paid for it again man, anyway.

JARDA: Or the yellow buggers.

DAVID: Could well be, Jarda.

EDDIE: Talkin’ of yellow buggers, yeah, how much did Lee want for

that whisky, man?

DAVID: Th ree hundred.

EDDIE: Th e yellow bugger, man!

DAVID: Well, and what about the water park?

EDDIE: I tell you, man, my old lady was in ’er element. And me,

man, I went on that bloody funnel thing, right. Like the one in

Liberec, where that guy from Mozambique got killed, y’know.

DAVID: Th ere’s a rule in that, man: if you’re black, steer clear of the

funnel ride, right?

JARDA: True, man.

DAVID: And what about you?

EDDIE: I’m white, man, so all I got was a grazed arse like.

DAVID: Bloody hell, you pays to get in, man, and you comes away

with a grazed arse. What a world, man.

(Enter Kristián and Tomáš. Th eir fi rst couple of exchanges go unheard

by the others.)

KRISTIÁN: We’re asking to get shafted if we go in ’ere.

TOMÁŠ: And it doesn’t interest you? But you sing about it.

KRISTIÁN: Sure, man, it’s the authenticity thing.

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TOMÁŠ: Why do you sing though?

KRISTIÁN: Keep yer philosophisin’ to yerself, will you? You’re

probably goin’ to need it in this place…

(Notices Eržika, who is heading towards him.)

Blimey, look there, perhaps it wasn’t just the booze last

time.

GIPSY GIRL: My heroes. I knew you’d come. I’m goin’ to dance

for you.

(Th e others also spot Eržika. She begins to dance.)

EDDIE: What’s this, man? You won’t do it with us, but you don’t

mind dancin’ with this lot cos they’re loaded, eh?

DAVID: Cool it, Eddie.

EDDIE: Cool be buggered, man. I’m gonna smash their ugly mugs

in for ’em, dammit.

(Takes a step towards Kristián and Tomáš, but Eržika blocks his way.)

GIPSY GIRL: Not these ones. Th ey’re heroes.

EDDIE: I don’t give a fuck for your ’eroes, bitch, dammit.

(Pushes Eržika aside and Tomáš instantly decks him with one blow.)

KRISTIÁN: I thought you kept your fi ghtin’ for the game.

EDDIE: (Picking himself up.) Christ man, you’re Tomáš Svatý, the

defender.

TOMÁŠ: (To Eržika.) Are you okay?

GIPSY GIRL: Fine thanks. You’re so strong and handsome.

(Returns to her knitting.)

DAVID: Sorry about my sister… She’s psychic… Hey, man, you’re

Kristián Polabský, that second-rate songwriter, aren’t you?

KRISTIÁN: How d’you mean, second-rate, man?

TOMÁŠ: Easy!

DAVID: Saw you once at the arts centre, front row. Only they

chucked me out for pukin’ all over your shoes.

KRISTIÁN: So that was you.

EDDIE: Wow, guys, I’d know idea you were them, them…

GIPSY GIRL: Heroes, you mean?

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EDDIE: Yeah, s’pose I do. Heroes. Hockey’s important, and music as

well. Arts centres and winter stadiums bring people together,

see?

KRISTIÁN: (Aside to Tomáš.) See what I  mean? I  told you,

metaphors are a load o’ bull.

EDDIE: Fancy a whisky?

KRISTIÁN: Sod off , man.

EDDIE: Hey man, speak proper like, like normal people, man. Jarda,

give the lads a drink.

JARDA: Sure.

(Pours out.)

TOMÁŠ: Th anks.

GIPSY GIRL: Get it down you, gives you strength.

(Starts pawing at them.)

Nothing must happen to you, no. I’m going to protect you.

All by myself.

(Puts a hand on Tomáš’s belly.)

What’s this? What’s this?

(Starts crying.)

What is it, my hero?

(Tomáš takes a drink, pulls a nasty face and puts an arm round her.)

TOMÁŠ: It’s nothing, understand, Gipsy girl? Nothing.

GIPSY GIRL: It’s nothing.

TOMÁŠ: You carry on knitting.

KRISTIÁN: What are you knitting’ actually?

GIPSY GIRL: Bootees. Four bootees.

KRISTIÁN: For us? Th at fi rst one’s a bit on the small side. No, not

for you. You’re heroes.

Th ese are little boots for one from the river.

(Eržika knits. Th e others drink and sit down.)

EDDIE: Right man, tell us about it, guys. You’re goin’ on telly one

day, on some programme, perhaps both o’ you, like you’re both

from Pramen. When you get another decent song together,

Kristián, eh?

305

KRISTIÁN: Bugger…

TOMÁŠ: Easy.

KRISTIÁN: We’re doin’ a record. Tomáš is writin’ the lyrics, so if

we make a good go of it, we’re

bound to be on telly together.

EDDIE: Wow, a record, man. Makin’ a record. Hear that, Jarda?

Th ese guys are cool, man.

JARDA: Cool, man.

DAVID: What are you doin’ ’ere anyway?

TOMÁŠ: We want to make a record about you. And us. For everyone

to hear.

EDDIE: Well I’ll be… Th ey’re makin’ a record about us, Jarda, ain’t

that somethin’?

JARDA: Cool, man.

EDDIE: Man! So we could appear in the odd clip, right?

KRISTIÁN: Yep, that’s brilliant!

EDDIE: Bein’ authentic like, see, since it’s about us. Like I could sit

down ’ere.

(Shows what he means.)

Yeah, an’ I’m drinkin’, like. Whisky, see, so nobody goes

thinkin’ we’re just hicks.

(Drinks.)

Th en Jarda can come and sit down like this in front o’ me,

man… Jarda, man.

(Jarda sits down in front of him.)

JARDA: Why though?

EDDIE: But it’s obvious, man, that’s the… the point. Th en I can kick

Jarda in the arse…

(Kicks Jarda in the arse.)

JARDA: Ouch, Eddy.

EDDIE: Stop whingein’, this is art… then I, like, pick up this whisky,

an’ that shows how okay I am an’ that we don’t drink rum like

some peasants, the kind Jarda ’ere sort o’ stands for.

KRISTIÁN: Th at’s interesting.

306

EDDIE: Well, then you can fi lm it all and you’ll be famous. You’ll get

to see Bartošová.

TOMÁŠ: Bartošová?

EDDIE: Yeah, Iveta Bartošová.

KRISTIÁN: (Drinks, he’s the worse for wear.) We won’t just see ’er,

we’ll bed ’er as well.

GIPSY GIRL: Shrieks.

No! You mustn’t!

EDDIE: Shuddup and get on wi’ your knittin’. Fancy shaggin’

Bartošová, man!

(Raises the bottle to drink a toast.)

TOMÁŠ: But that’s not the main thing at all.

EDDIE: Right, man, I reckon her cunt stinks anyway, yeah. Eh, Jarda?

JARDA: Yeah.

TOMÁŠ: Who cares whether it stinks or not, what matters is you

lot and Pramen.

DAVID: Like what a shitty dump this is?

TOMÁŠ: Yep.

EDDIE: I fancy seein’ Bartošová anyway, man. I can tell she’s got

a smelly twat. When she sings, man, there’s a bit of her mouth

goes all twisty like. It’s a classic giveaway.

KRISTIÁN: She does twist it.

EDDIE: And you know the sayin’, man, one ’ole twisty, one ’ole stinky,

and the third ’ole mostly full o’ shit.

DAVID: Will you come round to our place? Eržika will cook

somethin’ up.

EDDIE: Wait man, why can’t they stay ’ere with us? We were just

beginnin’ to get along.

DAVID: Look man, you’re pretty rat-arsed already, Eddie, so knock

it off , man.

TOMÁŠ: Did you say her name’s Eržika?

DAVID: Yeah.

TOMÁŠ: Nice name. We accept then.

KRISTIÁN: What!

307

DAVID: Great, man. Eržika, home. Today you’ll be cookin’ for

heroes.

(Eržika, David, Tomáš and Kristián get up and leave. Eržika dances

her way out.)

GIPSY GIRL: Cooking for heroes. Heroes.

EDDIE: What I’d give to fuck Bartošová anyway, man, stink or no

stink.

JARDA: Sure, man.

VI

(At Eržika and David’s home. Tots of rum. David is asleep with his

head on the table.

Tomáš and Kristián fortifi ed, their wits dulled. Eržika is clearing

away the plates.)

KRISTIÁN: Blimey O’Reilly! Th at oriental cuisine!

TOMÁŠ: What was it from?

GIPSY GIRL: Th e river.

KRISTIÁN: Didn’t taste much like fi sh.

GIPSY GIRL: Th eir blood’s black, so it has to be braised in red wine

to make it go red. Th en their strength passes to you.

KRISTIÁN: Are you tryin’ to tell me we’ve been eating Gipsy

mongrel cutlet or something, eh?

GIPSY GIRL: Th e Vietnamese guy doesn’t know how to make it.

When he does it the blood stays black.

TOMÁŠ: I see, and the workers eat it at ’is place?

GIPSY GIRL: Yes, my hero.

KRISTIÁN: So they eat badly cooked dog and then go soft in the

head?

TOMÁŠ: Sommat like that.

KRISTIÁN: Wow man, we can’t go singin’ that, people’ld be shittin’

bricks… and Nohavica as well.

308

TOMÁŠ: And why don’t you cook for ’em?

GIPSY GIRL: Th ey’re not heroes. You’re heroes. You’re going to save

Pramen and then we won’t have to cook dogs. Th ey will be free

and they’ll be able to keep their strength for themselves, like

us. An’ I’m going to give the fi rst one some bootees.

TOMÁŠ: You mean you’re knitting bootees for a dog?

GIPSY GIRL: Yes, my hero. Th e dogs have suff ered for happiness

like me. For the happiness you will bring. For the love you are

bringing.

(She starts to get undressed. )

And the gods will reward us. I love you, my heroes.

KRISTIÁN: Man, I dunno if it’s down to the booze or that mongrel

in wine sauce.

GIPSY GIRL: Come to me, heroes.

(Th e naked Gipsy girl starts to howl, the intoxicated heroes take her

and darkness falls.)

VII

(Morning. Th e Gipsy girl is lying between the heroes. She is the fi rst to

wake and, still half-asleep, speaks.)

GIPSY GIRL: Black blood is changed by wine,

just like strays alone by the river,

when heroes drink from them

the dog’s red only meets

the red of the bitch,

and love need not be re-boiled again.

Yet you two cannot live

on dog’s blood forever.

And fi nally the river hound

must stop dying for our sins,

as the whole town dies with it.

309

Now you’re heroes, capable

of exploiting your own strength.

And the only thing you need

is the love of the people of the river

that drive you on to victory.

And you shall have that love.

For gods you are not, just heroes,

who need love

just as love needs them

for its fi rst engendering.

(Kristián and Tomáš wake up and hear Eržika’s last lines.)

But fragile more than blood of dog

is the path that lies ahead of you

if but for a single moment you

forget, my heroes, who

cooked river hound for you,

until you found your strength,

who shared a warm bed with you

until you found your love,

who gave heroic powers to you

which rose out of the town’s pain,

which rose out of her pain.

When you’re blinded by conceit

or lust so easily accessed,

and suddenly you’ll want to build

shadows for the gods,

then shall these same gods

no longer want your services,

and he who needed heroes

shall turn black with you.

When, blinded by fame,

You won’t be able to see as far as the river

to tell whether it’s man or dog drowning there,

then it will vanish beneath the surface,

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for all it may have briefl y walked upon the water.

And Pramen will have to wait

until that moment far ahead

when heroes new shall head this way

across the iron bridge in good faith.

the bootees I’ll knit

can burn up along with your love

for the Gipsy girl who saved her strength

in pain for you two, and with your love

for the town which waited

in pain for your love.

(Exit Eržika.)

KRISTIÁN: Did you understand any o’ that?

TOMÁŠ: Dunno.

KRISTIÁN:.But you’re the guy with the metaphors, man.

TOMÁŠ: I’m not so sure.

KRISTIÁN: (Clasps his hands to his head.) Why’s  my ’ead not

splittin’? You feeling ill?

TOMÁŠ: No.

KRISTIÁN: My head’s completely clear.

TOMÁŠ: My liver’s okay.

KRISTIÁN: What d’you mean?

TOMÁŠ: I’ve got liver trouble. At least I did have.

KRISTIÁN: Th e liver heals itself.

TOMÁŠ: But not overnight.

KRISTIÁN: Cool, eh?

TOMÁŠ: Yeah.

KRISTIÁN: And that thing with the legs… wow, man.

TOMÁŠ: I think I’m in love.

KRISTIÁN: Me too.

(Gets up and leaves.)

Where are you goin’?

TOMÁŠ: I’ve got a match.

311

KRISTIÁN: Right. Go out there and win. I’m off to work. I think

I know what’s missing.

TOMÁŠ: Yeah?

KRISTIÁN: Yeah. Th e notes are popping up on their own. Talent,

man, or what… I’m feeling great, Tomáš.

TOMÁŠ: Yeah, me too.

KRISTIÁN: Go out there and win.

TOMÁŠ: We will.

(Tomáš picks up his bag and leaves. Kristián picks up his guitar and

starts humming. Th e workmen, Monika Gold and Rudolf come slowly

onto the stage. Th e homespun strumming changes into a performance.)

VIII THE PERFORMANCE

(Kristián is playing.)

KRISTIÁN: When with his silky paws

a tomcat touches me

I get a trembling in my claws

as I wade through river debris.

Th en a rock makes me stumble,

smash my bones with the fall’ s force,

my whole body’ s quashed and crumpled

‘fore I even set my chisel on its course.

Yesterday’s rum

is always longer than the river

that leads to work in the morning.

It’ s always good fun

when they bark at the slivers

I throw them as the river dogs get torn in.

312

Yesterday’s rum

is always longer than the river

that leads to work in the morning.

It’ s always good fun

when they bark at the slivers

I throw them as the river dogs get torn in.

(Applause. Tomáš approaches the front of the stage.)

TOMÁŠ: I  just wanted to say that tomorrow sees the opening of

our distillery, which has given Pramen so many new jobs. And

from each copy of the record sold 100 crowns will go towards

its overheads, just as up to now the same sum went towards

its construction. We thank you all.

KRISTIÁN: Right, charity! Th at’s what we’re here for, right? Th ank

you, good people, thank you!

Buy the record, it’s in a good cause.

(He’s relishing his stardom and plays another song.)

Th e body is rich in meat,

and black will be its blood,

dripping lazily with the paddle’ s beat,

before slappers’ summons erupt.

Th e paddle is my hockey stick,

inviting beasts on the white ice,

as their red begins oozing thick,

my black‘ s better in a thrice.

(Th e workers join in the chorus.)

ALL: Who then will the eternal thirst slake

of the ice and slappers in Pramen?

Who our off ered favour take,

where a sign for us to examine?

GIPSY GIRL: (Elsewhere, to David.) Can you hear the dogs, little

brother?

DAVID: Yes, I can, but I’m a mite pissed.

313

GIPSY GIRL: Never let them go quiet, little brother, d’you hear?

Th ey must always bark just like today.

DAVID: Sure, sis. I’m not stupid!

IX THE ‘HIGH NOTES’ TV TALK-SHOW

(Monika, Tomáš and Kristián.)

MONIKA: And my next guests are Tomáš Svatý and Kristián

Polabský. Let’s hear it for the holders of a platinum disk for

their album ‘Black Blood’.

(Applause. Tomáš and Kristián sit down.)

Right, boys, you’ve hardly had the time to sit down and the

testosterone has left me soggy all over.

(Laughter from the audience and Kristián.)

Where did the idea of getting together come from?

A  hockey-player and a  song-writer, that really is rather

unusual. By the way, Tomáš, how’s the season gone so far?

I’m told you’re doing quite well.

TOMÁŠ: It’s over actually. We won the title.

MONIKA: Of course, I knew really, the celebrations in the square

were stupendous and you sang your greatest hit Black Blood

from the album of the same name. So once again, how did

you get together?

KRISTIÁN: I was goin’ to smash his mug in in the pub.

MONIKA: I say, how very sexy! Th at deserves some applause!

(Applause.)

Your album is full of pain and suff ering. Why do you

suppose it is that in this day and age, when people want to

dance and have a good time, it’s selling so extraordinarily well?

TOMÁŠ: I reckon that people in this town don’t want to dance,

and people elsewhere are buying the record because

they’re sadistically drawn to our pain. But thanks to their

314

sadism everyone gets to hear what it’s like here and for me

that’s important.

MONIKA: Sadistic? I say, how sexy! We’re all sadists! Let’s hear it!

(Applause.)

KRISTIÁN: You gotta understand, Monika, young Tomáš here

wants to save the world.

MONIKA: You mustn’t be so modest. We all know that 100 crowns

from the sale of every album goes to the Pramen distillery. So

it comes out of your royalties too.

KRISTIÁN: Th at’s true… I like charity. Have you spotted anything

new since we last met?

(Points to his head.)

MONIKA: But of course. Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it for

Kristián Polabský’s new quiff !

(Applause.)

I bet I’m not the only one who wouldn’t mind gelling his

quiff for him, eh?

(Laughter.)

KRISTIÁN: And I could think of other things we could do with

your gel, Monika.

(Laughter.)

TOMÁŠ: Th e distillery’s nearly built, so I’d like to ask you all to give

our Dog Spirit a try.

MONIKA: Dog spirit? Th at sounds positively risqué!

(Applause.)

TOMÁŠ: It’s a pure, potato-based vodka. Top quality. And anyone

drinking it is donating something towards the poorest among

us, the workers at the distillery.

MONIKA: I read in one of the red-tops that you’ve stopped drinking,

Tomáš. And that you’re cured of your liver problems. Th ey

had a sonogram of your liver and it looked just like a baby’s.

TOMÁŠ: Hmhm.

MONIKA: Let’s hear it for our famous teetotaller and his liver!

(Applause.)

315

KRISTIÁN: Tomáš has even banned drinkin’ durin’ worktime at

the distillery.

MONIKA: But that’s fantastic! Let’s hear it for Tomáš, a hero. And

Kristián, a hero with a beautiful quiff !

(Everyone applauds.)

TOMÁŠ: (Takes the microphone from Monika.)

We’d also like to ask Jarek Nohavica to donate some of his

royalties to Ostrava.

KRISTIÁN: What?

TOMÁŠ: Well, he sings about it, so he can try to do something for it.

MONIKA: Interesting.

KRISTIÁN: He doesn’t mean it. Nohavica does give to charity.

TOMÁŠ: But not enough! He doesn’t give that much, Kristián. And

we don’t give much either!

And everybody drinks and smokes and dies without ever

knowing how to live!

KRISTIÁN: Forgive me.

MONIKA: No, no, this is nice, we’ve never had an interlude like this

before. Long live charity!

Long live charity!

She has the audience rise from their seats. Applause.

TOMÁŠ: And you ought to be helping as well, Monika, and not

fussing about quiff s and gels.

MONIKA: Actually, I use a  foam setting lotion, but you’re right

anyway, Mr Svatý.

KRISTIÁN: What ’ave you got against quiff s?

TOMÁŠ: Nothing, I’m done.

(He leaves.)

MONIKA: Let’s hear it for Tomáš. He can’t drink anyway. And we’re

about to have a toast to mark the end of the show, Maestro.

(Applause. Monika prepares champagne and mineral water. Th ey

clink glasses.)

MONIKA: Your health!

(Th ey drink. Applause.)

316

Come, come, Kristián, I’d be disappointed in you if you

drank it all. What a waste! And I’ve got a new hair-do too!

KRISTIÁN: And a beautiful one at that.

(Begins pouring champagne over Monika.)

MONIKA: Ah, that’s so good. Applause please!

(Applause breaks out.)

So good-bye until next week, when we’ll be talking about

Iveta Bartošová’s room 101.

(Th e lights go out. In the dark can be heard the trickle of champagne

and Monika’s blissful sighs.)

X THE DISTILLERY

(Th e workmen around a still. Eržika is dancing around. Rudolf is

surveying the scene.)

RUDOLF: Right lads, no time to waste, man, I don’t keep my pub

empty for half the day for you lot to fritter it away.

EDDIE: All right, man. Th ings ’ave gone from bloody bad to bloody

worse. Out o’ the fryin’ pan up the spout.

DAVID: Zip it. You’ve just been to the Water Park three times in

a row, ’aven’t you, man?

EDDIE: Yeah, man. Okay lads. I say, d’you see the show last night?

JARDA: Sure.

EDDIE: Practic’ly pulled her, ’e did, that bird that presents it.

(Th e Gipsy girl lets out a shriek.)

DAVID: Calm down, Eržika, nothing happened. Take it easy.

EDDIE: You love them, don’t you? Leavin’ sod all for us… I bet you

even shaved yourself for ’em, am I right?

DAVID: Cool it, Eddie.

EDDIE: Th ey make millions, so they don’t want to ride the tractor.

DAVID: Fuck off , Eddie. Th at’s no way to talk about them.

EDDIE: Sorry, all right? I need a drink.

317

DAVID: You know you can’t. Something could happen and that’d be

the end of yer water park, man.

EDDIE: Too true, man, I know.

JARDA: Lee’s been to see me.

DAVID: What did ’e want?

JARDA: Stupid idea. Like could I get ’im some strays from the river.

Said he’d give me 500 a time.

(Th e Gipsy girl lets out a shriek.)

DAVID: An’ what d’you tell ’im?

JARDA: Th at ’e must ’ave shit for brains after all that rice, man.

EDDIE: What a yellow prat, man. I’ve got a car now and I always go

on from the water park to the hypermarket. Lee ’asn’t a hope

in ’ell, man.

JARDA: An’ what d’you buy there?

RUDOLF: Right lads, jump to it, it’s not goin’ to brew itself, this stuff .

EDDIE: Aw, leave off , will you? (Back to Jarda.) What d’you think

I buy, man? Everything, ’cept booze, o’ course, since Rudolf

lets us ’ave it at cost… Tell you one thing, though, it’s worth it.

After every trip my old lady forgets to nag for three whole

days, man. And as soon as she starts up again, right, I give ’er

a good dousin’ at the water park, like, take ’er shoppin’ an’ she

cuts cacklin’ again. Bliss, man! You can’ imagine it. And now

I’ve found this great thing, man.

JARDA: Whassat?

EDDIE: Activia Bio, man.

DAVID: You’d shit yourself for that stuff ?

EDDIE: No, but that’s the point. Th at’s what I’m talkin’ about. Th is

Activia, man, it stiff ens yer turds.

JARDA: You what?

EDDIE: You can get smashed in the ornery way of an evenin’, and

next mornin’, man, you ’ave an Activia. No more squits, man!

DAVID: Christ, man, no more squits, that’s great.

EDDIE: True though… I could do wi’ a drink, man. Rudolf! Gi’ us

a snifter.

318

RUDOLF: Come on, lads, you know it’s not allowed… No work,

no pay.

EDDIE: What a prat ’e is, Rudolf.

XI

(Kristián is at Eržika’s  place. Tomáš arrives with his hockey kit.

Eržika is knitting.)

KRISTIÁN: Hi.

TOMÁŠ: Hi.

KRISTIÁN: How’d the training go?

TOMÁŠ: Good, looks like we’re in for a good season.

(Goes over to Eržika and kisses her.)

GIPSY GIRL: Hi, hero.

TOMÁŠ: How are the bootees coming on?

GIPSY GIRL: Th ey’ll be ready soon.

KRISTIÁN: You lot get on my tits. Bootees, kissin’. Got anythin’ to

drink?

(Tomáš gets a bottle of IsoStar out of his bag and tosses it to Kristián.

He takes a swig and splutters.)

Shit, I’d forgotten what this stuff ’s like.

TOMÁŠ: Sorry.

KRISTIÁN: ‘Sorry’! Holy shit, man… If you’re not careful you’ll end

up as useless as that Nedvěd guy, man.

TOMÁŠ: ’E’s a footballer.

KRISTIÁN: Same diff erence… Yer todger’ll shrink as small as ’is.

TOMÁŠ: What’s got into you?

KRISTIÁN: Ah nothing. It’s  not coming so good, now you’ve

stopped writing.

TOMÁŠ: Th ere’s no need any more.

KRISTIÁN: How come, no need? I want to play.

TOMÁŠ: But you do play, don’t you?

319

KRISTIÁN: Th anks, pal. Th at condescendin’ mug o’ yours. You

drink this IsoStar muck, you build factories for them crazies,

you’re like Jesus, man. I wanna puke…

TOMÁŠ: And what d’you think I should do instead?

KRISTIÁN: Dunno. But I do know what I wanna do.

TOMÁŠ: What’s that?

KRISTIÁN: I wanna buy a wolverine.

TOMÁŠ: Wolverine? And why would you do that then?

KRISTIÁN: Cos I can aff ord to, can’ I. It might chew your balls off ,

then I could ’ave Eržika to myself.

GIPSY GIRL: Oh no. I love you both. But don’t buy a wolverine

anyway.

KRISTIÁN: ‘Spect she’s right really, Tomáš. I won’t buy one. I’d be

embarrassed cos o’ you, cos it’s pointless. Cos I could put the

cash to better use.

TOMÁŠ: Right.

KRISTIÁN: And that’s exactly what gets up my nose. D’you see?

TOMÁŠ: You might be a good person.

KRISTIÁN: Good person be damned! I want a wolverine,… and I’m

gonna buy one. And d’you know when, pal?

TOMÁŠ: When?

KRISTIÁN: When those pillocks o’ yours drink ’emselves to death

in the distillery. Why didn’t you build ’em a sausage factory?

TOMÁŠ: You know why.

KRISTIÁN: Right, man. Th ey need space to better ’emselves, and

that’d be too easy in a sausage factory. Bloody stupid. Th ey

can’t cope. Th ey’re a load a retards, and you know it.

TOMÁŠ: Th ey deserve it.

(Tomáš laughs.)

KRISTIÁN: Come on man, stop takin’ the piss again, as if you’d got

a monopoly of common sense.

GIPSY GIRL: It’s going to be good. Th e bootees are nearly done. But

don’t buy a wolverine, hero.

(She carries on knitting. Enter David, completely blotto.)

320

KRISTIÁN: See that? As soon as their shift’s  over they go and

get hammered. An’ it’s for them we give up 100 out of our

royalties. An’ I don’t even come from Pramen, man.

TOMÁŠ: What?

KRISTIÁN: It’s true though. I invented it when I started singing,

but I’m really from Teplice.

TOMÁŠ: So much the better.

(David staggers and vomits over Kristián’s shoes.)

KRISTIÁN: Bugger it, you’ve gone an’ puked all over my shoes

again, idiot. See that?

Th ey wouldn’t do that to me in Teplice.

TOMÁŠ: Look, ’e’s singin’.

(David’s mumblings with a blank expression evolve into a little ditty.)

DAVID: A white knight riding through the dark,

His white sword swings above his head.

He gallops, yearning in his heart,

Gallops across a Europe that’s sad.

He’s covered with the dust of roads,

Bearing a message whither he goes,

His eyes they are all shot with blood.

He rides alone, as everyone knows.

White rider, white with grace,

White the day and white the face.

White knight, white with grace,

White the day and white the face.

KRISTIÁN: Christ, mate, pull yerself together. You’re a Gipsy, aren’t

you? Th is really is a bit thick.

(David goes to bed.)

TOMÁŠ: Th ere could be another explanation.

321

KRISTIÁN: Don’t talk crap? Th at’s Orlík*, don’t you see. Landa,

man. Metaphors that even I can see through… Or do you

think you’re some white knight riding across Europe, man?

Puttin’ up factories everywhere?

GIPSY GIRL: A hero on a white horse.

KRISTIÁN: Th is is stupid. I’m off .

TOMÁŠ: Where to?

KRISTIÁN: Where to? To pick up my royalties and buy a wolverine,

and you should do the same.

(He leaves.)

GIPSY GIRL:Wolverine, no river stray,

he chews testicles, hero.

No testicles, no seed,

no testicles, no hero.

No testicles, no love,

no testicles and white ice cracks.

TOMÁŠ: I don’t understand you, Eržika.

XII

(Eddie is sitting outdoors, knocking back the rum. Kristián comes by.)

KRISTIÁN: You on the bottle again?

EDDIE: Well? Shift’s over, innit?

KRISTIÁN: Bugger that, makes no diff erence. Why d’you think

we’ve been singin’ them songs about booze, the workers and

stuff ?

EDDIE: ’Spect you thought it were an interestin’ subject, man?

KRISTIÁN: And isn’t it more likely to have been to make you quit,

Ed?

* Th e name of a nationalist, racist skinhead band from the late 80s, Landa was the band’s

leader.

322

EDDIE: Well, Krizza, man, I ’ave thought about it quite a lot. Kinda

though o’ givin’ it up, right, and makin’ the old lady ’appy, and

pissin’ off Les, the yeller prick, right, man. ’Cos then I won’

’ave to buy stuff off ’im.

KRISTIÁN: So why didn’t you quit?

EDDIE: ’Ad second thoughts about it, man.

KRISTIÁN: You what?

EDDIE: Well, now I’ve got Activia Bio, I don’t ’ave to stop, man, do I?

KRISTIÁN: Th at’s garbage, Ed.

EDDIE: I ’ave one in the mornin’ an’ I’m as right as rain. I ’ave a real

good crap, man, geddit…

Th e old girl don’t nag, I’ve emptied myself… I’m rockin’,

man.

KRISTIÁN: You’re not jokin’?

EDDIE: And now they put those Lucky Clover stickers in the

multipacks. My old lady collects ’em, like, man, she couldn’t

’ave kids, like, man, so she collects ’em as if she did, man.

KRISTIÁN: Right. Silly me for askin’. Anyway, just make sure to

drink loads o’ that sour muck tomorrow. We’ve a big order on,

so let’s not have any cock-ups. I’ll be on duty myself, so I’ll be

keepin’ an eye on you.

EDDIE: Right on, boss.

KRISTIÁN: Activia Bio. I must be dreaming.

(Kristián leaves. Eddie remains alone on stage, drinking. In a spotlight

Eržika is knitting. She pricks herself with the needle, and a spot of

blood appears.)

GIPSY GIRL: Where are you, my hero? Where are you?

XIII

(Monika is in bed with Kristián. Eržika is still staring at the drop of

blood.)

MONIKA: Hm, that was a bit peasanty, but I’m lovely and wet.

323

KRISTIÁN: True, it is a bit perverted; do you know the hairy tractor?

MONIKA: Ugh, that was the nineties, Iggy Pop used to do it.

KRISTIÁN: Iggy Pop’s fi ne.

MONIKA: A  has-been. And how come you’re talking about

perversions when it’s you who wants to buy a wolverine to

tame?

KRISTIÁN: Yeah well.

MONIKA: But the wolverine thing turns me on. D’you think you’d

let it bite someone’s balls off if they tried to get off with me?

KRISTIÁN: Reckon I would.

MONIKA: And that’s you saying you love me?

KRISTIÁN: Reckon I do.

(Th e pair of them snuggle down; spotlight on the front of the stage,

where Eržika is hollering.)

ERŽIKA: Brother!

(David comes staggering out.)

DAVID: Wha’ d’you want, sis?

ERŽIKA: Go get me a dog from the river.

(Th e scene at the front of the stage fades out.)

MONIKA: Mmmm, I call it platinum rain, you having that platinum

disk, eh?

(Th e two lovers laugh.)

Listen, I nearly forgot. I had such a big hit with that talk

that they’ve given me a new prime-time slot. Not only music,

but with guests from all fi elds, you know, and the top ten just

as back-up.

KRISTIÁN: Congratulations.

MONIKA: People have been writing in to say how much

Tomáš’s  sound-bite about sadism grabbed them, and his

performance generally.

KRISTIÁN: What can I say, that’s Tomáš for you. Look, I  ’ave to

get goin’.

MONIKA: Where to? We’ve hardly started. I  thought you were

going to piss on me a couple more times.

324

KRISTIÁN: I’d love to piss on you some more, but I think I should

get back to the distillery, I’m on nights.

MONIKA: Nights? You mean you go to work like any ordinary

employee?

KRISTIÁN: Yep.

MONIKA: Why so? You’re the most famous musician this country

has.

KRISTIÁN: It’s what I do. Keep an eye on my wolverine. I’ll be back

tomorrow.

MONIKA: Bollocks to that! I’m Monika Gold, the famous TV

presenter. I’m not going to look after your wolverine just

because you get fi ts of moral rectitude.

KRISTIÁN: You’re a proper slag.

MONIKA: And you’re a  dumb-ass egomaniac like that mate of

yours. Saviours of the world indeed, how sad can you get! Get

lost!

KRISTIÁN: Media whore!

MONIKA: Trickle-peed dickhead!

KRISTIÁN: Bristle-permed scrubber!

MONIKA: Flakey butt!

KRISTIÁN: Your ankles are terrible!

MONIKA: And so are your knees!

KRISTIÁN: I’m off .

MONIKA: Go on then!… Right, but come in for that show next

week.

KRISTIÁN: I’ll be there.

MONIKA: Don’t you fancy having another go?

KRISTIÁN: Sure!

(Goes back to her.)

325

XIV

(In the factory.)

GIPSY GIRL: Th e wolverine bit off his balls

Th e wolverine bit off his balls

Th e wolverine bit off his balls

A hero doesn’t piss on girls

A hero doesn’t always feed the doggies

Th e doggy won’t be getting shoes.

RUDOLPH: Right, lads, I’m off . Kristián will be on for the morning

shift. He’ll be here any time now. Tomáš has gone to sign up

a sponsor he’s talked round to meet the cost of those new

pipes. You lot have a quiet time of it here.

GIPSY GIRL:Th e heroes have left us alone,

Little brother, sell a dog to the Vietnamese guy,

Little brother, sell a dog to the Vietnamese guy,

Little brother, love is dead now.

(In a circle of workmen.)

JARDA: Where’s David?

EDDIE: Dunno, man. It ’as to be today he doesn’t turn up. Bloody

nuisance.

JARDA: How d’you mean?

EDDIE: Wish I knew, man. Yesterday I drank fi ve Activias. Th e new

kind – Bifi dus Active.

JARDA: Th at’s good, innit?

EDDIE: Looks as if I’m not goin’ to be able to shit for a week. An’

I’ve got belly-ache, man.

JARDA: So ’ave a fag and a shot. Th at’ll clean you out.

EDDIE: You know we’re not allowed.

JARDA: But it’s in a good cause, innit? Polabský’s not ’ere yet anyway.

EDDIE: But ’e could be ’ere any minute.

JARDA: Let’s go round the back then, so even if ’e comes, ’e won’t

see us. We can say we’ve been for a shit.

EDDIE: Very bloody funny, Jarda, ha ha.

326

JARDA: Sorry.

EDDIE: Okay then, as you like.

(Th ey leave. Enter Kristián.)

KRISTIÁN: Why aren’t you knittin’, Eržika?

GIPSY GIRL: You’re too late, my hero. No bootees are going to be

needed. It’s going to burn down.

(From the proscenium arch we can hear the workmen.)

EDDIE: Th at’s  fantastic. A shot o’ rum and a  fag. I needed that.

Th at’s great, now we’re goin’ places, man. Bloody Activia! …

Shit, man!

KRISTIÁN: What’s goin’ on there?

(Th e Gipsy girl shrieks.)

EDDIE: Christ, I’m on fi re!

KRISTIÁN: What?

(Runs through the proscenium arch.)

JARDA: I’m on fi re too. Kristián!

GIPSY GIRL:

(Alone on stage.)

You can’t put it out. You’re not a hero. What you going to

do? Stay, or save yourself? You’ve killed them. Even with love.

And the bootees are going to be burned up with it. And the

strays will burn to death.

(Tomáš comes running in.)

GIPSY GIRL: Will you stay, or save yourself? Are you a hero?

TOMÁŠ: Eržika, what’s going on? Where’s the fi re?

GIPSY GIRL: You’re going to let me down too, hockey-player, you

too.

TOMÁŠ: Kristián!

(Runs through the side proscenium.)

GIPSY GIRL: You’ve never burned for anything, you’re not going to

burn now. I’m on fi re. And I always will be.

(Goes through the side proscenium. Tomáš and Kristián run out of

the other.)

TOMÁŠ: Where is she? She was here a minute ago!

327

(Intends to hurl himself after Eržika.)

KRISTIÁN: Don’t! We’ll build a new distillery! D’you hear? A new

distillery! Or a sausage factory, or a chocolate factory, so no

one can go drinkin’ inside!

TOMÁŠ: I love you, Eržika! Let me go!

(Kristián won’t let go.)

KRISTIÁN: Too late, Tom. Too late now, bugger it!

XV

(Th e pub as at the beginning, the radio is on. David is sitting at

a  table, drinking from a  strange-looking glass. Th e presenter on

the radio speaks: “No light has been thrown on the circumstances

surrounding last year’s fi re at the distillery in Pramen even by Kristián

Polabský’s fi rst contact with the media; he was an eye-witness and the

distillery’s then proprietor…”)

KRISTIÁN: Man, ’e said he was ’avin’ trouble shittin’ after ’e ate

some yoghurt, man, what a jerk. Bought it at the hypermarket,

man, like I said, man, they’re idiots, man, so why save ’em,

’spect I shouldna bought that wolverine or something, man.”

(Rudolf enters the pub, turns off the radio and puts a tape in; Chinese

music.)

RUDOLF: Sorry, David.

DAVID: No probs.

(He takes a drink and pulls a face.)

DAVID: Ugh, that’s vile.

(Rudolf brings him some food.)

DAVID: What’s that supposed to be?

RUDOLF: M32. Today’s a weekday, so you’ve got M32 as usual.

But tomorrow’s Saturday, so that’ll be M65. And next week

there’s the bank holiday for the Anniversary of the Burning

of John Huss.

DAVID: So M15.

328

RUDOLF: No, M15’s for New Year’s Eve. John Huss is M47.

DAVID: Like it’s the fourth of July?

RUDOLF: No, that’s just a coincidence.

(David erupts.)

DAVID: Fuckit, Rudolf. Call me that yellow bastard!

RUDOLF: But I can’t call him. You do the catching, I cook, the

others do various odd jobs and Lee’s in charge.

DAVID: Fuck you, Rudolf!

(Makes to assault Rudolf.)

RUDOLF: Cool it, David. Take a deep breath or two.

(At fi rst David jibs, Rudolf tries to soothe him, David calms down.)

DAVID: Why the fuck did you sell ’im the pub?

RUDOLF: What else should I ’ave done, man? I put quite a lot into

the distillery and then my regulars got burned to death…

sorry.

DAVID: And what’s it made of, the stuff we get?

RUDOLF: What d’you mean?

DAVID: Do me a favour and take it back.

(Rudolf is about to take it away.)

No, wait a mo, I’m hungry.

(Rudolf puts the food back on the table. David watches him.)

RUDOLF: Lee isn’t here anyway. He’s on some show. Some new

thing, called ‘Monika hears confession’ or something.

DAVID: I see.

RUDOLF: You okay now?

DAVID: What d’you mean?

DAVID: Do us a favour, stop that Chinese tape, would you. Th at Lee

really is perverted.

Comes from Vietnam, cooks Chinese muck and listens to

Chinese music, man. Like if we opened a shop with Russian

pirogs, man, and played ‘Nas nedogonyat’, man.

RUDOLF: What’s ‘Nas nedogonyat’?

DAVID: Fuckit, Rudolf, put somethin’ else on.

329

(Rudolf goes and switches to another radio station, before disappearing

into the kitchen.

Th ere is a sports programme on the radio.)

“…Th e match ended with a  beautiful goal from the

visitors’ attack forward Matějka, and so Pramen HC lost 3:7,

thereby further extending to eight the unfl attering run of

matches from which they gained no points. For Pramen this

year’s competition is proving highly unfortunate. Th ey have

totally lost any hope of a play-off , and ever since Tomáš Svatý

brought his career to such a tragic end due to cirrhosis of

the liver, it’s looking extremely likely that they’ll have to dig

deep if they want to stay in the super-league. Who would have

thought as much this time last year…”

(Rudolf comes in from the kitchen, hears the last couple of sentences

and switches to another station. Th ere they’re playing Kristián

Polabský’s old song.)

Th e body is rich in meat

and black will be its blood,

dripping lazily with the paddle’ s beat

before slappers’ summons erupt

Th e paddle is my hockey stick,

inviting beasts on the white ice,

as their red begins oozing thick

my black‘ s better in a thrice.

Who then will the eternal thirst slake

of the ice and slappers in Pramen?

Who our off ered favour take,

where a sign for us to examine?

RUDOLF: I honestly don’t know what else to switch it to now.

(David says nothing, and fi nally takes his fi rst mouthful, bursts into

tears and gets up.)

DAVID: Can you hear barking, Rudolf?

RUDOLF: No.

330

DAVID: Me neither.

(Leaves.)

RUDOLF: Where you goin’, man? You’ve still got that M32.

XVI

(Tomáš and Kristián are lying on the ground supping from an IsoStar

bottle; occasional sound of dogs barking.)

KRISTIÁN: Th ey do keep barkin’, don’t they?

TOMÁŠ: So they ought.

KRISTIÁN: At least they are barkin’.

TOMÁŠ: You takin’ the piss?

KRISTIÁN: What did you think? Once a pillock, always a pillock.

I did tell you.

TOMÁŠ: You know full well it didn’t burn down cos o’ them.

KRISTIÁN: No, it was cos he couldn’t crap after drinkin’ yoghurt.

Th at’s why it burned down, so noble.

TOMÁŠ: Balls.

KRISTIÁN: Why the language? You used to talk proper, not like

them.

TOMÁŠ: Th at’s the point, man. I don’t deserve to talk proper; I’m

gonna talk like a hockey player. Like a hockey player who

drinks IsoStar an’ vodka, man. I’ve always been like that, man,

never a real poet.

KRISTIÁN: Sorry to hear it.

TOMÁŠ: I know. Th e whole idea was probably stupid.

KRISTIÁN: How’s your liver?

TOMÁŠ: I got the cirrhosis back right after it burned down. Even

before I fi nished my fi rst bottle after that fi asco.

KRISTIÁN: Are you dyin’?

TOMÁŠ: Dunno. If I want, I can quit drinkin’ and they’ll gimme

a transplant.

331

KRISTIÁN: I piss myself. Every night.

TOMÁŠ: Th at’s just coincidence.

KRISTIÁN: Like it’s cos of the stupid business of pissin’ on that

bird…?

TOMÁŠ: Well, you know. She were a tough cookie. She’ll get ’er

own back.

KRISTIÁN: Let’s ’ave another drink.

TOMÁŠ: Right.

(Th ey squirt IsoStar at each other. Eržika appears.)

GIPSY GIRL:Where there’s no love

there’s no need of heroes.

Where there’s no blood

there’s no need dogs to cook.

Where there’s no loveliness

there’s no need of these dogs.

Where, Brother dear, for you should I look?

KRISTIÁN: You know, man, we should’ve let ’er write our lyrics.

TOMÁŠ: I guess so.

KRISTIÁN: Look man.

(Th ey spot David crossing the stage with a knife. Th ey drink. David

disappears off -stage. Th e howling of dogs grows louder, gradually their

various voices shrink to a whine until fi nally all is quiet. David crosses

back in front of Tomáš and Kristián with the knife now stained with

blood and continues through the proscenium arch.)

See that, man? At least someone. And Lee’s fucked, man.

TOMÁŠ: Pity about the dogs.

KRISTIÁN: Well they all ’ad rabies an’ other shit anyway.

TOMÁŠ: You’re dead right there, man.

(Th ey take a drink.)

THE END

332

Kateřina Rudčenková

(1976)

Kateřina Rudčenková graduated

from the Jaroslav Ježek Conservatory

(with a  specialization in Lyrics and Script Writing) and the

Czech Agricultural University (with a specialization in European

Agricultural Diplomacy). She has published collections of poems

Ludwig (1999), It Is Not Necessary for You to Visit Me (Není nutné,

abyste mě navštěvoval, 2001), Ashes and delight (Popel a slast, 2004)

and a book of short stories Nights, Nights (Noci, noci, 2004). Her

short stories were also published in story books I No Longer Love

You (Už tě nemiluju) and Dates with Erotica (Schůzky s erotikou,

2005). Her poems have been translated into several languages

and she is represented in foreign anthologies. For her bilingual

translation of her second collection Nicht nötig, mich zu besuchen

(2002) published in Austria she received the German Hubert

Burda Award for young Eastern European poets in 2003. She won

the scholarship of the Independent Literary House in Austrian

town Krems (2001), Hermann Kesten Scholarship in Nuremberg

(2002) and Künstlerhaus Schloss Wiepersdorf scholarship (2004)

in Germany. Th e scenic draft of a theatre play Frau in Blau (2004)

was staged by the Drama Studio Ústí nad Labem in 2004. Her play

Niekur (2006) was produced by Th eatre Ungelt in 2008. With this

play she won the 2nd prize in the drama competition of the Alfréd

Radok Awards for 2006, (the fi rst prize was not granted that year).

As a  consequence, she was chosen for a  month-long residency

organized by the Royal Court Th eatre in London for playwrights

from all over the world. Th is resulted in a  new play, Th e Time

of Th e Cherry Smoke (Čas třešňového dýmu, 2007), which was

shortlisted for the Alfred Radok Awards Playwriting Competition

333

for 2007. Personal website of the author is www.rudcenkova.

freehostia.com.

LIST OF PLAYS:

• Frau in Blau, 2004; première 21. 12. 2004, Činoherní studio,

Ústí nad Labem

• Blue Horses, 2006

• Niekur, 2006; première 10. 6. 2007, Divadlo LETÍ, Prague

• Čas třešňového dýmu, 2007

• Nehoda – kóma – bezčasí, 2008

• Petrolejka, 2009

• Zpacifi kovaná, 2009

TRANSLATED PLAYS:

• Frau in blau: German – Frau in blau

• Čas třešňového dýmu: English – Th e Time of Th e Cherry Smoke

334

Kateřina Rudčenková

A TIME

OF CHERRY SMOKEA Play in Semisomnolence

Translated by Heather McGadie

Th is play is fully protected under the copyright law of Czech Republic and is

subject to royalty. It cannot be nor used nor changed without an appropriate

written permission given by the DILIA Agency. Th e providing of this play

to a  third party for uses other than production due is also subjected to

DILIA permission.

A violation of this restriction and using this play without the permission will

be interpreted as an infringement of copyright law and will underlie to the civil

and criminal liability.

All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the DILIA Agency

Krátkého 1, Praha 9, 190 03, Czech Republic, www.dilia.cz

335

Characters:

Valerie (1919)

Marie (1949)

Anna (1979)

Th e play is set in the year 2009.

“Lineage reveals an identity stronger, more interesting than legal

status – more reassuring as well, for the thought of origins soothes us,

whereas that of the future disturbs us, agonises us.”

Roland Barthes:

Camera Lucida: Refl ections on Photography*

* Translated by Richard Howard (from the Vintage Books edition, London, 1983, p. 105).

336

1st dream – An Obsession with White

(Th e Slovak folk song Th e Chill Winds Were Howling O’er the Lowlands

– wedding song from Holíč – is heard.)

1. Th e chill winds were howling o’er the Lowlands

fl owers withering in our homeland,

oh mother dear, today I will be wed,

mother of mine, today to wedlock I’ll be led

oh mother dear, today I will be wed,

mother of mine, today, to wedlock I’ll be led

2. I fell in love with a lad from over yon,

my path to your house is fairly overgrown,

oh mother dear, when I remember you,

mother of mine, how the tears fl ow, they do

oh mother dear, when I remember you,

mother of mine, how the tears fl ow, they do

Th e chill winds were howling.

(In the dreams – with the exception of the seventh – Valérie and Marie

are wearing wedding dresses, while Anna is dressed in corduroys and

t-shirt.)

VALERIE: All is white. A white path, along which we go together,

dressed in white, white clouds, white birds, a white procession

behind us, a white train which stretches out behind me in

a white valley and white bridesmaids bearing its hem are lost

in the distance, way beyond the white horizon.

MARIE: Will even our future husbands be dressed in white suits?

And hats?

VALERIE: We will travel in a white wagon pulled by six white horses

with silver crests. And if some cats cross our path, then only

white ones. White drivers in white coats with white whips,

337

spur on white horses in white harnesses, with white blinkers

over their eyes, and white horseshoes.

ANNA: If we passed through snow-covered land, all would be yet

whiter.

VALERIE: Th at’s  true, but surely you’d rather wait until winter?

After the ceremony we’ll sit at a white table on white chairs,

drinking white coff ee.

MARIE: Even the guests are all white, they pass around only white

cakes with curds, in the women’s hands and the men’s lapels

are only white fl owers.

ANNA: Most probably, the child which you carry, will be entirely

white or do you mean to say, that you are a lily-white virgin?

(Marie and Valerie put their hands on their slightly pregnant bellies)

VALERIE: Of course

MARIE: Of course.

ANNA: And now imagine, that here from below appears on this

white dress, a huge red stain. Or that it turns out that the

sturdy white horses are in reality mud-splattered oxen! And

that the fl owers which you just threw over your shoulder were

made of glass, and the one who most wanted to be married

and who shot forward for it like a goalkeeper, split her head

open.

MARIE: My darling loves me.

ANNA: Oh please, he only saw you once, and what’s more you were

still sleeping in your coffi n.

VALERIE: My darling…

ANNA: You keep quiet – all that had to happen before he started

making preparations for the wedding was to dance three times

with you.

VALERIE: You can talk. You were asleep too when he cut his way

through that thorn bush to you. One glance, one kiss and he

knew that you were the one! Ha ha!

ANNA: Yes, but the diff erence between you and I, is that I  had

a choice.

338

MARIE: Wait a minute, Is Little Red Riding Hood getting married

too?

ANNA: Yes she is.

MARIE: And who is she marrying?

ANNA: Th e wolf. Th at girl needn’t worry about getting blood on

her dress.

(end of dream)

Interview

VOICE: Welcome to the next episode of our regular transmission

Th e Invisible Reporter.We have here in the studio as our guest today

a young, successful painter Anna, recently awarded the Artist’s Prize.

(Pause.)

ANNA: I want to see my face

VOICE: I’m sorry?

ANNA: What was your question?

VOICE: I  asked, now that you hold the Prize, what are your

immediate plans?

ANNA: Well… just to keep painting, that’s all.

VOICE: Th at’s all?

ANNA: I’d like to keep striving, through painting, to discover who

I am and where I live.

VOICE: Why do you think you were awarded the Prize?

ANNA: Th at’s very clever, I’m supposed to extol my own virtues

here… maybe that painting of mine was good…

VOICE: … or?

ANNA: Or all the others were even worse.

VOICE: … or?

ANNA: Or they sensed in me…

VOICE: What?

ANNA: Let me explain it like this. When the doctors in a maternity

unit have to decide which premature babies to save - they can’t

339

save all of them – do you know how they decide? Th ey decide

according to which of those babies, none of whom yet knows

anything about the world, is fi ghting the hardest for his or

her life. You still don’t know that you are in the world, and yet

already you have to fi ght for your place in it..

VOICE: And that’s  why you think you were awarded the Prize?

Because you are fi ghting?

ANNA: (shrugs)

VOICE: Why do you paint, actually ?

ANNA: Because nothing else interests me. I paint that which keeps

me alive. Especially people’s faces.. and my own face.

VOICE: But why are your self-portraits mostly nudes? Some of your

critics suggest that it’s really exhibitionism.

ANNA: In short, nudity best represents the naked truth.

VOICE: What is it you’re searching for?

ANNA: Perhaps what we all seek: something greater than us,

something which has compassion for us, which loves us, even

if we don’t love ourselves.

The birthday

(Marie and Anna sit at a table, opposite one another, between them

thirty candles are lit on a cake, for a moment silence, just the candles

burning.)

MARIE: Well?

(Anna blows them out.)

Many happy returns. To my little girl, who’s so grown up

already.

ANNA: Th ank you.

(Giving her two gifts, the fi rst is small, the second large; A. unwraps

the large gift, it is a fur coat.)

MARIE: I saw you on television, you looked good. But what was that

odd discourse you came out with about premature babies?

340

ANNA: Hm. (Disappointed by the fur.) It was a kind of metaphor,

you know.

MARIE: So try it on.

(A. puts the coat on and stands there, stiff and uncomfortable yet

trying not to show it.)

It’s just right. It suits you.

ANNA: Hm.

MARIE: What’s wrong?

ANNA: You know I don’t wear fur.

MARIE: You have to have something warm for the winter

ANNA: But I have a jacket.

MARIE: Something really warm.

ANNA: But why fur?

MARIE: You needn’t always go around looking so…

ANNA: Only wives of the mafi a, Russians and prostitutes wear fur

coats. Why should I?!

MARIE: So you don’t catch a chill in your ovaries. Anyway, what do

you mean by that? I wear fur too.

ANNA: Mother, today I ’m thirty. Believe it or not, for quite a long

time now I’ve been buying my own clothes myself.

(Anna takes off the fur coat, opens the second parcel, it is a ring, her

face lights up.)

Oh, it’s beautiful!

MARIE: It was my mother’s. A professor gave her it, he was a suiter,

but she married our father instead of him.

ANNA: It’s a pity I never met her.

MARIE: Oh yes, just a moment, I found something else as well.

(From next door, she brings a black dress, very sober and dreary.)

ANNA: Nooo!

MARIE: At least try it on, so I can see you in it.

ANNA: But it’s awful.

MARIE: Do you have any idea how well it suited me? I wore it all the

time. In my day, times were hard!

ANNA: I can see that.

341

(She puts on the dress.)

Well, I suppose it would do for a funeral.

MARIE: Don’t stoop. Do you know whose they were? I got them

from a classmate, who’d had them passed down to her by

her mother, whom the communists prosecuted in court in

a fabricated trial.

ANNA: What?

MARIE: You’ve put on a bit of weight, haven’t you?

ANNA: So how did it turn out?

MARIE: She was executed.

(Anna looks in horror at the dress she is wearing.)

You’re not pregnant, are you?

ANNA: No chance!

MARIE: How’s Xaver?

ANNA: Fine.

MARIE: You’re in luck, it doesn’t suit you, you can take it off .

ANNA: Maybe I should at least do a kind of a funereal portrait in it,

that would work.

MARIE: Yes, here, I found you some adverts…

ANNA: I’m not looking for work.

MARIE: … for a position which corresponds to your education.

Have a look at it after.

ANNA: For God’s sake.

MARIE: Did you notice how well the fi g’s doing?

ANNA: Yes, it looks fantastic.

MARIE: Although I don’t understand why this branch is growing

here, when it has so much more space and light.

ANNA: Mother, that fi g knows what it’s doing,

MARIE: I don’t agree, it’s doing it wrong.

(She points among the boxes at the tins, lifts a bag containing moulds

for Christmas biscuits.)

Hopefully the move will soon be complete. I’ll leave this

here for you, ok?

ANNA: You needn’t, you know I don’t bake.

342

MARIE: Maybe not right now, but once you have children, at

Christmas time…

ANNA: Th ey sell Christmas biscuits in the shops, why would I waste

my time with it?

MARIE: You mean you won’t even bake Christmas biscuits for the

children?!

ANNA: What children?

MARIE: You’re not serious! Did you not like it, when I baked for you?

ANNA: Of course I did. (Pause.) Yesterday I dreamt, you were ill,

Mother.

MARIE: Hm. Th at’s nice.

ANNA: You were wearing a white shirt. I helped you up the stairs,

you were weak and light as a feather

MARIE: You have sad dreams like that about me?

ANNA: Only it wasn’t sad at all.

MARIE: No? And how was it??

ANNA: Liberating.

MARIE: And d’you know what I dreamt last night? I was lost in

a forest of cherry trees. Some of the trees were in bloom, even

though it was already autumn on the other side of the orchard,

and as I walked, ripe cherries were falling like hailstones. I was

wearing a white dress.

ANNA: You wore a white dress to go into the forest?

MARIE: I was supposed to be getting married to Jan.

ANNA: Not to Dad?

MARIE: To Jan, he said to me in the forest – maybe this is the last

time we will see each other. And then he really did disappear.

I looked all over the forest for him in desperation. When I got

home I was covered in blood red stains from the cherries.

(A storm breaks outside, thunder and lightning,rain.)

It’s getting windy, I must close the window.

(She exits.)

ANNA: Th is is where I have to come back to… To the fl at in which

my parents divorced… the fl at in which they slept in separate

343

beds. What if this fl at is cursed, if here everyone will leave me

like our former father left us. Th e bed will defi nitely have to go.

The Appearance of Valerie

(While Anna talks to herself, Valérie sits down in the shadow, so when

Anna goes to sit there, she jumps in fright.

Th eir inner Voices are heard through loudspeakers, but they don’t

speak.)

ANNA: Help, someone’s do breaking in to our fl at! Th ere’s some

woman here!

VALERIE: Your Grandma.

ANNA: And she says she’s my Grandma! I don’t have a Grandma!

My Grandma lies in the graveyard.

VALERIE: Grandma’s here.

ANNA: So it seems the woman escaped from the grave

VALERIE: I knew you’d be shocked. When will the living fi nally

comprehend how fi ne the line is between this life and the

afterlife?

ANNA: Th ere’s a dead woman sitting here capable of movement,

who is speaking with me in my head. Oh dear. Why should

I believe her when she says she’s my Grandma when I’ve never

met her! Anyone could say that. (she sits next to her on the

couch)

(Valerie gives Anna a photograph of herself with Marie as a child,

Anna compares her with it; from now on, both speak over the

loudspeakers.)

ANNA: Ah, yes, I know this photograph. But… when you died, well…

as far as I know… you were only forty years old… and now…

VALERIE: Even in our world…

ANNA: … people age? And you…And what’s the longest… the oldest

a person can be?

VALERIE: It’s restricted in the same way as for people who are alive.

344

ANNA: But granny, how did you do it? I’m not dreaming, am I?

VALERIE: I don’t know. In exceptional cases, it’s allowed.

ANNA: And this is an exceptional case, is it?

VALERIE: Hm.

(Marie enters.)

MARIE: Who are you talking to?

ANNA: We have a visitor.

MARIE: Who did you invite?

ANNA: Grandma’s here

MARIE: What Grandma? Who are you?

VALERIE: Marie, dear.

MARIE: How is it possible?

VALERIE: Th e last time I saw you, you were that small… You don’t

visit my grave very often…

MARIE: I know… but graves and me… I thought that after death the

dead were no more.

VALERIE: You see.

MARIE: But sometimes I dream about you.

(Anna shows Valerie the ring she has just received.)

ANNA: Look what I’ve got. A gift from a professor, apparently?

VALERIE: My professor. Mother wanted me to marry him.

I disappointed her considerably.

MARIE: Wait a moment. I don’t understand. How can you be here…

VALERIE: A person has the right to return once among the living

when he has the feeling…that it’s badly needed.

MARIE: And why is it badly needed?

VALERIE: You’ll understand soon enough.

ANNA: And did you want him, the professor?

VALERIE: He was a highly desirable catch, but it wasn’t passion. Do

you remember Grandpa Joe?

ANNA: Not really. And was there passion with Grandpa?

VALERIE: At the start, yes. (She looks around the fl at.) It’s changed

here… Th ere where there were doors is a wardrobe, in place

of our kitchen is a living room and the hall has been converted

345

into a  walk-through kitchenette… Nothing is in its place

anymore.

ANNA: I’m going to live here now.

VALERIE: Alone?

ANNA: With Xaver.

VALERIE: Is that your husband?

ANNA: A boyfriend.

VALERIE: A man friend?

ANNA: A boyfriend, he’s more than just a friend. How is it in the

other world, Grannie?

VALERIE: Oh, you know. It’s boring. It’s a pity Joe isn’t with me in

the same grave.

MARIE: We had to bury Daddy in his birthplace.

ANNA: (To Valerie.) Your grave belongs to the family of your

ancestors, the whole graveyard belongs to them.

VALERIE: I know, but I would rather be with him.

(Valerie pauses in front of the picture featuring a skull, a carafe of

wine and playing cards.) So he fi nished this painting in the end,

did he? It’s good. He started painting it before I fell ill. (To Marie.)

You must tell me about your growing up… It must have been very

diffi cult for you. I don’t even know what you studied.

MARIE: Law.

VALERIE: Really? Clever you.

MARIE: Anna too.

VALERIE: And what do you do now?

MARIE: I work at the High Court.

VALERIE: As a judge?

MARIE: I’ve been the Chief Justice for over a year now.

VALERIE: No, really? So the President named you?

MARIE: Yes.

VALERIE: I’m really very proud of you! I knew you’d make something

of your life! My clever child. You always knew your own mind.

And what does Anna do?

MARIE: Ah, well, she doesn’t want to work

346

ANNA: I’m a genius, Granny, but the world can’t accept it, because

for the moment the word genius doesn’t apply to the female

of the species.

VALERIE: Well you can be the fi rst to prove it does. And in which

fi eld are you a genius, my dear?

(Anna brings a large painting on canvas from next door.)

You paint! How wonderful! You take after Joe. He would be

so pleased if he could see you! (To Marie.) Aren’t you pleased?

MARIE: Of course, it’s admirable. But how is she supposed to earn

a living from that?

(A. has heard it all before, she’s furious.)

It’s all she knows how to do! People buy a painting once

a year, you just can’t make a living from that. She should have

a proper job fi rst and paint as a sideline.

ANNA: „Paint as a sideline!“ To paint requires the whole person,

fully committed. If I was only to paint while holding another

job, then I would paint like Grandpa, at the rate of one still life

of a skull per year. A person has to decide…

MARIE: … if he wants to end up an unacknowledged artist, yes.

Th at’s some decision! Just pretend you like being poor…

ANNA: I’m perfectly content as long as I have enough to live on.

MARIE: Oh right enough! So just tell Grandma how you earn a living.

ANNA: I’ll tell her when I’m good and ready.

MARIE: She works in a bar.

ANNA: I work there so I have time to paint.

MARIE: She serves people beer! For that she studied at university.

ANNA: So? What’s important is that I don’t have to work every day,

nor do I have to get up early.

MARIE: She doesn’t get up before twelve. She mostly needs to rest …

ANNA: In art, the waiting is as important as the creating. In fact

there’s  nothing better than for parents to support their

children in their endeavours!

MARIE: Endeavours! Endeavours! Th at kind of attitude…

347

VALERIE: Why do you think, Marie, darling, that Anna should live

according to your principles? Do you think she’d be happier?

ANNA: Of course. But it’s my fault that she’s living so ridiculously,

I brought her up badly.

VALERIE: And I blame myself for not having been with you when

you were growing up.

Night’s falling.

Shouldn’t someone go for coal?

ANNA: We don’t heat the place using coal anymore, Granny, but gas.

VALERIE: Shouldn’t someone go to the cellar for gas, then?

ANNA: You don’t have to go for gas, Granny

VALERIE: And where do you store it? Surely not in the larder?

ANNA: Th e gas never runs out. It’s supplied infi nitely through pipes.

Either you turn on the heating so the gas fl ows there or you

don’t.

VALERIE: Isn’t it dangerous? What does the gas do when you don’t

need it?

ANNA: It sits in the pipes and waits.

VALERIE: It waits for us?

2nd dream - Godot

ANNA: What are we waiting for?

VALERIE: Until they marry us, of course Do you arrive at a wedding

and forget why you’ve come?

ANNA: Aha. And don’t the briar thorns bother the grooms?

MARIE: No, they’re dressed in armour.

ANNA: And our fathers … are they ready to lead us to the altar?

MARIE: As far as I know they’re not quite drunk yet.

ANNA: Who is doing the marrying today?

VALERIE: Father Godot.

ANNA: Ah, symbolic.

348

MARIE: Am I  dreaming or not? Th ere in the distance,

something’s burning!

ANNA: Excuse me, I am not feeling at all myself. Do you think it’s not

too late to cancel the ceremony or is my only remaining option

to say No? I still have to take these urns to the urn shrine. And

if my dead ancestors are not satisfi ed with the place, can I still

transfer them elsewhere?

(end of dream)

What all happened before I was born…

MARIE: If it’s a boy, we’ll call him Benjamin. I think it’ll be a boy.

I can’t imagine the joy I’d feel if it was a girl, A girl!

ANNA: If they had asked me when I was still in my mother’s womb,

I  would have answered quite certainly: don’t bother with

a vagina in my case! But if, nature, you want to shed my blood

and trouble me with pains every month for no good reason,

then be my guest.

VALERIE: You wanted a girl, me too, but Joe wanted more than

anything, a boy who was gifted at sports.

ANNA: Grandpa Joe? Yes, our great sportsman.

VALERIE: He wanted a boy who was gifted at sports, but instead

we had a plump little girl. (To Marie.) And you were strictly

anti-physical exercise.

MARIE: I’ve still only been on skates a total of three times in my

life and it has always ended with me spraining something.

Sportswoman! My father forbad me to wear make-up or a bra

because sportswomen simply don’t wear bras. (To Anna.) You

were clever. And what’s more you were pretty, always smiling.

ANNA: When a girl is born, her ears are pierced for earrings, she

is dressed in pink her hair is tied in ribbons and she is told to

smile and be quiet.

MARIE: You were such a happy child! Now you do all in your power

to ensure no-one knows you ’re a pretty girl. Th at hairstyle

349

does nothing for you… Long hair suited you, you used to wear

that gorgeous little chignon, remember?

ANNA: I know, I know.

MARIE: I wasn’t very pretty as a child. I was a head taller than the

boys in our class, I had a huge bottom of which I was ashamed,

and what was worse, I was the cleverest in the class. A girl who

was superior to the boys both in height and intellect used to

be „extremely popular“ But I didn’t have a mother to tell me

I would soon grow out of it.

ANNA: Grandma, how was your childhood?

VALERIE: What I most remember from childhood is sun, duck

ponds and the woods in the hills of Vysočina and my dear

sisters and brothers. Th ere were seven of us! When I was born

my daddy, as he did as a tribute to the birth of each of his

children, planted a cherry tree in the garden. In the garden

ten cherry trees stood, as ten of us were born.

Although when they were still toddlers, three of my siblings

drowned in the duck pond behind the house.

(Th e sound of the sea.)

ANNA: I love water in every form. Th e sea, marshes, the bath, rain…

MARIE: I can lie all day in the sun by the sea and listen to the waves.

Once there was a turtle swimming in the sea next to me!

VALERIE: I’ve never been to the sea.

ANNA: Th e sea moves as during passionate lovemaking. I love the

blue surface, peppered with sailboats like large white birds.

VALERIE: Th e sea is my heart’s desire and I would like to fulfi l it.

You won’t believe it, but I can’t swim. I forgot how because

when I was fi fteen years old I experienced something strange

underwater. I  saw people, whom I  stroked and spoke to

I had the feeling that I had arrived in a wonderful, beautiful

world. Th en I somehow reached the bank and crawled away

to my towel like an animal, and for the rest of my life I never

mentioned that experience to anyone. Presumably I  was

drowning.

350

ANNA: So we’ll take you to the sea, won’t we mother?

MARIE: Now there’s an idea. And we’ll teach you to swim again!

VALERIE: Would you do that for me? Th at would be lovely! Joe

found it hard to accept that I couldn’t swim.

MARIE: D’you know what? Let’s’go right now. What do we need to

take with us?

VALERIE: I don’t need anything…

MARIE: Swimsuits!

ANNA: I’ll take two so there’s one for you too, Granny.

VALERIE: Shall we leave now?

ANNA: Where is the sea closest from here?

VALERIE: Th e Mediterranean?

ANNA: Th e Adriatic!

MARIE: Let’s go to the Adriatic!

ANNA: Up to the Adriatic!

3rd dream – Wasn’t that our mothers?

ANNA: You don’t happen to remember – are we getting married out

of choice or did they force us?

VALERIE: Who d’you mean?

ANNA: I don’t know – father, mother, circumstances…

VALERIE: I can’t remember how the decision was reached.

MARIE: Anyhow, it’s decided.

VALERIE: I thought that the desire to marry simply fl owed from the

very source of my being.

ANNA: Do you think it fl ows with the blood?

VALERIE: I was taught that marriage is a dress and without it I’m

naked.

ANNA: Th is white dress?

MARIE: Surely we’re doing it for our children. Th ey are on the way

after all..

ANNA: Wasn’t it, by chance, mainly our mothers?

351

VALERIE: My mother… Died when i was little.

MARIE: My mother… Died while giving birth.

ANNA: So there remains only one explanation - for the illusory

fortune of your dapper princes.

VALERIE: And what about love? /

MARIE: And what about love?

(end of dream)

MARIE: Oh yes, Anna, dear, have I already told you? Karen was

supposed to get married…

ANNA: Oh no, not another of those famous stories with a predictable

ending? „Th en they got married and lived happily ever after.“

Recently, there have been an uncanny number of these stories.

MARIE: … but the wedding’s postponed because she’s pregnant!

ANNA: Never! Well that’s  a  trump card! Announcements of

pregnancy usually occur with a  six month interval after

wedding announcements.

MARIE: And she has morning sickness.

ANNA: As soon as they turn thirty, women, as though waving

a magic wand, stop being deaf to the seductive ticking of their

perfectly timed biological clocks, close benefi cial marriage

contracts in droves and like a  well-reared herd of cattle,

obligingly reproduce

MARIE: You and your strange monologues, in our day it was said

women should have their fi rst child by thirty, now they say to

thirty-fi ve so you still have four years to go.

ANNA: Why does no-one ask me what I want?

MARIE: When I was thirty I already had two children! I can’t expect

my daughter to have children. It’s  something she simply

doesn’t need, to have someone to take care of.

ANNA: I don’t want to be pregnant. I don’t like the physical side of

it. Of course children are very sweet…but for an hour at the

most and from a safe distance.

352

MARIE: Women without children are strange and unhappy.

ANNA: How are they supposed to be happy, when people are

constantly threatening them? I  just don’t understand this

inordinate desire for children.

MARIE: Every woman wants children.

ANNA: Not every one. If I had been born male, No-one would even

consider thinking of me as bad. Grandma Valerie, Save me!

What do you think of pregnancy?

VALERIE: I don’t know. Giving birth is a painful, but it’s pain which

is quickly forgotten. If it wasn’t for pregnancy, we wouldn’t be

here, talking to one another.

MARIE: Th at’s true. Personally, I must say that for me no experience,

not even the sexual act, as ever fulfi lled me as much as holding

my child in my arms did. To hold that tiny head in the palm

of the hand, that little, warm body, pressed into me with such

abandon…

VALERIE: My fi rst child, the son Joe so longed for, died while he

was stil in the maternity hospital of pneumonia. Th e war had

just ended, but we felt as though it continued. I felt guilty that

thereafter I gave birth to only daughters.

ANNA: Surely not, Granny! Th e sex of a child is decided by the

sperm, of course, it’s  a  well-known fact! Grandpa was the

one who could have felt guilty, if anyone, For not producing

another boy!

VALERIE: Really? If only I’d known!

ANNA: Sometimes I ask myself by what coincidence was it that we

were born as ourselves. If you’d never met Grandpa, Granny,

but had children with the professor, Mother and I wouldn’t be

here, but someone else instead. If you (to Marie) hadn’t met

Daddy, then it wouldn’t be me.

VALERIE: I met Joe at a dance!

(Th e silhouette/shadow of a man appears in the background,

he is exercising behind the screen.)

MARIE: I met Rattlesnake at a university do.

353

(Th e silhouette/shadow of a man with a guitar appears beside her.)

ANNA: I had so many men, I’d be here for hours if I was to tell you

all about them.

(Behind the screen, 15 to 20 men pass without stopping.)

VALERIE: Joe. He was so handsome! So manly. He looked at me and

in an instant my heart stopped.

ANNA: For how long?

VALERIE: It’s just a manner of speaking.

MARIE: Rattlesnake was enchanting and funny. He was always

laughing.

ANNA: Who would think it, that that humour would one day

evaporate?

MARIE: He played wonderfully on the guitar and he sang beautifully

He had his own band, similar to the Beatles.

(Th e man with the guitar starts to sing a Beatles song eg. Michelle.)

VALERIE: He had a  strong-set physique, he was an excellent

footballer and it was clear to look at him.

MARIE: He was so thin that when he walked you could hear his

bones rattle. Th at’s why he was called Rattlesnake.

ANNA: I like silent, intellectual men, discrete and a little mysterious,

so I can imagine the rest myself. Like Xaver. And they can

certainly be small and non-sporty.

VALERIE: Only neither of us at that dance was alone. We were

both spoken for. I danced with my professor, the one whom

everyone assumed I would marry. Joe danced with some girl,

Eva, whom he was seeing at the time, and during that dance

we threw each other passionate looks behind the backs of our

escorts.

MARIE: Th at such a hunk would want me never occurred to me

even in my dreams! And he wanted me! So I was in my fi rst

year of university, I was nineteen years old and pregnant.

VALERIE: Right after our second meeting I left with a baby in my

womb.

354

ANNA: Luckily I didn’t have to marry the fi rst guy who would have

knocked me up.

VALERIE: When I  told my parents, devout evangelists, Th at

I, a  business school graduate, was pregnant by a  skilled

electrician, a penniless Catholic, an atheist to be precise from

a Catholic family, they were apalled.

MARIE: When I told daddy, that I was pregnant and we were planning

to be married he said: Don’t marry him, he has the chin of

a weakling! I’ll raise the child myself. Rattlesnake’s mother

said: Give up the child, or Rattles’life is ruined! He simply

must study! And Daddy said – yes, let the breadwinner for

the family fi nish his studies.

VALERIE: Th e lovelorn professor came to see my parents to ask for

my hand. He loved me so much, apparently, that he would

marry me even with another man’s child.

(Th e wedding march is heard.)

VOICE: Valerie, Valerie, do you take the here present, poor,

uneducated Joe to be your wedded husband?

VALERIE: Yes! He’ll complete his schooling while at work …

VOICE: And you, Marie, do you take your thin Rattlesnake, a rocker

with the chin of a weakling, to be your wedded husband?

MARIE: Yes! I’ll feed him, and that he’s eff eminate suits me fi ne, at

least he’ll listen to me.

VOICE: And what about you, Anna, whom will you marry?

ANNA: I don’t want to get married! No, no, no! My freedom is for

me the most valuable thing.

VOICE: Do you know, that woman is an enigma and marriage her

decipherment?

ANNA: Crap.

VOICE: Do you know, at least, in what is inherent your refusal of

traditional values?

MARIE: It’s simple. She’s afraid of taking a wrong step. And in order

not to ruin something like we did, she prefers to do nothing.

ANNA: Mother, didn’t you want to tell me something?

355

MARIE: Didn’t I tell you already? Helga got married! And Elizabeth

as well and Rosalia and Jane got married and Carla also got

married. And Vladimira and Monika, they both got married…

(Th e list of names continues arbitrarily.)

4th dream – We’ve got you

ANNA: Girls

VALERIE: Yes?

ANNA: As though suddenly everything got on top of me. A bit like

when something coming to an end.

VALERIE: Like life?

MARIE: Why should it be the end?

ANNA: Th ey’ve got us and now we’re trapped.

VALERIE: No no, we’re just getting married.

ANNA: You just don’t get it, why all fairytales end at the point when

two people get married, do you?

VALERIE: No, why?

ANNA: Because from that moment on, it would turn into a horror

story. Th en she would gave birth to one brat after another

until she died.

MARIE: Why do you want to spoil our mood?

ANNA: Th ey both grew old and ugly,

MARIE: Why do you want to steal our illusion?

ANNA: they stopped loving each other,

MARIE: Even if what you say was true, it’s defi nitely better to believe

that love endures, becomes gentle and lasting…

ANNA: they started to cheat on each other,

MARIE: To believe! We will love each other to the end of our lives,

in peace and fondness we will grow old together. And why

should we think of old age, anyway?

ANNA: Sometimes he beat her, But she withstood everything.

MARIE: Th at’s enough. Be quiet!

356

ANNA: She was, as they say, a strong woman, who knew what she

wanted. Mainly not to lose him! Women, as they say, withstand

more than humankind.

MARIE: Just because you don’t believe in love, doesn’t mean that

love does not exist.

ANNA: Just because you believe in love, doesn’t mean that love

exists.

(end of dream)

VALERIE: Before Joe met me, He alternated between many women.

ANNA: He was the village stallion?

MARIE: Anna, dear, be quiet for a minute please.

VALERIE: His mother, who never liked me – I was too well-educated

for her and from too rich an estate – she said to him: Up to

now, girls have cried over you, now you’re the one who’s going

to cry.

ANNA: How was it, Granny, when you moved to Prague?

VALERIE: I had such a beautiful childhood in the countryside. I will

never forget the day, that I stood at the door of our house

and at the open stable doors and looked at the surroundings

and at out cherry orchard And had to say goodbye to this

countryside. Joe got a job in Prague and we had to move away.

I didn’t want to move to the city, though!

MARIE: I got married mainly so I could run away from home.

ANNA: When I was about six years old, I asked mother: Mummy,

and when I grow up, where will you go to live? Didn’t I?

MARIE: It didn’t seem very funny to us.

VALERIE: I had used to walk in the fi elds and woods, gathering

mushrooms and blueberries, and I had been happy. But in the

anonymous city, suddenly I would spend days shut in the fl at

alone, and I felt deserted,

MARIE: Th en Daddy moved in with his Elizabeth, my sister with her

husband and Rattlesnake and I stayed there

357

ANNA: I automatically assumed that when I grew up, THAT FLAT /

VALERIE: IN THAT FLAT /

MARIE: IN THAT FLAT /

ANNA: Would remain mine alone.

VALERIE: Alone with two girls, and no neighbours nearby, no

community, no dances or pleasure.

MARIE: Maybe that’s why you became ill.

VALERIE: I missed everything, here: the yellow fi elds, planted with

rape and sunfl owers, the meadows and oak woods, willows

and duck ponds, the cool waters, the dancing and the air, my

six siblings, my caring sisters, our cherry orchard, the striking

of the clock in the tower.

(Th e striking of a clock in the tower is heard and at the same time

a piano composition is heard, probablyRachmaninov, Schumann or

Chopin.)

Th e anonymus city.

Th at prison.

ANNA: I love the city. A person is free there. Alone, but free. I would

go mad in the countryside, where the neighbours peer over

the fence and through your windows. When I was small, my

daddy used to play the piano for hours on end. On our old,

cherry wood piano. It was so lovely, I would surely live with

a pianist just so he could play for me for days on end.

(Marie walks to another part on the stage and to emphasize that

memories are being dealt with , she speaks with a child’s voice.)

MARIE: Dear Mummy, auntie is very nice to me here. Today we had

sirloin steak with a creamed vegetable sauce for lunch. I am

very happy, Mummy, and am thinking about you, so please

come back soon from hospital and be with us. Get well soon,

love, Maria.

VALERIE: To read your letters…

MARIE: Th e hospital visits fi lled me with dread

VALERIE: I didn’t want you to see me like that… Th e pain, and my

child, I had to leave you alone…

358

ANNA: Cancer as a family curse also took Garandpa Joe…

MARIE: At your funeral everyone cried and they were sorry for us

orphans. I was so unhappy, but I decided that I wasn’t going to

cry. I sat in the fi rst row at the crematorium and said into thin

air: Shit, arse, shit, Arse, arse, arse, arse, and meanwhile your

coffi n disappeared into the oven. Daddy cried, poor soul…

VALERIE: … just as his mother had predicted.

ANNA: (To Marie.) Mother, why did my hair go grey so early?

MARIE: (To Valerie.) Mother, why did you desert us? Daddy didn’t

talk to me at all. From then on I waas responsible for domestic

arrangements. Of course I still didin’t know how to cook! At

twelve years old!

ANNA: How come Grandpa never cooked?

MARIE: For him it was clear. He was a  man after all. And so

throughout my childhood, cooked, scrubbed fl oors, washed

windows, carried coal up from the cellar,washed linen, ironed,

hung curtains… sometimes I have the feeling that I’ve never

stopped, right up to the present.

ANNA: People who are deprived of their childhoods often become

workaholics.

MARIE: While my friends played, I worked, and when I went to visit

them, sitting there with them were their smiling mothers, the

table set, a cake baked… Daddy never complimented me for

anything. Only when I was promoted, I think, did I feel he was

really proud of me.

VALERIE: Oh, but you’re so clever, Maria, dear, I’m proud of you.

MARIE: Really? Th at’s good.

ANNA: Dou you know what I can’t get out of my mind? Why did

you so easily give up your names? I  think children should

be named after their mothers, they are after all from their

mothers’bodies. It’s absurd that when a father leaves his family

as ours did, children remain named after him. I would never

let myself be re- named after a man,. Never.

MARIE: I just remembered… Varya Ranyevska got married.

359

ANNA: Really? Who to?

MARIE: Lopakhin of course. Everyone had suspicions that he was

having something with  Jepikhodov, but in the end it was

announced. It was a relief. Everyone was afraid that Varya

would do something to herself.

ANNA: And did Jasha marry Dunyasha too?

MARIE: Yes, how did you know?

5th dream – They left us here

ANNA: Woman was apparently created from the rib of man. Is it

true?

MARIE: You musn’t believe everything that people say.

ANNA: So where is she from?

MARIE: She was born of another woman of course, It makes sense,

surely. Was father Godot here already?

VALERIE: Not yet.

MARIE: Where is everyone? Why aren’t they here yet? Where are

the wedding guests?

ANNA: Why aren’t they beginning the wedding banquet?

Something’s held them up. Perhaps the storm caught up with

them, Or they all fell over a precipice en route.

VALERIE: Oh no! I left my myrtle at home!

MARIE: (To Anna.) Listen, what on earth are you wearing? Are you

planning to get married in that?

ANNA: Oh Lord, I forgot to put on my dress. I left it lying on my

bed at home!

MARIE: How could you?

ANNA: It can’t be! Th ey told me that today is my truly great day, the

only one in my life and now it’s lost. I’ll never become a real

woman now. (Moaning sobs/Boo-hoo! Boo-hoo!)

MARIE: Don’t cry. You can hide behind me, alright, As long as no-

one sees you.

360

VALERIE: It doesn’t matter. Apparently father Godot sees with only

one eye. And not too well with that one either.

MARIE: So are you going to marry us or not? We’re waiting

ANNA: We’re waiting.

VALERIE: Where did they go to?

ANNA: Th ey just went.

MARIE: Th ey left, leaving us here.

(end of dream)

MARIE: Th e passing countryside…

ANNA: What do you think, Mum, How do you think life will be for

me in the fl at where your marriage fell apart? Will it be ok?

MARIE: I spent fi fty-six years in that fl at.I had the place freshly

wallpapered, I laid new carpets. If you wash the curtains once

a year and wash the windows, it’ll be fi ne.

ANNA: So you don’t think your ghosts will come to haunt me, that

I’ll see you crying on the bed again? And my relationships will

crumble as yours did?

MARIE: If you wash the fl oor properly and scrub the bath, then no.

ANNA: And Mum, Mum, doesn’t it matter, that even at thirty years

old I don’t have a well-paid job?

MARIE: If you smile sweetly, the others won’t notice that you are an

outsider. But fi rst you have to have your teeth fi xed.

ANNA: You know I couldn’t bear it if I had to get up at the same

time every morning for work. It would give me the shivers,

to think that for the rest of my life there is only work, work,

work, and the only interruption being a two-week holiday in

Croatia every year.

MARIE: If you had a better job, you could travel to better places.

ANNA: Mum, didn’t it ever occur to you, that by wanting the best

for me, you are actually indicating to me, that in your eyes

I have failed?

361

MARIE: You’ll still have to reorganize the furniture. Th at small table

under the window needs a plant on it. I hope that’s clear to

you.

ANNA: Mum, Mum, Are you not disappointed that I was born? Or

actually - that it’s me whom the child you gave birth to grew

into?

MARIE: You were such a happy child. I remember you best when you

were about six or seven years old, As you are in the photograph.

Th e one of you in profi le. You have long hair in that picture,

a lovely little nose. You were as pretty as a princess.

ANNA: Like a princess who awaits her prince, I know. Why are

women always waiting for something, can you tell me that?

Th ey await a  prince, they await compliments, they await

consent, so they may set out into the world, they await

gratitude, to be freed. Men simply mount their horse and spur

it on. Th ey’re alright, Jack!

(Th e three women now become three riders – princes on horseback;

riding music is playing and they are galloping.)

VALERIE: Friends, dig your spurs in your steeds’ fl anks! I can see

the tops of the towers.

MARIE: We’re getting close to the castle!

ANNA: Listen, guys, let’s decide in advance how we are going to

share out the women there.

MARIE: Snowhite is mine!

VALERIE: I want Cinderella!

MARIE: I’ve heard so much about Snowhite! Th ey say that as soon

as she happens upon an empty cottage, she starts to cook and

clean in it, what if a small gnome lived there who appreciated

it? And what if there were several of them? Mirror, mirror on

the wall, who is the fairest? Th e one who washes dishes.

VALERIE: Cinderella’s  ash-smeared face excites me.. Do the

gentlemen not have a weakness for poor little pliable girls

with puppy dog eyes? Th ey say that under their dirty coats

they have naked cunts!

362

(Off ended neighing of Marie’s horse.)

No? So sorry, sorry! I am turned on by how they lower their

gaze, and meanwhile they are burning down there, as she puts

wood in the stove, she is on fi re, heh, heh, heh

ANNA: Careful of the thorns, slow down! Sleeping Beauty is mine.

To creep up to the beauty and shag her in her sleep, while she

doesn’t even make a sound, that’s what I call love.

VALERIE: Gentlemen, until today I have been lying up on the stove,

many would call me lazy, but it strengthened my buttock

muscles, so now I can control a horse just by the pressing of

my buttocks!

MARIE: Paf, that’s nothing. See, how my virility swells? How do you

think I control a horse?

ANNA: I do not have exotic places on my body. Hopefully Sleeping

Beauty will see in me an exceptional person anyway.

(end of scene)

Granny, are the cherry trees in the garden at your estate

still standing?

VALERIE: Don‘t even ask. It was a  terrible thing. One day the

husband of one of my nieces decided that the cherry trees

in the garden are now just vegetating pointlessly. Th at they

block the view and don‘t even bear fruit anymore, and without

asking anyone, he had all ten of our cherry trees cut down.

When I arrived, all of my sisters and brothers were lying on

the grass, one next to the other. Th en they chopped all the

trees up and burned them and for weeks after, our valley was

fi lled with rolling cherry smoke I can still remember that sad,

stinging aroma.

ANNA: Why do you want to fell the trees?

MARIE: No, you can’t!

VALERIE: What did the trees do to you?

ANNA: Are you mad?

363

VALERIE: Th at‘s my body!

MARIE: Our roots!

ANNA: Granny! Mum! Let’s get out, We’re here! We’re at the sea!

VALERIE: Ah, I can see it now! It‘s vast, it‘s beautiful!

(Th ey go to the water’s edge, across the beach.)

ANNA: So, Gran, look. (Shows universal movements for each style.)

Th at’s the breast stroke. Th at’s the crawll. Th at’s the butterfl y.

Doggy paddle. Backstroke. And fl oating.

VALERIE: I’ll probably be best at fl oating.

6th dream – Waiting for the grooms

and for internal change

MARIE: It’s starting to feel like a long wait.

VALERIE: Watch out, who will arrive fi rst?

ANNA: It’ll hardly be mine. It took one hundred years for him to

notice me.

VALERIE: Because you were sleeping.

MARIE: Me too, but one glance was enough…

ANNA: Oh yes? I heard that yours thought you were dead.

VALERIE: I heard that too.

MARIE: Oh, please!

VALERIE: I mean you were lying in your coffi n.

ANNA: Yes, who ever heard of anyone falling in love with a corpse?

MARIE: Why are you so touchy? You’re not the only ones whose

grooms didn’t turn up. (To Anna.) You surely weren’t like

a corpse? With your fi nger pricked on a spindle?

ANNA: It was just a regular casualty of the jealous thirteenth fairy,

that our parents didn’t invite her to the Christening.

MARIE: Yes, and so he knew that then? Why didn’t he fall in love

with the bricks in the tower in which you slept instead of with

you?

364

VALERIE: Let‘s forget it, anyway this is getting embarrassing. We are

embarrassing and laughable, in these dresses we’re standing

here in.

ANNA: I knew there was a reason to leave mine at home.

MARIE: Th ey probably all got drunk somewhere, together. What do

we know about them?

ANNA: Th at they have money,the princelets.

VALERIE: Th ey‘re probably more likely to have gone to get some

girls.

ANNA: When they arranged to marry us, do you think so?

VALERIE: A farewell to their freedom. I don‘t care, I‘m just glad he

has a chateau.

ANNA: So you even admit it…

MARIE: Why are you elevating yourself? Just because you yourself

were born in a castle… What would you do if it wasn’t a royal

prince who cut his way through to you by chance? Th at was

a lucky coincidence, wasn’t it?

ANNA: About nothing bigger than that when someone chances

into the forest, where you by chance lie in your coffi n, and

by chance the coffi n has a glass lid, then it’s by chance a royal

prince! No-one other than a prince would wander per se in

the forest.

VALERIE: Would you stop it, what‘s the point when we are here

alone anyway?

ANNA: Yes, if by chance a  beggar went by! Your gang of seven

little mining perverts would think twice about it, about

entrusting you to him with his necrophilic lust. Yes, but if he

has a chateau… (To Valerie.) And you be quiet too! You lurer.

To dress in an expensive dress, just to seduce him! A slattern

pretends to be a  princess. Women throughout the whole

region cut off their heels because of her miniature tootsys.

VALERIE: But it‘s only a fairytale!

365

ANNA: And doesn’t it matter to you that children believe it. Believe

in us, such silly cows? Did you really never want to achieve

anything in life?

VALERIE: Yes I did.

ANNA: You wanted to be a zoologist, if I remember correctly?

VALERIE: Yes.

ANNA: Birds ate from your hand, Th ey helped you fi nd peas in the

ashes, You know what to do with animals, so why do you want

to get married, you daft thing and wait on that scented goon?

You have a great career before you! (To Marie.) What did you

want to be?

MARIE: I wanted to open a restaurant and maybe one day expand

it into a worldwide chain.

ANNA: You see? And here she is in a fi ne dress waiting for her

saviour. Let’s go home.

VALERIE: Hey, has your voice not become somehow coarser?

ANNA: Mine? Well, yes, it’s possible.

VALERIE: And you, isn‘t there something growing on your cheek?

MARIE: You‘re right. What is it?

VALERIE: See, beneath my dress, I think my breasts have started

to get smaller.

ANNA: Help! I think I’m going bald.

VALERIE: What is it?

MARIE: What‘s happening to us?

(She touches her lap.)

ANNA: Oh no, that’s it.

(end of dream)

ANNA: Will you be really angry with me, if our ancestral line ends

with me? I simply can’t see my continuity or immortality in

children.

MARIE: So in what, then? Surely not in your paintings?

366

ANNA: No, not even in them, I don’t see it in anything. Everything

disappears into the grave, into the void.

VALERIE: You‘re my optimist. Do you mean by that, that all of my

lifetime eff orts were in vain?

MARIE: And mine too?

ANNA: Of course not, defi nitely not yours. I’m glad I’m alive. But

why should humankind reproduce at all costs?

VALERIE: But I mean it‘s wonderful to be able to create a new life

from one‘s own body, It‘s a miracle!

MARIE: (To Anna.) You think too much. And the very reason why

you have time for all these daft thoughts is that you don’t have

children.

ANNA: I look in the mirror… I remember how beautiful I was and

how I couldn’t imagine becoming old one day.

VALERIE: And life runs away with you, you don‘t even realize where

it went.

ANNA: It’s  lucky we see ourselves in the mirror every day. If we

only saw ourselves, say, once every ten years, we would get

a terrible shock.

(Valerie and Anna enact a mirroring mime together.)

I look in the mirror and I see you, Grandma Valerie, as

though it was you who was looking and I learn to imagine that

when you were young you also had hope in your life.

VALERIE: I feel giddy…

ANNA: …from the times, …

VALERIE: … which we have been through …

ANNA: … like a tree-lined avenue.

MARIE: Why are you so sentimental? I love life and I always feel as

I felt at twenty. I never want to die! And I really hate returning

to the past. Who knows how many years we have left but why

should we let it trouble us? It‘s better just to do something.

(Th e women enter the sea, Valerie swims.)

VALERIE: I‘m swimming. How can I  be swimming again!

It‘s wonderful! Anna, dear, what stroke is it I’m doing?

367

ANNA: Well, Granny, I’d say it was the half-doggy-paddle. And we

did that at some point as children, when we were playing at

drowning. But visually it’s very pretty, your head in the sea

with the sunset, against the light Granny, stay in that position,

I’ll paint your portrait in the sea! (She paints.)

VALERIE: Th e water is carrying me. It carries me like a butterfl y.

MARIE: (To Anna.) Now, when we’re here at the cliff , I want to

tell you something. Please will you listen? I’d like to ask you

a favour. I don’t want to be buried under any circumstances.

Can you promise me? I don’t want a grave. Th row me into the

sea. Here. To the south sea, so I am in the warm.

ANNA: Ok, Mum, I’ll scatter you here, I promise.

One year later

(Valerie sits throughout this seene somewhere in an armchair in the

shadows in the background, Anna sits at the table and cries.)

VALERIE: Don‘t cry child, no-one‘s worth it. I’ve lost again. (Dries

her tears.) Granny, how much longer will you be here with me?

I don’t want you to leave.

VALERIE: It depends on you and mother.

ANNA: What do you really think of Mum?

VALERIE: Why? Your mother is a clever, courageous woman.

ANNA: I  just have complexes with her. My mother… achieved

perfection in every sphere of life, at home and at work.

For a  daughter who refuses to excoriate her skin herself,

it’s a model. Women of her generation lived their lives in two

shifts, they wanted nothing of men, and they were proud of

themselves that they managed everything alone.

VALERIE: What do you think I did?

ANNA: Yes, I know, but it was a diff erent era I remember father, how

he lay on the bed here reading, while Mum was where? In the

kitchen. And incidentally she, to a degree, achieved a career as

368

well as the household management, much better than father.

I  have talent, ideas, energy, but it’s  as though something

constantly stands in the way of my achieving success.

VALERIE: How do you mean, you were awarded the Prize

ANNA: I know, but… as though I always fl inch at the last minute,

as though I’m afraid…

VALERIE: Do you know what I think it is? You don‘t allow yourself

to be happy, because you don‘t live, as your mother surmises.

You don’t listen to her voice and now you’re afraid of failure…

(A. looks at her in surprise, because V. hit a truth, which up to now,

she hasn’t been aware of.)

ANNA: Yes, it’s true, but what should I do?

VALERIE: It‘ll sound banal, but be your own person. She doesn‘t

decide on your values nor how you should live.

(Marie enters.)

MARIE: Who’s Xaver?

ANNA: He…I don’t know. So, now wait…

(Anna goes over to the picture which is propped against the wall,

veiled.)

Th is is for you from me for your birthday. Do you want to

see it?

(M. goes over to the picture and unveils it. It features a naked portrit

of Anna with a child in her arms.)

MARIE: What is it?

ANNA: Well, you know… I know you’d like…

(M. sits down at the table and A. too.)

MARIE: But I am not expecting a child from you.

ANNA: Really?

MARIE: I know that even as a child you never played with dolls.

When it’s not you, there’s no point in forcing the issue

ANNA: Really? Th anks, Mum. I don’t know why I don’t want it.

I heard that children who are brought up in families with

divorced parents, in short, don’t desire children, because they

can’t believe… in a family.

369

MARIE: Where’s Xaver?

ANNA: He… left me.

MARIE: How come. He seemed like a sensible person

ANNA: He fell in love with another.

MARIE: It’s still better than if he had died.

ANNA: I don’t know. When he leaves you, it’s like there’s a huge,

glittering, neon sign hanging above your head saying NO. I’m

full of emotions and don’t know what to do with them, where

to hide them, I need to love and I don’t have anyone, how can

I embrace the whole world?

MARIE: When Jan died, I cried for fi ve years. Th ings stayed inside

me, which I didn’t have time to tell him, he persuaded me of

something while he was alive, and now I couldn’t let him know

I agreed. When you love someone so much… When did he go?

ANNA: A week ago

MARIE: So hold on, maybe he will still come back.

ANNA: So you don’t think it is my mistake?

MARIE: Why yours?

ANNA: I always thought that you wanted it for me with Dad. Like as

a punishment, you know? Th at you thought it’s right that he

shouldn’t love me, because I’m evil and dirty, and that’s why

you deliberately chased him away from me.

MARIE: No, no. I just stopped revering him. When I lost Jan, you

were already big so I threw myself into my work.

ANNA: So that’s why?! (Pause.) And you cried over Jan for a full fi ve

years? Do you think you’ll ever be able to fall in love again?

MARIE: I don’t want to cry again.

(A. strokes M’s arm.)

After his death I started to look around the countryside,

walk in the forest, which I never did before. Maybe after a loss,

new horizons open for you, maybe thanks to this you will

paint a beautiful picture.

ANNA: Mum.

370

VALERIE: I thought I was going to spend my entire afterlife here.

It‘s now time for me to go back, my children.

ANNA: No, Granny, don’t go yet. We still have so much to say to

each other!

VALERIE: No, I can go now alright.

ANNA: At least take this painting of you swimming in the sea.

VALERIE: Take it to Joe, so he can see what you can do, that you

take after him, and so he knows that I know how to swim now.

Come and place a candle on my grave a and we will chat on.

You don’t think the dead don’t live, do you?

Be brave here.

Bye!

(She disappears, Anna immediately lights a red, grave candle and

goes with it to the graveyard.)

ANNA: To fi nd Grandmother’s grave in that little graveyard wasn’t

diffi cult at all. Th ere are only our family, our ancestors lying

here. I’m giddy with the thought, that even they were young

once, full of hope. I wouldn’t mind a grave, if someone wanted

to visit it. But there would have to be a tree above me. A willow

or a birch, with branches which reached the ground.

VALERIE: Th e candle which you lit by day, if there‘s a moderate

wind, will burn until the night.

7th dream – Women in tails

Th e Slovak folk song:

I Am to be Married, is heard

I Am to be Married, I won’t forget .

I put the …down in the ladi.

I collect fl owers as they bloom

Give me away, mother, when they ask for me.

(all three are wearing men’s suits.)

371

VALERIE: So the wedding will in fact happen in the end.

ANNA: Did the wedding guests fi nd their way?

VALERIE: Yes, they‘re all here.

MARIE: Th ey were just feeling lazy so they walked slowly.

ANNA: Don’t you remember, sir, what our bosoms are for?

MARIE: So you can feed the foal with them, if you meet him in the

meadow.

ANNA: Did you know, sir, that the male seahorse also carries its baby

horses in its belly?

VALERIE: In return the female praying mantis eats her male

immediately after mating!

MARIE: Are you making fun of me, sir?

ANNA: God forbid!

MARIE: You are making fun of me putting my head in the noose!

ANNA: I am not laughing at you

VALERIE: You are looking a little pale , sir.

MARIE: You know, it‘s uneasiness, I am expecting a horselet.

VALERIE: You too?

ANNA: And who is marrying you, sir?

MARIE: A woman is marrying me. A woman from whose rib I was

extracted. Or from the womb? I don’t remember.

THE END

Th ank you to Royal Court Th eatre, the Czech Centre and the fi rm

Norton Rose,

372

Roman Sikora

(1970 )

Roman Sikora graduated from

the Th eatre Faculty of the Janáček

Academy of Performing Arts in Brno in 1999, in the fi eld of

dramaturgy, in Studio D, under the guidance of Professor Bořivoj

Srba. He is the author of a number of political and cultural essays and

short pieces which can be designated “nonsense dramas” and of plays

for the theatre, some of which have been performed both at home

and abroad. In 1998 he received second prize in the Alfréd Radok

Awards for his play Sweeping Up Antigone (Smetení Antigony, 1997).

His play Th e Death of a talented Pig (Smrt talentovaného vepře, 2009)

had a staged reading in Berlin performed by Stefan Kaminski. In

2010, he took part in a residency programme, organised by the Letí

Th eatre and the Centre for Contemporary Drama. In the framework

of this programme, he wrote the play Th e Confession of a Masochist

(Zpověď masochisty, 2010), which was performed by the Letí Th eatre

in 2011.

Roman Sikora is one of the founders of the theatre internet

magazine, Yorick. Sikora can be characterised as an “Angry Young

Playwright”. His antipathy towards the totalitarian tendencies of

the market system and subjection to the ideology of material bliss

and all-embracing technology, are built on the stirring strength of

the word, which he often uses in provocative, surreal and unusual

combinations. His approach as an author is expressed in the title of

his key essay, New Defi nitive Quality, thanks to which – unlike Post-

Modern verbosity, lack of certainty and chaos – he achieves a precise

designation of the state in which we fi nd ourselves. In recent years

Sikora has also been devoted to work as a theatre critic.

373

LIST OF PLAYS:

• Manžel Dituš, 1994

• Kočka na mráčku, 1994

• Sodomagomora, 1995; première 5. 2. 1996, Studio Marta, Brno

• Balada pro jednoho kance, 1995

• Tank, 1996; première October 1996, Východoslovenské divadlo,

Košice (Slovakia)

• Černá noc, 1996

• Smetení Antigony, 1997; première, 6. 4. 2003 Studio Marta,

Brno

• Vlci, 1997; première 17. 12. 1997, Divadlo Husa na provázku,

Brno

• Krásná hra s jarními květy, 1997

• Sibiř, 1997

• Aut mori, 1997; played by various swordsmen

• Nehybnost, 1998; première 12. 12. 1999, Divadlo Promiňte, klub

Amfora, Prague

• Rozrazil 3/99, 1999; première 17. 11. 1999, Divadlo Husa na

provázku, Brno

• Holomek z Prasnic, 1999; shown by a group of swordsmen in

Přerov

• Opory společnosti, 2000; première 11. 11. 2001 Divadlo Na

zábradlí, Prague (staged reading)

• Jitro kouzelníků, 2003; première 29. 1.2006, Marta Th eatre,

Brno

• Největší básník, 2004

• Včera to spustili, 2004

• Smrt talentovaného vepře, 2009

• Zpověď masochisty, 2010; première 26. 1. 2011 Divadlo Letí and

Švandovo divadlo na Smíchově, Prague

374

TRANSLATED PLAYS:

• Smetení Antigony: French – L’ Antigone Balayee, German –

Antigone weggefegt, Hungarian – Takarodj, Antigone!

• Smrt talentovaného vepře: German – Tod eines talentierten

Schweins

• Zpověď masochisty: English – Th e Confession of a Masochist,

French – La Confession de Masochiste, German – Bekenntnis

eines Masochisten

375

Roman Sikora

THE CONFESSION

OF A MASOCHISTor Labyrinth of the World and Paradise of the Whip

Translated by Hana Pavelková

Th is play is fully protected under the copyright law of Czech Republic and is

subject to royalty. It cannot be nor used nor changed without an appropriate

written permission given by the DILIA Agency. Th e providing of this play

to a  third party for uses other than production due is also subjected to

DILIA permission.

A violation of this restriction and using this play without the permission will

be interpreted as an infringement of copyright law and will underlie to the civil

and criminal liability.

All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the DILIA Agency

Krátkého 1, Praha 9, 190 03, Czech Republic, www.dilia.cz

376

Th e author would like to give thanks to Marie Špalová, Martina

Schlegelová and to all members of Letí Th eatre and Švandovo

Th eatre without whom this play wouldn‘t have been created.

Further thanks go to Tomáš Tožinka, Jiří Silný and Patrik Eichler,

without their earthy comments and suggestions it would have been

much less fun than it is now.

Th e play has been a part of a residential programme of the Centre

for Contemporary Drama.

1. Mr.M is protesting. What he is protesting against is not known.

MR.M: I protest! Protest! I’ve been cheated. I’ve been raped. Raped.

I  protest. Human dignity has been trampled on, human

dignity. Mine. My dignity! I protest! Protest! Protest! Protest!

Am I some nit?! Am I some dirt?! Am I some… some… some

homeless, stupid Gipsy? Some Ukrainian? So everyone can

wipe their arses with me? Trample on me? On me? Shit? On

me? Shit?! I protest! Against injustice! Against oppression!

Against cynicism! Against immorality! Yes, even against

immorality! Why should we lie about it (?) it’s embarrassing,

there is a lot of immorality, everywhere. Really everywhere.

A lot. Even the former President has always said it. He’s talked

about it. Th at there is a  lot of immorality. And I  protest!

Protest, protest, protest!

You must understand, please, that I am no notorious rebel,

no protester. I am not. I am no whiner, no grumbler, no chronic

babbler, no. None of it. I am not. I was not. I have never been,

no. But I’ve been, I  really have been so trampled upon, so

humiliated, yes, even shat on, literally from head to toe, shat

on, yes. I am. I am all this. Against my will. Against my will.

377

Against my nature. My interests. My desires. My dreams. Th ey

shat on my dreams. Vomited on them. On me. Pissed. On me.

No questions. No one even asked. No one even asked: “Excuse

me. May I piss on your head? Shit on your belly? Vomit behind

your collar?” No one asked. No one asked and yet they did it.

Just did it. And I protest, protest, protest!

It all began like this.

2.Th e story of the cane. Delivered in a mesmerizing voice.

Th e cane. A tool which has acquired through the years an aura of

extraordinariness due to its unique qualities and sophisticated use,

sometimes resembling an offi cial ritual. Th e tool is shrouded in legend;

the tool, when used with proper care, is the source of an unforgettable

and piquant experience. Th e cane justly enjoys its reputation. It is

respected, and the mere mention of using the cane for the forthcoming

or last execution fi lls many minds with seriousness, gloom and awe,

bordering on anxious and thrilling fear. Th e cane is rightfully one of

the main concerns of people who have found pleasure in caning. Th e

cane is the uncrowned queen of the tools used for beating. Th e queen

must obviously be treated and used with due respect. Th e cane is no

toy. Humbleness is a good guide at both ends of this cane.*

(Th is passage is accompanied by painful screams from the darkness,

which should sound approximately like Ow! Ouch! Ow! Ow! etc.

However, these screams should not lack faintly noticeable hints of

pleasure.)

* Th e passages in italics and quotation marks are taken from the bdsm.cz website and their

author is an anthropomorphic horse Altair, for whose valuable comments I would like to

express my gratitude.

378

3.Mr.M is giving a speech on humbleness and is being caned.

MR.M: Yes, let’s  talk about humbleness, yes. Humbleness is an

important quality, a human quality. Without humbleness the

world wouldn’t be what it is. Ouch! With many things, with

many activities, it is good to be humble. One should adopt

a humble approach to many things. Many things. A humble

approach to, for example… for example.. to education. To

God too, adopt a  humble approach to God. If somebody

goes for him, for that God, adopt a  humble approach to

him. Also to the Pope, if you like, if somebody goes for him.

Th ere is freedom. We have it. Really. Freedom. And to the

authorities one should adopt a humble approach too. Ow! To

the real authorities. Even to the not so real authorities. But to

authorities anyway. Because somebody, somewhere, sometime

has decided that he is an authority. Th is company manager, for

instance, he is an authority. Or your boss. Also an authority.

Or a politician, for example. Ouch! Th ey should be respected,

the authorities. It is no coincidence. We need authorities. So

that we can be humble. Humbleness is important. For us. And

for the authorities too. Ouch! Th at’s the way it is in the world.

Th e authorities, in order to be authorities, need humbleness

as well. From me. Or you. From you and you or even from

you. Th ey need to be told: Yes, you are an authority. Th ey

are satisfi ed then, much more, and they have much more

authority too. Ow! And some people need to be authorities.

It makes them feel good to be authorities. And some people

are just that way. Th ey just need to be an authority. And some

people don’t. Th ey do not need to be an authority. But, on

the other hand, they need to tell somebody: “Yes, you are an

authority.” Ouch.

379

Take for example Litte Jane here. She was an authority,

of sorts. Sometimes. But we will talk about her later. Now,

it’s time for the Anthropomorphic Horse.

4.Th e Anthropomorphic Horse recites an epic about his life.

(Th e Anthropomorphic Horse enters, takes a bow like a child would

before the recitation of a poem and begins.)

When to the world I made it,

As a weak and surprised baby,

At the mercy of this time,

Somebody spanked this naked ass of mine.

Me, still a little colt,

Did forget to give a shout,

As the other babies.

Maybe even a passing smile

Did appear on these lips of mine,

So sweet was the fi rst spank, maybe.

And so began my career as an almost professional pervert.

(Th e Anthropomorphic Horse takes a bow and leaves.)

Th e Anthropomorphic Horse has delivered only a very small part

of his life epic. Who would have expected him to be so brief?

380

5.Little Jane, sweet, gentle, brisk Jane with a big lollipop.

MR.M: Hi, there. You are a cutie.

LITTLE JANE: Giggly, giggly, giggle.

MR.M: What’s your name?

LITTLE JANE: Little Jane.

MR.M: Jane. Th at’s a beautiful name, isn’t it?

LITTLE JANE: Isn’t it?

MR.M: It is a beautiful name.

LITTLE JANE: Giggly, giggly, giggle.

MR.M: Listen, Little Jane, have you ever spanked anybody, nicely?

On naked buttocks?

LITTLE JANE: Don’t be an idiot! (She leaves.)

MR.M: So, that was her, Little Jane. Sweet, she was. Little Jane, and

how good she was with the cane, sweet Jesus.

LITTLE JANE: Th at idiot seemed to me like an idiot right away.

Spanking, spanking, he would like to spank. So I got angry and

left. Never with some pervert. Not me. With such a pervert.

But, then, how about, just trying it a bit? And so we did. A bit.

MR.M: Jane, sweet Little Jane, how about tying me, a bit? Tying my

hands and knees together?

LITTLE JANE: Okay. Why not?

MR.M: It was always enough just to ask my Little Jane. Th at was

enough. One could say for example: Little Jane, how about

changing into this outfi t, just for a while? Into this? (He points

to a  latex outfi t for a  dominatrix.) And Little Jane would

always say:

LITTLE JANE: Okay. Why not?

MR.M: Or one could say: Little Jane, what if I licked your boots, just

a bit? And Little Jane would say:

LITTLE JANE: Okay. Why not?

MR.M: Or one could tell her: Little Jane, what about gagging my

mouth. Just a bit. And Jane would say:

381

LITTLE JANE: Okay. Why not?

MR.M: Mumble, mumble, mumble, mumble…

(But Mr.M gets upset because in his relationship with Little Jane there

is something that does not satisfy him. He unties the gag without much

eff ort, puts it away and…)

You bitch, fuck off , will you?! I can’t stand your “Okay. Why

not?” anymore! You are cold, cold as ice in the ass. You cannot

even fucking gag me properly! Bitch!

LITTLE JANE: Okay. Why not?

MR.M: And she left. Little Jane. Oh, the fi rst loves. Still the most

beautiful.

6.Mr.M is complaining about the poor quality

of the BDSM community.

It might seem, at fi rst sight, that people like me do not have

an easy life. In this, this society. We are not talked about, no.

And maybe we are the kind of people, you know, the kind of

people, who are not talked about, too much. Or at all. Not

talked about at all. A taboo, oh yeah, we are a taboo. We are

not, really, don’t worry. Really, we are not. It’s not so bad. Too

bad. We are fi ne. Sort of. But now, now I would like to talk

about the quality of the Czech BDSM community. It is poor,

very poor. It is. It is generally very poor. No quality, none. None

whatsoever. Boring, they are so terribly boring. Guess what,

they arrange fi rst how they are going to be tortured. How they

are going to infl ict pain. And then they do it. Terribly worried,

they’re terribly worried not to cause anything. Nothing.

Absolutely nothing. No streaming of blood. No pain, by any

accident, no. Terrible! Robert, for instance. Just take Robert,

for instance.

382

ROBERT: Hey, mate, it’s my fi rst time here. I don’t know. I’d prefer

a woman, to cane, to humiliate, you know, why not a man, you

know? Ok, even a man, why not. Okay. Tell me. How would

you like it? No worries, no, I know the rules. It mustn’t hurt,

too much. You must give consent. To everything. In advance.

MR.M: Okay, I consent. To everything.

ROBERT: Wait, wait. What do you mean, to everything? We haven’t

agreed on anything. I haven’t suggested a thing. Basic rules.

Th ey are that both partners must arrange everything in

advance. And give consent, both. Th ey must. Everyone likes

something diff erent, you know. Expects something diff erent.

Some go for bondage, some for submission or fl agellantism,

spanking, tickling, some for latex, or electro stimulation. Some

go for leather, you know. Or for mouthwashing, for example.

Or some for slavery for example. Safe, sane and consensual

– that’s in the constitution. Th e golden rule. Safe, sane and

consensual. We also must choose a safeword. A safeword, you

know. A safeword. To know. To know when it is too much.

When to stop. Caning, for example. When it is said. Th e

safeword. Th e safeword. We stop after the safeword. What

about Cassandra? It could be a safeword. What do you think?

Maybe we should write it down, write everything in advance.

As a contract. Between ourselves. A mandatory contract. Such

as, “I, Mr. So and So hereby cede the right to, to, so many

slashes by Mr. So and So, for example. Reasonable. Slashes.

Or something like that. And the safeword. For this. Cassandra.

For example. For example, Cassandra. I am a lawyer. My job,

yes. I know about this; how to write it. You don’t need a stamp

for this. An oral agreement is mandatory too, you know. It

goes without saying. It is also valid. But you know, a document

is a document. Th at goes without saying. With my wife, with

my wife, too, we wrote an agreement. Prenuptial. We have

three children, yes. Happy? Yes, we are. Vladimír, Bedřich and

Cassandra. Very nice children. I have their photos somewhere,

383

yes. I have the photos in my pocket, in the dressing room. You

cannot, you cannot put anything in this. No pockets. No. I’ll

fetch them.

(He leaves.)

MR.M: You see that this, this, this was too much for me. Actually it

wasn’t too much. It was too little, too little. Nothing. Absolutely

nothing. And for nothing. You see? Safe, sane and consensual.

Safe, sane and consensual. Safe, sane and consensual.

(He laughs more and more.)

Bullshit!

And after something like this, you know. After this, I used to

have a dream. Always.

7.After an unsatisfactory experience, Mr.M used to have a dream.

Similarly unsatisfactory.

How many teardrops and how much sweat its wood has

absorbed. And now, she is standing here and she hasn’t heard

crying or swearing for a long time. A wooden torture bench.

She is standing in a room in a museum, and feels only the

indiff erent stares of the visitors. But mine is defi nitely not

indiff erent. I  cannot take my eyes off her. A  woman with

a pleasant voice, who is guiding our group; is talking about

something, and I am convinced that she is defi nitely not made

of wood. It comes to my mind to suggest to her to prove the

validity of her claims about the painfulness of the beating with

scientifi c methods. Only a few more steps and I am standing

close to her. She has fascinated me from the very fi rst moment

I saw her. Her massiveness contributes to her seriousness,

the fi rm tying straps give her power. To the bench, not to the

woman. And today, fi nally, my time will come. I am undressing

384

quickly. Th e others in the group clap their hands and support

me enthusiastically. Naked, I carelessly fold my clothes and

underwear. I lie down. Th e guide straps my feet and hands,

and then the last strap around my waist.

Th e guide brings a tall, slender vase from which three hazel

twigs are exposed. She places the vase on my bed of pain in

such a way that I can see it properly. Th e museum visitors are

as quite as mice. In their eyes you can see hungry expectation,

eagerness, excitement. One tourist even unknowingly touches

his fat wife’s pussy. She purrs with pleasure. Th e guide looks

me in the eyes. A soft, slightly absent gaze. Her excitement is

also visible. Her eyelids are trembling, her blood is running

into her cheeks and her fi ngers unknowingly touch her breast.

Th en fi nally she chooses one of the twigs. Th e biggest one.

She dries the dripping water with her loose hand. Slowly. She

is taking her time. Her arm is fi nally raising. She raises it to

strike. Firmly. Powerfully. As much as she can. So much that

you must hold your breath. And then. And then…

MR.M: And then I fucking wake up, always! Bitch!

8.Mr. M. doesn’t do it even with whores.

MR.M: Talking of fucking. Fucking with whores I mean. Prostitutes,

you know. It was nothing special, no, it wasn’t. Even when they

were given money, they took it. Also nothing special. Whores

also don’t have any quality, absolutely no quality. Take this one

for example. A dominatrix, they say. Miss Laura. Dominatrices,

that’s what they call these dull cows. Dominatrices they are

called. I left all my salary there. Always. And for nothing. For

absolutely nothing. Take this one, for example. Ms. Laura. She

looked like Ivana Trump. Probably her idol.

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LAURA: So, how do you like it? It is crucial for the professionals to

know what their customers want. We have a questionnaire,

sort of. I will ask questions, from the questionnaire, a company

made it for us. Th e auditors. Th ey also made an audit for

Open card. Th ree times. And theatres in Prague, too. A good

company. Reliable. So we know what we are at? What the

customers want. What you want, for example. Or another, or

another. It seems familiar, somehow. You see?

MR.M: Yeah, a questionnaire.

LAURA: So, what shall I call you? In terms of the working process?

MR.M: I don’t know, let’s say shit. Call me shit.

LAURA: We have a little problem, here, with vulgarities, you know.

We don’t use vulgarities for customers. But if you really insist,

really, maybe it could be sorted out, somehow.

MR.M: I see. What about some money, for you. In your pocket. An

envelope. Extra?

LAURA: Well, yeah. You know. If you want something, really, really

want something, you pay extra. Logically. Everywhere. If you

want something unusual. Something unusual. Or forbidden.

You pay extra. Or, if you want something people demand

a lot. At a municipal authority, for example. At the doctor’s.

At school, if you want to buy a diploma, for example. You don’t

have time, for school, for example, you don’t have time. You’re

very busy. And so on.

MR.M: I see.

LAURA: What do you prefer? Bondage, spanking or just humiliation?

In advance, I must warn you, for pissing and caviar, there’s an

extra charge. Th e boss doesn’t like it. Th ese practices cause

terrible mess, afterwards. An awful mess. Th e cost of cleaning

is higher, you know. Th e cleaning personnel said they wouldn’t

clean such shit, they wouldn’t. Too much. Never too much

hygiene. And a safeword, we must arrange one. In advance.

It’s important. What about “Adele”, for example?

MR.M: Do you have kids?

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LAURA: A daughter, yes.

MR.M: Adele?

LAURA: How do you know this? Well, it’s not so important now. So

how would you like it?

MR.M: I  like whipping. With a  scourge. With barbs. Or a whip,

even better. Some blood, you know. Tatters of skin, my skin,

hanging from me. Maybe cut me with a razor, too. I need it.

Kick my eye out with high heels. Yours look very suitable for

this. A chainsaw, I’d like that too. A rack also. Maybe. Dislocate

my arms and legs. Something like this. It wouldn’t be bad.

LAURA: You fucking pervert!

9.Mr.M. is protesting again. Th e reason is diff erent,

not so signifi cant. Th is protest is not as important

as his previous, crucial protest.

MR.M: I just protest! Protest! It is not possible, no, to treat people

like this. Like this. To deprive them of their rights, basic rights.

No, it is not possible. No. It’s simply not, it isn’t. But that’s not

what I  am actually protesting against. Th at’s not the main

protest. Th e main protest is against something absolutely

diff erent. Something absolutely diff erent.

10.In a word, Mr.M didn’t have an easy life.

MR.M: You understand, now, now you understand that such a life,

this life, is terrible. Simply terrible. I can no longer… no, no

longer can I live like this. You work hard, yes, from dawn to

387

dusk. You earn. Money, for example. And you want to enjoy

something. For the money, too. At least. Something small,

at least. A  sustenance level. Some sustenance, you know.

It’s impossible. No. Simply… I haven’t had an easy life. No, not

at all. But, do not think… do not think that I am a weakling.

Some sissy. A whiner who spills his guts to everyone. Cries

on everyone’s  shoulder, has a  good weep, cries his eyes

out. No. Don’t think that. I didn’t give up. I didn’t. I went.

I walked. Tried in all diff erent ways, you know. Everyone is

the maker of his own happiness, happiness and unhappiness.

Obviously. Because of freedom. And so on. Absolutely. First,

I  tried cross-dressing, you know. Cross-dressing. It is said

that even the homeless have their destiny. A cruel destiny.

So I dressed up. Because a cruel destiny is something for me.

For me, it’s something. Some old rags, I put them on. Spread

dog shit over myself. Sat down. In a tram. And waited. To see

if it’s going to work. What do you think? What happened?

Nothing. People were opening windows. And were squeezing

in the front of the tram. Hissing, sometimes, something mean.

What else? Th at’s all, nothing. Nothing was happening. And

then the police came. Finally. At last. Finally. Two of them.

Finally some hope. It looked hopeful. At last.

POLICEMAN: Sir, or whoever you actually are, you can’t sit here.

POLICEMAN: And you stink terribly.

MR.M: Why not?

POLICEMAN: Just can’t. You bother the others. Th e other

passengers.

POLICEMAN: And you stink.

MR.M: Me? Stink? (He sniff s his clothes, wondering.) I smell nothing.

POLICEMAN: Get off , just get off .

POLICEMAN: Get off , you stink.

MR.M: And actually they stank terribly, too. With spirits. Municipal

police. Th ey wash their hands in spirits. When they go for the

homeless. Rubber gloves they have. On their hands. Where

388

else? Th ese two had gloves. I was even sorry for them. Th ey

don’t want to touch, no. Maybe with a stick, a broom stick. Or

a tonfa. No, not even with a tonfa. Th e policewoman, miss,

was just repeating:

POLICEMAN: You stink.

MR.M: Sure. I stank. Dog shit stinks. Sure. Maybe I used too much

of it. Scared to touch they were. Not even with a tonfa, or,

maybe? I was wondering. Th at’s what it’s all about. Not even

a tonfa. Th em. No tonfa. Because I am into tonfi ng a bit too,

you know. Not only spanking. But a short explanation would

be handy. A short explanation. From Wikipedia. For example.

“Th e tonfa, also known as ‘a baton with a perpendicular handle’, is

a blunt weapon resembling a baton, usually made from plastic. As

opposed to the baton, the tonfa could be used more fl exibly thanks

to its extra handle and thus it is used nowadays by police instead of

the traditional police baton. Moreover, the great advantage of the

tonfa is, among other things, that one can protect the whole forearm

in its entire length and simultaneously strike very quickly. Nowadays

the tonfa exists also in a telescopic version. Th is telescopic version

is practical for police forces especially because it doesn’t obstruct

running and also because of its small size it isn’t so visible, which in

many cases may be an advantage.”*

MR.M: Into tonfi ng, as well, a bit. So they grabbed me. Twisted my

arm behind my back. Gave me an armlock.

POLICEMAN: Let’s go! Phew! He stinks so terribly.

POLICEWOMAN: You stink!

MR.M: (He is moaning, but with a slight tinge of pleasure.)

Aaah! Ow! Aaah, it hurts! It must be said that I was trying

to wrench myself from their grip, a bit. Not to make it too

easy for them. Th ey pressed harder. Not to do a sloppy job.

* Th is passage is not from bdsm.cz website, but really from Wikipedia. Th ere are some

interesting photos as well. http://cs.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tonfa.

389

Yes. So I could have something from it, at least. Ow! Owch!

Well, fi nally, fi nally, they didn’t show their best side, no, not

really. A dull job, really. I’d even say that some people from

the community work for the municipal police. Th e BDSM

community. Ho hum. Lemon. Just got me out of the tram. And

away, quick. Probably too much dog shit. Really, too much.

And yet I tried cross-dressing one more time.

11.In Mr. M’s opinion the leftists are boring…

MR.M: I was just trying everything, everything possible. For example,

there was this Fund. Th e International Monetary Fund, some

time ago. And people talked. Everywhere. Th at there will be

a mess. Here. Th at the extremists, left-wingers, from around

the world will come. For example Franta was saying at work,

FRANTA: My God, there will be a  mess. I  won’t stay here. Th e

extremists, lefties, will come from around the world. Th ey’ll

demolish Prague, our Prague. Anarchists, Communists,

Trockists, Stalinists, fucking savages.

MR.M: Really?

FRANTA: I hope they’ll smash their faces, kick their arses, into

a heap of shite, perhaps even more heaps of shite. Th e police

will show them. With batons.

MR.M: And with tonfas!

FRANTA: Yes, with them too. With tonfas. Tear gas. Yes. Baton

rounds, yep. Just the rubber ones, yes, I know. We are not

like them.

MR.M: (Dreaming.) Yes, it’ll be terrible, my God.

FRANTA: I’ll just fi nish this, fucking T-Mobile, “new tariff for

friends, revolution in your hands” and fuck off . From Prague.

For the weekend. I took some days off . You’ll fuck off too, no?

390

MR.M: Sure. What would I be doing here? When it will be so terrible.

(Th e last words again seem a bit dreamy.)

It seemed to me like a good idea to join them. Join them. To

be an extremist, you know. For a while. Fights, there will be

fi ghts. In the streets and so on. I tried that. I put on some tie-

dyed rags. I put them on. A jacket, tattered. Jeans, still got

them from the homeless outfi t. Even Th e International and

Bella Ciao I learned to sing. But I am a loser, bad luck. On

TV there were fi ghts, stones in the air, shop windows broken,

Prague on fi re. And I, for fuck sake, was always somewhere

where nothing was happening. Nothing. Just banners and

stupid speeches. No beating. No smashing of faces, heads,

with a stone, for example, by accident, or by water canons.

Nothing. And I was running around Prague, from place to

place, like an asshole. And nothing. And I am telling you, the

leftists are so boring, fucking dull. Th ey just got advertised on

TV and in the newspapers. Th ey side with them. Because they

are “active”. Or something. And that you can enjoy yourself

with them. Advertising is a lie, just a lie. I work in an ad agency.

As a graphic designer. All lies. Fucking lies.

12.Intermezzo

(A gentle song by Aggression 95 called “Die, Bastard!”)

I’ll get you swine,

You’ve no right to life,

Until I am dead,

No peace in your head.

My hatred is growing,

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My laughter still roaring,

Until our country is spotless

As fresh fallen snow!

Refrain:

Die, bastard, die,

My hatred will kill you,

Die, bastard, die,

You black ulcer, you!

Die, bastard, die,

You’ve had your chance

Die, bastard, die,

No more tolerance!

Pack your bags and piss off ,

With your fucking brats,

Otherwise you’ll meet,

A long and painful death.

I’m sick to death with you,

Your skin is not white,

You’re worse than plague,

Th at’s White Power’s right!

2x refrain:

Die, bastard, die…

(Diminished concert lights and light eff ects. During the song at least

two skinheads run to the stage and begin to pogo violently, they heil

and sing. It might be better to make them dance a minuet. Mr.M. joins

them with excitement. During the song and dance he is putting on

makeup. Only when the lights are turned on, we will see that he has

painted himself brown, put on a black wig and brown contact lenses,

392

in case he has blue eyes. He also might wrap his head in a scarf in the

style of Jasir Arafat.)

13.… and the Nazis are fucking cowards.

(Two skinheads at a bar or some table or wherever – it is not so

important. It is also not necessary to make them wear uniforms. Th ey

are drinking beer and singing the song heard from the concert hall

next door with gusto. Th ey are swinging rhythmically, clinching their

fi sts and shouting the refrain in each other’s faces.)

SKINHEAD 1: Die, bastard, die… yeeeaaah!

SKINHEAD 2: Yeeaaah! You black ulcer, you!

SKINHEAD 1: Heil! Heil! Heily, heily, heil! Yeeaaah!

SKINHEAD 2: Yeeaaah! Die, bastard, die!

SKINHEAD 1: Yeeaaah! Diiiiiie!

MR.M: Hopeful it looked, sort of. At the concert. Just Nazis and

skinheads. Wonderful, just wonderful! And so I cross-dressed

again, a bit. A wig, black, curly wig, a lot of makeup, brown,

on my face and hands. It was okay. (He starts talking to the two

skinheads.) Hey, mate. Where is there to get a drink ‘round

‘ere? I’m parched, fucking parched. A shot. Where is there,

then?

(Both Nazis are literally stiff with surprise. Th ey stare in amazement

at MR.M. as if he were a ghost.)

Good music. Real good. Die, bastard, die! Who’s that? Who?

SKINHEAD 1: Aggression 95.

MR.M: Really good. Fucking good. And what? You two look so

surprised? What’s up? Have fun! Yeeaah! Die, bastard, diiiie!

SKINHEAD 2: (Whispering.) Dude, let him be. He’s a copper, I bet.

SKINHEAD 1: Fuck. It occurred to me too. Immediately. Here,

where I stand. A bolt from the blue. From the fucking blue.

393

MR.M: (Flings his arm around their necks, hugs them and jumps

with the rhythm of the song.) Die, bastard, diiiiie! Yeeeaah!

What’s up with you two? It’s great music! Fucking brilliant!

But you two are sad. (He looks at them for a moment and then

he totally breaks down and starts to cry.) Fuck! Fuck! I have

bad luck! Fucking bad luck! Fucking life. Fuck it! I try and try,

always fucking try, and nothing, just nothing, for fuck sake.

You cunts! Wankers! Die, bastard, die… shit! Just bullshit!

What the fuck am I supposed to do?! What shall I do, fi nally,

fi nally, something, at least, something, little, something, will

be enough. A bit. What shall I do? Fuck.. this.. fuck…

(He runs away crying. Both skinheads gaze at him for a long time.

Th en the music changes. A very nice anthem of Worker’s Party by

music band Ortel.)

SKINHEAD 2: Fuck. Th e anthem. It’s the anthem.

(Th ey both stand at attention, their left hands on their hearts, the

right up towards heaven, they are standing, moved, and start singing.

One of them takes out a lighter with his heiling hand, or even a candle.

Th e other notices this and does the same. Th ey both stand there, very

emotional, and gently swing the candle or the lighter in the air in

their heiling hands. Th is scene could be accompanied by the following

video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RBTOkSsdr38.)

Dream terminated, tribe defeated,

Storm clouds, hymn, tears and impotence.

Work like a dog, sweat is turning into salt,

Th is dirt, as you know, repels men.

Make more eff ort, you know the price,

People will die, with no desires.

So say the arrogant bastards,

Who are home and dry, not I.

Refrain:

394

Th ey are just masters, real bastards,

Always treating workers like dirt.

As long as the worker is living,

I’ll be the masters’ throats wringing.

You swollen-headed bastards, sons of swine,

On your polished furniture my name I’ll sign.

Toil-ridden hands, clenched in fi sts

Won’t be shaking in the streets.

Maybe it’s my own fault, outside my power,

Th e wish to conquer the world and grow a fl ower.

My life is no bed of roses, I have no gift,

To ask in vain why God has always given me shit…

14.Mr. M. is simply doing something wrong.

MR.M: Turn it off ! Turn it off ! Come on! Th at’s not to say that I don’t

like it. Th at I don’t like this. Nice songs they have. Th ey sure

do. But action? No action. All talk and no action, you know

what I’m saying. You pin your hopes on it. And… Nothing.

Unfortunately, unfortunately I  realized that the leftists

are dull and the Nazis are fucking cowards. Just bullshit.

Only bullshit. Macho talk. Songs. But what else? Nothing.

Absolutely nothing. A breakdown. Total breakdown. I had

a  total breakdown. Th e whole world was against me. As if

the whole world didn’t give a crap about me. And nothing.

Absolutely nothing. Nothing for me. For me it didn’t want to

do a thing, nothing. Not one iota, as people say. In fever I was

lying. Delirious. I had a revelation. Really, I had. But no, not

the one from God. Not that one. Cause he doesn’t exist, as

395

we all know. Obviously. And even if, if, by any chance, he did,

he wouldn’t give a shit about me. So it’s as if he didn’t exist

anyway. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t. If he exists, or not. So the

revelation. Now.

15.One day Mr. M. had a revelation.

MR.M: Doctor. Doctor?

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Yes, boy?

MR.M: Am I delirious?

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: You might be.

MR.M: Why is the world so cruel, why? Why is it so merciless?

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: I don’t fi nd it this way. Not at all.

MR.M: Really?

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Really.

MR.M: Doctor?

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Yes?

MR.M: Are you actually a doctor, are you?

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: No.

MR.M: And who are you? Who?

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: A horse. I am a horse.

MR.M: A horse.

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Yes, a horse.

MR.M: Nice. Th at’s very nice. To be a horse.

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Yes, it is. I can recommend it.

MR.M: Me too. I want to be a horse too.

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: So be one.

MR.M: If only it were so easy. To fulfi l one’s wish. To be happy.

Finally happy. I don’t want too much, do I?

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: No, you don’t.

MR.M: What shall I do, then? What shall I do to be happy?

396

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Well, if I  could suggest

something, I’d recommend this simple day to day work as

President Masaryk used to say.

MR.M: And what is it?

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Well, you see, if you don’t

manage to be happy in the world as it is, you must change it.

Slowly, but, as they say, systematically. You must do all you can

to make the world a happy place for you to live in. A place for

a horse. A happy horse. A place where you can make use of

your skills. Where even your deepest desires become fulfi lled.

Such world won’t change on its own. I’ll give you a small hint.

Come here.

(Th e Anthropomorphic Horse puts on Mr.M a full harness and hitches

him into a small buggy etc. Th en he hitches also himself.)

Do you see? If you want the world to be like this, you must

make the eff ort. You must sacrifi ce yourself.

MR.M: Sacrifi ce, yes. Th at’s beautiful.

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Yes, it is. Gee-up! (Th ey are

trotting like circus horses in show jumping.) Keep pace! Head

up. Trot according to the rules.

MR.M: Yes, yes, I want to sacrifi ce myself. I want to. Enough of this

cheap kitsch. No more hunting for instant experiences. No

more consumerism. We must change reality. We must.

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: You must.

MR.M: Yes, I must. I must change reality.

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Yes, you must. Pure, pure

beauty. But that’s not all. Whoa!

(A Faceless Man enters the stage and sits on the buggy.)

FACELESS MAN: Gee-up!

(Both horses trot again.)

MR.M: What beauty! Such beauty. I can see almost how reality is

changing. I see it. It’s within my reach. Th ere, there behind the

straight stretch. At the end of the race course. I must speed

397

up. Faster and faster. Summon all my strength. Surrender to

the movement.

FACELESS MAN:(Whipping Mr.M. on his back) Gee-up.

MR.M: (Almost in religious ecstasy.) What beauty. Such beauty! To

run freely. (He is still trotting perfectly.) To be free. To be fi nally

happy. My dear horse, it’s such beauty.

16.Mr. M. gets down to an epochal work.

MR.M: You know, a revelation. It was a revelation. A real revelation.

And it kept coming back. Especially at night, coming back.

What nights. Finally. Hot nights. Th e power. Th e power of

subconsciousness. It was wonderful. Unleashed. I was getting

up in the morning, full of energy. Jumped out of bed always.

Hurray! For new adventures. To work. Important. Work. And

the gentleman, the man in the buggy, was with me. Always.

Every night with me. At fi rst, in the beginning, he was faceless.

But then his face became familiar. Began to be familiar. Th ey

were signs, sort of. Signs. Th ose faces. Th e gentleman in the

buggy. At fi rst, really at fi rst, appeared the face of my boss. So

I went to work, the second day. And right away to my boss.

And I say: “Boss, don’t you think my salary is too high?” And

he said:

MAN WITH THE FACE OF THE BOSS: Yes, you’re right. It is

a bit too high.

MR.M: So make it lower. Why don’t you make it lower? And he

just beamed and cut my salary. Horizons, I broadened his

horizons. And then, then, when he saw that I worked harder,

so much harder. And that I was happy, even. When he saw

it, he cut, he cut all salaries in the company. You know, they

didn’t get it much. Th ey didn’t get that it was for their own

398

good. Th eir good. I  tried to explain. Explain. And one day

they waited. For me. After work. And beat the shit out of me.

So fi nally something. You know. Finally. My eff ort. My eff ort

started to bear delicious fruit. My God. Th at was something.

And then, one day, my boss comes to me. And he says again:

MAN WITH THE FACE OF THE BOSS: Hey, you, we could lower

the costs, more. No?

MR.M: And I say: “Sure, boss, sure. We could, boss. Yes. Great idea.”

And the boss shone with happiness, again. And says:

MAN WITH THE FACE OF THE BOSS: I thought so. I thought.

So. We could. Yes. We could.

MR.M: And I said: “Sure, boss. Sure we could. But if I may, suggest,

something. For example Franta, here, Franta is slacking, you

know. And grumbling. He’s grumbling all the time, boss. So

I thought that I might do his work, alone. Work a bit longer,

but for the same money. What do you reckon?” And my boss

again looked like a happy man. And he said:

MAN WITH THE FACE OF THE BOSS: I would be lost without

you.

MR.M: And Franta was sacked. His fault, you know, and he shouldn’t

have lied at that time, you know. About the leftists. Also his

fault. But it wasn’t enough, not enough. Because the agency,

our agency, had to be, you know, competitive. And then the

crisis, the crisis came. Not enough commissions, you know.

A crisis. Bad, bad crisis. I’ve always imagined the crisis, you

know. I’ve always imagined the crises, as Dominatrix Laura.

DOMINATRIX LAURA: We must arrange a  safeword. Fill in

a questionnaire. To satisfy the customer. To satisfy him. What

do you prefer?

MR.M: (Laughing heartily) Crisis, you know. And so one day I say to

my boss: “I’ve got a new idea, a great new idea. A Great Idea.”

MAN WITH BOSS’s FACE: Fire away, I’m all ears.

MR.M: Sack everyone, you know, let them have trade licences,

licences, you know, and then, employ them. Again. And you’ll

399

save, boss, you’ll save a fortune, boss, my dearest boss. Social

insurance, health insurance, you know. And lower salaries. You

can give them lower salaries. Will you give me a sugar lump,

will you? And he started laughing, laughing like the happiest

man in the whole world. And he gave me a lump of sugar.

And I, I neighed, neighed with joy. Neighhhhhhhhhhhhh. And

snorted. With optimism. Happily. Phrrrrr. And everyone was

sacked. Me too. And employed again. You know boss, my dear

boss, I’ve got an idea. One more idea. Idea.

MAN WITH THE FACE OF THE BOSS: Yes? (Another sugar lump.

More happy neighing.)

MR.M: And I recommended to him not to take back the spoiled

ones, the most picky employees. Not perspective ones. And

I suggested other people, from the community. Th e BDSM

community. I’ve persuaded them. Th at the world is no good.

It’s not as we imagine it. It must change. Th ey got it. Got

it. Th e safeword and such bullshit, it’s nothing to them. No

spanking, bondage, latex. It’s just for kids. For kids. Happiness,

true happiness, is elsewhere, the truth is out there. Just go for

it. Th e truth, you know. And they began to work for us. Cause,

you know, you know, any asshole can work in an ad agency.

17.And there came prosperous times in the agency.

MR.M: And the agency was thriving. Blooming. Happy times they

were. Th e agency was prospering. Th e boss was satisfi ed,

happy, even. And we, we too, we too were happy. A good mood.

Everywhere. Moaning, gasping, sighing. So many sighs. Of

happiness, of course. Laughter. Happy laughter everywhere.

From the windows singing was heard, even in the streets. So

much joy. Th at workplace. Very merry. Th e merriest in the

400

world. Th e merriest of all the workplaces in the world. Th e

merriest advertising agency we were. And cheap, too. And

with such atmosphere, the commissions were streaming. We

worked hard, with eff ort. At fi rst eight hours. Th en twelve.

Th en sixteen hours. Th ose were the days, wonderful days. And

Janette, promising, beautiful, very beautiful Janette. And how

good she was.

JANETTE: I can’t, no, I can’t any longer. Th is. I can’t stand this.

Th is pressure. Terrible pressure. Sixteen hours. Sixteen hours.

Everyday. And only short sleep. No life. No private life. I can’t

any longer. A day off . I wanted a day off . And you know what

he said? To me? You know? Fuck off , he said. (Her moaning

gradually changes into delightful sighs.)

He told me: fuck off , bitch. Cunt. Slut. Zero. Fuck off .

Th at’s what he said. To me. And now Fiat. Th is Fiat. A new

idea? What should I suggest? For this Fiat. Aaah. What?! I’m

at my wit’s end. Th e end. My boss will kill me. Kill me. Me.

Punish. Punish me terribly. Unless I have an idea. But what?

What? What should I suggest? Th at’s the end, end, end. Aaaah!

(She begins to tremble in a great burst of orgasm.) Vivat,

Fiat! Vivat, Fiat! Vivat, Fiat! (She faints. Unconscious, she

still shivers with sexual pleasure.)

MR.M: And she had it. Th e claim. Th e slogan. For the campaign. Th e

headline even. Vivat, Fiat! Oh, Janette. Sweet Janette. A great

future ahead of her. Future. She knew how to enjoy herself.

Enjoy her work. Creative. Th e best. She was. At it. Better,

better than me she was. Janette. A pure miracle. And most

importantly, she was a proof that my work is getting on well.

My way, my way is right. She was the proof. I loved her. Me.

I loved Janette. Sweet. Too sweet. Platonic love, obviously. It

couldn’t be otherwise, you know. It wouldn’t work. You know.

She liked punishment. And me too. So who would punish,

you know? It wouldn’t work. Th at’s clear. Th ere were enough

punishments anyway. Th ere. Especially in the room. Th e

401

motivation room. Th at’s what we called it. Th e motivation

room. My boss got the idea. He didn’t like it at fi rst. But then,

how he enjoyed that. Th e motivation room. His idea. Th e

so-called motivation room. M.R. we called it. Th e stadium,

higher level meeting room, you know. And there, there was

always someone screaming, someone crying. And strokes

could be heard. Cane strokes. Or paddle strokes. Th e boss

liked to play table tennis. Sometimes even whipping could

be heard. Chains rattling. You know, and the rack, oh yes, the

rack was screeching. What else. I’ll play it to you. I recorded

it, you know. For home listening. What else is there to listen

to, you know? (He plays the recording. From his mobile phone,

dictaphone, or whatever. Wailing, howling, begging etc. is

heard.)

So everyone was excited. About it. About M.R. For

brainstorming, for example. Or for punishment. For punishing.

When somebody got an idea, a good idea. So for it. When he

did a good job. So then, the motivation room. Th e boss was

great, simply wonderful. How he could motivate people! He

didn’t look it, at fi rst. Not at all. So many great ideas occurred

in the M.R. So many. For example,… you must know this one.

For example: “Loosen up!” it was his own idea. When Kamil

was all excited, excited for it, the boss pretended not to know

the reason. And Kamil started to tie himself, on his own. And

the boss was cruel, terribly cruel, he said, it was the cruellest

punishment ever. No motivation. He said: “Loosen up!” And

Kamil turned pale, gave a sigh, a terrible sigh of pain. Th e

worst pain. Internal pain, you know. And the boss was happy,

suddenly. Because he recognized, that yes, yes, he found what

he was looking for. And then, fi nally, Kamil got it. Terrible.

He got hooks. In his skin, you know. So happy, he was. So

happy. We could hear him. Down. Down in the cellar. Maybe

even the accounts. Maybe in the streets. It mixed with the

singing, you know, happy singing, from the windows. Very

402

often singing could be heard from our windows. All windows.

I’ve got a recording. Somewhere. Here. (He plays the recording

of happy singing from the agency’s windows. I recommend for

example sentimental country songs, 1980s electronic pop etc.)

So he enjoyed it. A lot. At that time. Kamil. He really did.

Or me. For example, I got an idea. When the boss wasn’t giving

me enough attention. He didn’t want to. At all. No motivation.

Didn’t want any. Terrible. It was terrible. I was crawling on my

knees. Hugging his legs. And he was pulling away, just pulling

away. And I was telling him, Janette can go, why only she can

go to M.R.? Why not me? Why is it not like in the past? As it

used to be. And he said.

MAN WITH BOSS’s FACE: Why do you, you shitface, think you

deserve motivation? Why?

MR.M: But, boss, I’m naughty. Very very naughty. I  deserve it.

Motivation. My salary seems to me too low. Working hours

too long. Too long.

MAN WITH BOSS’s FACE: And you think that’s enough?

MR.M: Please, boss, please, my dear boss, you know, even men have

their days.

MAN WITH BOSS’s FACE: You see. It works. See, it works.

MR.M: It worked. It did. A headline was created. And off we went.

To motivate, you know. He didn’t raise my salary, no. He knew

I wasn’t interested. Th at’s not it. Not it. Th e boss. He was an

authority, really. I even had pins and needles. Always in my

scrotum. It sometimes happens to me with authority. When

I meet an authority, you know. Or Peter. Him too. He was

getting ideas in this way. When he was on the rack. Who

wouldn’t be excited? And the boss had a teasing mood. And

Peter. (He laughs.) He was good too. With the boss. One day.

One day he even suggested to found the unions. You know,

the unions. (He is laughing his head off .)

Th e unions! For basic human rights, like. Th at they are not

kept. He was good with the boss, he was. And the boss, then

403

had a teasing mood. He was teasing him on the rack. Teasing

terribly. And Peter was screaming. So much. He was so tense.

So tense. Th en the boss asked Peter. As Peter was saying. You

know. He asked.

MAN WITH BOSS’s FACE: How much do you think I’m going to

tighten you?

MR.M: And Peter exclaimed. In his happiness, at that moment. He

exclaimed. I’ll play Peter’s part now. You know. I hope, you

get it. So Peter exclaimed: “Yes, boss, yes, much more than

I think.” Th at was it. Another headline. More than you think.

And now I must point out that this sentence is important.

Because you are going to hear this sentence later. And when

I’m thinking about that, that beautiful time, I  realize that,

I  realize that I  haven’t done it. For a  long time. What I’m

here for. I haven’t done it… For a long time, I haven’t been..

protesting, protesting. So I will, now. So. Th at’s why I’m here.

Right now.

18.Mr.M is protesting again just to remind us why he is here.

MR.M: And I protest! Protest! Protest! Why? Because! Th at’s why

I’m here. To protest. Against theft. Against this theft as well.

I protest. Because they’ve stolen. I’ve been robbed. Of my life.

My future. No consideration. Didn’t have any. Trampled. Th e

human rights. Basic. My basic human rights. I won’t have it.

I won’t have it this way! No! No! And now we can go on.

404

19.Mr.M announces that something fundamental has happened.

MR.M: Th ose were the days. Beautiful days. Th ey were. Really. I had

a feeling. A feeling that a part of my work had been done.

Had come true. Really. Good work. Yet, to be honest, to be

honest, you know, then, it wasn’t enough. Not at all. It was

too little. Too little. And I, I had a dream, again. Again, again,

I had a dream.

20.Mr.M has another dream.

(Mr.M. in harness is again trotting fl awlessly. On the coach box sits

a Man in a mask with a big question mark instead of the face of the

boss.)

MR.M: All the time, all the time I was trotting freely, trotting joyfully

at nights. Flying like a bullet. On my racecourse. My designated

racecourse. Trotting. All the time. But something, something

wasn’t as it used to be. In the past. Diff erent. Something was

diff erent. I didn’t have a good feeling, I didn’t have any kind

of good feeling. No tickling. In my underbelly. Always tickling

in my underbelly. No wet mornings. No. Not as wet as in the

past. You see, something happened. Something was wrong.

It wasn’t right. Not even the whipping was as it used to be.

So nice, you know. And then, then in one dream. I turned my

head. Like this. I turned my head like this. And fi nally. And…

have you realized that? Yes, have you? I turned my head, one

night. And what I see? Th at man. Th e man who used to be

my boss. So far. My boss, from the agency. On top. On the

coach box. Suddenly he wasn’t my boss. Suddenly he didn’t

have… No, not at all. He was suddenly absolutely faceless.

405

Again. Absolutely. And it was. It was suddenly. Suddenly it

was a really big question. And that question was a sign, too.

It was a sign. And I knew. I knew what sign. What’s the sign.

I knew what it meant. I knew. It was a sign to move on. To

move on further. I must go further. And this realisation, my

realisation, really pleased Mr. Horse. A lot. It pleased him so

much that he said, he said to me, heartily, with inner joy, true

joy.

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Fuck, man, you’re an even bigger

horse than me. You’re such a great horse that it saddens me. In

comparison with you I’m imperfect, fucking imperfect.

MR.M: A song he composed. From joy. For me. He’ll sing it now.

21.Th e Anthropomorphic Horse sings a song for Mr.M.

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE:

Horses are your one love only,

Without them you will be lonely,

Of surrender you are able,

For the lovely smell of stable,

A paradise for horses you want to create,

I will help you because I am your mate,

Without clinking of the horse shoes,

Your happiness you always lose,

You are staying with me because,

You heart has always belonged to a horse.

You do not bother to run for water,

No interest in a fording place,

You rather learn how to graze,

Th en you break into a trot,

406

And with an awful fear I am shot,

“I am a horse like you”, I hear,

You whisper that in my ear,

You make that promise because,

You heart has always belonged to a horse…

(Btw. Th is text should be sung to the melody of Vera Martinova’s “Srdcem

jsi zůstal u koní” (Your heart stayed with horses), an awful country

song from the period of normalization after 1968, the incredibly

stupid lyrics have been adapted slightly.)

22.Mr.M set out into the world. On a mission.

MR.M: So I set out into the world. I had to, you know. Simply had

to. A mission. I was on a mission. A task. It wasn’t enough that

little bit that had been accomplished. It must be spread. It. You

have to see the whole picture. Th e broader picture. Because

the agency, just one ad agency, that’s  not enough. Really,

that’s not enough. Nothing. On the other hand, even other

agencies, it began to spread among the agencies. Ad agencies.

When I think of that. It was beginning to be nice, everywhere.

Similarly nice. Motivating, etc. Everywhere they began to

improve the conditions. Employee’s  conditions. Perhaps

because of the…the hand. Of the market. Invisible hands. Th e

spreading was actually also invisible. But noticeable. Silently,

as if. Noticeable. But it wasn’t enough. No. Th e world must

be changed. Th e whole world. And then I had to improve my

dream. Improve my nights. To go with a swing. Again. As it

used to. So I was trying. Job interviews. Various job interviews.

In other companies. For example, here, in KB Bank.

407

MAN WITH THE MASK OF KB BANK H.R.OFFICER: But you

have no, no qualifi cation, you know. No qualifi cation. For this

job. In our bank.

MR.M: I do, I really do. I have the best qualifi cation.

MAN WITH THE MASK OF KB BANK H.R.OFFICER: But not

in a bank. You haven’t worked in a bank. Ever.

MR.M: May I have a question? May I?

MAN WITH THE MASK OF KB BANK H.R.OFFICER: Yes. Well,

yes. You may.

MR.M: Motivation programs, do you have any? Here?

MAN WITH THE MASK OF KB BANK H.R.OFFICER: Well,

fi ve weeks vacation. Th e salary, starting salary, for you.

Around twenty thousand. Around that. Gross income, that is.

Company vacations, sometimes. Maybe. Well, yes. But, you,

you have no, no experience. At the counter. No experience.

No, it won’t be possible. No.

MR.M: But I, I don’t need so much, no. Not so much. How could

you, how could you only off er this to me? I don’t get it. Why

so much?

MAN WITH THE MASK OF KB BANK H.R.OFFICER: What?

What? Whaaatt?

MR.M: Why a vacation? A company vacation? Why? Nonsense. Why

fi ve weeks? What for? I don’t get it. I really don’t. Twenty?

Twenty thousand? Are you serious? You must be joking!

MAN WITH THE MASK OF KB BANK H.R.OFFICER: I know,

it is not much, not too much.

MR.M: It is! It is too much. Pointless. Absolutely pointless.

MAN WITH THE MASK OF KB BANK H.R.OFFICER: Really?

And how much, how much would you like. How much?

MR.M: I think, around fi ve, fi ve thousand, if it’s not too much, for

you. Even less is fi ne. And a vacation? I can’t ask for it. No.

It’s not possible. I’d be ashamed. No.

MAN WITH THE MASK OF KB BANK H.R.OFFICER: I see,

well. You have the job.

408

MR.M: It was all going smoothly. It worked. Everywhere. Doors

opening. Immediately. Accepted immediately. Beautiful.

Beautiful it was. Th eir eyes. Sparkles in their eyes. Joyful

sparkles appeared. Started to glow. Beauty, true beauty. To

see it. As in Kaufl and, for example. Th ere too. I went there

too. Because I heard, I heard that they wanted to strike. Go on

strike. You see? To strike. For better conditions, or whatever.

Th e conditions they requested, you know, unbelievable! I was

just amazed. Just amazed. Fucking amazed. Higher salaries,

like. Shorter working hours. Less overtime. And to be paid for

overtime, even. Th e overtime. People just don’t understand.

Really. Th ey are dumb. Th ey don’t understand. What’s true

happiness. Th eir happiness. Really. One wouldn’t believe it.

I had to go there, obviously. To explain it to them. What it’s all

about. What it is about. Happiness. Money is not happiness.

And I don’t even mean those who just live on welfare. Receive

welfare. Th ey would just guzzle, all the time. Just guzzle.

Gluttons. Plasma TVs, dishwashers, washing machines,

fridges, cars even. Th ey’d want to buy. For the welfare. And

trips to the sea. All the time. For the welfare. Th ey really don’t

understand what happiness is. Th at’s obvious. Isn’t it? It is not

possible like this. And so I went there. To Kaufl and. Th e boss

was great. Really, he was.

MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: You

must be joking, you fuck?!

MR.M: Tough he was, very tough. Th e boss. Really. I had pins and

needles, again. In my scrotum. It sometimes happens like that.

Like this. When I meet an authority. A real authority. But this

one. My God, he was tough. I knew right away that we would

understand each other.

MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: Listen,

you fucker, I’ll take you, okay. But you’ll be on alert for the

whistle. When I  whistle like this. (He whistles.) You’ll run

here. Immediately. Is that clear? Wiping. You will be wiping,

409

everything, everything. Eating from the fl oor, we will be able

to eat from the fl oor. As you’ll be wiping at the whistle. At the

whistle. I’m telling you. When I whistle, you’ll be here right

away. With a mop. With a mop.

MR.M: Sure, yes, I understand. Sure.

MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: And

no full time. Just part time you’ll get. But you’ll work full time.

Is that clear?! Th at’s the way we do it here. Is that clear?

MR.M: (More and more excited.) Yes, yes, sure.

MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: And

then maybe… Maybe when you wipe well, maybe, you may be

promoted. To the shitheads at the checkouts. Or the cunts at

fruit and vegetables. Or to the bitches at meat. Or the whores

at the chemist’s.*

MR.M: Yes. Yes. To the whores. Yes. To the shitheads, I’ll be fi ne

with the shitheads.

MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: Are

you making fun of me, you fucker? Or what?

MR.M: No, no, really. No. I’m not.

MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: Ok,

ok. We have this habit here. A ritual. For newcomers, you

know. To lick my boots. To know who’s the boss here. Is that

clear?

MR.M: Yes, sure. Absolutely, Sure.

MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: Come

on!

(Mr.M is licking his boots in ecstasy.)

* Although it might seem unbelievable, this passage is inspired by real events. Similar

conditions and vocabulary were described in one article about Kaufl and. „‘Th at’s  very

steep. At checkouts there are c…, at counters there are bitches, in the store idiom, cretins

and retards… in the storage d..‘ rememers X. and she blushes.“ (Denik.cz, 17 April 2010,

http://jablonecky.denik.cz/podnikani/prace-v-retezci-jen-pro-otrle20100416.html.)

410

And do not dare, do not dare to join the fucking unions. Th en

not with the mop, no. With you. Me. Me with you. Will wipe

the fl oors, with your fucking face, the entire hall. You fuck!

MR.M: (In ecstasy.) Yes, yes, the entire hall. Yes. And have you

noticed? Have you seen the little sparkles, of joy. In his eyes.

Yes? Th at was something, wasn’t it? So I immediately joined

the unions.

23.Mr.M meets the authority of his dreams and is in ecstasy.

Th e audience is experiencing the ecstasy too.

MR.M: Here, I’d like to put the record straight, a bit. You know,

things, like. You must understand, you know, that I am no

fucking unionist, no. Although I was elected, you know, to

be the leader. You know, the union leader. Local unions. You

know. But, let’s leave it for later. Now, I’d like to… tell you,

something. Something that, you know… should be said. In

a broader context. You know, politics. Sure, politics. I’ve never

been interested. No, never. But suddenly, suddenly, it became

important. So, you know. Simply, you know. How shall I begin.

Well, there was a crisis, you know. A crisis.

DOMINATRIX LAURA: We must agree on a safeword. Fill in the

questionnaire. To satisfy the customer. What do you prefer, then?

MR.M: (Laughing again.) A crisis, you know. A terrible crisis. Banks

were going bankrupt. Th en states went bankrupt as they were

saving the banks, you know. Debts, bankruptcy, humbug, you

know. And then I had a dream again.

(Again the man with the face of the boss of Kaufl and, on the coach

box.)

Good dreams they were. Again. Sort of. You see? Do you

see, the change? Well, yes. Yes. A diff erent person on the coach

411

box. A boss, sure, too. But the one from Kaufl and. How good

he was with the whip. At whipping, you know. I could trot

freely. Pure joy. And then. All of a sudden. Suddenly.

(Th e man on the coach box changes his mask for the face of Miroslav

Kalousek, Czech Finance Minister.)

You see? Th is change? You see? Th e face, new, brand new.

All of a sudden. And back again.

(Th e boss of Kaufl and again.)

A face. A new face began to jump in my dream. Th e coach

box, I  mean. And into my dream. In my dream. At fi rst,

I didn’t understand. I was saying, “Who the fuck is that? Who

is it?” And I said to myself, “Where have I seen him?” Such

questions. Such questions in my head I had. But when he

cracked the whip, that was something. Really. So wonderful to

trot. To gallop. Freely. Such beauty. And I didn’t know, didn’t

know why? Who is he? From where? Do I know him? From

where? And he always, always cracked the whip. Cracked

it. As if I heard some silent word. A silent word. Cuts, cuts,

cuts. Th e whip was making cuts. No cracking, cutting. As if,

in my dream, on my back. Sometimes even I had a feeling.

I  had. Th at it is not a  whip. But a  pen. A  very sharp pen.

Sharpened even. On my back. It was so beautiful, you know.

And then I met him. Met him. On TV. When I was wiping the

fl oor, in the electronics department. In Kaufl and. With the

motherfuckers at electronics. I didn’t watch TV otherwise.

I don’t have time. Do you? I had six jobs, you know. Only.

I had to pay the rent. Social and health, insurance. You have

to toil. When you earn a thousand or two, only. And also the

charity. You donate some money. From time to time. To Bill

Gates, sometimes to the Rockefellers. Or Bakala, Kellner,

steel magnates, you know. Because they need more money.

Time for TV? Nonsense. Why time for TV? Or politics? For

elections, why? But then. Th en it was diff erent. Th at was really

something. Really something.

412

MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: Th e cuts will aff ect

all sections, except the Ministry of Defence. If we don’t do

anything, the defi cit won’t be 5,3% GDP, as we promised to

our Czech and world public in our convergent programme,

but cca 5,8 GDP.

MR.M: Beauty. Sheer beauty. You see? You see? Even the world

public. He spoke like a book, he did. And how good he was

with the whip. So good.

MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: And then fi nally

comes the third phase, the announced system reforms, such

as the reform of pensions, welfare, tax reform and many

more. Th ese reforms require brand new legislation, whose

preparation and approving will take a long time. I suppose that

the Parliament will discuss the required laws in the year 2012.

(Mr.M. is almost in ecstasy.)

MR.M: No. No. Sooner. Sooner. Right now. Let it be now. Right now.

MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: By similar

parametric changes, because this is not a system change, we save

approximately 11 billion crowns on welfare in the year 2011.

MR.M: Yes, yes. Save, Mirek, save! But not only 11 billion, but 20! 30

billion! And make system changes! System changes!

MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: We need to save 12

billion. Th at’s one percent of the budget. And each household

knows that it is possible to save one percent of the budget.

MR.M: Yes, it is! It is! Mirek. Yes, I know. But that’s not enough,

Mirek! Oh yes, Mirek. Th at was his name.

MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: With the current

system of mandatory expenses we are directly heading

downwards. Th e Greek way.

MR.M: Yes, you’re right, Mirek. Th at’s not possible. No Greece! No

Greece! My God, no!

MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: If we want to

maintain the excellent level of Czech healthcare, we must be

able to fi nance it without borrowing tens of billions every year.

413

MR.M: No, we mustn’t do that. No. No. No borrowing! No borrowing!

We will manage. Without borrowing. And we will save more,

more!

(Mr.M. is in ecstasy is rolling about on the fl oor, he is jumping and

levitating.)

MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: No one is the sole

bearer of truth.

MR.M: Yes, you are, Mirek, you are! Sure, you are! Teasing. You just

want to tease me, again, don’t you? Just teasing!

MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: I  believe that

raising taxes for the high-income brackets in the time of crisis,

and in our case also after the crisis, leads only to another

recession.

MR.M: Yes, it does. Yes! It does!

MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: Th ere is only

a  certain amount of money. If we spend it on mandatory

expenses, we cannot aff ord to spend it on investments. You

cannot eat what you spend. We either spend or invest.*

MR.M:(In absolute ecstasy.) We can’t spend, Mirek, no, we can’t.

Mirek. Oh! Stop, Mirek, stop. Stop it! A postal order. I received

a postal order. And he signed it. In my post box. A huge debt.

How much we owe. Everyone of us. And HE signed it. And

I, when I looked at it, you know, I just pissed myself. Pissed

myself with fear.

MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: Th ere are more

of us than you think!

MR.M: Oh no! No! Th is too! Yes! No! No! Yes. Not you. Not you! You

authorities! Authorities! More of us! Us! Us!

MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: Th ere are more

of you than you think!

MR.M: Th e safeword! Th e safeword! Adele. Not Adele! Cassandra!

No! Not her either. So fuck, what are you fucking children

* Th ese are authentic statements of Mr. Kalousek.

414

called?! (Totally exhausted. With pleasure, obviously.) You

Catholics! You naughty Catholics!

24.Mr.M has realised that his mission is possible.

(Mr.M is totally exhausted with pleasure he has just experienced.)

MR.M: Th e nights. Th ese nights. Simply impossible to describe.

You know. A totally new dimension. Yes, it was. You know.

I wasn’t, as I realized, the only one. Th ere was one more. Also

a Catholic. Naughty Catholics! As they have their Christ. On

the cross. But no, not them. Strange. But the other one also

wasn’t bad. But he was more feeble, sort of plain. Just compare.

(Man on the coach box with the face of Petr Nečas, Czech Prime

Minister, with an impotent expression.)

MAN WITH THE FACE OF MR. NEČAS: Gee-up!

(He cracks the whip feebly. It just spanks feebly. Maybe not even this.)

MR.M: Shameful, just shameful. But Mirek, on the contrary.

MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: Geeeee-up!!!!!

MR.M: What a  sound! Th at’s  something! Something completely

diff erent. Even pins and needles in my scrotum. You know, in

my scrotum. You too, right? You feel it too? It is impossible

not to feel it. Th is. Okay, then. Well, yes. Th ey were a team.

Th ey still are! But Mirek. Mirek is simply number one. And

what’s most important, most important, is that I realized that

I am not alone. No, not at all. “Th ere are more of you than you

think.” Yes, more of us. Us! And won. We won the elections.

Th irty-six percent. Th irty-six! And in Prague! In Prague it was

fi fty-one! Fifty-one percent! Th at was something! Th at was

a message about my mission. Th at it is not impossible. My

mission. My mission is possible. Th ere are more of us than you

think. Th at’s it. Really. Don’t be ashamed. Don’t be ashamed

415

because of this. My dear citizens of Prague. It’s  in us. Yes,

it’s in us. Th at’s it. Only some of you, some of us, still don’t

know about it.

MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: Geeee-up!!!!!

MR.M: (Begins to trot and gives a long sigh of pleasure.) Aaaaaaaaah!

25.Mr.M. continues stronger than ever before.

MR.M: You see. You understand. Why shouldn’t anyone understand,

this, right. Easy, you know. I had to, simply, had to join the

unions. I had to. What else. No, not only, not only because

of the wiping, not only that. Wiping the entire fl oor with my

face. My face. Well, a bit, yes, sure. But the main thing was, it

was something. Something diff erent. Something higher. Th ey

didn’t understand where their place is. You know. And for

their good, their own good, they needed an explanation. Th ey

even wanted to strike. Well, yes. To strike even. Do you get it?

So I joined them. I joined the unions.

UNION LEADER: We’re glad. Really glad to have you. Now. With

us. Th at you’ve decided to join us. Because things are getting

tough now. Knives are out for us! Well yes, they are after our

throats. After us, unionists. And people are leaving, they

are leaving us. Th ey’d rather leave us to have peace. You see.

Peace. Nonsense. Th ere won’t be any peace. Like slaves. Th ey’ll

be like slaves. Slaves.

MR.M: Sure, like slaves. Nonsense. Sheer nonsense.

UNION LEADER: So it’s good. It’s good that you are joining us. I’m

glad that you’ve joined us. We need people. Intelligent people.

Educated. And you even have the school leaving exam. Good.

Th e others are just a  rabble. From Ukraine. Or Romania,

Slovakia. Th ey are not into unions. No, they’re not. Th ey don’t

416

care. Th ey are after us. Even some of our members don’t care.

Totally. Not you. You’re a  real man. Really. I  appreciate it.

A good man. Here are just women, stupid women. I appreciate

it. I really do. A Vice-Chairman. What do you think? Would

you like it? Th e Vice-Chairman of the unions?

MR.M: Oh yes, great. It’d be great. And so I  became the Vice-

Chairman. And the people suddenly started to come to me.

Secretly. Th ey were telling me, for example, when I was wiping.

SHOP ASSISTANT: So, how is it goin’, Mr. Vice-Chairman?

MR.M: Th ank you, fi ne.

SHOP ASSISTANT: You know, Vice-Chairman. I have kids, you

know. Th ey’re sick, you know. And that bastard doesn’t want

to give me a day off . Fucking bastard! Our boss, I mean. Says

I have no right. No right he says. What should I do? What

should I do? It’s torture. Torture. I am at work and I’m dying.

With fear, you know. Worried sick about the kids. What

should I do? My husband. He’s working too. During the day.

And my mother is not well, too bad. What should I do? What?

MR.M: Well, sister…

SHOP ASSISTANT: I’m not your sister.

MR.M: Sorry, sure. I got it from being with the Catholics. Perhaps.

From them. You must understand, the boss. He means well.

Really he does.

SHOP ASSISTANT: What?

MR.M: Has it ever occurred to you that the boss has his kids too?

Even your boss. He has children. Small, helpless, and their

mother, very sad, she died. Isn’t it sad? It is, very sad. And he

must be here. Six orphans at home. Six! Orphans! And three

of them are sick. Seriously sick. Plague, cholera, cancer. Such

diseases. And he is here. He must take care of us. Take care

of everyone. He worries, all the time, just worries. About us,

about the orphans. And you blame him. For stupid things. Be

honest. Stupidities.

SHOP ASSISTANT (Starting to cry.): I didn’t know that. I didn’t..

417

MR.M: You see. You see. Wrath. Human wrath. You see what it’s like.

See! Everyone is selfi sh. Just thinks of himself. And the other?

His pain? Doesn’t exist. No. Everyone would just feather his

nest. And exploit the others. Th e others? Th em? What do you

know about them? Nothing. You know nothing!

SHOP ASSISTANT: I  didn’t know that. (She bursts into tears.)

Stupid of me, to blame him. To blame him for … and he, he,

instead…

(She runs away in tears.)

MR.M: Young mothers, you know. Th ey’re oversensitive. Well,

and then I  was speaking at the meetings. You know. And

I was elected, as the leader, you know. In Kaufl and. I became

popular. Very popular.

(FORMER) UNION LEADER: People! Don’t you understand?

Shits, he treats you like shits. And you trust him. Like a herd

of vermin. Vermin. You’re stupid. You are all stupid.

MR.M: You know, the former Union Leader was a bit angry. Very sad,

he was. Th at he is no longer the leader. But people understood.

SHOP ASSISTANT: What’s the problem, former leader? He speaks

well. What’s your problem? You just grumble, all the time. You

see everything in bad light, all the time.

(FORMER) UNION LEADER: Shut the fuck up, you bitch! You

don’t understand anything at all.

SHOP ASSISTANT: I do, I do understand. But you, you don’t.

(FORMER) UNION LEADER: You don’t understand!

SHOP ASSISTANT: You don’t understand that our boss, he has six

orphans, six orphans at home. Th ey’re sick. He must take care

of them. Th e general director, of Kaufl and, is on a wheel chair.

A paralytic. A quadriplegic. Th ere are many people like that,

in Kaufl and, in the headquarters. Don’t you fi nd it stupid? To

be against them? Like this? You should look after them. Look

after them. What do they have from life? You. You are healthy.

And them? Poor souls. We work for them. So that they have

418

at least something. You should understand. You really should.

It’s important. To be humane. Humane.

MR.M: You know, people started to understand, sort of. To

understand that grumbling is for nothing, for nothing. And

that suff ering is right. Th e right way. And we even went to

the boss. To give him our proclamation. He was screaming

at us, you know. At fi rst. But when he heard. When he heard

that there’d be no strike and that we understood how poor

Kaufl and is in the crisis. On the market. Crisis etc. Th at he has

debts. And that we, for the children’s sake, give up anything.

He was so excited he gave us a hug. Us. Well, suddenly he was

happy. It began to look nice, there. Some of the weaker ones,

left, when they lowered the salaries, sometimes. Somewhere

else. Or at check-outs, or at storage, some died. But they died

in happiness. And the others knew that it is for the future,

as Mirek said, because the future is important. No wasteful

spending. Th ey knew they brought the sacrifi ce. Th ere is no

other way. Because the crisis. Is bad, very bad. Bad. And no

one is to blame, no. Maybe some leftists. Perhaps. And then,

some of them, in my opinion, began to enjoy it even.

26.Mr.M reveals his simple recipe for life.

MR.M: It was joy. Pure joy. With people like that. To meet them

everyday. Really. But mainly, mainly I was enjoying myself.

My God, I really was. In the past, it had never occurred to

me that a man could be so happy. Th at something like this

is possible. You know. To experience. Not even in a dream.

I was toiling in the ad agency till I was exhausted, all the time,

more and more. Th en dashed off to Kaufl and, right away.

To wipe the fl oors. Th en to the bank. To the counter. I also

419

worked as a sales representative, for Vodafone. Was running

from fl at to fl at with the new tariff s, forcing people to buy

better tariff s. Th ey were always worse than the old ones, that

was the point. No convenience, no convenience for them, that

is bad for them. It wasn’t so great. No, smaller convenience.

Smaller and smaller. To make them understand. What’s true

satisfaction and meaning, yes, the meaning of life, you know.

Simultaneously I was distributing leafl ets, before the elections.

And I was persuading, explaining to people that they should

vote. Yes, yes, we can have a  more cost-saving state. And

sooner than you think. Because of tradition, responsibility,

prosperity. And suff ering. Th ese are the pillars, basic pillars

of prosperity. Th e beauty of suff ering. As cheap as possible.

No squandering. Not like Greece. Th at’s most important. Not

like Greece. And also who they should vote for, you know.

I was telling them. Th ey should vote for Mirek’s party, you

know. With this nice old granddad, this mascot. What was his

name. Schwarznegger… or Schweineberg… Heinekken or…

something like that. You know, Mirek did very well when he

chose him. I was also distributing Peter’s leafl ets. He’s such

a simpleton, but his programme is good. Almost the same

as Mirek’s. So I was doing all this. All this. And also, not to

forget, the job at the building site was also very nice, very nice.

I was pretending to be a Ukrainian. Because the Ukrainians

always do well, really well. On building sites. Th eir salaries

need to be lowered, a bit. Th ey earn too much. Th at’s obvious

also. Well yes, I was doing fi ne, just fi ne. But only this one

little problem. Th at I had too many jobs, you know, a bit too

much, to do, you know. Well yes, only part-time jobs, but still.

None of them were full-time jobs, none. But I worked as if it

were full-time. But still. I didn’t sleep, no, no time for sleep.

Th ere was no time, but there were no dreams either. Actually,

I began to miss, Mirek, you know. In my dreams. Because

Mirek was really good, in my dreams, very very good at it.

420

Not that I was unhappy, no. I was very happy. But not enough

strength, I didn’t have enough strength. But I had my will,

will, you know. To overcome this. And where there’s a will,

there’s a way, as I was saying to everyone. In Kaufl and, in KB

Bank, on the building site. Th ere is a way. Always, there is

always a way. And so. And so there was a way, even for me.

Later. It was so simple. So simple that it hadn’t occurred to

anyone. Almost. Very simple. How to manage everything. And

to have two or three hours of sleep. Two or three hours. It was

simple. Absolutely simple. I just made my day longer. I made

it last for 48 hours. It was so simple.

27.Mr.M’s eff ort is appreciated. He has been nominated.

MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: (He

whistles.) Come here, you fuck.

MR.M: …called one day, with respect, the boss from Kaufl and.

MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: Listen,

you arsehole. You’ve been nominated. For Kaufl and. For the

H.R. Olympics. Human Resources, you know, you’re going.

MR.M: What? What’s that?

MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: Have

you been asked anything, you fuck?!

MR.M: No, no, I haven’t.

MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: So

shut the fuck up!

MR.M: (He is excited) Aaaah.

MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: You’re

fl ying tomorrow. To Singapore. You’ve been nominated as

the greatest dickhead who could manage it, you know. Big

companies have nominated their greatest employees, greatest

421

dickheads, and sent them there. Under the patronage of U.N.

and U.N.I.C.E.F. But it’s  only for the developed countries,

where the children could labour again. Th e states had given

some grants. Television companies too, CBS, NBC, BBC, also

NOVA. You’ll even be on NOVA TV. Th ey’ll make a reality

show, about it. You’ll be in it. So, tomorrow. You’re fl ying. Is

that clear?!

MR.M: Yes, boss. Yes.

MAN WITH THE MASK OF THE BOSS OF KAUFLAND: Come

here, now. I’ll wipe the fl oor, the entire hall, with your fucking

face, you unionist cunt. (He gives him a friendly punch on the

back and starts laughing.)

MR.M: (Sighing excitedly.) Yes, yes.

28.Mr.M has a bad premonition.

MR.M: And so I fl ew. I just did. Because you must listen to orders,

you know. You must. Obviously. Th e boss said, “You’re fl ying!”

And I did. What else. Th at’s obvious. But it wasn’t… It wasn’t

entirely good, you know. Th ere was something wrong. You

know. I was looking forward to it, yes. But. A premonition.

I had a strange premonition. Th at something bad, something

bad is going to happen. To me. And that although I’d enjoy

myself, and I really could enjoy it. Th e Olympics. But that in

the end, it wouldn’t be so good. So that was my premonition.

But in the morning, I got on the plane. And fl ew to Singapore.

29.Mr.M is driven by an enormous power, perhaps it is

the power of the universe.

422

MR.M: Immediately, immediately after I  arrived in Singapore,

I  immediately forgot. About the premonition. Such fame.

So many cameras. Th ere were so many. And the press. TV

presenters. Politicians. Everyone. Everyone was there, you

know. So many human resources. From all over the world.

Russians, Japanese, Brits, Germans, some blacks, Chinese.

Th e whole world, you know. Th e whole world gathered there.

Beauty. Pure beauty. As if the whole world could understand

each other now. No more useless quarrels. No. Not at all. As

if everyone could make an agreement. And right from the

airport. Right away, I was enjoying myself. It. With scourge.

Th ey were rushing us. In the vans and then to the press

conference. Th ere. Th ere it was also nice. Very nice. Th ey

asked us. Th ey asked questions. For example.

RANDEEP RAMESH: Randeep Ramesh, Th e Guardian. And don’t

you mind being treated like dirt?

MR.M: And I always said. No, on the contrary. Well, it is the nice

thing, about it, you know. And them? Th ey were simply

amazed. Or, for example.

WOLF BLITZER: Wolf Blitzer, CNN. Are you ready for this? For

what’s ahead of you? Because it seems that it won’t be easy.

MR.M: And I was about to answer, but the other guy was faster.

Such a small, sinewy Chinaman. He said that we are ready.

Because he had been practicing. And that Th e Party and great

China will give him strength. Terrible, isn’t it? Such nonsense.

I was empowered by something else. Something completely

diff erent. And I knew right away, right away I knew, that it

wasn’t going to be easy with this Chinaman. No. And it began

right after the press conference.

Just take the accommodation, for example. It wasn’t easy

for some people, you know. Not for me, obviously, not for me.

A piece of cake, for me. Th ey took us to the hotel. But it was

somewhere in the outskirts of Singapore. To some cells, small,

narrow cells. We were sleeping on a concrete fl oor. And the

423

cockroaches and rats, there were so many. Really. Even I got

scared, a bit. But, on the other hand, I was enjoying myself,

when they kicked us into the cells. Sure, I was enjoying it.

I did. But, you won’t believe it, only in the fi rst round, the

accommodation was the fi rst round, you know, some gave

up. Fifteen people gave up. Actually everyone from western

Europe. Plus the American. Queer fi sh, you know. Th ese

Europeans. And Americans, the Americans too. Weird. And

we were locked for two days there. In there. And the pigswill

they were giving us. As if someone took a  shit in it. Well,

it was very nice there. And the third day, they took us out.

And immediately I saw that out of sixty of us, there were only

thirty. Immediately only thirty. And it was just the fi rst round.

Th e Chinaman was there too. Obviously. Th e Party and great

China were helping him, you know, so why wouldn’t he do it?

And then, right away, the second round. Th is time to

a hypermarket. A huge hypermarket. It was as huge as a  ..

as a… it was just so huge. Th ey took us to the check-outs.

Immediately. All of us. And said that we should ring up the

goods. Th e fastest was the winner. And that we should be

ringing up for 24 hours. Th e whole day. Without a  break.

Without food or drink. Or the WC. You know, it was

something, something, for me, you know. Something for

me. But the best part, I didn’t know till I sat down. We all sat

down. Th en it began. Th ey put the beepers, or what do you call

them, on maximum volume. 150 decibels, at least, somebody

said. Th en, you know, it was really loud. No joke. It was no

joke. I even pissed myself a bit. With pleasure, obviously, you

know. With pleasure. No one noticed. Luckily. Because, you

know, they had it really well thought out. You know, nine of us

dropped out within the fi rst hour. Th e fi rst hour. Some even

fainted. Some just got up and ran away. Away they ran. Th ey

couldn’t even catch them, so fast did they run. Sissies, you

know. But the Eastern Europeans held on. Sort of. Th ey sort

424

of held on. All except the Polish woman. And also the Asians,

obviously, they did well, except the Japanese guy. Japan, it is

not the real Asia, you know. Everything was going well. People

were dropping out or collapsing. And then the Polish woman.

Th at was a little complication. Th ere’s the rub, as they say.

She suddenly jumped out of her chair. And started to scream.

Terrible screaming. I  got scared, really. She ran straight

into an enormous, really enormous, column. And smashed

her head to pieces. I had a hard row to hoe because of her.

Because I watched her and I had to catch up. Catch up with

the Chinese swine. He was toiling real hard. But I got him.

Finally I got him. Because you know what? Because I realized

for the fi rst time something I hadn’t known before. In the past,

you know, that when something hurts, something hurts, such

as ears, for example, at the check-outs, or a bladder, urinary

bladder, because we weren’t allowed, no, not even a drop.

So when something really hurts, then, it, really, gives you

strength, actually. Terrible strength. Th e more pain, the more

strength I have, you know. So I was speeding up, more and

more. Because of the loss caused by the Polish woman, and

her brain, on the column, I managed to catch up. Faster and

faster. Th e pain was so great that I was, actually, you know,

feeling pleasure. As never before. You can’t compare it with

Kaufl and. Or the ad agency, no way. It was weak. Just nothing.

But there, at the check-out, when the Chinaman with his Party

and great China was far behind me. I realized. I realized that

the power, the power of suff ering, the pain that is streaming

from suff ering, that it is not only from suff ering, but from

the cosmos, it is the power of the universe. It originates in

the universe. And so suddenly, suddenly I won, a sweeping

victory it was. Th e second round. Everyone, everyone at

once, suddenly wanted to know where the Czech Republic

actually is. And I said that it’s in the heart of Europe. Th ere it

is. A small, tiny country. But the people are great, truly great.

425

Because they know how to use the mysterious, enormous

power, of the universe. We know how to use it. We are good

at such things. And we want, mainly, we desire, to know. And

therefore we know. Also we vote for Mirek with the granddad,

that, Schanzenstein, and Peter as well, you know, we vote for

them.

30.Mr.M had to work really hard eventually,

because it’s no joke with great China.

MR.M: And so it went, you know. Th ere was something everyday.

Th ere were eighteen of us. From the supermarket. Decreasing,

you know, decreasing. Th ey had it really well thought out for

us, you know, I’ll say this for them. It was really tough. Th e

next day we had to pull the wagons. Alternative power, you

know. Th e little girl from Africa, somewhere, she dropped out.

From Zambia or Ethiopia or something. She couldn’t move

it an inch with the wagon. And the next day, into the mines.

To dig coal with jackhammers. Really deep it was. Heat, you

know, forty degrees and fi ve tons of coal we were supposed

to mine. Dying like fl ies, they were. And that bastard, that

fucking Chinaman, was catching up, you know. In mining, you

know. I wasn’t good at it, at mining. And he won, the bastard.

And I was working fucking hard, my sinews were breaking,

you know. My hands tingling. Because of the jackhammer,

you know. Even at night I was still vibrating. Blood on hands,

streaming, you know. As I was loading the coal. Beauty, pure

beauty. It was tough. A huge battle. It seemed that there’d be

a battle. Between the small Chinaman and me, a small Czech.

A small Chinaman from a really great China, fucking big, you

know. What he could bear, unbelievable. I began to respect

him, you know.

426

Th e assembly line. It was next. How fast it was. It cut the

Ukrainian’s head. And the arms of the Brazilian guy too, just

under his shoulders. He was funny. Just stood there. Without

his arms. Like a fountain, or something like that, he looked,

the ones we have, you know, the fountains on squares. Sort of.

But ours are made of stone, obviously.

And then. Total decrease, you know. Absolute decrease.

Just two of us, after that discipline. After that. Th at Olympic

discipline. Russia. Morocco, Th ailand, Lithuania and others.

Other countries. Dropped out. All of them. At this discipline.

Th e liquidation of waste, toxic waste. We had to. No tools,

you know. Th ey gave us no tools. Not even instructions.

Why tools, right? Too expensive. Th e employer does not

have money for it, you know, the crisis etc. Very poor they

are, all of them. Th ey just put a barrel in front of me. Still

smoking it was. And bubbling. Get rid of it! But how? What

was I supposed to do? So I started to eat it. Guzzle it. Drink

it up. What else? I  had a  momentary feeling that I  was

dissolving. Just dissolving. And that fucking Chinese idiot, he

aped it after me, fucker. Eating it he was, and drinking it up.

Th at shit. Th e others rather withdrew. Or they were eaten,

like, you know. It dissolved them. You know, like porridge,

he looked, the Romanian guy. Or the Russian. He lasted

long, that one. Before turning into porridge. Not to mention

that they were measuring and testing, you know, everything

that was falling from us, you know, shit, vomit, you know.

As we were shitting and vomiting, they were measuring the

toxicity. How we managed to eliminate the toxicity. And so we

eliminated, and eliminated. Th e Chinaman and me. Not the

others. Although they were aping, too. And so, so only I stayed

with the Chinaman. Only one point, one point ahead of him.

Drama, fucking drama it was. Whole nations watching TV. So

silent they were, the nations. Such drama. So dramatic it was.

427

31.Mr.M is experiencing a terrible crisis.

MR.M: And then, then it was, you know. Th e D-day. Th e most

important day. Of the decision. Who. Which of us. Me or the

Chinaman. Th e Chinaman or me. Fucking hard, you know,

very tough. Th e last round. A show, it was a show. Sponsored

by Nike. Th e company, Nike. Th ey lent us their factory. For

the last round. It was free. Because the sewers were holding

a hunger strike. At that time. 13 hours was too much for them.

Every day, you know. So they took us there. When they brought

the hungry sewers out from the factory, I don’t know why they

had to hold the hunger strike in the factory. Why not at home.

You know, the sewers. So they brought us there. Th e Chinaman

and me. From the hotel. Or what was it? We were frozen, as

we were sleeping on the concrete. Stomach aches. From the

shit they gave us. And the toxic waste, a bit, too, that we were

eating the other day. Cameras everywhere again. Cheerleaders

also, half naked. We were supposed to sew pockets. Sew some

pockets. It didn’t seem so hard. No, it didn’t, at fi rst. And in

the audience, there were all the big shots, you know. Kings

and presidents. Directors. Corporate directors. Th ere were

speeches, you know. About how important the Olympics are.

Because people will see. Th at where there’s a will, there’s a way.

As I was always saying too. Th is. So we had to sew the pockets.

On trousers. So many. For fi ve days. Th e contest was for fi ve

days. 23 hours a day. To make them see. Th e lazy sewers. From

Malaysia, or somewhere. Th at it’s possible, that there is a way,

when there’s a will. One hour of sleep is enough. Sure, why

not? And suddenly, suddenly I saw Mirek. On the tribune.

Peter was there too, with the expression of his, you know, as

always, he looked as if he was smelling something terrible.

Well, that’s him, you know. But Mirek, he was there. Th at was

the most important. For me. My heart even, started thumping.

428

All the beauty, you know, all the beautiful things, I experienced

with him, I recalled everything. And a new power, new power

entered into me and I felt suddenly, that, that I mustn’t lose,

just mustn’t lose this battle.

And then we sat. At the sewing machines. And a starting

shot. Th ree, two, one, go! And off we went. You know,

I hadn’t done it before, so there was a  little problem. Even

the Chinaman didn’t seem too good with the machine. So at

fi rst, it started slowly. Th e limits, we couldn’t keep up with the

limits. No way. And every hour, for all the pockets we didn’t

manage, an electric jolt in the back of the chair, you know.

I always contorted myself. Absolutely. Wonderful, beautiful,

it was. And the fi rst day it ended in a  tie. Th e Chinaman

was perhaps two or three pockets ahead. But the limits, we

managed to keep the hourly limits. At the end, of the day,

you know. Both of us. 130 sewn pockets. Per hour, you know.

It’s not easy, you know. And at six a.m. we lay down under the

machines and had a short nap. After an hour. Another shot.

And the machine was on. Th e needle was moving so fast. As

if it were racing. One pocket, ten pockets, one hundred and

fi fty pockets. A gong at the end of the hour shift. My fi ngers

hurt. Awful pain, you know. And my back. It hurt like hell too.

And then the power, again, from the universe. It was entering

me. But also the Chinaman. He also was getting power from

somewhere, as if. From his Party, probably. From where else?

Because he didn’t look to be, like me, you know. He was more,

like, stubborn, you know. He looked a bit fanatical, you know.

Like that he must, despite the suff ering. Terrible suff ering.

Although he even couldn’t straighten his back in the evening.

On the fl oor. Not even able to fall asleep. With pain. Th at

he, like, doesn’t realize the beauty of it. Th e beauty of work.

Sometimes I glanced at the tribune. But Mirek, he was not

there anymore. It wasn’t good, anymore. Because, you know,

I  was disappointed, a  bit. A  support, you know, I  needed

429

support. And there was none. No. Suddenly. Th e Chinese

swine, suddenly he was ahead of me. Th e second day, thirty

more pockets than me. Th e third day even more. Because,

you know, I sewed my fi ngers. And my eyes, you know, were

swollen, they were. Th e dust, you know, probably. Th ey hurt.

But it was beautiful. Obviously. I couldn’t see much. Nothing.

So swollen were the eyes. Like this. (His eyes become swollen.)

But I solved it. I managed it, because, you know, I had matches.

In my pocket. By accident. And so I put them between my

eyelids. Swollen eyelids. Like this. And I went on. On. On. But

the Chinaman was still ahead of me. More and more. At the end

of the day. Th e third day, he was 300 pockets ahead. Terrible.

Terrible. And when I went to sleep, on the fl oor. Sad. Very

sad I was. Really. To win. You know, it was impossible to win.

I thought. And fell asleep, very, very, restless sleep. And then…

32.Mr.M is in doubt about his horse identity.

Th e Anthropomorphic Horse tells him not to have doubts.

MR.M: You know. Sometimes I have a feeling. Th at I am not enough

horse. Th at it is beyond my strength.

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Yeah, I know this.

MR.M: Th at perhaps it is too much for me, you know.

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Yeah, it happens sometimes.

MR.M: And that fucking Chinaman is going to win.

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Well, you know, these Chinese.

Small, but skilful. But, old mate, I’m telling you, they might

look it, a bit, but they are no horses, no. Th ey really aren’t.

Th ey don’t know what their real strength is. Th ey don’t know.

MR.M: Really?

430

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Come on, I  was joking. Th e

Chinese toil hard as horses. You have no chance.

MR.M: What?

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Well, you don’t.

MR.M: And I do, you bet!

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Bullshit. You don’t have

a chance.

MR.M: I’ll show you. I’ll show you that I have a chance. I will rip the

Chinaman’s arsehole, you’ll see. Because I have something he

does not have.

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: Really?

MR.M: I have my mission. I have cosmic power. I have my Czech

Republic. I have my Mirek. And he doesn’t have Mirek, the

Chinaman. And I have my day! My working day! My 48-hour

work day.

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE: You see. Now, you’re ready.

Because you have your natural working day.

MR.M: Yes, I know, now. I am ready.

33.Th e Anthropomorphic Horse sings a victorious tango

and dances with Mr.M.

ANTHROPOMORPHIC HORSE:

So far you’ve got, my dear.

Many were shot, you’re still here.

Now the task you’ll complete,

My well-built black stead.

Rice is not grass,

And pain is not fame,

Party and China can kiss your ass.

431

Refrain:

You have your working day, of course,

You see, you’re a beautiful horse.

You know the origin of your power.

You know how to build a tower.

34.Mr.M gets his second wind.

MR.M: After this dream, after this dream, when the shot was fi red,

I jumped up and I knew. I knew I was going to win. Because

I suddenly had something the Chinaman didn’t have. I had my

day. My 48-hour day. And the Chinaman didn’t. And when

we fi nished sewing on the fi fth day. It was the seventh day for

me, you know. When we fi nally fi nished sewing. 500 pockets

more. 500 more I had. Although my hands were sewn criss-

cross. Here, here, and here. Sewn criss-cross. Yet. 500 pockets

more. And the Chinaman. He just dropped down silently and

died. No fucking use. His Party was of no fucking use. Great

China. For nothing. And I. I was the champion. Th e winner.

Th e greatest winner. Th e fl ourish of trumpets. People were

throwing confetti in the air. Women were stripping from their

bras. Bras in the air. Cheerleaders. Everyone was shaking hands

with me. Th e General Director of Kaufl and did arrive, on his

wheelchair. Pretending illness he was. Pat me on the back.

Th e Secretary General of the U.N., pat me on the back and

shook my hand. Th e Secretary General of U.N.I.C.E.F too. He

was sorry only because, because no child won. But he shook

my hand, heartily. Congratulated me. Well done boy, he said.

Th at I toil like a horse. I can toil like a horse. Yes, like a horse.

Finally. Mirek. Even Mirek shook my hand. And pat me on my

back. Imagine! Even Mirek. And we had a photograph taken,

432

together. Wonderful. And then he signed the photograph. For

me. Sheer beauty! Fucking beauty. Th e most beautiful beauty!

But all wasn’t as it seemed. Th e premonition, you know.

Th e premonition. I had. It was right.

And I protest! Protest! I protest because no human being

should be treated like this, like dirt. Like dirt, like shit. No,

it’s not possible. And I protest! Protest! Protest!

35.Mr.M in an undeserved hell.

MR.M: And then. Th en. My life turned into hell. Th ey made hell out

of my life. A villa, a huge villa, I won. In Monte Carlo. On the

Riviera. With a swimming pool. With servants. A limousine.

Th ey took me everywhere in a limo. Showing me. As the best

employee. Public discussions. Autographs. Th ey were showing

me. Exhibiting me. Accommodation in luxurious hotels, you

know. And when the unions, the unions wanted to lynch me,

you know, people in the streets, they gave me bodyguards.

I wanted to get back, you know, I thought I would just get

back to work. Because there was so much, so much that must

be, done, you know. But they said no. No way, forget it! Th at

I “had done my bit”, I “showed the others the right way”. And

that till the end of life I could just do nothing. Just enjoy the

luxury, you know. Don’t have to move a fi nger anymore. Not

even to move a fi nger. How I wished, oh how I wished, the

bodyguards would, you know, would not pay attention, and

I could slip away. In the street. To be beaten by the unionist,

you know. Fucking angry they were. To be kicked by them.

But no, nothing. Well, I still could change the world. I still

could. But for whom? For whom, fuck! When I couldn’t enjoy

433

it, couldn’t. No. What use of such world? Th ey brought me

to companies, to factories. And they were saying, see, how

far he got? You can too. Be like him. Even you. If you work

hard. As he did. As he did. Twelve, sixteen, thirty hours a day.

You can do it. Th is. And then audience with the politicians.

With Mirek, for example. He even, he even said, to me, such

nastiness:

MAN WITH THE MASK OF MR.KALOUSEK: Welcome to the

club, mate. You did just fi ne.

MR.M: Th at’s what he said, he did. To me. Mirek. Terrible, isn’t it?

Awful, just fucking awful. In the club. I was in the club. But

in the wrong one. Not the one I wanted, you know, not the

one I wanted to be in. Never wanted to. I wanted something

completely diff erent, my whole life. Something diff erent.

Not to lie on the beach. Why do nothing? Why have your

ass driven in a limo? Or in Maseratti. What for? I don’t want

it. I  just don’t. And then the dream. No more dreams. Th e

dreams have disappeared. Well, actually they haven’t. But,

nothing, you know, nothing. Absolutely nothing.

(An empty buggy appears behind Mr.M. Th e whip lies on the fl oor.)

So sad they were. Th e dreams. So sad. No more freedom.

No gallop in the countryside. Unleashed. No whip. Not even

the cutting of the sharp pen. Absolutely nothing. Nothing.

Absolute, total, ultimate, nothing.

(He breaks down. He is silent for a long time. And then quietly.)

I just protest! I protest! Protest! Protest! Protest! Protest!

Protest! Protest! Protest! Protest! Protest…

THE END

434

Milan Uhde

(1936)

Milan Uhde is Moravian writer,

dramatist and politician. He grew up

in a family where both parents were lawyers. In 1958 he graduated in

Czech and Russian studies at the (now) Masaryk University in Brno.

He became an editor for the important Brno monthly for literature,

art and criticism Host do domu (published 1954-1970). In 1972, his

name was placed on the list of banned writers. He wrote plays under

the names of other writers (most frequently for the theatre Divadlo

na provázku in Brno), published his work in samizdat, and also

worked with foreign theatres and radio and television companies.

Milan Uhde was one of the fi rst signatories of Charta 77. In 1989

he and other dissidents founded the publishing house Atlantis, and

he became its editor-in-chief. In 1990 he became the second post-

November, 1989 Minister of Culture. In 1992 he qualifi ed as a Senior

Lecturer at the Janáček Academy of Performing Arts in Brno. From

1992 to 1996 he represented the ODS (Civic Democratic Party) at

fi rst in the Czech National Parliament and then, after the division of

Czechoslovakia on January 1,1993 in the Chamber of Deputies. On

June 29, 1992 he was elected Speaker of the House.

In 1998, he retired from active politics and returned again to

his writing profession. His earlier work was republished by Atlantis,

however he did not hesitated to throw himself into new projects. For

his latest play Miracle in the Black House (Zázrak v černém domě,

2004), staged by Divadlo Na zábradlí, he was awarded the Alfréd

Radok Award 2007 for Best Czech Play of the Year. His awards also

include Egon Hostovský Award and Tom Stoppard Award for the

script of Lord of the Little Flames (Pán plamínků, 1977).

435

LIST OF PLAYS (selection):

• Král Vávra,1964; première 26. 2. 1964, Večerní Brno, Brno

• Výběrčí,1966; première 26. 3. 1990, Divadlo JELO, Prague

• Balada pro Banditu, 1975 (written under the name of the

theatre director Zdeněk Pospíšil); première 7. 4. 1975, Divadlo

na provázku, Brno

• Pohádka máje, 1976; première 23. 3. 1976, Divadlo na provázku,

Brno

• Pán plamínků,1977

• Velice tiché Ave, 1981; première 15. 5. 1990, Reduta, Prague

• Zvěstování aneb Bedřichu, jsi anděl, 1986; 18. 10. 1989, Malé

české divadlo, Praha (rehearsed reading), première 21. 6. 1990,

Divadlo F. X. Šaldy, Liberec

• Prodaný a prodaná, 1987 (written under the names of Petr

Oslzlý and Peter Scherhaufer); première 28. 1. 1987, Divadlo na

provázku, Brno

• Zázrak v černém domě, 2004; première 9. 3. 2007, Divadlo Na

zábradlí, Prague

• Nana, 2005; première 2. 4. 2005, Městské divadlo, Brno

 

TRANSLATED PLAYS (selection):

• Komedie s Lotem: German – Kommödie mit Lot

• Svědkové: English – Witnesses, German – Die Zeugnisse

• Výběrčí: French – Le Percepteur, German – Die Kassierer

• Parta: French – L’équipe, German – Der Trupe,

• Zubařovo pokušení: German – Zahnarzt in Versuchung

• Modrý anděl: French – L’ange bleu, German – Ein blauer Engel,

Italian – L’ angelo azzurro

• Balada pro banditu: Polish – Ballada dła bandyty

• Zvěstování aneb Bedřichu, jsi anděl: German – Die

Verständigung oder Friedrich, du bist ein Engel

436

• Zázrak v černém domě: Catalan – Miracle a  la casa negra,

Croatian – Čudo v kući jada, English – Th e Miracle at the Black

House, Russian – Čudo v čjornom dome

437

Milan Uhde

THE MIRACLE

AT THE BLACK HOUSEA Comedy in Two Parts

Translated by David Short

For their help with work on the text the author is grateful to Zdeněk

Hedvábný, who was the play’s literary adviser until his dying day, and

to Jolana Součková, Richard Erml and Ladislav Smoček.

Th is play is copyright and subject to protection under the Copyright Act.

Th is work may be used solely for dramaturgical purposes in association with

a production of it.

Any other use, in particular its duplication or making it available to third

parties, is subject to the sanctions of §152 of the Penal Code. In the event of any

intent to produce or otherwise use the play, you undertake to seek performing

rights to the work from Aura-Pont s.r.o.

All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the Aura-Pont Agency

Radlická 99, Praha 5, 150 00, Czech Republic, www.aura-pont.cz

Address for correspondance: Veslařský ostrov 62, 147 00 Praha 4

438

Characters:

Father, (Dr. Eduard Pompe), aged 80

Mother, (Dr. Heda Pompe, with maiden name of Polák), aged 78

Šárka, (their daughter), aged 48

Dušan, (their son), aged 54

Klára, (his wife), aged 48

Ivan, (the Pompes’ younger son), aged 50

Tatyana, (his wife), aged 28

Neighbour, (Mr. Křenař), aged 70

439

Part 1

“With almost any tale about a miracle it is generally clear that the

teller learned it only from hearsay. In my case, I was there myself. It

happened on the synagogue steps. A woman carrying a dead baby in

her arms dashed up to the rabbi: ‘Perform a miracle, Rabbi. Bring

him back to life.’

Th e miracle-working rabbi raises his eyes to the heavens and uttered

the magic words. Th e bystanders stood there rigid with excruciating

tension.”

“And the baby? Did it come to life?”

“No.”

“So there was no miracle.”

“Obviously. But I was there myself.”

An old joke.

(Enter Neighbor. He walks down the auditorium aisle wearing

dungarees and a work shirt and carrying a scythe over one shoulder;

he is whistling something out of tune in the manner of tone-deaf

people. He heads for the stage, but then just props his scythe against

the side of the proscenium and turns off through a side door. As his

whistling fades the curtain rises.

Setting: Th e hall of a  family house, designed in the style of 1930s

Functionalist architecture. Four doors lead off it: starting from the

left, the door to the downstairs bathroom and toilet (door 1); next to

it the door into the main body of the house (door 2); next, the door

to the cellar and workshop (door 3); then, furthest to the right, the

front door from the street and garden (door 4). Flush with the wall

between doors 2 and 3 is the white-painted door of a wooden built-in

cupboard. Above the set hangs a chandelier of a severe, geometrical

shape. At the front of the stage stands a coff ee table and three chairs,

also strictly Functionalist. Th e cupboard door, all the other doors and

the furniture show signs of having been in use for about fi fty years,

440

they are scratched and dingy. Beneath the ceiling and in the corners

are visible stains left by rain leaking through the roof.)

DUŠAN: (Unlocks door 4, pops the key in his pocket and enters the

hall.) No one around. Just as I expected.

KLÁRA: (Follows him in, quietly.) Good morning. (Puts a fi nger to

her lips.) Th ey’re still in bed.

DUŠAN: (Opens door 2 and calls inside.) In the name of the law!

KLÁRA: Don’t shout.

DUŠAN: (Shouts.) Aufmachen! Geheime Staatspolizei!

KLÁRA: (Under her breath.) “Don’t start feeding foie gras to the

canary.”

DUŠAN: What? For the hundred-and-tenth time of telling: I didn’t

know the foie gras had gone bad.

KLÁRA: Yes, you did. You just didn’t want to keep the bird. You said:

No canary! And I know why. First, because it fl ew in uninvited

and was an illegal resident. Second, because you didn’t want

to look after it. But mostly because you wanted to upset me

and the children. Th en it was up to me to smooth things over

and convince them what a good father you are.

DUŠAN: And aren’t I?

KLÁRA: Listen, let’s go home. You can’t do this.

DUŠAN: I am good. Like never before.

KLÁRA: Like last time. Th e family demon’s getting to you.

DUŠAN: You mean the Gestapo thing? All right. I admit it. It was

silly. No more Gestapo.

KLÁRA: And no more trying to impress.

DUŠAN: I won’t.

KLÁRA: You won’t forget why they invited us.

DUŠAN: Th e inheritance.

KLÁRA: Th ey’re being conciliatory. Th ey’ll tell you as much over

breakfast.

DUŠAN: And I’m to pretend that all’s well.

441

KLÁRA: And tell your father you’re sorry for what you said last

time. Will you?

DUŠAN: Mostly because you want me to.

KLÁRA: I thought you wanted to. But if I’ve got it wrong …

DUŠAN: Don’t worry. What we agreed still holds.

KLÁRA: And what if your dad pretends not to recognize you and

says “Good morning, Ivan lad”?

DUŠAN: Th at’s what I’m expecting.

KLÁRA: And if he asks: “Do you need something?”

DUŠAN: I’ll be furious. Because it means: Don’t expect anything

from me.

KLÁRA: See. Th ere’s no point.

DUŠAN: Th ere is. I’ll hold myself in check. I can cope.

NEIGHBOUR: (Knocks on door 4 from outside, opens it and stops

in the doorway.) G’d mornin’, Minister. Madame. I’m the

neighbor.

KLÁRA: We’ve met before. (Nudges Dušan, who is lost in thought.)

Dušan.

DUŠAN: Of course, Mr. Křenař. But I’m not a government minister

anymore.

NEIGHBOUR: I know, Minister. But I can’t stand to see it. People

keep asking how things are.

DUŠAN: Bad, Mr. Křenař. In due proportion with what we’re like.

NEIGHBOUR: (Hears footsteps the other side of door 3, quickly.)

Well, I won’t intrude. (Leaves through door 4, closing it behind

him.)

FATHER: (Enters through door 3, sees Dušan and Klára.) Good

morning, Ivan lad. What is it? Has something happened?

KLÁRA: Good morning, father. How are you?

FATHER: (Ignores Klára and addresses Dušan.) Do you need

something?

DUŠAN: We’re precisely on time. Nine to the minute.

FATHER: (He has heard: Fine day, innit.) Yes, yes, glorious. But then

it is the end of June.

442

DUŠAN: (Parodying his father.) One week after the equinox.

Daylight’s  waning. Th e days are getting shorter. Autumn

round the corner and swallows gathering on the wires.

KLÁRA: Dušan.

FATHER: (As if he hasn’t heard and has lost the thread.) Good, good.

Listen, have you got a spanner? A twenty-two. Or a wrench.

DUŠAN: (Again imitating his father’s manner.) Good, good. It’ll be

Christmas soon.

KLÁRA: Dušan, stop it.

FATHER: Handy little wrench. (He is holding a wrench.) Won’t grip.

You haven’t got one, have you? (He puts the wrench down on

the table; makes to leave by door 3.) Never mind, I’ll fi le it

down. Luckily I’ve got a fi le. (Exits through door 3, closing it

behind him.)

NEIGHBOUR: (Looks in from door 4, remains in the doorway.) I tell

you, Minister, you’re not going to leave things as they are, are

you? You are going to do something about it, aren’t you?

DUŠAN: Me, Mr. Křenař? I’m out of it.

KLÁRA: Darling, Mr. Křenař isn’t talking about politics.

NEIGHBOUR: Your father’s in good shape. For an eighty-year-old.

But enough is enough.

DUŠAN: Has he been repairing things again?

NEIGHBOUR: Yesterday morning. My wife comes dashin’ in, oh my

God, she says, ’e’s up on the roof. Wi’ a paintbrush. I tells ’im:

Doctor Pompe, you should said. My son’ll fi x it for ye. Cheap,

and he’ll give you a guarantee.

KLÁRA: Th at’s very kind of you, Mr. Křenař.

NEIGHBOUR: Th at’s all very well. But he sent me packin’. I says’

I’ll tell on ye. But ’e says ’e’s got ’is safety ’arness on. But I’m

tellin’ ye: if he slipped and broke ’is neck, we’d feel ourselves

blame. (Hears footsteps behind door 3, exits by door 4, closing

it behind him.)

FATHER: (Enters through door 3, closing it behind him. He is carrying

a large fi le; he picks up the wrench and ostentatiously checks

443

it to see if he can fi le the defective thread into shape.) Like

a sword. Pre-war job this. Genuine Solingen steel. (Leaves by

door 3, closing it behind him.)

MOTHER: (Enters through door 2, walking with diffi culty.) Children!

I  thought you might change your minds. (Embraces her

fi rstborn son, shakes hands with Klára, speaking the whole

time.) It’s been so long since we saw you. Two years. I’ve kept

imagining it. Sunday, like in the old days. We’ll have breakfast

together, then go up to Medlán. Like when you were little. Up

the hill to the little chapel. Everything will be sorted out and

it will be all right. But there’s a complication. He’s left.

DUŠAN: Who? Pavel? Why? And when?

MOTHER: In the night. Like a boy. He took the baby with him.

DUŠAN: But why? Why?

MOTHER: Because it’s a bastard. Like its father. It runs in the family.

DUŠAN: Pavel isn’t a bastard.

MOTHER: Are you going to argue about it? Please don’t start.

DUŠAN: How’s she taken it?

MOTHER: Šárka? Bravely. She’s making breakfast. But you know,

she did love him.

(Klára is leaving by door 2.)

MOTHER: (To Klára.) Are you going to give her a hand? Just don’t

mention Pavel. Let’s keep her mind off it.

DUŠAN: Mother, the truth now: has it come back again?

MOTHER: What? No, she’s all right. I’ve told her: Šárka, you mustn’t

have another breakdown. You’ve got obligations. – I more

afraid what Daddy will do.

DUŠAN: He seems quite normal.

MOTHER: Except that last night – said he wanted the car keys.

I asked him: Where are you going? And he says: Th at’s my

business. So I says: No keys. I know what he’d do.

DUŠAN: Goodness! Who to? Pavel?

MOTHER: Don’t underestimate him. He admires the Germans, but

where the family’s concerned he’s like an Italian.

444

DUŠAN: So what would he do? Shoot him with that old gun of his?

FATHER: (Enters through door 3, closing it behind him.) Snap! Th e

handle. (He holds up the fi le with its wooden handle cracked.)

It’s split.

MOTHER: Won’t you come and join us, Eddie?

FATHER: Of course. I’ve got a spare one. (Leaves by door 3 and

closes it.)

DUŠAN: Were you counting on him to stay with her?

MOTHER: With Šárka? He promised he would.

DUŠAN: Until he found out what’s wrong with her.

MOTHER: She’s  run down. When she had her fi rst breakdown,

I asked him: What’s going to happen now, Paul? Divorce? And

he says: Catholics don’t get divorced.

DUŠAN: But there are limits to what even Catholics can take.

MOTHER: Are you taking sides with him?

DUŠAN: I’ve never been in his situation. It’s not for me to judge him.

MOTHER: Your father and I do.

FATHER: (Enters through door 2. He is holding his left hand, from

the index fi nger of which, blood is dripping to the ground.) It

slipped. Th e swine.

MOTHER: Heavens, Eddie. What a mess you’ve made of yourself.

FATHER: It came loose. Th e vice. I can’t fi gure how. It’s old. And

German. Th e hacksaw went straight into my fi nger.

DUŠAN: (Looking at the wound.) Right through to the bone.

MOTHER: (Cries out.) He keeps doing this. Why does he have to

go cutting things?

FATHER: What a liberty. Criminal.

MOTHER: (Screams.) You must get to hospital.

FATHER: Why? Th e fi nger’s  had it. If I’m going to get blood

poisoning, I’ll get it anyway.

DUŠAN: (Opens door 2 and shouts.) Klára!

KLÁRA: (She comes in through door 2, sees what has happened and

reacts quite calmly.) Pop out to the car. First-aid kit.

(Dušan runs out through door 4 closing it behind him.)

445

FATHER: (Sits down by the table.) If I faint, just remember, I will not

go to hospital. I shall die at home.

DUŠAN: (Returns by door 4, closes it behind him, bringing the fi rst-

aid kit.) Gauze? Cotton? Stop the bleeding?

KLÁRA: (Opens the fi rst-aid kit, takes out a disinfectant spray.)

Don’t waste time asking questions. (Sprays the injured fi nger.)

FATHER: (It obviously stings.) I feel ill.

MOTHER: He’s like a child. Has to keep playing games.

ŠÁRKA: (Enters through door 2, doesn’t even notice what’s  going

on and earnestly addresses Dušan.) Tschüss, du. Ich danke

dir herzlich für die Gelegenheit, ein paar Probleme des

Nibelungenlieds mit dir zu behandeln. Erstens: Ich hab’ eine

Studie gelesen über die Beziehung zwischen Kriemhilde und

ihrem Mann. Meine Frage lautet:

KLÁRA: Bandage.

ŠÁRKA: Sind die Th eorien von Freud und von seinen Schülern

nicht fähig, einen Text wie das Nibelungenlied glaubwürtig

zu interpretieren?

KLÁRA: Scissors.

ŠÁRKA: (To Dušan.) I’d like an answer, damn you!

DUŠAN: Not now.

ŠÁRKA: Not even if I ask nicely? To me it’s a matter of principle:

Can an utterly modern, analytical viewpoint be applied

to the Nibelungen? An Old-German epic arises out of

a completely diff erent system of values from our own. Are

Kriemhilde’s  motives for murder diff erent from a  modern

woman’s?

MOTHER: (To Klára.) What are you doing with that?

KLÁRA: Tying a bow.

MOTHER: (Dubious.) What is it?

KLÁRA: Almost the same as stitches.

MOTHER: And oughtn’t he to have it stitched?

KLÁRA: Yes, he ought.

ŠÁRKA: (To Dušan.) I think it ought to be possible.

446

MOTHER: Did you hear that, Eddie?

ŠÁRKA: (To Dušan.) Are you going to talk to me or not?

DUŠAN: (To Šárka.) I’m no expert on Germanic Studies. Or

a philosopher.

ŠÁRKA: (To Dušan.) It’s  a general problem, not specialist. Even

a lawyer must have a view.

KLÁRA: Th ere. (She has fi nished the dressing.)

FATHER: And will I be able to work with it like that?

KLÁRA: Certainly not, Daddy. Not until the wound heals.

MOTHER: And not then either. Th is was your fi nal warning. Next

time it’s hospital for you.

FATHER: Horse piddle? What good would that do?

DUŠAN: (To his mother about his father.) His hearing’s getting worse

and worse.

MOTHER: His hearing’s  as it always has been. (She shouts in

Father’s direction so that he can’t deny hearing it.) He’s playing

the buff oon. But it’s going to stop. I’m going to grab all his old

junk and throw it out.

FATHER: My German wrench! Just you dare. Will you get me

another one?

MOTHER: Th e times I’ve begged him, children: Let’s get a man in

and it’ll be over and done with.

ŠÁRKA: You’re not paying attention, Dušan. I would maintain that in

analyzing any work all methods are admissible. Take Derrida

and his Deconstructionism – very liberal, methodologically

speaking.

DUŠAN: Th ank goodness for one word of common sense. I’ll pop

over and get him.

ŠÁRKA: (To Dušan.) Who? Derrida?

MOTHER: (It is not clear whether she is speaking to Dušan or Šárka.)

Wait.

ŠÁRKA: Any little thing is more important than I am.

MOTHER: Eddie, I do wish you’d admit you’re not up to it. Th e

house needs a complete going over. Th e roof leaks. Th e taps

447

drip. For fi fty years everything’s been rusting and decaying.

Dušan can see to it.

ŠÁRKA: And who’s going to see to my needs?

MOTHER: (To Father.) You’re no handyman. So?

FATHER: Only an idiot would throw a German wrench away.

ŠÁRKA: Is anyone listening? Who’s going to see to my needs? No

one.

DUŠAN: Calm down.

ŠÁRKA: Words, words, words. Th at’s  all you’re good at. Off er

a helping hand, no, you won’t. But I have a solution. A radical

one. (She leaves by door 2, leaving it open.)

DUŠAN: Sarah, don’t be silly. (Makes to follow her.)

MOTHER: (To Dušan.) You’re calling her Sarah again? Why?

KLÁRA: (To Mother.) He likes making others happy. But it won’t be

long now. (To Dušan) Eh, Dušan? (To Mother.) And he’ll talk to

Daddy. (To Dušan.) But no more foie gras. Nicely. (She leaves

following Šárka through door 2, closing it behind her.)

DUŠAN: (Standing facing his father.) Dad.

FATHER: (Says nothing.)

MOTHER: Please, Eddie dear, talk to him.

FATHER: (Silence.)

DUŠAN: Little Daddy.

FATHER: (Silence.)

MOTHER: Th at’s what he called you when he was only knee-high.

Why won’t you answer him?

FATHER: (Silence.)

DUŠAN: Oh, my poor little Daddy.

MOTHER: (To Dušan.) He’s  terrible. Th ere’ve been times when

he wouldn’t speak to me for six months on end. (To Father.)

Eddie, it was you who wanted me to invite him. What did you

want? To show him you’re still angry? And are you going to

be angry for another year?

DUŠAN: Two years.

448

MOTHER: (To Father.) I don’t understand you. What he called you

was so nice.

FATHER: Th at was from Diderot. A paraphrase. Th at’s what Jacques

said to his master. Being condescending. From a  sense of

superiority. What’s nice about that?

MOTHER: (To Dušan.) Goodness, he’s so stubborn. Th e nights I’ve

spent crying because of him! I hoped I’d wring at least two

words out of him: ‘Don’t cry’. Do you think it worked? Not

a bit of it. He punished me by calling it blubbering. Yes, he

didn’t say ‘cry’ or even ‘weep’, just ‘blubber’. My own mother

once said: ‘Th at man of yours, Hedi, I don’t think he’s really

human. How can you love him?’

IVAN: (Calling from off -stage.) Open up in the name of the law.

(Enters through door 4, closing it behind him.) Police.

MOTHER: Ivan, come in. Where’s Tanya? And Baby Peter?

IVAN: Outside. Being fed. You know, that ritual. And how’s Šárka?

Better?

MOTHER: Holding up.

IVAN: What’s this? (Inspects the bloodstains on the fl oor.)

DUŠAN: (Under his breath.) Joe, tell us a joke.

IVAN: You been slaughtering a pig?

DUŠAN: Hoorah! I knew he’d come up with a good one.

MOTHER: (To Dušan.) Won’t you say hello to your brother?

DUŠAN: Had I known, I would have stayed at home.

MOTHER: If you’d known what? Th at Ivan was coming? He’s as

much right to be here as you.

DUŠAN: Of course he does. I was just rehearsing the past conditional

in a complex sentence. Hätte ich es gewusst, wäre ich zu Hause

geblieben.

IVAN: (To Mother.) Tell him to get knotted.

MOTHER: What has happened to you two? For twenty years you

were inseparable. Making fun of your parents, you were good

at that. So start acting like brothers again.

DUŠAN: It isn’t going to be easy.

449

MOTHER: Stop being diffi cult. And you stop calling him Joe.

DUŠAN: Shouldn’t that have been his name? After Stalin?

MOTHER: Keep your wisecracks for Klára. Th ough you wouldn’t

dare.

IVAN: Leave him, Mother. He’s just stupid.

DUŠAN: But not stupid enough to fraternize with a secret agent.

IVAN: Do I have your permission, Mother, to smack him in the face?

MOTHER: (To Ivan.) Just you dare! (To Dušan.) And Dušan, I won’t

have you saying that. Ivan was never an agent.

DUŠAN: Sorry. I admit it. Compared to him a secret agent is a man

of character.

FATHER: (Has been following this dialogue and breaks into the

confl ict between the brothers, as if it were unpleasant to him.)

Have you got a spanner, Ivan lad? A twenty-two?

IVAN: (Turns away from Dušan and the tension eases. He bellows at

Father as if he were deaf.) What for?

FATHER: You haven’t got one, have you?

IVAN: I’ll bring one next time. Okay?

FATHER: Bouquet? What on earth for? A wrench would have come

in handy though. Have you got a wrench at least?

IVAN: (Bellowing.) Do you need it right now?

MOTHER: Don’t promise him anything, Ivan. Th is can’t go on.

IVAN: Has he been plumbing again?

MOTHER: Just look. He’d hardly started and almost bled to death

on us. (To Father.) We’re not going to be here much longer,

Eddie. So why not spend at least our last few years like civilized

people?

FATHER: Your mother, Ivan, was quite a good lawyer once. But

otherwise she understands nothing.

MOTHER: She would like a kitchen, a bathroom and a  laundry

where she could cook, bathe and do the washing. And this

absurd desire has not been fulfi lled, nor will it ever be. To say

nothing of the garden. Grass three foot high.

450

FATHER: Can you repair a mower? No. I can. So you’ll have to wait

till I can get round to it. You can’t cut grass with clacking jaws.

IVAN: Th e same old song.

DUŠAN: I’ll nip round to the Křenařs’. Shall I?

FATHER: (To Mother.) If you let that person with a scythe inside this

house, if you say as much as one word to him, I won’t answer

for the consequences.

MOTHER: See? Did you hear that? Th is is what you left me in. Th is

is what I have to live with.

IVAN: No need to dramatize. Plumbers are two a penny. If Křenař’s no

good, just pick up the phone.

FATHER: In case I  haven’t made myself plain: I  will not have

outsiders in the house.

IVAN: Because they’re all botchers?

FATHER: Th ey pass on tips to burglars. We’d be cleaned out inside

a week.

IVAN: Sorry, Dad, but that’s utter nonsense.

DUŠAN: It’s also nonsense that Křenař is no good. Just say the word,

Mother, and I’ll fetch him. (Makes an obvious move towards

door 4.)

FATHER: (Sits down at the table, clasps his hand to his heart.) What

did he say?

MOTHER: (To Dušan and Ivan.) Do you know what? Keep your

advice to yourselves. (Her determination has been undermined

and she has been overcome by compassion for Father.) Are you

all right, Eddie?

FATHER: (Gripping his chest with both hands, in a  feeble voice.)

It’s nothing.

MOTHER: (Reaches in her pocket, takes out a tube of tablets, gets

one out for Father; to Dušan and Ivan.) His heart. (To Father.)

Here.

IVAN: What’s he on?

MOTHER: Lanatoside

DUŠAN: A placebo.

451

FATHER: What did he say?

MOTHER: Th at it’ll make you feel better.

FATHER: Liar! He said placebo. As if there’s nothing wrong with

me. As if I’m faking it. Tachycardia. Systolic murmur. So I’m

a hypochondriac, am I? Th ank you! Th ank you very much!

MOTHER: Take it easy, dear. (To Dušan and Ivan.) Daddy’s got age-

related cardiac ischemia. He can work on the house and he

doesn’t need outside help.

TATYANA: (Peeps in through door 4.) Sweetie, quickly.

IVAN: Yes, sweetie. (Runs out after her through door 4, closes it.)

MOTHER: What’s the matter? Is Baby Peter ill as well?

DUŠAN: No, he’s just puked.

MOTHER: Poor mite. How do you know?

DUŠAN: He always pukes after being fed.

MOTHER: Now then, we always spoke nicely about your Mark.

What did we call him? Bird of the South. Yet he squawked like

a crow. So either speak nicely about my other grandchildren

or say nothing.

DUŠAN: He hasn’t puked then? He has. And I don’t see that my

saying so is not nice.

MOTHER: Stop it, or I’ll tell Klára.

IVAN: (Enters through door 4, holding a wet nappy that hints clearly

at its unpleasant contents.) He guzzles as if he hasn’t eaten for

three days. (Enters door 1 without closing it.)

DUŠAN: Does he always clutch at his heart when he wants to get his

way? I thought he waved his pistol about. Kept it in his bedside

table, didn’t he? Why?

MOTHER: It was to protect me. During the war. In case they ever

came to get me.

DUŠAN: Would he have fi red at the Gestapo?

MOTHER: He was brave. His whole family kept on at him: ‘Don’t

stay with the Jewish girl, Eddie, or you’ll end up in the

concentration camp as well.’ But he stood his ground and said:

452

‘I won’t divorce her.’ – Th at’s how it was, so leave it. Or I’ll tell

Klára you’re snooping again.

FATHER: (Still leaning back on his chair, having had his eyes closed

as if asleep.) Do you think we’re going to get any breakfast

today, Hedi?

MOTHER: (Makes to go through door 2 and calls.) Šárka!

IVAN: (Comes out of door 1, holding the nappy, rinsed of its unpleasant

contents and wrung out.) Did we used to puke like that?

MOTHER: I don’t remember.

IVAN: Children keep puking up to the age of two. (Leaves by door

4, leaving it open.)

DUŠAN: (Half-reciting.) Th ey have an acute sense of that which we

sense but weakly: that the world is fi t to make you puke.

MOTHER: (To Dušan.) Monster. (Calls after Ivan.) Have you tried

putting him on a diet?

DUŠAN: Th at wouldn’t be them. Th ey’re stuffi ng him full again. To

teach him self-control.

MOTHER: You do have to have the last word, don’t you? (Leaves by

door 2 and calls out.) Šárka, where’s that breakfast?

FATHER: Th e Germans have the very word for this case: unbehilfl ich.

MOTHER: Pardon? Who’s unbehilfl ich?

FATHER: Speak up! (To Dušan.) I can’t understand a word she says,

Ivan lad.

MOTHER: (Shouting.) I do the cleaning. I do the shopping. I do the

washing. I sometimes don’t have the time to cook.

FATHER: Exactly. Unbehilfl ich.

MOTHER: Stop saying that. Or I’ll say something. And in front of

the children.

FATHER: Unbehilfl ich.

MOTHER: It’s my own fault. For fi fty years I’ve had to listen to

it. ‘Helpless’. Except in German so the children wouldn’t

understand. Do you remember when you said it fi rst?

FATHER: Poppycock.

453

ŠÁRKA: (Enters through door 2, closing it behind her.) So I’m helpless,

am I?

MOTHER: Šárka, sweetheart, are you going to give us something

to eat?

ŠÁRKA: For twenty years I’ve been invited to Heidelberg to present

my habilitation thesis. And here I  am, making breakfast.

It’s enough to drive the dead insane. Helpless.

KLÁRA: (Enters through door 2, speaking so quietly that the others

can’t hear.) Come along now, please. It’s on the table.

MOTHER: (To Šárka.) You’ve got a child. So the thesis has to stand

aside.

ŠÁRKA: Did you hear that, Dušan? I have to stand aside. Always

me and only me. It’s too much. Tell me what I must do, for

goodness’ sake. Tell me.

KLÁRA: I hope you’ll let us have breakfast, Dušan.

DUŠAN: (Has not heard Klára; very gently.) But Sarah, it should be

obvious.

KLÁRA: Dušan, didn’t you hear me?

MOTHER: (Referring to Dušan.) Yes, he did. But venom must out.

(She wants to lead Šárka away.) Don’t listen to him. And don’t

let him twist your name.

ŠÁRKA: (Still addressing Dušan.) I  know what’s  obvious. No

Heidelberg. Th e clinic.

DUŠAN: You should have been there long ago.

FATHER: What did she say?

ŠÁRKA: (Th rowing herself to the ground.) No.

MOTHER: Th anks, Dušan, thanks for a lovely Sunday.

KLÁRA: (Half to herself.) “Don’t feed foie gras to the canary.”

MOTHER: And you, Klára, don’t go egging him on.

DUŠAN: (To Mother.) Klára isn’t to blame. You don’t know the story

of the canary and the foie gras.

MOTHER: Klára knows what I mean. If she’s got something against

us, she doesn’t have to force it onto you.

454

ŠÁRKA: (Lying on the ground.) No voluntary hospitalization. I’ll

refuse to sign.

FATHER: What did she say?

ŠÁRKA: If you have me locked up, I’ll kill myself.

MOTHER: Come, come, sweetheart. Calm down. (Tries to raise

Šárka.) Please help me someone. (Klára tries to help, but

Šárka resists.)

IVAN: (Enters through door 4.) He’s guzzling like a bottomless pit.

But I bet he’ll bring it all up again. (Sees Šárka, who is still on

the ground.) Šárka dear, what’s the matter? What have they

done to you?

ŠÁRKA: (Referring to Dušan.) He’s so inconsiderate, Ivan. A brute.

(Ivan raises her and props her up.)

IVAN: (Raising Šárka, strokes her.) Never fear, Šárka dear. I won’t let

them take you. To the doctors’ or to the prosecutor.

DUŠA: Pompe and Pompe, Solicitors. Chartered Advocates for

Widows and Orphans.

ŠÁRKA: (Having heard Dušan’s comment, she explodes in his face.)

He understands me. You are a monster. Whose idea was it

that I should be locked away? Who hauled me off there fi rst?

You, and only you. And I begged and begged: Let me rest, let

me sleep for a couple of days. But you kept on and on: put

her in the madhouse. I understand. It’s the inheritance you’re

worried about. Th e house. Th is heap of bricks. And anyone

who could destroy someone else over a shitty heap of bricks

is who should really be put away.

MOTHER: Hush, Šárka.

IVAN: (Begins to lead Šárka out through door 2, but on the way pops

through door 1, leaves the nappy in there and closes door 1.)

Th at’s right. (Signals to Father and Mother that he’s only saying

it in order to calm Šárka.) Come along, lie down and take one

of your pills.

ŠÁRKA: (Interrupts him.) I’m not going to take any goofballs.

IVAN: Let’s have a little talk.

455

ŠÁRKA: No point. I won’t. (Th ey exit through door 2.)

KLÁRA: (Follows them out without speaking.)

FATHER: What did she say?

MOTHER: Stop pretending you didn’t hear.

FATHER: (Cupping his hand to his hear.) Who isn’t here? Ivan?

MOTHER: You’re leaving me to handle this alone again?

FATHER: But he is here. Or isn’t he? (Heads towards door 3.) Ivan.

MOTHER: Th e situation’s changed.

DUŠAN: Changed? Šárka mustn’t be left alone. Or she’ll do herself

another injury.

MOTHER: Like what? What do you think she did?

DUŠAN: Not much. Just slashed her wrist.

FATHER: (Coming back from door 3.) What did he say?

DUŠAN: (Shouting.) She’ll slash her wrist like in Heidelberg.

FATHER: (Leaving through door 3.) Poppycock.

DUŠAN: (Shouting after Father.) Was it me who went to fetch her

back, or you?

MOTHER: Don’t leave us now, Eddie.

KLÁRA: (Enters through door 2, carrying a tray with breakfast on

it: scrambled eggs, tea, coff ee, toast, butter, jam, cheese, ham,

frankfurters, apples, oranges, bananas, tomatoes and gherkins,

and sets it down on the coff ee table.) Here it is. Bon appétit!

FATHER: (He has seen Klára, but again acts as if he hasn’t noticed

her. He exists through door 3, closing it behind him.) Heidelberg.

Slashed wrist. Pure poppycock.

MOTHER: (Shouting.) Where are you going, Eddie?

FATHER: (Calling from behind closed door 3.) To work.

MOTHER: (Shouting in despair in the direction of closed door 3.) You

said we’d all have breakfast together. Eddie!

FATHER: (Calling up from the depths of the cellar through closed

door 3.) Hedi!

TATYANA: (Calling from behind door 4.) Ivan! (Ivan doesn’t respond,

Tatyana calls louder.) Ivan! Ivan!

456

IVAN: (Runs in through door 2, pops through door 1 and collects the

nappy, heads for door 4.) Yes, sweetie, coming!

MOTHER: (Opens door 3 and calls down.) Why are you doing this,

Eddie? Be a good boy, you know you can be. (Loud and severe.)

Your breakfast’s waiting.

FATHER: (Calling up from the depths of the cellar.) Who’s fainting?

DUŠAN: (To Mother.) At least you eat something.

MOTHER: (As if not seeing the food.) You’re just trying to frighten

us, Dušan, aren’t you?

DUŠAN: How? Suggesting she’s going through it again? Can’t you

see, she is having a relapse.

MOTHER: Don’t try to play the doctor.

DUŠAN: Is she still stuffi ng herself with pineapple?

MOTHER: Shouldn’t she?

DUŠAN: In Heidelberg she did it with the lid of a tin of pineapple.

(Mimics slashing of wrist.)

KLÁRA: Th is foie gras is working a treat, Dušan. But I warn you –

you’re taking a chance. (Leaves by door 2.)

MOTHER: (Referring to Šárka.) It was overwork, the doctors said.

DUŠAN: Before she did it. Afterwards they said manic depression.

MOTHER: What they put in the report was overwork.

DUŠAN: Only so they’d let me on the plane with her. Otherwise

they’d have had to put on a special Red Cross fl ight. And there

wasn’t one available.

MOTHER: She failed her exam. Th at’s why she had her breakdown.

DUŠAN: On the contrary. She fell ill, that’s why she failed and then

she did it. Th en she was ill again and started neglecting the

baby. Th en again and she quit her job. And now a fourth time,

and Pavel’s cut and run. If you’d admitted she was ill and had

her treated in time, he’d never have left her.

MOTHER: Didn’t he tell you? He’s found someone else.

DUŠAN: Pavel? After what he’s had to put up with Šárka, it’ll be

a while before he even looks at another woman.

457

IVAN: (Enters through door 4, holding a nappy full of something

unpleasant.) Th ere’s no stopping the lad! If I were to puke the

way he does I wouldn’t eat for days. But he just goes on and on.

MOTHER: Tell him, Ivan

IVAN: Th e Minister? Stuff him! (Heads towards door 1.)

MOTHER: (To Dušan.) He knows her.

DUŠAN: Who? Th e woman Pavel’s been seeing behind Sarah‘s back?

I’d like to see her for myself.

MOTHER: Come to court.

DUŠAN: You’re suing him?

MOTHER: We can’t let him keep Markéta.

DUŠAN: If anyone’s taken any care of her, then it’s Pavel.

MOTHER: We’re going to make sure he can’t take care of her any

more.

DUŠAN: Sarah’s even less likely to.

MOTHER: She’s no worse than any other mother. And for the last

time of telling: stop calling her Sarah. I know why you do it,

and I forbid it.

DUŠAN: Entrusting a baby to a psychotic is tantamount to murder.

IVAN: (Returning through door 1.) We’ll prove that he’s the psychotic.

And a womanizer.

FATHER: (Putting his head round door 3.) I thought I could hear you

Ivan. High time you put in an appearance. (To Mother.) How

long’s it been since he was here? A year? Where’s Tanya? And

how’s baby Peter?

IVAN: (Somewhat ill-at-ease at Father’s  questions, which seem

crazy.) Great! He’s fi ne. Th ey both say hi.

FATHER: Bless them. So glad they’re on a high. Th at’s the spirit.

MOTHER: (To Ivan.) He’d have to have his little joke, even if the

bailiff s were at the door. (To Father.) Stop being silly now. Eat

something.

FATHER: (As if only now spotting the breakfast spread on the table.)

Is this real, or am I seeing things? Do you know how a German

458

says he’s feeling wolfi sh? Ich habe einen Wolfshunger. (Leaves

by door 2.)

MOTHER: God give me strength! (Shouting.) Where are you off to

now?

FATHER: You shouldn’t need telling. After fi fty years.

MOTHER: No scenes before we eat. Please, not today.

FATHER: What scenes? Pathogenic organisms remain active even

on Sundays. Regrettably. (Leaves by door 2.)

TATYANA: (Off -stage behind door 4.) Ivan!

IVAN: Yes, sweetie. (Runs to door 4.)

DUŠAN: Mother, is that that girlfriend again?

MOTHER: Whose?

DUŠAN: I mean the bitch that testifi ed at his divorce.

MOTHER: Th ere was no bitch at Ivan’s divorce.

DUŠAN: So you say. I know how much he paid her. If you use her

again, I’ll testify in Pavel’s favour myself.

MOTHER: Against your own sister?

DUŠAN: Against you all. I’m not going to let another murder pass.

MOTHER: What other?

IVAN: (Enters through door 4 bearing a  nappy covered in sick.)

He’s  throwing up like a  geyser. And gorging himself like

a veritable glutton. (Leaves by door 1.)

MOTHER: Listen here, Dušan. Are you saying we murdered

someone?

FATHER: (Enters through door 2 and sits down at the breakfast

table.) Th is looks marvellous. (Calling out.) Th ank you, Šárka.

(In a speaking voice.) Like at a food fair. (Pours himself some

coff ee, tastes it.) Unfortunately it only looks it. (Gets up and

leaves.)

MOTHER: Don’t be nasty, Eddie.

FATHER: Any woman knows that breakfast is not served cold.

MOTHER: But you’ve been doing your damnedest to let it go cold.

FATHER: Yes, m’lud. I’m a  thief and a  murderer. I  deserve the

ultimate sentence.

459

MOTHER: You’ve been slopping around in there for two hours.

FATHER: If you want to be rid of germs, you have to scrub for ten

minutes.

MOTHER: You’re tormenting the last few people who still love you.

Enough’s enough. From tomorrow I refuse to cook.

FATHER: Th ank goodness! A miracle. I thought we’d never live to

see the day. (Leaves by door 3.)

MOTHER: Really? You just wait. Klára. (Klára comes in through

door 2.) Don’t even think of reheating it. He can go without.

KLÁRA: And you, Mum?

MOTHER: No, thanks. I’ve lost my appetite.

KLÁRA: (Gathers onto the tray all the things she had previously laid

out for breakfast. Dušan, who is devotedly and clumsily trying

to help almost sends a saucer fl ying.) Leave this to me. Have

you spoken to your father yet?

DUŠAN: Of course.

KLÁRA: Don’t lie to me, canary-fancier.

DUŠAN: I told him: Forgive me, father. I have sinned before thee and

before God. He shed a tear and we fell into each other’s arms.

According to the Gospel, he should now kill a fatted calf.

KLÁRA: In short, you off ered him some foie gras.

MOTHER: What is it with you and foie gras? Did you have a canary?

KLÁRA: Dušan can tell you.

DUŠAN: Poppycock.

MOTHER: Goodness, who’s with Šárka?

DUŠAN: Joseph. (Runs through door 2.)

MOTHER: Ivan! Dušan! Is she all right?

DUŠAN: (Calling from door 2.) She’s locked herself in.

MOTHER: Oh God, where?

DUŠAN: (Calling.) Same as usual. (Banging on a door somewhere

inside the house.) Sarah!

MOTHER: Saints preserve us! Ivan!

IVAN: (Running in through door 4.) She was in the kitchen. Perfectly

calm.

460

MOTHER: In the kitchen. With all those utensils. Th ank you. And

now she’s in the bathroom. Make sure we can get to her.

IVAN: Something to pick the lock with. (To Mother.) Do you hear?

You haven’t got anything? Th en it’s going to be tricky.

MOTHER: (Praying.) Dear God, dear God.

IVAN: (To Mother.) A drill. Haven’t you got one of those either?

KLÁRA: It’s on a security lock. (Calmly carries on loading the tray.)

And leave Mum alone. Praying helps.

IVAN: To get into heaven. But we need to get into the bathroom.

KLÁRA: If you prayed you might hit on something.

IVAN: Like what?

KLÁRA: Like how to go about getting her to open the door to you.

(Tray in hand, makes to leave by door 2.)

MOTHER: It’s a punishment, Klára.

KLÁRA: Don’t be afraid. She won’t harm herself.

MOTHER: Has she confi ded in you?

KLÁRA: She’s got fear in her eyes, but not death. (Leaves by door 2.)

DUŠAN: (Shouting off -stage, but he can be heard through door 2,

which is open.) Stop acting like a stupid cow, Sarah, and open

up!

IVAN: (Closing door 2 after Klára, to Mother.) “But not death.”

Doesn’t she piss you off , too?

MOTHER: Language, Ivan. I’m not used to that sort of language.

IVAN: Admit it. You can’t stand her.

MOTHER: Klára? It’s more that she doesn’t like us.

IVAN: I can see through her. I know what she’s after. She’d make short

work of us if she could. Like with Dušan. What did he used

to be like. A great guy. And a fi rst-rate judge. And what’s she

turned him into? A fanatic. A militant half-wit battling against

a stupid regime. Instead of a judge a store minder.

MOTHER: And since the revolution a government minister.

IVAN: And a lousy one at that. A standing joke. And what he’s missed

out on in the way of law he’ll never catch up now.

MOTHER: She’s ambitious.

461

IVAN: Bollocks. An old witch. Now I realize why they used to burn

’em.

DUŠAN: (Shouting from the depths of the house.) Open up, Sarah,

or I’ll bash the door down.

MOTHER: (Shouting in fear.) Šárka, stop tormenting us.

FATHER: (Entering through door 3, carrying a broken vice.) Right,

Hedi, give them to me.

MOTHER: It’s looking bad with Šárka, Eddie.

FATHER: Th e car keys. (Puts out his hand.)

MOTHER: You going somewhere? Where?

FATHER: Out for a Sunday booze-up. Where d’you suppose I’d go

when my vice is in two pieces?

MOTHER: It’s been like that for twenty years.

FATHER: Dvořák can weld it together for me.

MOTHER: For the how manyeth time?

FATHER: (Holding his hand out again.) Th e keys.

MOTHER: Fetch him that jack, will you, Ivan, or I’ll go mad.

IVAN: Jack?

MOTHER: Jack, screwdriver, anything to put an end to this

performance.

TATYANA: (Calling from behind door 4.) Sweetie!

IVAN: Yes, sweetie! (Runs to door 4, calling back to Mother.) Th e

wrench. I’ll go and fetch it. (Closes the door behind him.)

FATHER: You refuse? All right then. (Heaves the vice onto his

shoulder, staggers, drops the vice on the ground.) Damn! Last

time it was light as a feather. I’ll risk it then. On foot, since

you insist.

MOTHER: I don’t insist. (Takes the keys from her pocket and tosses

them to Father.) Where you’re concerned I’ve stopped insisting

as of this hour.

FATHER: Schopenhauer? Persist if you will. A great thinker, but

it’s tough going. I don’t think you’ll understand him. (Looks up

to check Mother’s response, picks up the vice, leaves by door 4

and closes it behind him.)

462

DUŠAN: (Entering through door 2.) It’s  like a  fortress door. Th e

architects should have foreseen this.

MOTHER: Any response?

DUŠAN: (Shaking his head.) I just hope she’s alive.

MOTHER: (Screaming.) Šárka, you’ll be the death of me! Šárka! (To

Dušan.) What now?

DUŠAN: In a normal family they’d call the locksmith.

MOTHER: Your father’s gone to see him. Th ough you could hardly

call us a normal family.

FATHER: (Returning through door 4, to Dušan.) Ivan lad, I’ve got

a wee problem.

DUŠAN: Go see a urologist then.

MOTHER: Th at’s no way to speak to your father.

DUŠAN: So he should speak properly to me.

MOTHER: But you know what he’s like.

DUŠAN: All right then. (To Father.) What problem? Same as usual?

(Calls.) Baby Peter, the mo-mo’s  hurt itself. It won’t start.

Come and help.

FATHER: What Peter’s that?

DUŠAN: Ours. He’s clever. Peter! (To “baby Peter”.) Come along

now, don’t be shy. (To Father.) Great little chap, eh? (To “baby

Peter”.) Say: “Hi Grandpa!” Nicely now. (Pause for “baby Peter”

to respond; to Father.) Surprised, eh? (To “baby Peter”.) And

now, Peter, in German: “Grüss Gott”. (To Father.) How’s that

for pronunciation!

FATHER: He’s already talking? At four months?

DUŠAN: (To “baby Peter”.) Grandpa’s being nasty, Peter. Wave bye-

bye and we’ll go home.

MOTHER: So silly, the pair of them. Makes you weep.

FATHER: (To Dušan.) What did she say? What heap?

DUŠAN: Th is big one. Inter-war. Heap of bricks. Blackened. Like

in a fairy-tale.

FATHER: (To mother.) What did he say?

DUŠAN: Baby Peter? Says he can’t understand what’s going on.

463

FATHER: It’s like this, Peter lad. (Addressing Mother.) Some people

turn the tap off too tight. Asking, begging them not to do

it, it’s pointless. Fatal. You know, femme fatale. Th en in four

or fi ve weeks the washer’s done for. If I decide to replace it

I have to turn the water off at the mains. Th e stop-cock’s down

in the cellar. It needs a 22-millimetre spanner. (To Dušan.)

He’s a bright lad. He knows what I’m on about.

DUŠAN: Everyone knows what you’re on about: an excuse to

terrorize us on a Sunday.

FATHER: What did he say? Won’t you give me a hand, Ivan lad?

KLÁRA: (Comes out of door 2.) He will, Dad. He’ll give you a push-

start. Go on now, Dušan.

DUŠAN: Th at’s ridiculous!

FATHER: (As if he hasn’t heard.) It’s nothing.

DUŠAN: He’s not going to make a fool out of me.

KLÁRA: More foie gras for the canary.

DUŠAN: All right, all right, I’m going. (Leaves by door 4.)

FATHER: (Leaves by door 4.) Incidentally – should I get myself some

breakfast in the pub? (Closes door behind him.)

MOTHER: He won’t come round.

KLÁRA: Dušan? It’ll take a miracle. I hope Dad wasn’t being serious

about the pub.

MOTHER: No way. Th ey burn the fat and overdo the pepper.

KLÁRA: So let me fi x him something.

MOTHER: Breakfast? No, it’s my turn.

KLÁRA: I’d be glad to.

MOTHER: (Looks quizzically at Klára.) Why don’t you and I ever

have a talk? I remember when you fi rst came to us: in love and

happy. Why did it change?

KLÁRA: You all thought I was setting Dušan against you.

MOTHER: And weren’t you? He sees what you want and goes and

does it.

464

KLÁRA: Except his eyes are bad. And he can’t see the most

important things at all. (Cocks an ear.) Th at you Šárka? (To

Mother.) She’s unlocked the door.

MOTHER: I didn’t hear anything. Did she say something?

KLÁRA: She’s crying.

MOTHER: (Shouts.) Šárka, be sensible. If you don‘t stop that, you

know where you‘ll end up. (Behind door 2 a lock clicks.) What

was that?

KLÁRA: (Calmly.) She’s locked herself in again.

MOTHER: Dear God!

KLÁRA: I’ll fetch her. But I must ask you for one thing.

MOTHER: I know. Not to say anything.

KLÁRA: (Leaves by door 2, closing it behind her.)

MOTHER: Dear lord, almighty God.

TATYANA: (Enters through door 4 and closes it.) Good morning,

mother. I hope nothing can get at him in there.

MOTHER: At baby Peter? Don’t worry. Dušan and Ivan have often

slept there safely enough.

TATYANA: He’s lying there like Mowgli.

MOTHER: In our jungle. Th e electric mower’s no good and Daddy

refuses to get a petrol one. Th e exhaust fumes are carcinogenic.

Is he better now?

TATYANA: Baby Peter? He’s fi ne. He fell over. And I’m like the Beast

in the fairy-tale. Human for an hour.

MOTHER: Quite honestly, Tanya, I’d rather fall down and never

wake up again.

TATYANA: Because of Šárka? You know what she ought to do? Find

herself a man.

MOTHER: Goodness no. She’s fanatically faithful.

TATYANA: But it’s you who keep her that way. I’d have cheated on

Pavel the day after the wedding.

MOTHER: You don’t know him well enough. He used to be diff erent.

He loved her.

465

TATYANA: How could you tell? Did he bring her fl owers? Or

chocolates?

MOTHER: You’re right there. He wasn’t one for tokens.

TATYANA: When was the last time he kissed her? In your shoes I’d

be glad he’s gone.

MOTHER: But now she’ll be alone to her dying day.

TATYANA: Let her get out and meet people. Her Mr. Right is out

there somewhere.

MOTHER: Don’t forget she’s fi fty. You’re talking miracles, and they

don’t happen.

TATYANA: My gran got married for the third time when she was

sixty-three. And for love. You need to chill out and stop

watching her. None of that ‘Šárka, how come you were still

out at midnight?‘ or ‘He spent the night in your room?’ – Let

her live.

MOTHER: But there’s Markéta, she’s the main thing.

TATYANA: A kitten of fourteen. She’ll be glad of the freedom. And

if her mum’s happier, they’ll have more fun together.

DUŠAN: (Enters through door 4, closing it behind him.) Hello there,

my gorgeous sister-in-law.

TATYANA: Hi to you, big brother-in-law.

MOTHER: Has he left?

DUŠAN: You could say so.

MOTHER: I was hoping you’d go with him.

DUŠAN: He fended me off .

MOTHER: And you let him. Don’t say anything. I know. You won’t

lift a fi nger to meet him half way.

DUŠAN: Yes your honor, Judge. I’m a patricide.

TATYANA: To what do I owe that mode of address?

DUŠAN: To thyself. You look fantastic.

TATYANA: Since you’re so gracious – would you mind explaining

something?

DUŠAN: Depends what.

TATYANA: You know what I mean.

466

DUŠAN: A chapter from the History of the Pompes’ on request.

Which do you fancy?

MOTHER: I’m not going to listen to this. (Leaves by door 4, closing

it.)

TATYANA: What’s Ivan done to you?

DUŠAN: Let’s not go there.

TATYANA: He was afraid. Were you never afraid?

DUŠAN: A  thousand times. And if it weren’t for Klára, I’d have

ended up like him.

TATYANA: So why won’t you make up?

DUŠAN: He’d have to admit to himself what he did.

TATYANA: And what did he do? He was pro-Russian. My parents

as well. You favoured the Americans, or whoever paid you.

Sorry, but that’s how I see it. Th e Americans won. Does that

make my dad a scoundrel? Does it make Ivan a bad person?

DUŠAN: He ratted on his brother. Even the real spooks thought that

pretty disgusting.

TATYANA: He’d had three children. Th ey wanted to sack him

because of you. But he wasn’t an agent.

DUŠAN: As a party member he reported on me to his chairman.

He’s not in the secret police fi les. Never went near the police,

but to me he’s an informer.

TATYANA: He never harmed you. He knew nothing about you. Just

trivial stuff .

DUŠAN: Like that my father had disinherited me. Th ey made

something of that. And who did they get it from?

TATYANA: Not from Ivan.

DUŠAN: Who knew that the old Pompes had altered their wills? My

brother and sister.

TATYANA: I’d swear on Baby Peter’s life that he didn’t pass it on.

DUŠAN: I’m sorry, Tanya. I  understand, you love him. (He has

noticed Mother coming back in through door 4.) But how

about a diff erent chapter. We had an uncle; he was with the

partisans, the pride of the family. Th ey shot him.

467

MOTHER: (Leaving door 4 open.) Bless him. He’s asleep. Like a little

angel.

DUŠAN: (About the uncle.) He ought to have a plaque on this house.

I wonder why there isn’t.

MOTHER: Dušan mixes the living with the dead just to blacken

the family name. (To her second daughter-in-law.) See that?

He’s smiling. It makes him feel good.

DUŠAN: Instead of a plaque there’s this cupboard. A magical one.

All the others in the house have had their locks broken. Prized

open by the Red Army. Only this one is okay. Th e eighth

wonder of the world: Dad repaired it. I do wonder what’s in it.

MOTHER: Yes, my brother used to live here. Th en one day he said

good-bye and left.

KLÁRA: (Enters by door 2 with Šárka, who is carrying a large, bulging

bag, which she sets down on a chair.) Hi, Tanya. It’s going all

right now, Mum.

MOTHER: Šárka! Th ank God! (Embraces her.)

TATYANA: Hi, sister-in-law. How’s things?

ŠÁRKA: I humbly thank you. ‘Tis well. ‘Tis well. ‘Tis well.

DUŠAN: She doth quote the classics. Hurrah!

ŠÁRKA: (Still quietly, but not quite naturally.) Yes. I apologize. To

you, Mum, and to you, Dušan.

MOTHER: You’ve nothing to apologize for.

ŠÁRKA: I do. I lost my self-control. But as Shakespeare has it:

‘If Hamlet from himself be ta’en away,

and when he’s not himself does wrong Laertes,

Th en Hamlet does it not; Hamlet denies it.

Who does it then? His madness. If ‘t be so,

Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong’d;

His madness is poor Hamlet’s enemy.’

(To Dušan.) Was that right?

DUŠAN: Top marks!

ŠÁRKA: I’ve got a favour to ask: If I needed to leave, would you

drive me?

468

DUŠAN: Any time. Say the word – and we’re off .

ŠÁRKA: You know what then? (Picks up her bag.) Let’s go now.

MOTHER: Šárka dear, shouldn’t we wait for Daddy?

DUŠAN: I can’t see why.

MOTHER: I wasn’t asking you. I know what you think.

DUŠAN: And I know what he thinks. (Clasps his hand to his heart,

parodying Father.) Okay, let her go, to those charlatans. But

on your head be it.

KLÁRA: Mother’s right, Dušan. (A knock on door 4.)

MOTHER: Come in.

NEIGHBOUR: (Enters through door 4.) Excuse me, madame.

Minister… Doctor Pompe’s…

MOTHER: (Frightened.) What’s he done? Where is he?

NEIGHBOUR: At the bottom of the hill.

MOTHER: Has he crashed? Is he in one piece?

NEIGHBOUR: He ran out of petrol. He wants you to take him some.

Just a bottleful. Good bye. (Leaves by door 4.)

KLÁRA: Dušan, quick. (Running after the Neighbour.) Mr. Křenař,

wait a minute.

MOTHER: Run along, Dušan, and tell him: ‘I’m sorry, Dad.’ You’ll

see. He’ll come round. Just don’t say anything about Šárka. I’ll

tell him myself.

DUŠAN: No good’ll come of it, but I’ll go. (Leaves by door 4.)

MOTHER: If only I knew how to tell him.

ŠÁRKA: (Still speaking unnaturally, half reciting.) Don’t worry,

Mum. I’ll tell him: Daddy, I’m sick. It runs in the family. On

your mother’s side.

MOTHER: Don’t say that. Who told you? Dušan?

ŠÁRKA: I knew it without him. Klára says it’s nothing for me to be

ashamed of. But why are we the ones to be affl icted.

MOTHER: Didn’t she explain?

ŠÁRKA: You don’t love her.

MOTHER: But I do.

469

ŠÁRKA: You don’t. You envy her her happiness. I also envy her for

that.

TATYANA: She doesn’t look very happy though.

KLÁRA: (Enters by door 4, closing it behind her. She is carrying

a wrench, but fairly unobtrusively, more trying to hide it from

sight.) Šárka, will you help me?

TATYANA: (Šárka not responding yet.) I’m quite good with my

hands too.

KLÁRA: Come on then. (Makes to leave by door 2.)

ŠÁRKA: Why did she stop coming to see us? I remember. Daddy

used to shout: ‘You don’t exist for me. Get out!’ And Dušan:

‘You soaped the hangman’s rope for him. Now you’re using the

same soap to wash your hands.’

MOTHER: (Not listening to Šárka.) What was that in her hand?

TATYANA: (Pausing in door 2.) A wrench. (Leaves by door 2, closing

it behind her.)

MOTHER: What in God’s name for? What for? (Calling.) Klára!

KLÁRA: (Appearing in door 2.) Yes, mother?

MOTHER: Don’t make things even harder for me. Don’t try anything.

KLÁRA: (Wrench in hand.) Of course not. Th is is just in case. Th e

thread’s ripped to shreds. It’ll pack up any minute. (Disappears

through door 2.)

MOTHER: What did she say? Who’s packing up? (Listens.) Dear

God!

(Father enters through door 4, closes it, sees Šárka’s bag and abruptly

goes through door 2.)

MOTHER: Eddie, now I really do have to talk to you.

FATHER: (Returning.) Th ere’s nothing to talk about.

MOTHER: Dušan’s been telling you things.

FATHER: Dušan? (Points to Šárka’s bag.) I’m not blind. So you’re

sending her to the death chamber? Good. (Disappears behind

door 2.)

DUŠAN: (Enters through door 4.) As expected. He wasn’t in. Mr.

Dvořák. What’s up mother? You unwell?

470

MOTHER: (Calling.) Eddie! (To Dušan.) He’s leaving. He’s going to

move out.

DUŠAN: He’s playing games. Blackmail.

MOTHER: I’ve seen it all before. “I’m just taking the essentials. I’ll

send for the rest in due course.” Th en I was laughing on the

other side of my face.

DUŠAN: I don’t understand why you let him go.

MOTHER: You don’t understand anything.

ŠÁRKA: Why won’t Daddy let me go to hospital?

DUŠAN: Because they’d make you get divorced as an acute mental

case. Th e court would award Markéta to Pavel and one day

she would inherit part of this house. Get it? A piece of this

damned house would pass to Pavel’s family. And one day they

might get the whole thing.

MOTHER: Don’t say ‘damned’.

ŠÁRKA: (To Dušan.) Th at’s a lawyers’ speculation.

DUŠAN: But then dad is a lawyer. And an outstanding one at that.

He proved it once. On me. I hadn’t even been locked up and he

made sure that – once they’d put me inside and my property

became forfeit – I couldn’t inherit even part of this cursed

house.

MOTHER: It’s not cursed. We’ve lived in it for fi fty-fi ve years, and

it’s been good. Even you liked living here. It was only after your

wedding that you took against it. I remember how hurt I was.

Your Mark was two and never set foot in the house. You took

turns walking him up and down the street. He still couldn’t

talk properly and was already shouting: ‘It’s black, it’s a black

house.’

DUŠAN: He was right.

MOTHER: He was only repeating what you’d told him.

DUŠAN: A child can tell. It is black.

ŠÁRKA: (Confused, as if only now making sense of what’s being said.)

It didn’t strike me as black. Not until today.

471

(Klára and Tatyana come in through door 2, carrying breakfast on

trays; they lay it the table.)

MOTHER: He’s not going to eat, Klára. He just won’t have breakfast

with the rest of us.

KLÁRA: Let’s wait and see.

(Father enters through door 2, leaving it open; he is carrying an

overnight suitcase.)

ŠÁRKA: Don’t leave, Daddy. Please don’t go.

FATHER: I’m just taking the essentials. I’ll send for the rest in due

course. (Moves slowly towards door 4.) Good bye.

MOTHER: Off you go. Off with all of you. I won’t be here either. If

I knew how, I wouldn’t be at all.

(Šárka runs at the door of the closed cupboard and bangs her head

on it as hard as she can. Everyone looks on in amazement and Šárka

does it again. Klára leaps towards Šárka, puts her arms round her

and tries to defl ect her from any further acts of self-destruction. Šárka

resists, but Klára has gripped her fi rmly and tries to soothe her like

a baby.)

KLARA: Šárka. Don’t. Hush now, hush.

(Šárka continues to off er resistance, but slowly lets herself be soothed,

with Klára embracing and stroking her.)

MOTHER: What’s she doing, Eddie.

FATHER: Leave her alone. Otherwise you really will drive her round

the bend. Is that what you want? All right, take her to those

charlatans. But it is on your head.

MOTHER: Her pill. She hasn’t taken her pill.

DUŠAN: Aspirin. Works wonders. Give her a couple.

MOTHER: Tanya. Th ey’re in the kitchen. Th e white pillbox, the

yellow ones. And some water, she needs to take them with

plenty of water.

(Tatyana runs towards door 2.)

KLÁRA: (Calling after her.) Not water. Th ere’s some tea. Don’t turn

the tap on.

472

ŠÁRKA: (In tears.) I don’t want a pill. I don’t want anything. I don’t

want to live.

TATYANA: (Shrieking off -stage, the sound coming in through open

door 2.) Help! Flood!

MOTHER: Tanya! Eddie! – Someone go and see. (Th e sound of

running water hitting the fl oor can be heard.)

TATYANA: (Shouting off -stage.) It’s Noah’s fl ood!

FATHER: Oops! She’s dashed the thread on the tap.

DUŠAN: (As if to himself, but so the others can hear.) At last!

A miracle in the black house.

KLÁRA: (Indicating to Dušan for him to take over looking after

Šárka.) Come here, Dušan. But no foie gras. (Gets up, Dušan

sits down next to Šárka on the fl oor and Klára hurries off

through door 2.)

DUŠAN: (Nursing Šárka.) Suddenly a  spring gushed in the

wilderness. Th ere’s no foie gras in the legend.

KLÁRA: I should hope not. (Disappears through door 2.)

MOTHER: None of this touches you, Eddie?

FATHER: No, I’m not here. I’ve never been here.

DUŠAN: (Having noticed that the cupboard door has loosened,

tries to open it.) No sign of Zadok the priest here, or people

rejoicing with great joy, and yet the earth is rent.

KLÁRA: (Runs in through door 2, leaving it open; with wrench in

hand she runs through door 3 without closing it, calling to

Dušan as she passes through.) Cut the foie gras. You’ll drive

him away.

MOTHER: (To Father.) Th is is ridiculous, Eddie. Ludicrous. What

are you waiting for? Off you go. And don’t come back. What

are you staring at? I’ve had as much from you as I can take. Go.

FATHER: (Taking fright.) What did she say? It’s rusted up. No one

can shift it.

DUŠAN: (Concentrating on the cupboard door, which he succeeds in

releasing) Open, Sesame, damn you.

473

(Šárka exploits Dušan’s distraction, pushes him aside, disentangles

herself from him, gets up and runs through door 2, shutting and

locking it.)

DUŠAN: (Still sitting helplessly on the fl oor.) Sarah!

FATHER: Th ere’s nothing wrong with her. It’s all that philosophizing.

I told her: ‘Do law.’

MOTHER: Tanya, grab her.

TATYANA: (Unlocks door 2 and comes in through it.) Fat chance.

She’s got the strength of a man.

(From inside the house another door bangs, then another, and a key

is heard turning in a lock. Only then does everyone realize that these

sounds have been against a background of silence. Th e sound of water

has stopped.)

DUŠAN: (Opens the cupboard. An unfi nished brick wall is slowly

revealed behind it.) Memorial plaque à la Pompe. Th ere was

a door here once, sister-in-law. At the outbreak of war it was

behind that door that our brave uncle – the partisan – hid.

And by the way, he wasn’t a partisan, that’s just a post-war

fi ction; he was a solicitor and a Jew. His wife divorced him

in ’41 and the concentration camp loomed. You could only

cross the border if you’d got money, and he hadn’t got any.

He begged his sister and brother-in-law, but they didn’t have

any either. Th ey’d have to sell the house. But that would have

been a pity. So he headed for the border as best he could. To

his death. Th e house gave him up voluntarily.

FATHER: (Still with his overnight case in his hand by door 4.)

Poppycock!

KLÁRA: (Wrench in hand, enters through door 3, closes it, looks

round; to Tatyana.) Is she in the bathroom, or the kitchen?

TATYANA: Bathroom. Double-locked.

KLÁRA: (To Dušan.) Dušan. (Moves towards him as if to strike him

with the wrench.) You evil, rubbish-spouting Vill-an.

DUŠAN: Sorry. Really, I am.

474

KLÁRA: No you’re not. You’re glad. (Indicates with her left hand

that Dušan’s nostrils have fl ared.) Like a dog on the scent.

DUŠAN: If you’re talking about Sarah, I  didn’t let go of her

deliberately.

KLÁRA: Of course not. And the canary helped itself to the foie

gras. (She indicates that she is going to grip Dušan’s nose in the

wrench.) But you’ve gone too far.

MOTHER: Klára, what are you doing?

TATYANA: You’ll rip his nose off .

FATHER: Voluntarily. Given him up. Pure poppycock.

KLÁRA: He deserves to have something else ripped off . (Drops

the hand with the wrench and heads for door 2, closing the

cupboard door on the way, far enough to conceal the brick wall;

to Tatyana.) Help me clear up, will you? Come on. (Tatyana

follows her out, Dušan as well, but Klára turns on him.) Not

you. I don’t want you.

IVAN: (Enters by door 4, holding the wrench; to Father.) Th e sword of

the Nibelungs. Genuine Solingen steel. (Looks round, sees the

breakfast and the open cupboard.) You’re not having breakfast,

are you? And what about the investigating offi cer? Has he

charged you yet? Don’t let me disturb you. Bon appétit!

END OF PART 1

Part 2

(Same scene, same characters and same time as at the end of Part 1.)

FATHER: Good morning, Ivan lad. Have you brought Tanya? And

what about Baby Peter? (Picks up the wrench.) Of course

it’s not your true Solingen steel. (Puts the wrench down among

the cups and plates.) Are you hungry? Mind you, I wouldn’t

recommend this – it’s been re-heated. And gone cold.

475

DUŠAN: My wife serves food fresh and hot.

FATHER: Re-heated and cold.

DUŠAN: (Bellowing.) Fresh and hot.

MOTHER: (Firmly, in order to defl ect the clash that is looming.) Stop

it. You, Eddie, are facing a far more serious problem.

FATHER: Of course. (Puts down his case.) How are we going to get

any water for the next four weeks?

IVAN: (To Father.) Why four?

FATHER: Because if they don’t have a genuine Bosch (He pronounces

it ‘bosh’.) tap fi tting – and they won’t, and I won’t make do with

anything else …

DUŠAN: How daft to go buying something from a shop that doesn’t

have it.

FATHER: … it takes four weeks for it to come from Germany. What

did he say?

DUŠAN: It‘s not pronounced ‘bosh’, but ‘bos-ch’.

FATHER: What did he say?

IVAN: (Gestures dismissively.) He’s being stupid.

DUŠAN: Th e famous painter of fantastical scenes, Hieronymus

Bosch (He pronounces it ‘bos-ch’), was not, as anyone with

any education knows, German, but Dutch.

FATHER: (To Dušan.) Listen, Ivan lad, have you got a water tank?

DUŠAN: A water tank? How many do you need? Ten?

FATHER: Have you?

DUŠAN: A whole bedroom-ful. And more in the living-room and

kitchen.

FATHER: Bring one then. To be on the safe side. In case Bosch

comes up to my low expectations. Now you see me. Now you

don’t. (Makes to leave by door 4.)

DUŠAN: Always the same when something really matters.

FATHER: What did he say? (To Mother.) If Dušan turns up, remind

him who Mr. Křenař is.

DUŠAN: Who?

FATHER: A scoundrel. An extortionist. A kraut.

476

DUŠAN: A kraut, no less.

FATHER: (To Mother.) As for Šárka, we promised her something.

(Sets off through door 4.)

MOTHER: (Calling after him.) Don’t forget the essentials. It looks

as if you’ll be sending for the rest later.

FATHER: (Returns to his case, but gestures dismissively, leaves it

where it is, leaves through door 4, not closing it behind him.)

KLÁRA: (Enters through door 2, looking anxious and terrifi ed;

a draught blows open the cupboard door that conceals the

brick wall.) She’s not answering, Mother. She’s gone and done

something to herself.

MOTHER: All right, run and get him, Klára. Hurry.

(Klára runs out through door 4, leaving it open.)

IVAN: Who? Th e neighbour? Dad’ll thank you for that! (Closes the

cupboard door, but the draught blows it open again.) She can

see through doors. Klára – kláravoyant.

DUŠAN: One point for word-play. Josef ’s on form.

IVAN: Mother, if he calls me ‘Josef ’ one more time, I’ll smash his

face in.

MOTHER: Please, Dušan.

DUŠAN: What’s your problem? Josef ’s a perfectly normal name.

Much more honest than your twitchy Slavonic Ivan, or Dušan.

Grandpa Polák from Boskovice was a Josef. Josl. Regrettably

a Jew.

IVAN: Say, Mother, why do you make such a secret of our being

Jewish? Th ese days some people make themselves out to be

Jews who aren’t.

MOTHER: Don’t you start.

DUŠAN: Whether or not we are Jews, that is the question.

IVAN: Everyone thinks we are.

DUŠAN: What everyone thinks isn’t always true. Th e evidence?

Mother survived the war at home.

IVAN: Because Father kept her. He didn’t divorce her. Th e action of

a real man.

477

MOTHER: Do change the subject, will you?

IVAN: (To Mother.) Is it still taboo? All right, I’m sorry.

DUŠAN: We’re Jews on our mother’s side. Not our father’s though.

But there’s another version. She maintains we’re not Jews even

through the maternal line. Th ere are documents to prove it.

IVAN: Really? Where?

DUŠAN: Ask to see them. But watch out. I tried it. Almost two years

ago to the day. And what happened? He slung me out.

MOTHER: A diff erent father might have nearly killed you.

DUŠAN: And what had I said? Th at he’d sent his brother-in-law

before the fi ring squad. Wasn’t it true? It was.

(Klára enters through door 4, followed by the Neighbour with his

toolbag slung across one shoulder; he is talking to Klára, who shuts

the door behind him.)

NEIGHBOUR: Absolutely, Missus. Any lock can be opened. As

burglars will tell you. G‘morning Mrs. Pompe. Where is this

miracle lock?

MOTHER: My husband fi tted a  German one, Mr. Křenař. So it

couldn’t be drilled out.

NEIGHBOUR: German, German. We’ll have it out in no time.

(Follows Klára through door 2, followed in turn by Dušan.)

IVAN: I don’t agree with this, I warn you. (Enters door 2 and closes

it behind him)

MOTHER: Lord God, succor Th y servants. (Prays silently, to the

sound of an electric drill, which then stops.)

DUŠAN: (Enters through door 2, leaving it open.) Done.

MOTHER: Holy Mary, how is she?

DUŠAN: Th e fun’s over.

IVAN: (Arriving through door 2, leaving it open.) What did I say? Th e

lock’s done for – false alarm.

DUŠAN: She’s taken some pills. Half a tubeful.

IVAN: Meant to take them. Nothing to worry about.

(Mother rises.)

DUŠAN: Don’t go. She’s throwing up.

478

IVAN: Rubbish. She hasn’t got anything to throw up. She’s being

neurotic.

NEIGHBOUR: (Entering through door 2.) All done, Mrs. Pompe. If

there’s anything else, just say the word. I was thinking… yeah, I’ll

just fetch it. (Notices Mother’s fear and leaves through door 4.)

IVAN: I wish he weren’t such a creep.

DUŠAN: (To Mother.) Will somebody fi nally tell me what you’ve got

against him?

IVAN: Father knows what he knows. Th at’s good enough for me.

DUŠAN: Is it because he could have helped and didn’t?

IVAN: Who help who? And when?

DUŠAN: During the war. He asked for twenty-fi ve thousand.

MOTHER: (To Dušan.) Where did you get that from?

IVAN: I don’t understand.

DUŠAN: I got a poison-pen letter. Křenař and his father were part

of a train crew. Right through the war. Th ey worked the main

line into Slovakia. For every Jew they got across the frontier

they’d ask for twenty-fi ve thousand, payable in advance. But

our uncle, the partisan, didn’t have the money. Do you think

anyone lent it to him? Guess.

KLÁRA: (Enters through door 2, leading Šárka with one arm round

her shoulders. Th ey are followed by Tatyana.) Šárka’s made up

her mind. Get a move on, Dušan. We’re going.

ŠÁRKA: Write to Heidelberg for me. Th e end of an illusion. Th ere’ll

be no doctorate.

MOTHER: Don’t say that. You can write yourself.

ŠÁRKA: Why? It won’t change anything. I’m a wreck.

KLÁRA: No you’re not.

ŠÁRKA: A disgrace to the family. Wherever you look, prizewinners,

doctors, ministers, and among them this reject. Th is

degenerate.

TATYANA: All I’ve got is my school cert. Passed by the skin of my

teeth. So what am I? Ivan says: the worst typist at the District

Court.

479

ŠÁRKA: You’re a mother. And me? A walking disaster area. Please,

don’t make me. I’m not up to it.

MOTHER: Who’s making you do what?

ŠÁRKA: I can’t look after myself, let alone her.

MOTHER: Don’t you want Markéta? Th at’s the fi rst I’ve heard of it.

All right. You shan’t have her.

ŠÁRKA: You say that now. But in fi ve minutes you’ll be saying

something diff erent. Th ey’ll saddle me with her. Th e judge’ll

be bribed.

DUŠAN: Who by? Dad?

ŠÁRKA: Ivan mostly.

DUŠAN: I hope you’ll get the main say.

ŠÁRKA: It’s all very well for you to talk. Th ey can’t get at you. But

I’m dependent on them.

TATYANA: What on earth are you saying?

IVAN: Who’s been putting ideas in your head?

ŠÁRKA: I know everything. It’s all become clear.

IVAN: You’re just repeating what you’ve heard others saying.

TATYANA: You’re not going to give the girl up, are you?

ŠÁRKA: Please, take me away. Straight to the place where I belong.

(Picks up her bag.)

NEIGHBOUR: (Knocks on door 4 and steps inside.) I had one at

home. (Points to a set of chrome-plated kitchen taps.) None of

your Bosch stuff . Myjava. Second-hand. But it’ll do for a while.

I’ll fi t it – if Dr. Pompe will permit me.

KLÁRA: No thanks, Mr. Křenař. We’ll manage.

NEIGHBOUR: Really? Are you a plumber then?

KLÁRA: Untrained, but experienced.

NEIGHBOUR: As you will, madame. Here’s the washers and some

tow. And some vaseline to fi nish it off . (Puts the tap unit, pot

of vaseline and tow down close to the table.)

KLÁRA: You needn’t worry.

480

NEIGHBOUR: And one more thing: old pipes don’t like changes in

pressure. When you turn the water off , then open it up again,

they’re apt to burst. Just so as you’re not surprised.

MOTHER: Th ank you, Mr. Křenař.

NEIGHBOUR: (To Klára.) Ah, and that other matter, missus. You’ll

put in a word for me?

KLÁRA: Rest assured.

NEIGHBOUR: If you need anything else, I’m in. Just give us a shout.

(Leaves by door 4, closing it behind him.)

DUŠAN: Right then, let’s get going. (Leaves by door 4, Šárka and

Klára set off after him.)

IVAN: (To Šárka.) I’m disappointed in you, Šárka. I  thought you

loved Markéta.

ŠÁRKA: (Stops by door 4, comes back, Klára with her.) And don’t I?

IVAN: You’re being selfi sh. You want to be alone. But you’ve never

been alone. Once you know what it’s like, you’ll be sorry.

TATYANA: (Watching the eff ect of Ivan’s words on Šárka.) Don’t be

nasty to her, Ivan. Talk to her nicely.

IVAN: Th ey’re not giving you good advice. Neither the minister, nor

the sainted Klára. You’ve forgotten what it’s like in hospital. But

I remember. Th ey called us out of the blue: She’s in a coma. Th e

professor kept banging on in Latin. Said it was an exceptional

kind of breakdown. Treatable, if a bit risky. We should say our

good-byes. You were lying there, motionless, temperature of

forty-one. Th at didn’t happen from one moment to the next.

Th ey tried all manner of things on you, then they gave up for

a while and started convening panels. Dad saw through them.

Th ey’re all charlatans. You’d be better off staying at home.

KLÁRA: You’re wrong, Dušan. You’re not telling her everything.

(Louder.) Dušan.

TATYANA: (To Klára.) He’s right.

IVAN: (To Klára.) It’s mostly you who hasn’t told her everything.

You’ve left the main thing out: the crazy treatment they used

on her. And that they’ll use the same again.

481

ŠÁRKA: What? Th ey’ll give it me again? No, not that. It’s banned

in America. Electric-shock therapy. You haven’t had it. Th ey

smear your temples with something, attach electrodes – and

bang! Th en you come round and you don’t know who you are

or where you are. You don’t have bad thoughts, but you don’t

have good ones either. Utterly vacant, utterly abandoned. Like

a newborn baby. You start shouting. It makes you dreadfully

anxious.

DUŠAN: (Entering through door 4.) Come on then, Sarah, and stop

twittering.

ŠÁRKA: Why did you call me Sarah?

KLÁRA: (To Dušan.) Th anks, you’re a pal. Foie gras at just the right

moment.

ŠÁRKA: It’s to remind me I’m Jewish. Why? Ivan’s right. I’m going

to have another think.

KLÁRA: Shock treatment’s the only way to release Jessing’s catatonia.

IVAN: Mother, don’t let Klára go to work on her.

ŠÁRKA: I’m not catatonic.

DUŠAN: Just as the textbooks say.

KLÁRA: Stick to the weather, will you, Dušan?

ŠÁRKA: Why? So as not to upset me? I’m perfectly calm. (Pointing

to the food on the table.) Is anyone joining me? (Th ey all stand

there looking awkward.) I see, you’re waiting for Daddy. But

I can’t wait. My stomach’s in knots. (Scans the table.) Is there

a knife?

KLÁRA: (Hands Šárka a table knife.) Here you are.

ŠÁRKA: A sharp one.

MOTHER: Klára.

ŠÁRKA: We’ve got at least fi ve.

KLÁRA: Sorry. I couldn’t fi nd a single one.

ŠÁRKA: I get it. You don’t want me to do myself an injury. But I’m

not going to. Yes, I was mortifi ed when Pavel left. And if I’ve

given you a fright, forgive me. But I will pull myself together

and get on top of it. Do believe me. Don’t humiliate me by

482

watching me all the time. I’m not lying, I’m hungry. Klára,

please. (Holds out her hand.)

IVAN: Did you hear that, sister-in-law?

TATYANA: But she’s being quite sensible.

IVAN: So are you going to give her one or not? Mother.

MOTHER: You know, I think Ivan’s right, Klára.

KLÁRA: I don’t think so, and anyway I don’t know about the knives.

IVAN: Someone’s hidden them.

KLÁRA: So the same someone can go and get them. I’m not playing

hunt-the-thimble.

DUŠAN: So, Mother, for the last time of asking: is Sarah going to

hospital?

MOTHER: Your father and I promised she wouldn’t go against her

will. I see no reason to break that promise.

DUŠAN: Okay then. (Leaves by door 2, immediately returns, carrying

fi ve sharp knives, which he tosses onto the table among the

food.) From now on Josef is in charge of treatment.

IVAN: (Steps up to Dušan and without warning knocks him to the

ground with a blow to the chin.) Is that enough? Or do you

want more?

MOTHER: Leave him, Ivan.

DUŠAN: (Picking himself up.) Don’t worry. He’s got reason to be

angry. Unlike you, he remembers that story. Dad would tell it

to us when we were kids. Josef was a court bailiff . Whenever

his boss saw him, he’d say: Josef, tell us a joke. Josef ’s jokes

weren’t all that funny, but this was his boss’s feeble attempt to

mask the fact that Josef was half-pissed. And it went on from

morning to night.

IVAN: (In a low voice.) You bastard. (He makes to kick Dušan as he

struggles to his feet.)

TATYANA: (Blocks his way.) No, Ivan. You might make him think

the cap fi ts. (To Dušan.) Did you want, big brother-in-law, to

get me thinking that Ivan used to have a drinking problem?

483

I know all about it. But he’s cured. He hasn’t touched a drop

in fi ve years.

MOTHER: I should hope so, Ivan. Otherwise it will kill you.

DUŠAN: No harm in hoping. But I can tell. Th is morning he had

two shots, and another two when he went to get the wrench.

Now he’s due for round three.

KLÁRA: (Wiping the blood from Dušan’s torn lip.) Foie gras with

a surprise.

IVAN: Except that Tanya didn’t swallow it. (To Dušan.) Get out!

DUŠAN: It’s not for you to kick me out. Come on, Klára, we’re going.

(Klára doesn’t react.) We’ll meet again in less happy times.

MOTHER: Don’t leave, Dušan. We haven’t said all we need to yet.

DUŠAN: (Coming back.) On the contrary. Th is is a house of death.

KLÁRA: Please, Dušan, do cut the foie gras.

(Šárka leaves by door 2 carrying a plate of food, but no one notices.)

DUŠAN: (He has not heard Klára; to Mother.) Twenty-fi ve thousand.

If you’d sold it, you’d have got ten times as much.

MOTHER: I couldn’t. Th e law wouldn’t let us.

DUŠAN: He wouldn’t let you. He threatened to divorce you. And

you gave in to him.

MOTHER: Was that in that poison-pen letter as well?

DUŠAN: It was always like that. In thirty-eight your parents begged

you not to go to America with him. Without you they didn’t

feel they could cope. You were their salvation. But you didn’t

want to. Th e house would have had to be sold. Th ree years

later it was the same thing with your brother. (To Tatyana.)

Th irty-fi ve years later another round. Th ey came. Th e entire

family. Josef in the lead (Indicating Ivan.), along with his

wife. But she was taken ill and fl ed. Do you know why they

came? So that I would give up my inheritance. Th ey said the

Communists would lock me up and my property would be

forfeited to the state. Including the third of the house that was

mine. Do you still believe they’re keeping Šárka at home for

her own good, and that it’s for Markéta’s good that they want

484

to go to court? Poppycock! Th ey know very well what’s wrong

with Šárka and where she belongs. But it’s all about the house.

It’s only ever about the house. And I, idiot that I am, came in

the belief that they might have changed. Ridiculous. I’m going

to no one’s funeral. Good bye. (Leaves through door 4.)

TATYANA: (To Ivan.) If that’s how it was, sweetie, it’s crazy.

IVAN: He’s crazy.

TATYANA: Do you know how it was?

MOTHER: Dušan, come back here, at once.

DUŠAN: (Comes back.) Are you staying, Klára?

KLÁRA: A couple of hours, a couple of days maybe.

DUŠAN: Th ere’s no point. Has she pulled the Tsvetaeva thing yet?

And La Dama del Alba? No? It’ll come – then she’ll slash her

wrists. You won’t be able to watch her all the time, then you’ll

get the blame. Th ey’ll make you an accomplice to murder.

Th ere’s  no point even trying to help those as won’t help

themselves.

KLÁRA: Th ere’s no helping you. Go alone.

DUŠAN: Not without you, oh no.

KLÁRA: How many have you got? (She picks up the Neighbour’s tap

set and looks at the table.)

MOTHER: Kitchen knives? Five.

KLÁRA: Th ere are only four here. She’s taken one. (Quickly leaves

by door 2).

MOTHER: But she’s calm. (Leaves by door 2, then calls from the

other side.) She’s just resting.

DUŠAN: So she’ll have her rest, then you’ll see. (Stands there a while,

looks at his watch, then leaves by door 4.)

TATYANA: Now you can tell me: what’s the truth?

IVAN: About the house? I don’t know. I don’t want to know. As it

says in the Old Testament: Th e shame of thy father shall thou

not uncover.

TATYANA: You know what I’m asking about.

IVAN: I haven’t been drinking, honest.

485

TATYANA: You’ve been very edgy ever since this morning. You let

me drive. Th at’s the fi rst time since we’ve been together. Why?

IVAN: Because they brought us all together for this reconciliation.

But there’s  some ulterior motive to it. I  can sense it. And

I can’t stand it.

TATYANA: So take a swig. I know there’s something bothering you.

(Reaches inside his breast pocket and pulls out a small fl ask.)

Take a swig, but you must see the doctor tomorrow.

IVAN: It hasn’t happened in fi ve hundred years, and won’t happen

for another fi ve.

TATYANA: You’ve had a relapse. You must phone the clinic.

IVAN: All right then. (Has a drink and puts the fl ask back in his

pocket.) Trust me. I will phone.

KLÁRA: (Comes out of door 2, takes the wrench with her through

door 3.) Šárka’s fallen asleep. Fast asleep like after a fi t.

TATYANA: (Waits for Klára to disappear behind door 3 and close it

behind her, then opens door 4 and looks out.) Asleep. But I’m

worried. What if he’s sick?

IVAN: Baby Peter? Don’t be silly. What d’you mean, sick?

TATYANA: Apparently Marek also used to get convulsions while

eating.

IVAN: Why ‘also’? (In the direction of door 3.) Have you been talking

about it to her? You can’t take any notice of what she says.

Convulsions! If anyone has convulsions, then it’s her.

KLÁRA: (Comes out of door 3 carrying the wrench.) Water’s back on.

IVAN: I’m warning you, sister-in-law, you’re not going to play fi rst

fi ddle in this house.

KLÁRA: Mother let me fi t the Myjava taps.

IVAN: When Dad gets back you’ll have to watch out. But more

important than that: stop trying to set Tatyana against me.

KLÁRA: Have I been doing that?

TATYANA: (To Ivan.) Please, sweetie, stop it, this minute.

486

IVAN: (To Tatyana.) Sorry, sweetie. If Baby Peter’s off colour, I’ll be

able to tell. (Calling.) So, Mother, this meeting. Is it going to

begin?

MOTHER: (Coming out of door 2.) After breakfast.

IVAN: Th is is the fi rst family conference with breakfast. So there

won’t be any discussion.

MOTHER: All right. I’ll tell you now. Daddy and I are going to alter

our wills. Dušan will inherit just like the rest of you. Provided

only that he shows some regret.

IVAN: When he does, I hope you’ll let me know.

MOTHER: You can count on it.

KLÁRA: But Dušan doesn’t want to inherit, mummy. We both agree.

MOTHER: He doesn’t want a share in the house? Why?

KLÁRA: It ought to go to Šárka. All of it.

IVAN: Brilliant idea! And what about me?

KLÁRA: You and Dušan are earning good money. But the Nibelungs

won’t give Šárka a living.

IVAN: I’ve got plenty for her too.

MOTHER: Wait a minute. You’re paying for three children. All Šárka

can hope for is an invalidity pension.

KLÁRA: Suppose she carries on like today. Will you be living with

her?

IVAN: Like hell I will!

MOTHER: Look at it sensibly, Ivan. Once Daddy and I have gone,

she can have a tenant upstairs. Th e house will provide for her.

Th ere could even be enough for a nurse.

IVAN: So the cat’s out of the bag. So you want me to pack up and go.

How nicely contrived.

MOTHER: Th ere’s been no contriving.

KLÁRA: Th e idea only came to Dušan and me this morning.

IVAN: You do realize what you’re condemning me to. Eking my life

out in a tower block. If you do disinherit me, I’ll challenge it

in court.

487

MOTHER: No one’s going to disinherit you. You’ll merely cede your

share to Šárka.

IVAN: (Ironically.) Voluntarily.

KLÁRA: What do you think, Tanya?

TATYANA: It’s for Ivan to decide.

KLÁRA: You don’t have an opinion?

TATYANA: I don’t want to talk about it now.

IVAN: Th at, sister-in-law, is our last word on the subject. Understand,

Mother?

(Th e sound of breaking glass is heard from inside the house.)

MOTHER: She’s awake. Šárka! (Moves towards door 2; to Klára.)

What was it?

KLÁRA: (Overtaking Mother, runs out through door 2.) She’s smashed

a glass.

TATYANA: Listen, sweetie. Would you really sue your parents?

IVAN: And I’d win. I’ve got right on my side.

TATYANA: But the house is theirs. Th ey can give it to whoever

they want.

IVAN: Th at’s what Klára said when they disinherited Dušan. And he

was stupid enough to listen to her.

TATYANA: Stop shouting. It’s a lovely house. It would be best if

Šárka got it.

IVAN: Forgive me, sweetie. Kindly leave it to me.

TATYANA: I  understand. You’re fond of it. But I  wouldn’t live

here. And I hope you’re fonder of me. (Listening.) Baby Peter.

(Leaves through door 4.)

ŠÁRKA: (Comes in through door 2.) Believe me, Klára. Th ere’s nothing

wrong with me.

KLÁRA: Put it back then.

ŠÁRKA: Th e knife? It’s where it should be.

KLÁRA: Don’t try it, Šárka. I won’t permit it.

ŠÁRKA: Speaking purely academically: by what right? It’s my life.

Suppose I’ve had enough?

KLÁRA: It’s not just yours.

488

ŠÁRKA: Who else’s then? My parents’? Th ey won’t mind outliving

me. Th ey’ve known worse.

KLÁRA: If you weren’t ill, I’d say you were an ignorant, spoilt brat.

ŠÁRKA: For not honouring my father and my mother? Tell me: do

you honour them?

KLÁRA: Of course.

ŠÁRKA: Father Pompe and Mother Pompe? I don’t see why. Because

the priest told you to?

KLÁRA: God has dealt hard with them. I have to admire them.

ŠÁRKA: Admiration’s all very well when there’s nothing wrong with

you. Whereas night after night I play back my life. And theirs.

And what do I see? A family of monsters. People like that

shouldn’t be born. But if they are, they shouldn’t have children.

KLÁRA: Th ank God you can’t do anything about that.

ŠÁRKA: But I can do something. Mother. (Mother enters slowly

through door 2.) Do you remember that old fairy-tale? Come

and read it to me. You know the one: “It’s Good that Death

Is.” No, no, don’t worry. I’m just conducting a philosophical

disputation. Why are you looking at me like that? Are you

looking for it too? I don’t need it. Here it is. (She takes out the

kitchen knife and plunges it into door 2, then goes out through

door 2, closing it behind her.)

MOTHER: What do you think about her?

KLÁRA: She’s terribly, terribly sick.

MOTHER: Or spoilt. Hysterical. Wicked. But well.

KLÁRA: I think she’s pretending.

MOTHER: Oh Lord, my mother did that. When she was at her worst,

she claimed to be feeling marvelous. And we swallowed it.

KLÁRA: (Opens door 2, looks inside and listens, then closes it.)

She’s writing something. You’re an odd family.

MOTHER: Do you mean fl awed? Yes, my mother-in-law was

a manic depressive. After Eddie and I got married, she twice

tried to hang herself. I wasn’t so helpless in those days. I found

a clinic. A really good one. Discrete. But Eddie wouldn’t hear

489

of it. “Mum’s perfectly okay.” She lived with us. We kept an eye

on her. She tyrannized us.

KLÁRA: Dušan says she was killed by the Germans.

MOTHER: Just before the war, it was. I was six months pregnant and

feeling like I couldn’t go on. So I said: “Th is isn’t going to work,

Eddie. It’s her or me.” He says: “Dr. Polák”, yes, like when I was

single, so I’m standing in front of him with this belly and he

says: “Dr. Polák, you have opted for divorce.” And I says: “Dr.

Pompe, you may send your solicitor.” I didn’t mean it, nor did

he, but I got my way. We got Mama into an institution. Th ree

years later the Gestapo burst in and gave everyone lethal

injections. He’s hated me ever since.

KLÁRA: I think he still loves you. (Opens door 2, listens and looks

inside, then closes it.) But in a strange way.

MOTHER: He grew up without a mother. Brought up by foster

mothers. He refused to get married. But I  wanted him.

Desperately. I  had myself baptized because of him. He

reminded me a  bit of Harold Lloyd. But he was brilliant.

as a  lawyer He lectured at the university. Everyone was

impressed. I wheedled all the family savings out of my parents

and built a house. Even as a child he wanted a house of his

own. I decided to make his wish come true with the house

I bought him. Th ere was a grand wedding followed by great

retribution. Th ere’s only one thing I couldn’t come to terms

with: that it’s aff ected Šárka as well. I didn’t want to see that

it was hereditary, and I don’t want to see it even now. But I’m

not entirely blind. Unfortunately.

ŠÁRKA: (Pops her head out of door 2.) Old maid, blind as a bat, what

do you think I’m playing at? Round and round I run and run,

now you catch me if you can. (Closes the door.)

MOTHER: She’s been eavesdropping on us.

KLÁRA: Will you help me get her into the ambulance?

490

MOTHER: She carried on like this after she came back from

Heidelberg. Insisted she wouldn’t go voluntarily. Th ey had to

strap her up.

KLÁRA: Th e three of us, you, me and Dušan, we’ll be a match for

her.

MOTHER: I promise I’ll do whatever you ask, lass. But the minute

I clap my eyes on Eddie, the minute I hear his ‘What did she

say?’, any promise might fl y out of the window.

(Th e sound of breaking glass is heard.)

KLÁRA: At least we know what she intends to use. (Pulls the knife

out of door 2.)

MOTHER: Yes, Klára. I’m so helpless. Please don’t abandon us.

(Klára crosses herself, leaves by door 2 and closes it behind her.)

FATHER: (Enters door 4.) Two months. Yep. Two months to deliver

them. Scandalous! I said: “Could it be an employee of Bosch

telling me this?” And they went: “Th is is a hypermarket. Go

to Vienna, for one thousand schillings they can be yours.” Pay

three times over the rate for a set of taps – do I look as if I’m

made of money?

MOTHER: Calm down, Eddie. Wash your hands. (Leaves by door 2.)

FATHER: (Following her out.) You’ve got water? Has Ivan brought

that tank?

ŠÁRKA: (Comes in through door 2, heading for door 4.) Have you

read Marina Tsvetaeva?

KLÁRA: (Quickly following her in through door 2.) Some of the

poems.

ŠÁRKA: My favourite is “Back Home After Years Away”. “Sister

mine, this house is full of hiding-places. Playing like children…

A beautiful lie./ Seek me, catch me – you won’t. Now I’m

where you’ll never fi nd me.” Nice, isn’t it?

(Father enters through door 2.)

MOTHER: (Following Father in through door 2.) Eddie, don’t. (To

Klára.) What did she say?

KLÁRA: Nothing good.

491

ŠÁRKA: She wrote it and hanged herself.

MOTHER: Dear God.

FATHER: I decide what I can and can’t do. (Picks up the wrench

from the table.)

KLÁRA: (To Šárka.) Come on now, let me have it.

ŠÁRKA: What this time?

KLÁRA: You know.

ŠÁRKA: Are we playing forfeits? What do you want me to do as

a forfeit? An act of confession? Fat chance! (Runs out of door

2.)

MOTHER: What’s she got?

KLÁRA: A piece of glass. (Runs out through door 2, closing it behind

her.)

MOTHER: Oh God! Listen, Eddie, there’s something much more

important here.

FATHER: (Leaving through door 3.) Of course. You’ve been acting

behind my back.

MOTHER: I meant well. It’ll do for a couple of months. As a stop-

gap.

FATHER: (Comes back.) Not for one minute! Th at Myjava thing has

to go. It’s also important where you got it from. I bet Křenař

has got something to do with this. Who fi tted it? Him too?

(Mother shakes her head.)

FATHER: Who then? Who took the liberty?

MOTHER: Me. (Stands in front of door 3.)

FATHER: You and who else! Out of my way!

MOTHER: Only if you promise not to take it off again.

FATHER: Křenař can go and shove it somewhere.

MOTHER: And I  can lug water around in buckets. Like in ’45.

Th at’s what you’d like. You can’t wait.

FATHER: At least you won’t forget. (Takes a step towards mother,

who is blocking his way to door 3.)

MOTHER: In short, you haven’t forgiven me.

492

FATHER: Take good note: taps must not be tightened by force.

Repeat it.

MOTHER: But we’re in this together. I off ered you the house. And

you accepted it.

FATHER: For the last time I’m asking: who fi tted it? Who was out

to make me look stupid? Who had the sheer impertinence?

All right. I’ll fi nd out.

MOTHER: Please, Eddie, leave her alone.

FATHER: What did you say?

MOTHER: You’ve insulted her quite enough. You can’t stand her.

You’ve infected me too. You haven’t spoken to her in years.

Why? I’ll tell you: Klára is your conscience. When Dušan was

in trouble, she stood by him. But when I was faced with the

concentration camp…

FATHER: Poppycock!

MOTHER: … you had a pistol on your desk and were writing a letter

of farewell. In secret, but so I wouldn’t fi nd it.

FATHER: Whinge, whinge. Can’t understand a word.

MOTHER: And when I did fi nd it – what did you suggest? Th at we

should die together. You put the pistol down in front of me and

said: “Don’t be so helpless. Shoot.” – You knew I couldn’t. Th e

fact that we had a son never crossed your mind. You packed

your little case. “I’m just taking the essentials. I’ll send for the

rest in due course.” Th at’s why I did it. Th at dreadful thing.

FATHER: Sob story. You’ve spun me that one ten times before this.

MOTHER: Never. Not once have I  put that dreadful thing into

words.

FATHER: Ten times. Nay, a hundred times!

MOTHER: Never! Because if the children heard, they’d never want

to see you again. But if you don’t stop this, if you carry on

being obnoxious to Klára, if you drive her away like you’ve

driven away anyway who’s ever been here…

FATHER: Cut the tragedy. (Pushes Mother aside, leaves by door 3,

leaving it open.) I won’t do anything. I’ll just undo it.

493

MOTHER: I will say it. Do you hear, Eddie?

FATHER: (Calling, off -stage.) I can’t hear, Hedi.

MOTHER: What are you doing in there?

FATHER: (Off -stage.) Working.

MOTHER: You’re relying on me not saying it. But you’re wrong. Th is

time I will. (Leaving by door 2, cries in desperation.) Eddie!

FATHER: (Off -stage, parodies Mother’s intonation.) Hedi!

MOTHER: Evil, evil as the Devil. (Leaves by door 2, closing it behind

her.)

FATHER: (Comes in through door 3, closing it behind him.) Myjava!

After the barbarians desecrated a  church, it had to be

reconsecrated. (Wrench in hand, goes out through door 2.)

ŠÁRKA: (Enters through door 2, dithers neurotically as if not knowing

where to go; to Klára.) Do you speak Spanish?

KLÁRA: (Following her in through door 2.) Not a word.

ŠÁRKA: Dušan can explain the signifi cance of the dama del alba in

Andalusian folklore. She arrives between four and fi ve in the

morning. Relief, liberation, peace.

KLÁRA: Wait. Who is she then?

ŠÁRKA: Wouldn’t you like to know! But it’s a secret. And do stop

spying on me. Leave me alone. (Runs out of door 2.)

KLÁRA: (Calling urgently.) Dušan! (Runs out after Šárka.)

IVAN: (Runs in through door 4, carrying a vomit-stained nappy, runs

through door 1, is away briefl y, then runs back in, this time

without the nappy.) Shit! (Shouts.) Sister-in-law. Is it back on

or not? Do you hear me? Th e water.

FATHER: (Enters through door 2.) You’ll have to go to the tank, Ivan

lad.

IVAN: I’m going mad. Mother. I’m covered in puke.

MOTHER: (Comes in through door 2.) Please, Eddie, do be sensible.

FATHER: What do you me want to do?

MOTHER: Stop acting silly. At least while the children are here.

FATHER: And turn the water on? Not a chance.

MOTHER: For fi ve minutes. Ten.

494

TATYANA: (Calling off -stage.) Sweetie! We’re ready!

IVAN: Yes, sweetie. (To Father.) You’ve really upset Tanya, Dad.

Lighten up.

FATHER: Are you against me too, Ivan?

KLÁRA: (Comes in through door 2, in a hurry, carrying two empty

jugs, calls.) Dušan.

MOTHER: Where are you going?

KLÁRA: He’ll bring some. (Louder.) Dušan.

MOTHER: Some water?

KLÁRA: We’re going to need it. Th ey off ered me some without

being asked.

MOTHER: Who? Th e Křenařs? I hope you’re not going to bring us

to this, Eddie.

FATHER: What did he say?

IVAN: Don’t trouble yourself, sister-in-law. It’s not worth it, Mother.

Not on our account anyway. (Turns to leave by door 4.)

TATYANA: (Calling off -stage.) Sweetie, are we going or not?

IVAN: I’ll have a wash at home. (Calling.) We’re going. (Leaves by

door 4.)

KLÁRA: (Listening.) Šárka!

MOTHER: Are you going to let them leave, Eddie? You’re determined

to spoil it.

FATHER: What toilet?

MOTHER: Tyrant! Turn the water on, or you’ll have me to answer to.

FATHER: Okay. Ten minutes. But turn it on yourselves. Do you

know how? No, you don’t.

MOTHER: Klára, have you still got that hand-jack?

KLÁRA: Just a minute. (Listening at door 2.) Šárka! (Th e silence

alarms her.) Dušan! (No answer forthcoming, so she runs out

through door 2 with the jugs in her hands.)

FATHER: So, Hedi, next time don’t lie. You can’t even call a wrench

by its proper name, let alone handle one. I knew at once who’d

been messing with my handiwork.

495

MOTHER: She’s a little miracle, Eddie. I wish you could see that.

She’s the only one on earth who’s kind to us. (Calls.) Klára! Is

anything wrong?

KLÁRA: (Off -stage, from the other side of door 2.) Don’t worry, mum.

FATHER: Coming from her it’s  inconsiderate, from you

it’s irresponsible. Th e pipe’s old, it needs sensitive handling.

At all events, no outsider should ever have laid hands on it.

(Wrench in hand, leaves by door 3.)

(After a brief pause, we hear the sound of a powerful stream of water

hitting the ground.)

MOTHER: Saints preserve us!

FATHER: (After another brief pause runs in through door 3, wrench

in hand; he is soaking wet. A stream of water gushes through

the open door after him; he closes the door.) What did I say?

She’s ruined it. Th e way she treated it, it’s gone and burst. And

I, fool that I am, tried to oblige you. Now you’ve had it. Me

too, unfortunately.

MOTHER: Oh God! (To Father.) Don’t look at me, Eddie. I didn’t

want this. Something told me it was going to be disastrous.

I begged her: Klára, don’t touch anything. But she’s terrible.

Doesn’t stop to think fi rst.

FATHER: It served for fi fty years, and would have done another fi fty.

Pre-war quality. Finest Solingen steel. All it takes is one all-

knowing ignoramus, and it’s done for.

MOTHER: Can’t it be stopped?

FATHER: Th e water? Just you try. When it’s gushing in your face.

Under huge pressure. No one could stop it.

MOTHER: How about phoning the water company?

FATHER: Th ey don’t care about accidents on domestic property.

MOTHER: Klára!

KLÁRA: (Off -stage.) I’ll be right there, mum. Five minutes.

MOTHER: Lord God, what hast Th ou sent against us?

FATHER: You ain’t seen nothing yet. Th ere’s worse to come. Th e

foundations will get waterlogged.

496

MOTHER: Mr. Křenař!

FATHER: Th e house will start breaking up from below ground. Until

in the end it collapses. We’re going to be spending our twilight

years in some refuge.

NEIGHBOUR: (Enters through door 4.) Dr. Pompe. If you’ll permit

me…

MOTHER: He’s qualifi ed, Eddie.

FATHER: (Hands him the wrench.) It doesn’t matter… It’s all over

anyway.

NEIGHBOUR: Leave it to me. It won’t take long. (Enters door 3,

the stream of water, which has continued to pound against the

door, bursts towards him.)

FATHER: He won’t succeed. I don’t believe in miracles.

(Th e stream of water subsides. Quiet.)

NEIGHBOUR: (Enters through door 3) Fifty-fi ve years. Th at pipe.

Hasn’t got the stamina we have. Nowadays they’re made of

plastic. Th ey’ll last an eternity. So, like I always say: If you’re

interested and Dr. Pompe trusts us enough to do the job…

(Tries to return the wrench to Father.)

MOTHER: Eddie?

FATHER: (Takes the wrench.) You’re asking me? Trust him? I don’t.

I don’t trust anyone or anything. I’m done.

MOTHER: We are interested, Mr. Křenař, and we do trust you.

NEIGHBOUR: I’ll have my son stop by. (Leaves by door 4.)

MOTHER: (Calls.) Klára. (To the others.) Something’s happened.

FATHER: One moment. Everyone in here.

IVAN: (Enters through door 4, sees the water damage.) What on

earth…? Reminds me of the Titanic.

FATHER: Now’s not the time for cynical jokes.

(Tatyana having changed her clothes enters through door 4.)

FATHER: Or fashion parades.

IVAN: I apologize for her not coming covered in puke.

FATHER: Quiet! Take this down: one two-inch inlet pipe. Seamless,

threaded at both ends. Length six metres. Steel. Tell him that.

497

Him or his son. Or whoever you get in. I’ve given up. It’s too

much for me. Incidentally, Hedi, you can tell your wondrously

kind daughter-in-law that when I am speaking to everyone,

that means her too, so she should have the decency to be here.

MOTHER: (Calls.) Klára! (To the others.) Something’s happened in

there. Klára!

KLÁRA: (Off -stage). Nearly there, mum. One minute.

FATHER: What did she say? Never mind. I’m used to being ignored.

For over fi fty years I’ve been protecting this house against

destruction. Now you’ve let destruction in by the front door.

My fi ght is over. I have one condition only: I don’t want him

trotting along with his scythe. Even without that I  know

death’s  only round the corner. After today I’m even more

certain. I’ve had my say. If anyone has anything to say to me,

remember I can’t hear, nor do I want to. I have just died. Good

night. (Picks up his little case, leaves by door 2 and slams it

behind him. Th e cupboard door that has concealed the bricked-

up entrance swings open for good.)

KLÁRA: (Enters through door 2, calm and collected.) She scratched

herself, but it will be okay.

MOTHER: Heaven be praised. (Heads for door 2.)

KLÁRA: She asked to be left alone. She doesn’t want to speak to

anyone.

MOTHER: Will you drive her, Ivan?

KLÁRA: I’ve sent for an ambulance.

MOTHER: (Calls.) What can you have been thinking, Šárka? Haven’t

we all loved you?

KLÁRA: (To Mother.) Shhhh.

TATYANA: (To Ivan.) She could have bled out. We could have killed

her.

IVAN: You’re exaggerating. (Tatyana reacts with a  gesture of

irritability.) Sorry!

498

KLÁRA: She left some messages. You’re not to prevent Pavel looking

after Markéta. And when they disinherited Dušan, no one

asked her opinion.

MOTHER: Oh God, dear God. We’ll make it right.

TATYANA: We will. (Whispers something to Ivan.)

IVAN: Later, sweetie. We’ll think about it when things have quieted

down.

TATYANA: Sorry, sweetie. If you care for me, speak now. No? Th en

I will. (To all.) Ivan agrees.

IVAN: (To all.) It’s a solution of sorts. (To Tatyana.) Was that all

right, sweetie?

TATYANA: Th e house shall be Šárka’s. Is that right, Ivan?

IVAN: Of course, sweetie. Just don’t get carried away.

NEIGHBOUR: (Enters through door 4, carrying a canister.) Some

water. And there’s an ambulance outside.

(Enter two paramedics with a stretcher.)

KLÁRA: Good morning, gentlemen. Th is way. (Takes them through

door 2.)

IVAN: We’ll take our leave now, mother. Tanya’s not feeling well.

Good bye. (Leaves by door 4.)

MOTHER: Ivan, Tanya. Lord, what a day it’s been!

TATYANA: Bye bye, mum. (Calls to say good bye.) Šárka!

(Th e two paramedics enter through door 2 with Šárka on the stretcher;

she has both wrists bandaged and a tourniquet above her right elbow.)

ŠÁRKA: (In a faint voice.) Forgive me. Next time. Next time.

MOTHER: What did she say?

KLÁRA: (Enters through door 2, carrying Šárka’s  bag.) She’s  in

depression. It’ll be all right.

TATYANA: ’Bye, Klára. (Leaves by door 4.)

MOTHER: Šárka. I’m so helpless. Someone ought to go with you.

KLÁRA: I’m going, mum. (Hands the wrench to the neighbor.) Th ank

you, Mr. Křenař.

NEIGHBOUR: Don’t mention it. Let’s not go into it now. But when

you’ve got a minute…

499

(Th e paramedics stretcher Šárka out through door 4, the neighbour

accompanies them out.)

KLÁRA: Good bye, mum. One more thing: tomorrow your weeds

are going to be shedding their seeds all over the neighbours’

fl owerbeds.

MOTHER: Good bye, Klára. I shall pray for you.

KLÁRA: He doesn’t mind doing it for you. I mean Mr. Křenař. He

wants to keep the noise down, so he’ll take his scythe to them.

(Moves towards door 4.) Will you let him?

MOTHER: And where’s Dušan? What did you say? Of course, let

him cut them back. Farewell.

DUŠAN: (Comes in through door 4, bumps into Klára) Can I give

you a hand, Klára?

(Klára doesn’t respond, passes through door 4 and closes it behind

her.)

DUŠAN: (Opens door 4.) Klára! (Closes door 4; bites his lip.) Hell!

She is rattled.

MOTHER: You went out to eat, didn’t you?

DUŠAN: I was getting terrible hunger pains.

MOTHER: I know the feeling. But I couldn’t get angry. I was afraid.

For myself, but mostly for you.

(Father part-opens door 2 and listens through the gap.)

MOTHER: If Eddie had divorced me, you’d have joined me in the

gas chamber. And he was insane with fear.

(Dušan, spotting Father in door 2, signs to Mother to stop or tone it

down.)

MOTHER: No, no, you have to know. I knew he was going to sue

for divorce; his confessor warned me. Th at’s why I did it. Sued

my own parents. At the trial I pointed to them: Th at isn’t my

father. Th at isn’t my mother. Both confi rmed it. Th ey bribed

the expert witness. His statement said: this person exhibits no

Jewish racial characteristics. Th ey found two people prepared

to recognize me as their illegitimate daughter. It was explained

that my parents had taken me from them to bring me up.

500

A nice story, eh? Th ey invented it themselves, then swore to it.

I can still see them – that star on their coats and a summons

to join the transport in their pocket – listening to the verdict.

Th is said that I was not a Jewess. Do you still want to see it?

When I showed it to Eddie at the time, he said: “You shouldn’t

have done it, Hedi. It’s a sin.” Yes, I should have kicked him out

after the war. We weren’t a family, it was hell.

(Father disappears from door 2, closes it, it clicks shut.)

MOTHER: (Turns towards door 2, opens it.) Eddie? (Closes door 2.)

Did he hear me?

DUŠAN: (Nods)

MOTHER: Never mind. Th at’s how it was. At least you’ll be saved

the trouble of poison-pen letters. (A shot rings out from inside

the house.) Lord Jesus Christ! (She collapses.)

DUŠAN: Dad! (Runs through door 2.)

MOTHER: No. No. Please don’t let it be! Lord God, be with us, we

pray.

FATHER: (Enters through door 2, looks crushed.) Stop shouting,

Hedi. I can’t hear anything anyway.

MOTHER: Goodness gracious, Eddie, who was that shooting?

FATHER: An ol’ gunslinger.

MOTHER: Th ank You, Lord. Eddie, I didn’t want to… I didn’t mean

it.

FATHER: I did. Parabellum 7-65. German. In perfect working order.

DUŠAN: (Enters through door 2, quietly.) He’s shot a hole in his

collar.

MOTHER: Lucky he had a bad aim.

FATHER: His aim was good. He dropped it at the last moment.

Couldn’t go through with it.

MOTHER: Eddie! (Embraces Father.)

DUŠAN: Dad. Can you hear?

MOTHER: Yes, he can. Tell him nicely.

DUŠAN: I’ve been a fool. Please forgive me.

FATHER: (Turns to Dušan.) Put it there. (Off ers him his hand.)

501

MOTHER: Praise be!

FATHER: (Still holding Dušan’s hand in his own.) When all’s said and

done, we haven’t done each other any harm, have we, Ivan lad?

(Th eir hands part, he leaves through door 2.) Where’s Tanya

and Baby Peter? You must bring them with you next time.

MOTHER: Please, Eddie, don’t start. (To Dušan.) He drives me mad.

Can you understand him? He’s a mad comedian.

DUŠAN: And I beg you too: if you can fi nd it in you, forgive me.

MOTHER: Say no more. Go and fi nd Klára. Go down on your knees

and beg her forgiveness. And mend your ways. Or you’ll lose

her.

DUŠAN: Take care of yourself. – Oh yes, the house keys. (Takes

them from his pocket.) Dad wanted them back.

MOTHER: Not any more. You keep them. Suppose we missed the

doorbell.

DUŠAN: (Puts the keys back in his pocket; calls out.) Good bye, dad.

(Silence. Dušan slowly leaves by door 4.)

MOTHER: He needs to digest it. You can have a talk next time. Th en

we can go out for a drive. To Medlán. Up the hill to the little

chapel. Like when you were small. Everything will be sorted

out and it will be all right. (Sets off through door 2.) Eddie, are

you going to have some breakfast at last?

(Before Mother disappears through door 2, Neighbour moves to the

front of the stage, collects his scythe from the side of the proscenium

and strides off through the auditorium carrying it across his shoulder.

A light glimmers on the blade and the Neighbour whistles a melody

just as out-of-tune as at the start. In the meantime the curtain falls.)

THE END

502

Petr Zelenka

(1967)

Petr Zelenka graduated in

scriptwriting and dramaturgy from

the Film Faculty of the Academy of Performing Arts in Prague. He

made his debut as a director in 1993 with a fi lm about punks, Visací

zámek. In 1997, he had the première of his most highly awarded fi lm,

the episodic fi lm Buttoners (Knofl íkáři), which won the prestigious

Czech Lion award for best script, direction and fi lm. Th e popular

fi lm Loners (Samotáři, 2000) was also based on Zelenka‘s script.

He was awarded main prizes at the International Film Festivals in

Karlovy Vary and Moscow for his recent fi lms Year of the Devil (Rok

ďábla, 2003) and Tales of Common Insanity (Příběhy obyčejného

šílenství, 2005). In 2008 his newest fi lm Th e Brothers Karamazov

(Bratři Karamazovi) premiered. He made his debut in the theatre

with translations of plays by Michael Frayn. His debut as a playwright

and, for the fi rst time, a theatre director was with Tales of Common

Insanity, which in 2001 won the prestigious Alfréd Radok Award for

play of the year. His latest play, Coming Clean (Očištění, 2007) was

commissioned by the famous Narodowy Stary Th eatre in Cracow,

Poland. Currently, he is writing a new play for the National Th eatre

Prague – Endangered Species (Ohrožené druhy, 2011).

 

LIST OF PLAYS:

• Příběhy obyčejného šílenství, 2001; première 16. 11. 2001,

Dejvické divadlo, Prague

• Odchody vlakov (inspired by Michael Frayn’s Chinamen), 2003;

première 3. 2. 2004, Divadlo Astorka – Korzo 90, Bratislava

(Slovakia)

503

• Teremin, 2005; première 17. 11. 2005, Dejvické divadlo, Prague

• Očištění, 2007; première 27. 10. 2007, Narodowy Teatr Stary,

Cracow (Poland)

• Herci (a new version of Departures of Trains), 2008; première

13. 3. 2008, Divadlo Ta fantastika, Prague

 

TRANSLATED PLAYS:

• Příběhy obyčejného šílenství: Croatian – Priče o  obyčnom

bezumlju, English – Tales of Common Insanity, Tales of Ordinary

Madness (USA), Flemmish – Histories van alledaagse waanzin,

French – Les Petites Histoires de la Folie Quotidienne / Histoires

de la folie ordinaire, Hungarian – Hétköznapi őrületek, Italian

– Storie di ordinaria follia, Polish – Opowieści o zwyczajnym

szaleństwie, Russian – Slučaji zaurjadnovo sumasšestvija,

Slovene – Zgodbe vskdanje norosti, Slovak – Príbehy obyčajného

šialenstva, Spanish (Latin America) – Historietas de locura

ordinaria, Spanish (Spain) – Locuras Corrientes, Romanian –

Povestea unei nebunii oisnuite

• Odchody vlakov: English – Departures of Trains, German – Im

Falschen Film, Polish – Odjazdy pociągov

• Teremin: English – Th eremin, German – Th eremin, Russian –

Teremin

• Očištění: English – Coming Clean, Polish – Oczysczenie

Romanian – Purifi care Russian – Očiščenije

504

Petr Zelenka

COMING CLEANA Play

Translated by Štěpán S. Šimek

Th is play is copyright and subject to protection under the Copyright Act.

Th is work may be used solely for dramaturgical purposes in association with

a production of it.

Any other use, in particular its duplication or making it available to third

parties, is subject to the sanctions of §152 of the Penal Code. In the event of any

intent to produce or otherwise use the play, you undertake to seek performing

rights to the work from Aura-Pont s.r.o.

All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the Aura-Pont Agency

Radlická 99, Praha 5, 150 00, Czech Republic, www.aura-pont.cz

Address for correspondance: Veslařský ostrov 62, 147 00 Praha 4

505

Characters:

Jack Gorsky, a writer; in his late forties or early fi fties

Monica, his wife; in her forties

Kasia, Monica’s sister; in her twenties

Andrew, Jack’s publisher; about fi fty

Alana, Andrew’s wife; a lawyer in her forties

Martha, a TV show host; about fi fty

Program Director, Martha’s husband; in his fi fties to early sixties

Th e Make-Up Girl, in her twenties; she also plays Winona Ryder,

and later in the show, she becomes the new TV show host

Batko, former Catholic priest; in his sixties

Nicolas, young boy; about nine to eleven years old

Paul, Jack’s neighbor, the father of Nicolas; in his forties

Eve, Paul’s wife, Nicolas’ mother; in her late thirties, early forties

Policeman / Young Man On Th e Street

Production Assistant; in her thirties.

Studio Audience

Setting: Th e action of the play takes place in a contemporary TV

studio, which also functions as various other interior and exterior

locales in which the play unfolds. Th e furniture and the props used

in the play should be able to transform to the individual settings

smoothly and without any major interruptions.

506

ACT 1

Scene 1: Confession

(Andrew’s apartment. Andrew is fussing about with a camera; he

may even be setting up some photo studio lights. Th e equipment is

quite rudimentary, and the whole set-up looks rather amateurish.

Jack is sitting in a chair in the middle of the room looking like a dental

patient.)

JACK: Should I change?

ANDREW: (Shaking his head.) Don’t worry, that shirt’s fi ne.

JACK: How about I stand by the window?

ANDREW: Th e picture’s supposed to be “at work.”

JACK: Maybe at the desk?

ANDREW: Just stay where you are. (Andrew starts circling him with

a lamp.) I’ll put you in a sort of a Newton light.

JACK: Shouldn’t we just hire a real photographer?

ANDREW: I know how to take pictures.

JACK: Sure, but you’re not a photographer.

ANDREW: As your publisher, I know what’s best for you.

(Jack is quiet.)

By the way, you’ve got a book signing at the Luxor next

Monday at fi ve.

JACK: No problem. I’ll be there.

ANDREW: I’ll put you in a cozy little corner there. (He starts taking

pictures.) Why don’t you try sitting at the desk. (Jack sits at the

desk.) Hmm…

JACK: Pretty bad, eh? I’ve always looked awkward, except when I sat

at the desk. I used to look good at the desk. Now not even

there.

ANDREW: You’re still in great shape. (Andrew continues

taking pictures.) : I  love that story of yours about the guy

who’s convinced he got AIDS from some Indian prostitute…

(He takes another picture.)

507

JACK: Hmm…

ANDREW: …and then one day he fi nds out that he’s  clean. So,

naturally he wants to throw a party, but he cannot tell the

truth to his wife because the whole time he’s been sleeping

with her as if nothing happened. So he makes up a  story

about celebrating his promotion at work. (He takes another

picture.) He invites tons of people, all his friends and so on,

and everybody knows the real deal, and they congratulate him

for being alive, and his wife is jealous because he’s got all those

great friends who wish him all the best in his career, even

though it doesn’t really seem to be a big deal. (He takes another

picture.) And everybody waits for the truth to come out one

way or the other, but what happens is something completely

diff erent. For some reason the word around the water cooler is

that the guy just threw a party because of his promotion, and

people at his work start whispering about it, so that in the end

he actually does get a big time promotion, and he becomes the

Secretary of Agriculture…

JACK: … of Culture.

ANDREW: Th e fi rst day he gets to his new offi ce, there is this young

assistant with long legs, and all that sitting by the computer.

He off ers to take her out for lunch, and she immediately

agrees. And that’s the end. I love this story. (Andrew continues

taking pictures.)

JACK: Not good, eh?

ANDREW: You seem a bit tense. Relax.

JACK: I’ve have trouble sleeping lately.

ANDREW: I  read about how Kratochvil did a photo shoot with

Dylan in the eighties. For some reason Dylan demanded

that Kratochvil roll around in the mud in front of him. So he

did. Th ey went to the Central Park where Kratochvil would

roll about in mud and Dylan would shoot him with a refl ex

camera. Th en they switched places. Maybe you’d like to do

508

something like that? Something that’d make you a bit more

relaxed?

JACK: Come on Andrew, we’ve known each other for thirty years.

ANDREW: Exactly. And that’s why I can see that you’re cramped.

What’s going on?

JACK: I did something horrible… (Andrew waits with anticipation.)

I raped a little kid.

ANDREW: What??!! … When?

JACK: Last Monday.

ANDREW: Who knows about it?

JACK : Just you.

ANDREW: What kid?

JACK: Do you know Paul and Eve?

ANDREW: You mean your neighbors?

JACK: Th eir son – Nicolas.

ANDREW: Jesus Christ! Th at boy’s not even ten yet!

JACK: Actually, he turned eleven in January.

ANDREW: What about his dad?

JACK: He doesn’t know.

ANDREW: What do you mean, he doesn’t know?

JACK: I drugged him… he was spending the night with us. He doesn’t

remember a  thing… He had a bit of a stomachache in the

morning, but everybody thought that he just ate something

bad.

ANDREW: How did you “drug” him?

JACK: With a pill.

ANDREW: What PILL??!!

JACK: Who the hell cares what pill!!!

ANDREW: And… What happened next? Are you telling me you

just picked up the sleeping kid brought him to bed and raped

him??!!

JACK: I did it on the sofa.

ANDREW: On your sofa??!!

JACK: Yes.

509

(Andrew is at loss of words. Taking pictures is now of course out of

the question.)

ANDREW: Th is is not good, Jack.

JACK: Of course I know that it’s not good!!! Andrew, I’ve known

the boy for years. He sings in the youth choir; he’s extremely

bright; he’s got those wide blue eyes…

ANDREW: What about Monica?

JACK: She doesn’t know.

ANDREW: What do you want to do?

JACK: I’ve no idea. I’m completely at a loss.

ANDREW: Did you come?

JACK: What?

ANDREW: I’m asking you whether you came.

JACK: What sort of a question is that?

ANDREW: If I’m going to help you, I need to know exactly what

transpired.

(Andrew’s wife Alana comes in.)

ALANA: How is it going? Hi Jack.

JACK: We’re coming along. Hi.

ALANA: Did you off er him anything? (To Jack.) Would you like some

coff ee?

JACK: No thanks. I was just about to go.

ALANA: I was trying to tell Andrew to hire a photographer, but he

wouldn’t do it. He’s being awfully cheap with you.

ANDREW: Alana, would you please let us work.

ALANA: Well, I’m so sorry for keeping you.

(She leaves, a little ticked off . Jack gathers his belongings and is about

to leave as well.)

ANDREW: Where are you going?

JACK: Listen Andrew – forget about it.

ANDREW: Forget about what?

JACK: I made it up, OK. I’m writing a story about a guy who raped

a little boy, and I needed to try something out on you. I’m

sorry you took it seriously.

510

ANDREW: Bullshit.

JACK: No really. Come on, you know me don’t you?

ANDREW: Th at’s  exactly it. Th ere were too many details. One

cannot just come up with something like that on the spot.

JACK: I’m a writer.

ANDREW: Sure, but not that good a writer.

JACK: What are you implying?

ANDREW: If you were such a hot commodity I wouldn’t be taking

picture of you for a free weekly handed out by the homeless

in front of the train station.

(Beat.)

JACK: OK.

ANDREW: I’m sorry.

JACK: You’re right.

ANDREW: So, what do you want to do?

JACK: I don’t know. I guess I should turn myself in.

ANDREW: Promise me that you won’t tell anybody until we fi gure

something out

JACK: OK.

(Jack leaves. Alana enters. Andrew is lost in his thoughts.)

ALANA: Did something happen?

ANDREW: No, why?

ALANA: He looked completely miserable.

ANDREW: He’s got some problems.

ALANA: He looked like he killed someone. (Andrew manages a forced

laugh.) Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?

ANDREW: It’s nothing.

ALANA: Are you hiding something from me?

ANDREW: What…?

ALANA: All I want is for you to communicate with me. Is that too

much to ask?

ANDREW: Oh for crying out loud, Alana! Please don’t start again.

511

ALANA: You used to not hide anything from me. We used to do

things together. You used to be interested in what I  was

thinking.

ANDREW: Jack started smoking again, … and he’s afraid Monica

will fi nd out. Th at’s all.

ALANA: You don’t need to tell me, if you don’t want to.

ANDREW: I just told you. (Andrew is about to leave. Alana stops him.)

ALANA: Andrew.

ANDREW: Yes.

ALANA: I’m sorry.

ANDREW: No, I’m sorry.

(Th ey exit. Music: Talk show theme.)

Scene 2: TV Studio

(As the music starts playing, the walls of the apartment part (or fl y

up) revealing a real TV Studio. We are in the midst of a live broadcast

of a talk show entitled “Coming Clean.” In the center is a little table

with two or three chairs around it; on the sides are benches with about

twenty studio audiences members, and two cameramen behind their

cameras. Today show’s guest is Father Batko, a character inspired by

the real-life Catholic Priest Eugene Drewermann . He has a sense of

humor, great charisma, and he is equally at home giving a lecture as

talking with his patients as a therapist. Th e talk show host is a very

nice lady Martha.)

MARTHA: Good evening to our studio audience and to our viewers

at home…Tonight’s  guest is Professor Josef Batko. Good

evening professor.

(Applause.)

BATKO: Good evening.

MARTHA: I don’t think that the professor needs any introduction.

I’d just like to remind you, that he is one of our leading

512

contemporary theologians, whose diff erences with the

Catholic Church, and some of its representatives caused him

to be stripped of his priesthood and fi red from his position as

a professor at the theological seminary in 1996.

(Music: Talk show theme.)

MARTHA: Professor, this year you turned sixty-fi ve, and you

decided to give yourself a little present for your birthday…

BATKO: Well, a rather large present.

MARTHA: Absolutely, you’re right. And… will you tell us what sort

of a present it is?

BATKO: I decided to leave the Catholic Church.

(Pause. Tentative applause growing more enthusiastic as Martha

encourages the audience. Th ere is a real sense of spontaneity to it.)

MARTHA: Is that that easy? You can just say to yourself that you’re

quitting the church and … that’s it?

BATKO: Of course not. It is a  rather complicated bureaucratic

process, but what is important is the moment of decision.

Actually there are two important moments. Th e moment

when I got the idea to do something, and the moment when

I  publicly formulated it; in other words, the moment of

voicing, of making public.

MARTHA: And you have decided to make it public precisely today

right here in our studio, on our show “Coming Clean.” And we

want to thank you for your courage and your honesty.

(Applause. Music: Talk show theme.)

MARTHA: What was it that led you to such a – dare I say – drastic

decision. Surely it wasn’t just your personal disagreements

with the Cardinal…

BATKO: Of course not. You know, I sincerely believed that I could

build an imaginary bridge between the Catholic Church, in

other words between the teachings and the body of Jesus

Christ, and the spiritual needs of the common people. But

obviously I did not succeed.

513

MARTHA: Why not? Is the Church refusing to engage in such

dialogue?

BATKO: It was more of a mutual misunderstanding.

MARTHA: What is it that you don’t like about the Catholic Church?

BATKO: Th ere are certain things I disagree with.

MARTHA: Specifi cally…?

BATKO: I’d say that the last drop in the bucket was Pope

Benedict’s reaction last year to the events in Rwanda.

MARTHA: Remind us what happened there.

BATKO: Th e Catholic Priest Anthanase Seromba, who in 1994

participated in the genocide of two thousand Tutsis, was

found guilty by the UN International Court of Justice and was

sentenced to fi fteen years in jail. Th e Pope’s offi cial reaction

to this judgment was that “the Holy Church cannot be held

responsible for the deeds of individuals acting in her name.”

MARTHA: Is that what he said.

BATKO: Word by word.

MARTHA: Th at means that Father Seromba wasn’t stripped of his

priesthood, that he can still give the holy communion, can

receive confessions, and so on, whereas you, whose only

“off ense” was to actually talk about his crimes, have been

stripped of all those privileges. Th at’s absurd, don’t you think?

(Th e studio audience visibly and audibly agrees.)

BATKO: What’s more at issue here is the fact that the Catholic

Church hasn’t yet taken a clear position against genocide. And

let me remind you that the twentieth century was a century of

genocide. Did you know, for example, that up until his death

in forty-fi ve, the Vatican used to send birthday telegrams to

Hitler?

MARTHA: I didn’t know that.

BATKO: Because nobody ever talks about such things. But I do talk

about them, and I will do so in the future. Because if it is true

that today we are witnessing the rise of moral relativism then

514

I’m sure that the Church carries a great deal of responsibility

for it.

MARTHA: And do we really witness moral relativism.

BATKO: Francis Fukuyama would call it “befuddled morality.”

(Th eme music. Possibly applause.)

MARTHA: Truth is truth, and life is life, but no matter what…

let’s  continue. I’d like to remind our viewers that the

fundamental nature of this program is the public confession

of the studio guest on one hand, and the understanding, or

rather the forgiveness by the audience on the other. Here,

a guest appears in front of the audience in order so that they

can come clean. What do you think about that, as a former

priest and confessor yourself?

BATKO: Such dialogue is of course mutually benefi cial. Th e problem

is that the audience is not in the position to actually dispense

absolution.

MARTHA: So you’re not opposed to the notion that such intimate

matters should appear on TV?

BATKO: What’s intimate about morality? Personal hygiene may be

an intimate matter, but certainly not morality.

MARTHA: I agree.

BATKO: Th e whole world proclaims that each person is defi ned

by their acts. But those acts in themselves have a  double

nature; they are relative. Th ere is a great diff erence between

an individual act, which is publicly discussed, and the same

act, which nobody talks about. Moreover, some acts are so

personal – in the terminology of contemporary physics,

quantum-like – that they can only be realized at the very

moment when we formulate them in public. For example the

loss of faith.

(He pulls a priest collar from his pocket and places it on the table in

front of him. Music. Applause.

Batko enters the make-up room, he washes his face in the sink and

sits down in an armchair. He is tired. Th e make-up girl (24) starts

515

taking off his make-up. In the meantime, the audience is leaving the

TV studio.)

MAKE-UP GIRL: Th at was awesome.

BATKO: I got quite sweaty out there.

MAKE-UP GIRL: I should have put more face powder on you.

BATKO: I don’t think that was the problem.

MAKE-UP GIRL: Are you looking for like an assistant?

BATKO: Why?

MAKE-UP GIRL: Or maybe a secretary, you know like somebody

to have around.

BATKO: I already have a secretary.

MAKE-UP GIRL: Th is is an OK gig, but I don’t want to spend the

rest of my life pottering in this dirt, you know what I mean?

(By “dirt” she means the mascara she’s taking off Batko’s face.)

BATKO: Absolutely.

MAKE-UP GIRL: Th e way I see it, I could do better.

BATKO: Absolutely.

MAKE-UP GIRL: Or, I’ll just give you my number, and you’ll call

me if you like need something. Deal?

BATKO: OK.

MAKE-UP GIRL: If you need like totally anything.

Scene 3: Leukemia Foundation

(City Street. Enter Kasia, dressed in a nice uniform-like dress, carrying

a donation box. She is approaching passers-by, collecting donations

for a children’s leukemia foundation. Donors receive a little lapel pin

or a sticker for their donation.)

KASIA: Hello, please help fi ght children’s leukemia. Hello, please…

(Batko approaches her.)

BATKO: I’ll take one. (He puts some money in the donation box, Kasia

puts a pin on his lapel.)

516

KASIA: Th e children thank you. (Batko exists. A well-dressed young

man approaches Kasia, smiling.)

YOUNG MAN: I’ll have one too.

KASIA: Th e amount is up to you. (Th e young man puts a rather large

bill into the donation box. Kasia smiles, and puts a pin on his

lapel.) Th e children thank you.

YOUNG MAN: My pleasure. (He continues smiling.) Nice tits. (Kasia

is taken aback. She takes a few steps back, then she turns and walks

away, continuing to solicit donations.)

KASIA: Hello, please help fi ght children’s  leukemia… (Th e young

man calls after her.)

YOUNG MAN: Miss! (Kasia turns towards him. He comes closer.) I’ll

have another one. (Kasia holds up the donation box away from

her body. He puts another large bill in the slot.)

KASIA: Th e children thank you. (Th e young man waits for his pin.

Kasia hesitates, but knowing she has to do it she starts putting it

on his lapel again.)

YOUNG MAN: I want to fuck you. (He grabs her arm. Kasia struggles

to free herself.)

KASIA: Leave me alone.

YOUNG MAN: You stupid fucking cunt, I gave you a hundred! So

behave accordingly you bitch! (Th e young man tears the pins off

his lapel, throws them violently at Kasia, and leaves. Kasia stands

alone on the street. She slowly starts taking off her uniform.)

Scene 4: Two Sisters

(Th e scene transforms into the living room of Jack and

Monica’s apartment. Enter Monica.)

MONICA: How are you? Would you like some tea?

KASIA: No, thanks. Is Jack here?

MONICA: No, he’s downtown somewhere.

517

KASIA: He said he needed a  picture of himself for the papers.

I brought some over for him.

MONICA: May I? (Without waiting for Kasia’s  go-ahead, Monica

begins to look through the photographs.)

MONICA: My god, those are the pictures from France with mom

and dad still. Th ey must be like fi fteen years old. Where on

earth did you dig them out? (She is laughing.)Wow, and here

you are in that impossible swimsuit of yours. You were fi fteen,

and you could never understand why no boy would ever look

at you, but you’d go on wearing that impossible swimsuit.

(Kasia starts crying.)

MONICA: What is it? What happened? I’ve nothing against that

swimsuit. (Th rough her tears, Kasia indicates that that is

not the issue. She can’t fi nd a tissue, and Monica gives her her

handkerchief.)

KASIA: Time fl ies so fast! (Monica starts to comfort her. Maybe she

embraces her, or she may stroke her head.)

MONICA: Oh, come here my darling little girl. Some boyfriend left

you again, is that it?

KASIA: I’m so happy to have you guys. To have you, and Jack, and…

MONICA: And we are happy to have you. But Kasia… Kasia!

KASIA: Yes?

MONICA: You need to fi nd a real boyfriend.

KASIA: Th ank you, but I don’t want to.

MONICA: I  understand how someone wouldn’t really feel like

dating, especially if their last boyfriend killed himself, but you

need to show some eff ort.

KASIA: John wasn’t my boyfriend.

MONICA: Sure. You must not feel responsible for his death in any

way whatsoever.

KASIA: I don’t feel responsible for it.

MONICA: Just because he jumped out of a window a week after

you split.

KASIA: A month.

518

MONICA: Exactly. It was his problem, not yours. So, there’s no need

to cry about it, is there? (Kasia wipes her eyes.)

KASIA: I quit the job for the leukemia foundation.

MONICA: Praise the Lord.

KASIA: But the children need the money!

MONICA: Come on Kasia. Th e children will probably never see the

money anyways. Most of those endowments are nothing more

that fronts for tax evasion.

KASIA: You’re always so negative.

MONICA: All I want is for you to be happy.

KASIA: I don’t want to be happy.

MONICA: But you must be happy. If you don’t want to be happy…

then you’ll be… awfully unhappy.

KASIA: It’s easy for you to talk. You’ve got Jack who loves you, you’ve

got a son who’s in college in England…

MONICA: Yes, I know I do have it all. But you could have it too. (She

fetches a photograph, and shows it to Kasia.)

KASIA: What’s that?

MONICA: A picture.

KASIA: Who is it?

MONICA: An engineer .

KASIA: (Suspiciously.) How do you know him?

MONICA: He’s… He came by…

KASIA: He just “came by?” Is he one of Jack’s friends?

MONICA: Not really. It was job-related. He came to read the gas

meter.

KASIA: READ THE GAS METER??!! (Monica is deeply insulted.)

MONICA: So what? I talked with him. He’s intelligent, he’s single,

and he wants to date. He’d be perfect for you. Here’s  his

number, you should call him.

KASIA: I don’t appreciate you off ering me to strangers!

MONICA: He’s not a stranger! Sit down! (Kasia reluctantly sits down.)

You know very well that you are in no position to be choosy.

You’re thirty years old, you have no skills, you’ve never had

519

a normal job, and your former boyfriend committed – well,

we all know what he committed. Mom and I had always hoped

that maybe in the end you’d be a success. But at the same time

we both knew that we were hoping in vain.

(Kasia is about to leave, but Monica doesn’t let her go.)

Wait. Here’s a number of a friend of mine. She’ll get you a job. (Monica

writes a number on a little piece of paper.)

KAISA: And what will I do? Read gas meters?

MONICA: She’s a production assistant on a TV show. Promise me

you’ll call her. (Kasia takes the paper slip.)

MONICA: And one more thing. (Pause.) No more charity work, OK?

(Enter Jack.)

JACK: Hi Kasia. How are you doing? Hi Monica.

KASIA: (Kasia is clearly in love with Jack.) Hi. I’m fi ne. (Jack kisses the

both on their cheeks.)

MONICA: Kasia brought you some old pictures.

KASIA: You said you needed them for some magazine.

JACK: Oh yes. Th anks. (Kasia is very nervous. Without paying much

attention, Jack casually thumbs through the photographs.)

KASIA: (Apologetically.) I’m wearing that impossible swimsuit.

JACK: You’re right. Th at’s really funny. (He laughs.)

KASIA: Well, I’ll be going. Bye.

JACK: Bye. (Kasia leaves.)

MONICA: Th ere’s some sausage in the fridge for you.

JACK: Th anks. How’s Kasia?

MONICA: Same as always. She quit her job again. Sometimes I think

that people like her just aren’t fi t to live in this world.

(Monica leaves for the bathroom, where she has already fi lled the sink

with water. She begins to wash her hair in it. Jack cannot see her. He is

standing in the middle of the room thumbing absentmindedly through

Kasia’s pictures. Monica dips her head under the water in the sink.)

JACK: Monica, I need to tell you something. I raped Nicolas. Paul

and Eve’s son. When he was spending the night last week.

(Silence. Jack is waiting, breathing hard. Monica raises her head

520

from the sink, and works the shampoo into her hair. Th en she dips

her head in the water again.) If you want to leave, I understand.

(Silence. Monica raises her head from the sink. Jack is quiet.

Monica dips her head in again.) I’ll turn myself in. But I wanted

you to be the fi rst one to know. (Monica raises here head from

the sink. She overhears the last words: “to know.”)

MONICA: Jack!

JACK: Yes?

MONICA: Be a sweetie and hand me the towel.

JACK: Did you hear what I just said?

MONICA: If you’re talking to me, then I can’t hear you. (She comes

out of the bathroom holding the paper box of L’Oreal hair coloring.)

You always talk to me when my head is under water. What did

you want?

JACK: Well…

MONICA: Th e directions are in French, and I don’t know how long

I should leave it in. (She gives the box to Jack.)

JACK: Are you coloring your hair?

MONICA: I  need to do something with it. I  wouldn’t want to

embarrass you at the awards.

JACK: Yes… you should leave it in for about twenty minutes…

that’s what it says… (He gives the box back to her.)

MONICA: You look awful. Is something wrong?

JACK: I’m sick, Monica.

MONICA: It’s the bug. It’s going around.

JACK: Not that kind of sick. It’s inside me.

MONICA: If you’re not sure what it is, just take some Tylenol. You’ll

feel better.

JACK: Sure. Th at’s a good idea.

Music. Blackout. Lights up.

Scene 5: Luxor

521

(Jack and Andrew are sitting alone at a little table. Th ere is a little

stack of his last book, a collection of short stories. On the wall behind

them is a modest sign: “JACK GORSKY: CHARADES.” Further down

the wall is a much bigger banner for J.K Rowling’s latest Harry Potter.

Th ere is a very long pause where nothing happens. Let us enjoy their

embarrassment.)

ANDREW: Th e plan is simple. I’ll swear that you were at our place

that night.

JACK: But you were at our place – with Alana.

ANDREW: Alana will say anything we want. She’s completely loyal.

You were home earlier, and then you drove to our place. I had

to discuss something with you regarding publicity for your

book. OK? You got wasted, and you returned home in the

morning – by cab. I know a taxi driver who’ll swear to that.

JACK: Andrew, that will never work.

ANDREW: Of course it will!

JACK: Yesterday I almost told Monica.

ANDREW: Jesus Christ! Didn’t I tell you not to tell anybody?! Did

you get rid of the pills?

JACK: What pills?

ANDREW: Th e ones you drugged the kid with. Th row them in

the trash somewhere far away from your place. Destroy the

evidence. And stop seeing that kid.

JACK: I don’t know about that.

ANDREW: You’ve got a better idea?

JACK: I’ll go to the police.

ANDREW: Sure. I’ve heard that before.

JACK: Th ey may want to keep me there… so I meant to ask you

whether there’s  still something more I  should do for you;

I don’t know – some interviews, or whatever…

ANDREW: Oh, shut up.

JACK: I wouldn’t want to somehow renege on my commitments to

you because of this whole thing.

522

(Enters Girl. She picks up one of the books, looks at it briefl y and then

puts it back on the table.)

GIRL: Sorry. Wrong table. (She leaves.)

JACK: You’ll have problems. It’s obviously not a bestseller.

ANDREW: Stop it.

JACK: Th ere’s no other way. Actually, you should report it. It was

a crime and you know about it. Th at makes you an accomplice.

ANDREW: You want me to turn my friend in?

JACK: And how can you be sure that it won’t happen again?!

ANDREW: It was a momentary lapse! A short. You’re overtaxed.

Th at’s  all! OK, so you were bored, and you wanted to try

something new. Big deal. Th e real victim here isn’t the kid,

but you. You’re simply a product of the crisis of our society.

Just like the rest of us. It’s like in that story of yours about the

guy, who’s so bored with his wife that he decides to kill himself

so that something interesting would fi nally happen at home.

But his wife doesn’t even notice, and the mortuary guys who

come to pick him up are bored too because this is the tenth

time a boring suicide by popping pills has happened that day.

“Mr. Boring’s Pills”

JACK: But this isn’t a story. Th is is real!

ANDREW: So?

JACK: I’ll turn myself in.

ANDREW: You’re a writer nominated for the Nike Book Award, and

the only thing you can think of is to go and turn yourself in?

Don’t get me wrong, but you’re an idiot.

JACK: And what else should I do?

ANDREW: How the hell should I  know? In any case, there is

x-number of other methods how to come out with it. Since

you obviously seem to be hell-bent on blabbering it out.

JACK: Should I go to the tabloids?

ANDREW: Why tabloids? You could say it on some serious TV

show.

JACK: What show?

523

ANDREW: “Coming Clean” for example. Th at one is made for you!

JACK: You’re out of you mind!

ANDREW: If nothing else, it’d help your book to sell.

JACK: Th at’s disgusting.

ANDREW: Yes. It’s  disgusting. But that’s  the world we live in.

Besides, on a show like that you could also explain.

JACK: Explain what?

ANDREW: Why you did it. What made you do it.

JACK: But I don’t know why I did it.

ANDREW: Well, maybe you’d fi nd out.

JACK: Fuck you.

ANDREW: Why do you think Kate Moss let herself be caught

snorting coke? Because she doesn’t know how to lock

bathroom doors?

JACK: How should I know? Because she’s an addict?

ANDREW: Her agent told her to. And he was right, because

that’s what made her famous.

JACK: Sure. But that’s a completely diff erent world.

ANDREW: And what about Polanski? And Winona Ryder?

JACK: What about Winona?

ANDREW: Do you really believe that Winona Ryder couldn’t aff ord

to buy two pounds of tomatoes? Or how do you explain her

need to shoplift in Safeway?

JACK: Come on. You cannot compare Winona Ryder’s shoplifting

with what I did. Th ere is a pretty big diff erence between the

two.

ANDREW: Yeah? What diff erence? Come on tell me.

JACK: You can’t tell the diff erence?

ANDREW: I’m asking you, what’s the diff erence?

JACK: Pretty big one. I’m not Winona Ryder! Come on, Andrew,

be real!

ANDREW: No. You are Winona Ryder, buddy. You are Winona

Ryder before she started shoplifting. You’re Kate Moss before

524

she shoved a rolled hundred-dollar bill up her nose in the

recording studio.

JACK: But they are actors. I have a certain moral code.

ANDREW: You fucked a ten-year-old boy!

JACK: Eleven!

ANDREW: And-a-half!

JACK: And is this why you treat me like a pervert?

ANDREW: Come on, you know I’m kidding.

JACK: And what if I am a pervert, what then?!

ANDREW: If you really are a pervert, then shut up and get lost.

(Blackout / Lights up.)

Scene 6: Charades

(Jack’s  and Monica’s  apartment. Th e two couples are playing

Charades. Jack is in the middle of performing his pantomime. Th e

other three participants are trying to guess the movie he’s portraying.)

PAUL: Wajda’s “Canal.”

JACK: Nope.

MONICA: “And God Created Woman.”

JACK: Nope.

EVE: “La Dolce Vita.

JACK: Nope.

PAUL: Is it a European movie?

JACK: No. American.

MONICA: We agreed that we’d only do European fi lms.

JACK: Sure, but you can’t pantomime European fi lms.

Th at’s impossible.

PAUL: OK. We give up.

EVE: No way. Let’s keep going.

PAUL: And do you know what it is? We give up.

JACK: “Twenty Th ousand Leagues Under the Sea.” (Demonstrates.)

You see. Twenty thousand – leagues– under – the sea

525

(Everybody discusses, how it is possible that they couldn’t fi gure

out what it was?)

EVE: And this…(She demonstrates.) … was what?

JACK: An octopus.

EVE: Th at was an octopus?

JACK: Nicolas is good at this. Why didn’t you bring him?

PAUL: We left him with my folks over the weekend.

EVE: He seems to have caught some bug at school. Vomits all the

time.

JACK: Is that so? I’m sorry. Say hi to him for me.

Now it is Eve’s  turn to perform. She sits down in a  chair

facing the others, and she spreads her legs wide. Jack stares at

the sight. Paul is looking at Jack, Jack looks back at him and

smiles. Monica is also smiling. Th ey are all friends after all.

JACK: “As Good As It Gets?”

EVE: Wrong.

MONICA: “Inner Life”

EVE: Wrong again. (Eve shakes her head. She takes off her panties.

Everyone is a bit taken aback.)

PAUL: Cut it out, Eve.

EVE: “Cut it out, Eve” is not it.

PAUL: Stop it, Eve.

EVE: “Stop it Eve” isn’t it either.

MONICA: “Th e Purple Rose of Cairo?”

EVE: No. It’s “Basic Instinct.” Duh!

(Eve throws her panties at them. Paul grabs her by the arm, pulls her

off the chair and sweeps her to the fl oor.)

PAUL: I don’t like the way you fl irt with my friends.

EVE: And I don’t like the way you tell everyone you meet that I want

to sleep with them.

PAUL: And don’t you?

EVE: If I  wanted to sleep with someone, I  wouldn’t ask your

permission.

526

PAUL: No doubt about that. (Eve throws a glass of wine in his face. He

retaliates. Both are wet and surprised at how fast the situation

escalated. Jack and Monica try to calm them down.)

JACK: Cranberry juice anyone?

EVE: Th at’d be nice. (Monica leads her away.)

MONICA: Come on. (Th ey leave, but maybe they’ll stay at the back

of the stage, talking silently to each other. Jack goes to the kitchen.

Paul follows him.)

PAUL: I  apologize for Eve. We shouldn’t have come tonight.

Nobody’s interested in our crisis.

JACK: I don’t mind.

PAUL: If it weren’t for Nicolas, we’d have been divorced years ago.

No question about that.

JACK: Oh well… Listen Paul… I… I need to tell you something…

It’s about… It’s about Nicolas…(Jack is about to confess, but Paul

beats him to it.)

PAUL: Jack, somebody raped Nicolas.

JACK: What?

PAUL: It’s true.

JACK: (Feigning surprise.) Ah… Eh… How could that happen?

PAUL: I have no idea. (Pause.) Probably on his way to school.

JACK: Jesus Christ!

PAUL: I’ll kill the guy who did it. Th ey will fi nd him sooner or later.

What do you think?

JACK: Hmm.

PAUL: My entire world collapsed in front of my eyes, Jack. I’m forty

years old, my marriage is in shambles, I hate my job, and now

some monster raped my son. RAPED him!

JACK: Did you tell anyone?

PAUL: No. Th e only people who know are the doctor who examined

him, and the police. (Hearing the word “police,” Jack freezes in

terror.)

JACK: You went to the police?

527

PAUL: I  didn’t. But the doctor called them. Th ey’re required to

inform them about those things.

JACK: And Eve?

PAUL: She knows nothing. We don’t talk. It’s awful. Do you think

I should tell her?

JACK: I guess so.

PAUL: I know what she’ll say. Th at it’s my fault! (He says it in a way,

which seems to suggest that it indeed was his fault.)

JACK: It’s not your fault.

PAUL: Tell me one thing. But don’t lie!

JACK: Yes?

PAUL: Did you sleep with Eve?

JACK: Paul!

PAUL: I know she likes you.

JACK: I couldn’t do something like that to you.

PAUL: Sure. Th at’s what one always says. But nobody ever believes

it. (Jack shakes his head.)

PAUL: Eve’s not bad in bed. But it’s not worth the trouble afterwards.

JACK: Absolutely.

PAUL: So nothing happened between you two?

JACK: Nothing.

PAUL: Absolutely nothing.

JACK: No.

PAUL: Kneel down and swear that you didn’t sleep with her.

(Normally Paul wouldn’t force a friend to swear to something like

that, but he is already a bit drunk. Jack hesitates.)

Kneel down! (Jack smiles. He does not move.) GET THE FUCK

DOWN!!

JACK: (Kneels down and swears.) I  swear that nothing happened

between me and Eve.

PAUL: (Paul collapses next to him and hugs him.) I need you to talk

to Nicolas.

MONICA: (Monica enters.) What’s going on? Jack? Did you lose

something?

528

JACK: I did.

MONICA: When you fi nd it, come and join us. Eve just came up

with a great movie. (Eve enters. She too is quite drunk by now,

and she assumes that Jack kneeling on the fl oor is pantomiming

the name of some other fi lm.)

EVE: “Karol: A Man Who Became Pope.” By Battiato…

(Music. Blackout / Lights up.)

Scene 7: Jack and Nicolas

(Jack and Nicolas are standing in front of a  giant aquarium –

probably created by a rear projection – looking at fi sh. Nicolas is

a great boy. He is on the threshold of adulthood, but he’s still a child.

His voice hasn’t broken yet. He has a bag of potato chips.)

JACK: Do you like dolphins?

NICOLAS: Totally.

JACK: Th is was a great idea to come here. (A turtle or a dolphin swims

by.)

NICOLAS: Mr. Gorsky, I know why they wanted you to take me out.

JACK: Is that so? Why?

NICOLAS: So that they can fi ght.

JACK: Your dad wanted me to talk to you.

NICOLAS: About what?

JACK: It’s about the bug you caught last week. You know the one

that you had to skip school for.

NICOLAS: Only on Th ursday. On Friday I went again.

JACK: (Doesn’t know what to ask. Actually he’s inquiring about what

Nicolas knows. And about who else knows.) Did you have

a stomachache?

NICOLAS: I’m fi ne now.

JACK: Th at’s a good thing. And, what did the doctor say?

NICOLAS: He and my dad were whispering to each other

JACK: But he didn’t say anything?

529

NICOLAS: He said that children are our future.

JACK: Th at is true.

NICOLAS: But I’m not a child.

JACK: Absolutely. (He looks at Nicolas. Nicolas off ers him a chip. He

too has problems to deal with.)

NICOLAS: Will mom and dad get divorced?

JACK: I hope not.

NICOLAS: Th ey have a crisis.

JACK: Oh well…

NICOLAS: Maybe because it doesn’t work in bed. (Jack is taken

aback. However, Nicolas evidently doesn’t have a clear idea what

that phrase means.)

JACK: You think so?

NICOLAS: Yeah. But mom is good in bed.

JACK: How do you know?

NICOLAS: Dad told someone from his offi ce. I heard him.

JACK: I see. (Nicolas is thinking. Another sea creature swims by.)

NICOLAS: But maybe dad isn’t good in bed.

JACK: I’m sure he is.

NICOLAS: (Looking at Jack intently.) So why are they having a crisis?

JACK: Everyone has a crisis sometime.

NICOLAS: But you don’t, do you?

JACK: No.

NICOLAS: I’m sure you’re good in bed.

JACK: Oh no, not me. (Jack takes a few steps away from Nicolas to look

at another aquarium.)

NICOLAS: Mr. Gorsky?

JACK: Yes?

NICOLAS: I skipped school on Friday too.

JACK: Why?

NICOLAS: I was scared. Me and my friend, we did something bad.

JACK: What did you do?

NICOLAS: Our frog died.

JACK: Your frog?

530

NICOLAS: We were trying to fi nd out how high it can jump.

JACK: Frogs can jump pretty high. Th ree feet, no problem.

NICOLAS: Ours jumped ten feet.

JACK: You’re kidding me.

NICOLAS: Because we helped it a bit.

JACK: How?

NICOLAS: With this board we found. (He shows a batting motion.)

And then it died (Beat.)

(It’s pretty bad what we did, Mr. Gorsky, is it?)

JACK: Yes. It’s very bad. You must never ever do that again!! Is that

clear??!! (Nicolas hangs his head. Th e message is clear, and for the

fi rst time in his life he has pangs of conscience.)

NICOLAS: Please don’t tell anybody.

JACK: I won’t.

NICOLAS: It will be our secret. (Jack nods. Nicolas grabs his hand and

puts a round chip around his fi nger as if it were a ring. Th en he

walks away to continue watching the fi sh. Jack watches him from

some distance, when his phone rings. It is Andrew.)

ANDREW: Hi. Can you talk?

JACK: Yes. Hi.

ANDREW: Everything’s set. Th e cab driver will say anything we

want.

JACK: Andrew, I’ll do the show.

ANDREW: What show?

JACK: “Coming Clean.”

ANDREW: You’re kidding, right?

JACK: No. I’ve made up my mind.

(Blackout / Lights up.)

531

Scene 8: Ratings

(A TV station offi ce. Martha and her boss, who is also her husband,

the Program Director Th ey are in a middle of a conversation about

the next installment of “Coming Clean.”)

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Who’s that guy?

MARTHA: An excellent novelist. You never heard of him?

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Never.

MARTHA: He’s pretty well known.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: What did he do?

MARTHA: He fell in love with a little boy.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: And apart from that?

MARTHA: He’s got a novel coming out.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: In other words, an intellectual.

MARTHA: He’s an interesting person.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Sure. Like that DJ who decided to burn

a million Dollars.

MARTHA: He did burn them.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: But nobody saw him do it! All we saw was

him talking about it.

MARTHA: Look, Gorsky’s  been nominated for the Nike Book

Award. An award plus confl icted conscience – that’s exactly

what we need.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: I’ll tell you what we need. We need

ratings. At least ten percent.

MARTHA: Otherwise, what?

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Otherwise they’ll cancel us.

MARTHA: Th ey’ll put us in another time slot, that’s all.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Same thing.

MARTHA: But you’ll fi ght for us, won’t you.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: I won’t.

MARTHA: Why not?

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: People are already shouting nepotism

because we’re married.

532

MARTHA: You know that’s not true. You’ve always been hard on

me, and never cut me any slack. But we’ve got something

special here, darling.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Th ere are hundreds of shows like this all

over the world – darling.

MARTHA: I want Jack Gorsky.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Fine. But it’s your head that rolls.

MARTHA: Absolutely.

(Both leave.)

Scene 9: TV Studio II – Getting Ready

(A  TV studio is gradually set up on stage. Th e following scene

fragments have a cinematic rhythm; they alternate quickly, sometimes

they overlap; they may even be simultaneously staged at times.

Th e production assistant, a  woman 30-50 years old, is giving Kasia

instructions for her new job as an assistant.)

PRODUCTION ASSISTANT: Okeydokey honey, so at quarter too,

you’ll herd them into the studio. You seat the short ones in the

front OK? Folks who’re over six feet or have an afro must not

sit in the front, and guess why not? Because if they do, that

camera boom over there will cut off their head. And that is

something we don’t want to happen, do we?

KASIA: Yes. No.

(In another part of the stage we see Jack, holding a little briefcase, and

calling his friends to remind them to watch TV tonight.)

JACK: … Hi, this is Jack. I wanted to tell you to make sure you

watch TV tonight. Channel two. At eight… “Coming Clean.”

(Who’s on?) Th at’s a surprise. (You.) No, not me… (He’s laughing.)

What would I do there? But anyhow, make sure you watch it.

(How are you otherwise?) I’m fi ne. I’m insanely busy.

(Jack hangs up. He’s  completely worn out, and he needs a  drink.

He’s clutching his briefcase. Th e focus goes back to the TV studio.)

533

PRODUCTION ASSISTANT: If you see someone in something

striped, you send ’em back to change. Because, why? Because

that makes the picture wavy. If someone wears white, same

deal. If someone has a Mickey Mouse T-shirt you send ‘em

to change. Because, why? Because we don’t have the rights. If

someone has a swastika on their shirt, you…

KASIA: …send them back to change.

PRODUCTION ASSISTANT: Good girl. Now, run along.

Th e production assistant locates Jack, and leads him into the make-

up room, where we already see Martha sitting in a  chair

talking on the phone, while the make-up girl applies her base.

In the meantime, Kasia is letting the Studio audience in, she

seats them on the studio benches, and perhaps helps them to

change.

MARTHA: (Speaking in the phone.) Can we talk about with this later?

I need to be on air on less than fi ve minutes.

PRODUCTION ASSISTANT: (To Jack.) I’ll leave you here for the

time being, and fetch you later. (To Martha.) Martha, Mr.

Gorsky’s here.

MARTHA: (Hangs up abruptly and turns to Jack.) Mr. Gorsky, hello.

JACK: Good afternoon.

MARTHA: Well, are you excited? (Jack doesn’t seem to be too excited.)

When you hear me say: “ Mr. Gorsky – good evening,” you’ll

come straight in, and sit down at the table with me. OK? Th e

production assistant will show you where to go exactly.

JACK: Sure.

(She leaves. Jack sits down in the make-up chair.)

MAKE-UP GIRL: You’re like totally pale. What’s going on?

JACK: It’s nothing. I’m fi ne. (He clutches his briefcase in his hands.)

MAKE-UP GIRL: You can like totally set the case down.

(At the same time, the studio audience is being “warmed up.” Th e

production assistant is rehearsing their reactions. She holds up

diff erent cue cards with signs such as, “Aahh…,” “Yes,” “Laughter,”

“Nooo…,” etc.)

534

JACK: Excuse me. (Jack is nauseous. He jumps up from the chair

and vomits in the bathroom. Th en he takes out his phone, dials

a number, and talks to Monica.) Hi, Monica?… …I’m just calling

to make sure you watch TV tonight. Channel Two… Th at talk

show. It’s … going to be interesting…(Studio audience reaction

– warm up.) I’ll be back later. I’m meeting with Andrew. (Studio

audience reaction – warm up.)

…sure… he says hi too… good… I’ll let him know. Ok bye…

I love you too. (Studio audience reaction – warm up. Jack hangs

up. He feels horrible.)

(Lights change. Music: Th eme music for “Coming Clean.” Th e focus

shifts back to the TV studio. Th is time, however, we see the studio

form another vantage point: Th e real theatre audience is now sitting

opposite the studio audience as in a three quarter stage confi guration.

Martha stands in the middle of the studio ready to start.)

RECORDED VOICE: Stand by! (Red light comes up on one of the

cameras. Th e production assistant goes back to cue Jack’s entrance.)

PRODUCTION ASSISTANT: Th is way, Mr. Gorsky.

(Th e theme music fades out.)

MARTHA: Good evening to our viewers at home and welcome to

“Coming Clean.” And of course good evening to our studio

audience as well… Our guest tonight is Mr. Jack Gorsky…

Mr. Gorsky, good evening. (Jack staggers into the middle of the

studio, clutching his briefcase in his hands.)

MARTHA: I don’t think that Mr. Gorsky needs any introduction. I’m

sure that everybody knows his short stories, his novels… his…

JACK: A novel.

MARTHA: Correct. A novel.

JACK: I only wrote one novel.

MARTHA: Correct. But you wrote a number of short stories. Is

that true?

JACK: Yes. More short stories.

MARTHA: Well then, good evening.

JACK: Good… (His voice fails him.)

535

MARTHA: Mr. Gorsky. You’re cutting an awfully sad face, almost

tragic.

JACK: I apologize. But for me this is a tragedy.

MARTHA: Don’t apologize. Th ere is a good reason this show is

called “Coming Clean.” You’re our guest, we love you, and

I  believe that you deserve applause for joining us tonight.

(A honest and welcoming applause. Jack gathers his courage a bit.)

MARTHA: We just recently talked about your relationship to TV in

general. You don’t watch it, and you don’t trust it.

JACK: I don’t.

MARTHA: And tonight I’ll try to prove to you that on TV, and

especially on a show like this, one can talk about anything.

We will discuss a crime, a crime, which you committed, and

for which you’ll face legal consequences.

JACK: Yes.

(Th eme music. Th e make-up girl quickly dabs some more powder on

Jack’s face. Th e production assistant removes the suitcase from his lap.

Th at throws him completely off balance.)

MARTHA: At this point, I’d like to remind our viewers that the

fundamental nature of our program is the public confession

of the studio guest on one hand, and the understanding, or

rather the forgiveness by the audience on the other. Here, the

guest appears in front of the audience in order to come clean.

So, Jack, let me cut straight to the chase. You’ve fallen in love

with an eleven-year-old boy, correct?

JACK: Yes.

MARTHA: Did you know him well?

JACK: Yes.

MARTHA: Did it catch you off guard?

JACK: Completely.

MARTHA: Why do you think it happened?

JACK: I’ve no idea.

MARTHA: But it was the fi rst time something like that happened

to you. Correct?

536

JACK: Yes.

MARTHA: You’re a writer, an artist. Maybe you just wanted try out

something, fi nd some inspiration.

JACK: No. Th at’s not what I wanted. I think it’s horrible. I’d like to

apologize to everybody for what I did. (He stands up.) To my

wife, to my son, who’s in college in England, my publisher, and

also to my neighbors…I’m sorry. (He sits down.)

(Th eme Music. Applause.)

MARTHA: Mr. Gorsky, evidently you’re surrounded by people who

love you, yet you chose to commit a crime that places you

squarely onto the margins of a civilized society. Do you realize

that?

JACK: Yes. No.

MARTHA: But that’s what you did. Of course, there’s nothing new

about this story. A person, who’s got everything, suddenly

decides to give it all up. It doesn’t matter whether he drives his

car over the edge of an abyss or does what you did. It’s all the

same. (Jack gets up and is about to leave. Martha holds him back.)

MARTHA: But the fact that you came here today proves that you’re

a decent human being, who’s ready to accept responsibility for

his deeds. What do you think? Are you a decent human being?

JACK: I think that I’m a pervert.

Th eme Music. Humongous applause.

MARTHA: Truth is truth, and life is life, but no matter what… lets

continue. When did you fi rst get the idea?

JACK: What idea?

MARTHA: When did you get the idea to start something with that

boy?

JACK: I saw him sing with the youth choir.

MARTHA: But until that time you weren’t… you’ve never had

thoughts like that.

JACK: Never.

MARTHA: OK. So, tell us the whole story.

JACK: About two days before it happened, we had some friends over.

537

Scene 10: Flashbacks

(Enter Monica, Paul, and Eve. Th ere is a noticeable tension between

Paul and Eve.)

MONICA: How’s Nicolas?

PAUL: We’re very proud of him. Th ey made a CD with the choir.

(He gives Jack a CD.)

MONICA: Children are our future. (To Jack.) Let’s hear it.

JACK: Not now. We can listen to it later.

EVE: Good idea. All he does is showing off with it wherever he goes.

(To Paul.) Do you really need to constantly shove it down

everybody’s throat?

PAUL: I don’t shove it down everybody’s throat.

EVE: Jack’s not interested. OK?

JACK: I’m interested.

EVE: Paul simply loves to impose on people. (To Paul.) You impose,

that’s all you do

PAUL: Eve, stop it!

JACK: (To Martha.) I just didn’t feel like listening to it right then. (Eve

sighs. She loathes her husband.) Beer anyone?

PAUL: Th at’d be nice.

(Jack goes to the kitchen.)

JACK: (To Martha.) I went to the kitchen. Th e boy’s mother followed

me.

(Eve follows him to the kitchen.)

EVE: My god, I hate him! Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the

night, look at that ugly mug of his, and I feel like putting a hot

iron on it. You think they’d put me in prison if I did that?

JACK: Th ey may. (Eve presses her body against his and begins to violently

kiss him on his mouth. Jack frees himself from her.) Ehmm…

EVE: I want to make love to you. Let’s go to my offi ce. Nobody’s there

right now.

JACK: We can’t do that Eve. What about Monica? Besides, Paul’s my

friend.

538

EVE: Screw ‘em. For once in my life I want to have the right to think

about ME! Is that so bad?! Do you fi nd me attractive?

JACK: You’re a beautiful woman. (She tries to kiss him again. Jack

continues resisting.) I’m sorry.

(Th e studio audience applauds. Eve doesn’t hear it.)

MARTHA: So you conducted yourself like a good husband.

JACK: I don’t know about that

EVE: (Straightening her skirt.) Th is will stay between us, OK?

JACK: Sure.

EVE: It will be our little secret. (She’s about to leave.) One more thing:

Could Nicolas spend the night tomorrow?

JACK: Sure. Why?

EVE: Paul and I  are planning to have a  “quiet little talk” about

a divorce. I’m afraid it won’t be pretty, and I don’t want Nick to

be around when we scream at each other. He’s still a child, and

something like that could mess him up for the rest of his life.

JACK: Absolutely.

EVE: (Quoting Monica.) “Children are our future.”

JACK: Sure.

EVE: I want to have a child with you.

JACK: Th at’s very nice of you.

EVE: Fuck off !

(Th e studio audience applauds. Eve leaves. So does Paul. Th eme

music.)

MARTHA: What happened next?

JACK: Next evening, they brought over… their son.

(We hear a toilet fl ush. Enter Nicolas.)

MONICA: (To Nicolas.) Did you wash your hands

NICOLAS: Yes.

(Nicolas lays down on the fl oor and begins to play computer games

on a laptop. He is completely immersed in the gaming, and he doesn’t

pay any attention to the following conversation.)

MARTHA: At that time, did you already know what you were about

to do?

539

JACK: No.

MARTHA: But earlier you told me that you did make some

preparations.

JACK: I prepared a little.

MARTHA: How did you prepare?

JACK: I crushed a couple of Ambiens.

MARTHA: You mean sleeping pills.

JACK: Yes. (Jack empties a bottle of pills and crushes them with a knife

on the table next to Martha.)

MONICA: (Reacting to the sound.) Are you cooking something, Jack?

JACK: (To Monica.) No. I’m just cracking some nuts.

MARTHA: (To Jack.) So it was just you, your wife, and the boy?

JACK: No. My publisher and his wife stopped by.

MARTHA: What did you talk about?

JACK: Th e crisis of the Western civilization.

Enter Andrew and his wife Alana. We discover the company

in the middle of the conversation. Th ey are all a little drunk

already, the discussion seems to be an animated one, and

all in all it looks like an interesting gathering.

ALANA: (To Andrew.) You must be completely out of your mind!

So go and live in Cuba if you fi nd communism so irresistible!

ANDREW: Careful there – I’m not defending communism; all I’m

saying is that it was the last idealistic society on the Earth.

ALANA: Idealistic in terms of what? In terms of the Gulag?

ANDREW: In terms of its defi ning itself by a certain transcendental

notion, which was based on faith rather than on rational proof.

ALANA: By what notion?

ANDREW: By “historical necessity.”

ALANA: But that was an error.

ANDREW: True. But still, it was an ideal, which was driving the

entire communist society forward. But at the moment when

that ideal lost its meaning, the whole Soviet Empire folded

like a house of cards. Without a single shot fi red, mind you.

ALANA: And what about Romania? Plenty of shots fi red there.

540

JACK: Chocolate mousse anyone?

ALANA: No thanks.

MONICA: Th ey were drained economically, that’s all. Th ey ran out

of bread, so to speak.

ALANA: Exactly. Th ey ran out of mousse.

ANDREW: (To Monica.) Th at’s not true. Th e Soviet Block could

have hung on for decades more, if it had only been about the

economy.

MONICA: Well, I’m not so sure about that…

ANDREW: Of course it could have. But the thing is that they lost

their sense of purpose. Th at’s why they perished. And the

contemporary western democracy will fold too, if it doesn’t

manage to somehow replace its disappearing ideals of freedom

and scientifi c progress with something new.

ALANA: You’re completely neglecting the economic factors.

ANDREW: Because even the strongest society cannot exist without

an ideal that drives it forward.

MONICA: How about the pursuit of happiness? Th at’s an ideal.

ANDREW: Th at’s not enough.

ALANA: (To Jack.) Jack what’s your take on that? Are you part of

this or what?

JACK: I think that our incessant striving to pursue happiness at all

cost is actually the proof that this society is dying.

ALANA: (To Jack.) You’re an awful pessimist. (To Jack and Monica.)

When did you last have sex?

MONICA: What does it have to do with this?

ALANA: Guys who don’t fuck enough always think the whole

world’s in crisis

ANDREW: Alana! (He’s pointing towards Nicolas.)

MONICA: (To Alana.) And you? When did you two have sex the

last time?

ALANA: Th at my dear, I can tell you pretty exactly. What year are

we in now? … (She pantomimes thumbing through an imaginary

calendar…)

541

JACK: (Talking about Nicolas.) He’s  not listening. (To Nicolas.)

Nicolas, are you listening to us?

NICOLAS: (Not listening, playing his computer game.) Sure.

JACK: Playing war?

NICOLAS: It’s an awesome game Mr. Gorsky

JACK: I’m glad to hear it, but you need to go to bed.

NICOLAS: Not yet.

MONICA: I say that everybody has the right to be happy.

JACK: Having the right to happiness is one thing, but being obliged

to be happy is another. Today’s society demands that you be

happy. But how do you deal with a happiness that’s in direct

opposition to societal norms?

MONICA: Like what?

JACK: Like a kleptomaniac, who must steal in order to be happy. Or

an exhibitionist who, in order to be happy must fl ash people

in a park.

MONICA: But that is something completely diff erent.

JACK: Why? Once a society declares happiness as its ideal, it has the

obligation to live up to it no matter what. Th at’s all I’m saying.

ANDREW: I think you’re mixing two diff erent things – happiness and

entertainment. One of the reasons that the society is in crisis

is because it has succumbed to the tyranny of entertainment.

MONICA: And what’s wrong with that?

ANDREW: It begins to be wrong at the moment when you start

looking at everything through the prism of its entertainment

value. Take personal relationships for instance. Imagine the

moment when we four stop seeing each other simply because

we won’t fi nd it entertaining any longer.

ALANA: What’s wrong with that?

ANDREW: Everything! A friendship shouldn’t be based on whether

my friend is entertaining or not. Same with marriage.

ALANA: Same with the laws.

ANDREW: Absolutely. We are more than willing to accept immoral

behavior just because it’s entertaining. And by the same token

542

we tend to ignore some pretty important societal phenomena

– simply because they are not entertaining.

ALANA: OK. So, what do we do with it?

ANDREW: We need to learn how to be bored. How to be unhappy.

We must stop entertaining ourselves.

MONICA: So what books would you publish then? Boring ones?

JACK: He already does – mine.

ANDREW: Maybe none at all.

MARTHA: (To Jack.) What happened next?

JACK: Th en everybody got quite drunk, and the discussion turned

more personal

ALANA: So you’re unhappy with me?

ANDREW: I’m speaking generally.

ALANA: Speak concretely.

ANDREW: I’d stay with you, even if I were unhappy with you.

ALANA: I’m happy with you.

ANDREW: So am I.

ALANA: Bullshit. You just said that you were unhappy with me. And

I have the right to know why.

ANDREW: You should stop drinking now.

ALANA: Are you ashamed of me?

ANDREW: Only when you drink too much.

ALANA: If you’ve replaced your “historical necessity” with being

ashamed of your wife, then you are an asshole.

JACK: Maybe – in the words of Hegel – throughout history we’re

always doomed to achieve something diff erent from what we

set out to do.

ALANA: Shut up Jack! I’m asking Andrew whether he’s unhappy

with me. And if he is, I demand an explanation as to why.

ANDREW: I think it’s time for us to go. I’ll call a cab.

(Th ey leave, continuing their discussion all the way to off stage.

Applause. Jack and Monica are alone with Nicolas.)

JACK: Ice cream anyone?

MONICA: Th at’d be nice

543

Jack leaves for the kitchen. He prepares two portions of ice cream,

pulls a little metal box with the crushed pills out of his pocket,

and he mixes some of it in the ice cream.

JACK: (To Martha.) I went to the kitchen and mixed the sleeping pills

in the ice cream. (He calls to Monica and Nicolas.) It’s coming!

(Nicolas is on the fl oor in front of the notebook, continuing to play

his games. Every so often he punctuates his actions with muted

exclamations.)

NICOLAS: Bang!… Your’ dead!… Shit…

MONICA: Mind your language, Nicolas!

NICOLAS: I’m sorry Mrs Gorsky. But I really kicked his ass… Sorry…

MONICA: (Calling to Jack in the kitchen.) Or you know what Jack,

I don’t feel like ice cream. Get me a glass of white wine instead,

would you?

(Jack quickly does away with Monica’s ice cream, he pours a glass of

white wine, empties the sleeping pill powder into it, and stirs it. Th en

he places the ice cream and the glass of wine on a tray, and walks

back into the living room.)

JACK: (Exaggeratedly merrily.) Voila! Heeerrrreeee it comes!

ALANA: Th anks.

NICOLAS: Zoom… Th is is an awesome game, Mr. Gorsky.

JACK: Have some ice cream. (Nicolas looks at the ice cream.)

NICOLAS: I don’t like vanilla.

JACK: I see… So, what can I get you?

NICOLAS: I don’t need anything.

MONICA: Leave him alone and come and join me.

JACK: Are you sure, you don’t want anything?

NICOLAS: No. Th anks.

JACK: (Pointing to a plate.) Th e cabbage roll’s really good.

MONICA: Leave him alone. Obviously, he’s not hungry so don’t

force him.

JACK: If he doesn’t eat properly he won’t amount to anything in life.

What do you want to be when you grow up? A sailor? Well,

my friend, you’ll never be one if you don’t eat well.

544

NICOLAS: I don’t want to be a sailor.

JACK: But you want to be something, don’t you? What do you want

to be?

NICOLAS: A surgeon.

JACK: Th ere you go. And without proper food, you won’t even

become a  surgeon. When did you last eat today? School

lunch? Right now it’s what – nine? Th at’s eight hours with no

food. Th at’s not acceptable. I don’t want to hear any more from

you, OK. Or we won’t be friends any longer.

MONICA: What’s got into you Jack? If he’s not hungry, then he’s not.

When he wants something, he’ll ask, won’t you Nicolas?

JACK: Monica would you please stay out of this?! Th is is something

just between us guys. (To Nicolas.) What do you say Nick?

NICOLAS: (Completely immersed in the game.) Crazy! I like totally

got him! Mr. Gorsky, can I download it to my PC tomorrow?

JACK: No problem.

NICOLAS: Awesome. (Jack grows nervous. He’s thinking hard.)

JACK: How ’bout a smoked salmon sandwich? Would that work?

NICOLAS: (Absently.) OK.

(Jack leaves for the kitchen again to make the sandwich. He’s working

fast, and just to make sure, he puts even more pill powder on it. In

the meantime, Monica yawns, and eventually gets up and is about to

leave. She can barely stand up straight.)

MONICA: (To Nicolas.) Well, I’m going to leave you two alone. I’m

sure you and Jack will manage without me, right?

NICOLAS: Sure thing.

MONICA: I made your bed in the guest bedroom. You know what

to do, don’t you?

NICOLAS: Sure thing.

MONICA: You’re a big boy. (She strokes his head, and calls to Jack.)

MONICA: Night!

(She bends down to straighten the sofa cover, but at that moment

she stiff ens, and falls asleep in an unnatural position. Nicolas is so

545

immersed in his game that at fi rst he doesn’t notice her. Jack comes

back with the sandwich on a plate.)

JACK: Voila! Heeerrrreeee it comes!

(He puts the plate on the fl oor in front of Nicolas, and notices Monica.

He inconspicuously checks how deep she’s  sleeping. He pokes her,

but very discreetly so that Nicolas won’t notice, but it appears that

Monica is sleeping like a corpse. Finally Nicolas notices her.)

NICOLAS: Did something happen to Mrs. Gorsky?

JACK: No, nothing at all. Why?

NICOLAS: She’s sleeping kinda funny.

JACK: No, no, that’s how she always sleeps.

NICOLAS: Wow! I could never fall asleep like that… Mr. Gorsky?

JACK: Yes?

NICOLAS: I know why I have to spend the night here.

JACK: You don’t like it here?

NICOLAS: No, that’s not it. You’re nice.

JACK: Nicolas, you really don’t need to be here if you don’t want to.

(He turns to Martha.) I said to him: “You really don’t need to

be here if you don’t want to.”

NICOLAS: Dad’s sleeping in the car in the garage. He’s scared that

mom will do something to him in his sleep if he stays in bed.

(Jack pushes the plate with the sandwich closer to him, picks it up,

and smells it.)

JACK: Hmmm… Smells nice.

NICOLAS: Is it OK if I eat it tomorrow?

JACK: OK. But I don’t know if it’ll be any good tomorrow. Look how

nice it smells… Hmmm….

(Nicolas fi nally takes a bite. He slowly chews on it, and he obviously

likes the taste.)

JACK: Well, what do you think?

NICOLAS: Awesome.

JACK: Pretty good, eh?

(Nicolas takes another bite. Th e studio audience applauds. Th en he

falls asleep still lying on the fl oor in front of the laptop. He props up

546

his head with his fi st under his chin, stares at the screen for a little

while longer, and then, his head sinks. Music.

Jack shakes him – nothing. For a  while he stands over him, and

then he picks him up and brings him onto the sofa. He sits down

between Nicolas and his sleeping wife, and after a while he turns to

Nicolas. However, he imagines that Monica is observing his actions,

so he puts a napkin over her face. Th en he turns to Nicolas again,

but the presence of his – albeit sleeping – wife makes him nervous.

He decides to get rid of her, and begins to move her somewhere else.

It is an exhausting and physically awkward labor, since Monica is

completely limp. When he is in the middle of the room, his cell phone

rings. He hesitates, but after a while he answers it, while trying to

support Monica’s limp body with his leg.)

JACK: Hello?

ANDREW: Hi, it’s Andrew.

JACK: Hi.

ANDREW: Are you in the middle of something?

JACK: No, no. It’s fi ne.

ANDREW: You’re out of breath. Are you OK?

JACK: I’m just moving some books, that’s all.

ANDREW: Oh… I thought that you and Monica were “working out”.

(He laughs.)

JACK: Hmm.

ANDREW: I  just talked to Michael Dworsky. We arranged an

interview in the Street Roots. Th ey need some recent picture

of you.

JACK: Great.

ANDREW: Could you come over on Th ursday, so I can take some

pictures of you?

JACK: Sure.

ANDREW: Jack.

JACK: What?

ANDREW: Hang in there.

547

Jack hangs up. He’s standing in the middle of the room, stiff , looking

like a corpse.

MARTHA: And what did you do next?

JACK: Th en I did it.

MARTHA: You sexually gratifi ed yourself over the sleeping

boy’s body?

JACK: No.

MARTHA: So what did you do?

JACK: (Softly.) I raped him.

MARTHA: I beg your pardon?

JACK: I raped him.

MARTHA: Could you repeat it more loudly please?

JACK: I RAPED HIM.

(Th eme music. Th e studio audience applauds. Lights change, and the

audience is leaving the studio. Spotlight on Kasia. She has seen the

entire show, but Jack has not seen her. She too is leaving.)

Scene 11: Jack in the Make-Up Room

(Jack is sitting in a chair in the make-up room where the make-up girl

is removing his make-up. Despite everything, Jack is quite relaxed; one

could even say that he’s in good mood.)

JACK: Did you watch it?

MAKE-UP GIRL: Considering how freaked out you were before,

you managed pretty good.

JACK: Th e audience was fantastic. I felt that they really listened to

me.

MAKE-UP GIRL: Like totally. You charmed the hell out of ’em.

JACK: And how about you? Would you forgive me?

MAKE-UP GIRL: I guess so.

JACK: You know, when I get home tonight, my wife will be gone.

I guess she’ll be staying with her mother. My neighbor will

want to kill me, and they’ll probably call the police. So, these

548

may be my last moments of freedom. But I’m glad I came here

today.

MAKE-UP GIRL: (Finishing with him.) Done. (Jack gets up.) Can

I give you my number? Just in case you like need something

sometimes.

JACK: Like some face powder in prison for example?

MAKE-UP GIRL: (She doesn’t understand the joke.) I don’t want to

do this till I die, if you know what I mean. (Jack takes her card.)

JACK: Absolutely. Till you… I die… I get it.

Scene 12: Coming home

(Jack is sneaking into his apartment. Monica is sitting in an armchair

silently, thinking. When she moves Jack is so startled that he almost

falls down.)

JACK: (Anxiously.) Hi.

MONICA: Hi. You want some dinner?

JACK: Well… no. Th anks… Did you watch TV?

MONICA: I did.

JACK: And…?

MONICA: I must say that it was… really interesting.

JACK: Interesting?

MONICA: I  think that the things they talked about are really

important.

JACK: Who they?

MONICA: You know, we constantly bitch about the TV, but

when they fi nally show something really important, I mean,

something that truly makes you think, nobody even notices.

Do you know that man?

JACK: What man?

MONICA: Th at priest?

JACK: What?

549

MONICA: Oh… I thought you knew him since you called me to

watch him. But the way he put the collar on the table; that felt

a bit too staged.

JACK: I didn’t see it. (A phone rings interrupting them. It is Paul. To

Monica.) Sorry. (In the phone.) Yes?

PAUL: (On the phone in another part of the stage.) Hi, it’s Paul.

JACK: Hi.

PAUL: We just saw it… really, incredibly interesting… Even Eve

thought that it was great… So, we just wanted to say thanks

for the tip.

JACK: Th at’s OK.

PAUL: Jack…

JACK: What? (To Monica.) It’s Paul.

PAUL: Th e police have a clue. Th ey did a blood test on Nick.

JACK: (He’s pretending that they are talking about something diff erent

for Monica’s sake.) Aha… You don’t say.

PAUL: Th ey found traces of some substance…

JACK: Great idea.

PAUL: What do you mean, “great idea?” It looks like the guy drugged

him with something.

JACK: Th ere you go. Th at’s great. Well, say hi to Eve. I’ll say hi to

Monica too. Good (He hangs up. To Monica.) Paul says hi.

MONICA: Th anks. (Jack sneaks to the bathroom. He turns on the water

faucet so that Monica wouldn’t hear him, and dials a number.)

JACK: ANDREW!!!

ANDREW: (On the phone in another part of the stage.) Hi. I was just

about to call you. How did it go?

JACK: It wasn’t aired live.

ANDREW: What?

JACK: Th ey aired an interview with some priest, something about

a collar or something.

ANDREW: Did they?

JACK: It wasn’t live. Th ey tape it, and air the edited version some

other time.

550

ANDREW: Whether it’s live or not makes no diff erence. What did

you talk about? Did you talk about it?

JACK: Yes.

ANDREW: God…

JACK: It ended up not being as bad as I thought. I apologized to

everybody. To you too.

ANDREW: Th at’s nice of you, thanks.

JACK: But I thought they’d air it right away!

ANDREW: Hmm.

JACK: Could you call somebody and fi nd out what’s going on?

ANDREW: I’ll call them tomorrow.

JACK: Why can’t you do it today?

ANDREW: All right. I’ll see what I can do. (Jack hangs up.)

MONICA: Jack? Are you taking a bath?

JACK: No… I’m just splashing about a bit. (Jack comes back to the

living room.)

MONICA: I was thinking that tonight we could have a nice evening

together. Just you and I. (Monica looks seductively at him.

However, for obvious reasons Jack is not in the mood.) When

I think about all those priests who’re not allowed to have sex…

I don’t know, but I can’t help feeling terribly sorry for them.

(Jack’s phone rings. He’s about to pick it up, but Monica snatches

it away from him.) Ignore it.

JACK: It may be important. I’m sure it’s Andrew.

MONICA: Andrew, Andrew. Always your Andrew! Why does he

call at half past nine at night? Just because he doesn’t need

any privacy doesn’t mean that he can’t respect yours. (Monica

sits down on the sofa. Th e phone rings again. Jack picks it up.

It’s Andrew. Jack goes to the bathroom.)

JACK: What did you fi nd out?

ANDREW: (On the phone in another part of the stage.) Th is is the deal,

Jack: It wasn’t a live broadcast.

JACK: I fucking know that IT WASN’T A LIVE BROADCAST! But

when is it’s going to be aired?!

551

ANDREW: Probably sometime next month.

JACK: Probably?! Th ey aren’t sure?

ANDREW: Evidently it depends on lots of diff erent things.

JACK: What things?

ANDREW: Th ey want to time it with the Nike Awards. Which is not

a bad idea, really. Also because of ratings, they need to make

sure that it doesn’t air against something else. Which is not

a bad thing either.

JACK: So what does it mean?

ANDREW: It means that the fi nal decision is in the hands of the

program director.

JACK: But I need to know where I stand!

ANDREW: I told them that you had an emotional investment in

the show.

JACK: I don’t care about their show! I want to know what will happen

with me!

ANDREW: Somebody from the TV will be in touch. (Beat.) Jack?

JACK: What?

ANDREW: Jack, I’m not really sure whether going on that show was

a wise thing to do, but it’s quite possible that in the end we may

get something out of it. I’ll have them print a few thousand

copies more, just in case.

(Th ey hang up. Jack returns to the living room.)

MONICA: What did he want?

JACK: Nothing important.

MONICA: Was it about the Award?

JACK: Yes. No.

MONICA: Jack. Don’t worry. I’d love you even if you don’t win it.

JACK: Th at is nice of you.

MONICA: (Seductively.) I’ll wait for you in bed.

JACK: Will you have some wine?

MONICA: Th at’d be nice.

(Jack goes to the kitchen. He pours a glass of wine for Monica, and is

about to pour some of the sleeping pill powder into it. He’s looking for

the box, but it’s not there. He panics.)

552

JACK: Monica, did you see a little metal box with a lid somewhere.

MONICA: (From the bedroom.) No.

JACK: It’s only that it was here, and now it’s gone.

MONICA: Maybe that cop that came by earlier put it somewhere.

JACK: A cop??!!

MONICA: Oh yeah, I completely forgot. Some cop was looking for

you.

JACK: What did he want?

MONICA: Nothing important. Apparently some car got stolen

last week on our block, and he wanted to know if we saw

something.

JACK: And you left him alone in the kitchen??!!

MONICA: Why not? He just took some pictures from the window.

He’s  a  policeman. (Beat.) Or, you think that he wasn’t

a policeman?! Th at’d be awful Jack. You can’t trust anybody

nowadays.

(Jack fi nds the box. It’s sitting on the kitchen counter but in a diff erent

place from where it was originally. He examines the content, trying

to fi nd out whether some powder was taken or not. Th en he resigns

himself to the fact that he’s  been found out. It is as if suddenly

everything that happened came crushing down on his head. He pours

a full tablespoon of the powder into the glass, stirs it, and drinks it in

one gulp. His phone rings.)

KASIA: (On the phone in a diff erent part of the stage.) Jack?

JACK: Hi Kasia.

KASIA: Jack, I know everything.

JACK: Everything what?

KASIA: I need to see you. I was there. In the studio.

Kasia hangs up.

Music. Blackout.

INTERMISSION

553

ACT 2

Scene 13: Ratings and Divorce

(Enter Martha and her husband, the Program Director.)

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Seven and half percent. Do you know

what that means? It’s over.

MARTHA: People liked it.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: What people?

MARTHA: Everybody.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: I watched it. But I really didn’t need to

watch it, because it was a  radio play. Every other channel

runs action movies, and car chases, and shoot-outs, but

when I switch to ours, all I see is some guy sitting there and

blabbering. He may be saying interesting things, but I don’t

give a damn, because I don’t have the time to connect with

him. OK. So he’s  a  priest who lost his faith. Good. But if

that’s the case, I also want to see a guy he baptized up there

with him.

MARTHA: But that’s not what this is about.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: I’ll tell you what this is about. It’s about

entertaining the viewer. Show me what his wife has to say

about it, show me what his children think!

MARTHA: He’s a priest! He doesn’t have children, for crying out

loud!

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: OK. So he doesn’t have kids. But you

know exactly what I’m talking about.

MARTHA: No, I don’t.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: I want to see interaction. But the only

thing I see is some driveling geezer and you, sitting opposite,

and repeating your truth is truth, and life is life… nonsense

ad nauseam.

MARTHA: You can’t stand me, can you?

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: I’m talking about the show.

554

MARTHA: But this isn’t the Jerry Springer Show. And you know

why not? Because neither you nor I are Jerry Springer.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: And that’s exactly the problem!

MARTHA: Do you really want the guests to beat each other up?

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: No, I don’t. But if you have a cheating

wife, I want to see her husband’s reaction! I want to see his

mother in law, want to hear her take on it!

MARTHA: But I don’t interview just any Tom, Dick, and Harry.

I question personalities.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: I  want to see Tom, Dick, and Harry

become personalities.

MARTHA: Th at’s TV fascism.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Do you know what your problem is? Th at

instead of loving the TV viewer, you love the TV itself.

MARTHA: Th at’s the same thing, isn’t it?

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: It’s not. Th e viewer is God. TV is the pits.

MARTHA: Some TV is.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: No. Every TV.

MARTHA: No. Television isn’t some anonymous thing. Th ere’re

people behind everything. And if those people aren’t good

the results won’t be good either. But decent people will always

produce good shows!

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Th ere’re no decent people working in

television.

MARTHA: So you’re not a  decent person? I’m not? Don’t you

understand that what we’re doing here is important, that it

has meaning? (Beat.) Do you want somebody else to host it?

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: I want a divorce, Martha.

(Blackout / Lights Up.)

Scene 14: Kasia’s Confession

(We are on a fl at roof of an apartment building. Night. Stars.)

555

JACK: Were you there?

KASIA: Yes.

JACK: How did I look? Like an idiot, eh?

KASIA: (She says nothing, then.) When are they going to show it?

JACK: I don’t know. I know absolutely nothing.

KASIA: When Monica leaves you, I’ll take care of you Jack. Because

when she fi nds out, she is going to leave you. She won’t

understand why you did it.

JACK: Something like this is beyond understanding.

KASIA: I understand it. You’re looking for love, Jack.

JACK: But why can’t I look for it in a normal way.

KASIA: Keep looking for it. Th is is about your soul, not about

little boys. Come on, you’re not a pedophile; you’re a healthy

person. (Jack doubts it.) You know, after John jumped out of

that window, I went to his funeral. And his dad was awfully

nice to me. He brought me home in his car, and he asked me if

I needed anything. And I kept thinking to myself that it had to

be a terrible blow especially for him, because John was his only

son, and that maybe they’d think that it was all my fault, even

though that’s not true. But they both seemed so incredibly

brave, him and his wife. But then he started calling me. He’d

say that he was feeling terribly lonely, that he was missing

Johnny incredibly, that it was all much worse than he thought.

I felt awfully sorry for him. We met a couple of times, just in

a coff eehouse, and we talked. And then he started pressuring

me to sleep with him.

JACK: God…

KASIA: He insisted that it was my duty. He said I owed it to him,

because I was the reason his only son killed himself.

JACK: Th at’s sickening.

KASIA: But I  kept telling myself that maybe he was right. Th at

maybe somehow I really do owe it to him.

JACK: Why didn’t you tell us?

KASIA: I can’t talk about things like that with Monica. Can you?

556

JACK: So what happened?

KASIA: In the end I went to a hotel with him. He said that it would

only happen that one time, and that we’d never see each other

again. So we went up to a room. I insisted that we discuss the

whole thing beforehand. How it would be done, who would

be where, and so on. So we did. Th en we took off our clothes,

and climbed into bed. But somehow …it didn’t work. So we

just like…

JACK: …stroked each other.

KASIA:…yeah, stroked each other. It ended up not being as horrible

as I thought it would be. Th en he brought me home in his car.

Two days later I got a call from his wife. He told her that he

had an aff air with me. He made up a bunch of lies about me,

and his wife even called the police on me on some trumped

up charges. It was awful. Th ey even found out about it in the

retirement home where I was working, and the community

board there voted to fi re me, because they said they didn’t

want to have somebody with “questionable morals” work

there. (She breaks down. She’s exhausted. Jack strokes her hair.)

Time fl ies so fast. (She gently puts her hand on Jack’s)

(Music. Blackout / Lights Up.)

Scene 15: War Room

(Alana’s and Andrew’s apartment.)

ANDREW: It’s perfect. We are on a roll. We got’em.

JACK: We got whom?

ANDREW: Th e TV. You’ve got them by the throat.

JACK: I thought they had me by the throat.

ANDREW: Nope. You’re squeezing the life out of ’ em.

JACK: How did I manage that?

ANDREW: I talked about it with Alana, and she thinks that things

are going in the right direction.

557

JACK: What?! You talked about it with Alana?!

ANDREW: I didn’t tell her anything. All she knows is that we wanted

to use the show to promote your book, and that they bailed

out on us.

JACK: Do you really need to drag other people into this?

ANDREW: Alana is an excellent lawyer.

JACK: What do we need a lawyer for?

(Enter Alana, carrying a stack of legal books. She pulls out a cigarette

and lights it. She seems to be in top form, sharply dressed, animated,

in control.)

ALANA: Hi Jack. And congratulations.

JACK: Th anks. For what?

ALANA: I think we have a case.

JACK: What case?

ALANA: We’ll sue them.

JACK: You want to sue the TV?

ANDREW: Th at’s exactly what we want to do.

ALANA: I think we can to force them to air it. Or to at least off er

you some fi nancial compensation.

ANDREW: It’s not about money.

ALANA: It’s not, I know. But the main point is to force them to

start taking you seriously. If nothing else, it will make Jack into

more of a public fi gure.

JACK: I don’t want to be a public fi gure.

ALANA: Th e main point is that they don’t play fair. Television is

a monster that thinks it can get away with everything. And

they’ll keep on believing it until someone fi nally speaks up,

and tells them in no uncertain terms that what they are doing

is immoral.

ANDREW: Exactly! TV owes us a lot, and now it’s payback time.

It’s time to clean house.

JACK: What does it owe us?

ANDREW: Th ey owe us back all the people, who in the old days,

under diff erent circumstances used to buy and read for

558

example your books, but who now don’t have the time to read,

because all they do is stare into that idiotic box, and watch

their demented shows. We’ll force the television to work for

us. Just like David Copperfi eld did.

JACK: What does David Copperfi eld have to do with that?

ALANA: You know why they didn’t air it? Because you’re not famous

enough for them; because you didn’t win the Nike Award. But

they failed to notice one little thing: the contract they made

you sign was bad.

(Alana notices how nervous Jack is. She off ers him a cigarette.)

JACK: No thanks. I don’t smoke.

ALANA: No need to be ashamed in front of me. Go on.

ANDREW: I told her you started smoking again, and that you were

hiding it from Monica.

JACK: Aha…?

(Jack doesn’t understand what’s  going on. Alana off ers him a  lit

cigarette. He takes a drag. He doesn’t like it at all, but he goes on

smoking mechanically.)

ALANA: Ahh. Nice, isn’t it. Tastes good, eh? (Jack coughs.)

It’s a textbook case of fraud in the inducement.

JACK: Fraud in what?

ANDREW: Th ey lied to you. It wasn’t a live broadcast.

JACK: But nobody promised that it’d be live.

ALANA: Maybe. But at the same time nobody told you that it

wouldn’t be.

JACK: But that’s not their fault that they didn’t know what I was

thinking.

ALANA: Th ey should have let you know beforehand. Legally, you’re

not obliged to inform yourself whether the show is live or not.

JACK: Can I please ask you something? Let’s drop it.

ALANA: Wait! You suff ered mental anguish.

JACK: No. I didn’t.

ALANA: (To Andrew.) Did he suff er, or didn’t he?

559

ANDREW: He did. (To Jack.) When you called me that night, you

were losing it.

JACK: I was fi ne.

ANDREW: You were spent. You were gasping for breath and you

could barely talk. You almost choked.

JACK: Th at was the water. I run the faucet, so that … I just run the

faucet.

ALANA: You were fi lled with anticipation, and then “bang!” You

defl ated like a balloon. Ever since then you don’t eat, you don’t

sleep… You look awful.

JACK: I look normal.

ALANA: You really look terrible.

ANDREW: We know a doctor who’ll certify that you suff ered post-

traumatic-shock, and that you look awful.

(Phone rings in another room. Alana leaves to pick it up.)

JACK: Andrew.

ANDREW: Hmm.

JACK: Th ere’s… well, something happened… I’m not sure if

it’s important, but… I slept with Kasia.

ANDREW: With whom?

JACK: With Monica’s sister.

ANDREW: And what does it have to do with this?

JACK: I don’t know. I just thought you should know.

ANDREW: Th anks.

JACK: I have a strange feeling about it all.

ANDREW: Does Monica know?

JACK: No. Monica was asleep.

ANDREW: What you mean “Monica was asleep?!” Are you drugging

your own wife with sleeping pills? Are you?! Th at’s a felony.

JACK: What’s so bad about that?

ANDREW: What sort of a person are you anyway? Sleeping with

your sister-in-law.

JACK: Just once.

ANDREW: Raping little boys.

560

JACK: Just one.

ANDREW: Why the fuck did you need to drag me into this?

JACK: And why did you need to drag me into this?

ANDREW: I tried to help you. But you’re behaving like an idiot.

Th at’s the end, Jack. It’s over.

(Andrew is referring to their friendship. He leaves.)

Scene 16: Kasia Wants s Confession

(Jack remains seated. He’s now in his apartment. Kasia is in another

part of the stage, calling Jack on the phone.)

KASIA: (From another part of the stage.) Are you trying to back out?

But I won’t let you.

JACK: Well…

KASIA: I have the tapes of the show.

JACK: You know what? I’m busy right now, so why don’t you call

another time?

KASIA: You promised you’d tell her everything.

JACK: Tell what?

KASIA: About us. Th at we are in love. Th at we have a relationship.

JACK: I never promised anything like that.

KASIA: Th en I’ll tell her.

JACK: Kasia…

(Kasia already hung up. She’s dials Monica’s number. Monica’s phone

starts ringing. It is in the pocket of her jacket, which is lying on the

sofa. Jack throws himself at it; tries to remove it from the pocket and

attempts to turn it off . He doesn’t know how to do it, but after a short

struggle he manages. Monica, holding a glass of wine, comes out of

the bedroom. She is extremely sleepy.)

MONICA: Did the phone ring?

JACK: No. Not at all. On the contrary. (She goes back to the bedroom

off stage. Her phone begins to ring again. Jack picks it up.) Stop it!

KASIA: (From another part of the stage.) I want to talk to Monica.

561

JACK: She’s not at home.

KASIA: I’m at the front door, Jack!

JACK: Good, but we’re not home. We’re at this restaurant…

Jack imitates the sounds of a restaurant by striking a teaspoon on

a cup.

(Th e doorbell rings. Jack is at loss what to do. Monica enters from the

bedroom.)

MONICA: Did the doorbell ring?

JACK: No. Not at all. (Th e doorbell rings again.)

MONICA: Come on Jack, somebody’s ringing, I can hear it. You

really should have your ears checked again.

JACK: I’ll get it.

MONICA: Oh, forget about it. I’ll do it.

(She walks towards the front door, but she keeps falling asleep and

repeatedly waking up on diff erent pieces of furniture, such as the

table, the chair, etc. It is a long and awkward journey, but eventually

she falls asleep on the fl oor for good. In the last moment, Jack manages

to slip a pillow under her head.

More ringing and banging on the door.)

KASIA: (Behind the door.) Open up!

(Jack opens the door, and Kasia bursts in. She doesn’t look good, and

she is holding several Beta tapes with the recording of Jack’s confession

in her hands.)

KASIA: Monica! (She is trying to wake Monica up. She talks to her,

shakes her, etc. but to no avail. She goes to the kitchen sink,

dips a sponge in the water and begins to wring the sponge in on

Monica’s face.)

JACK: What are you doing??!!

KASIA: Monica, I  have to tell you something. Jack and I  have

a  relationship. We love each other. He promised me he’d

divorce you.

JACK: I never promised that.

KASIA: You did! You asshole! Th en why did you sleep with me? (She

throws the sponge at him.)

562

JACK: Kasia, get a hold of yourself! Jesus…!

KASIA: We’ll leave for England.

JACK: Th at’s ridiculous.

KASIA: And what if I do something to myself? It will be your fault.

JACK: Please be reasonable.

KASIA: But you don’t have any conscience, do you? You drug your

own wife with pills. Th at’s also a felony. (Pointing to the Beta

tapes.) And what if I bring this to the police?!

JACK: Good. Bring it to the police! Bring it to them!!

(Kasia empties a vial of pills on the table in front of Jack.)

KASIA: Come, we’ll swallow them together. Swallow it! For

god’s sake, swallow it! I love you, you… you asshole.

JACK: LEAVE ME IN PEACE, EVERYBODY!!!

(Jack turns over the table violently, and everything crashes on the

fl oor. Kasia stops dead, and then she slowly leaves.)

Scene 17: Winona Ryder

(Jack stands still surveying the mess on the fl oor. Th en he bends over

and picks up one of the pills. He puts it in his mouth. Th en another, and

another…

Music.

Winona Ryder, played by the make-up girl appears far upstage. She

carries several huge high-end department store shopping bags, and

possibly a bag with two pounds of tomatoes. She speaks perfectly

conversationally, perhaps her voice is amplifi ed by a body-mike.)

JACK: Winona, hi!

WINONA: Hi Jack. How are you?

JACK: Not too bad.

WINONA: Th at’s great.

JACK: Listen Winona, I meant to ask you something: Th at thing

in Safeway… I mean in that boutique… how was it? Did you

really steal something?

563

WINONA: It was just a little joke. Nothing happened.

JACK: So, you didn’t steal anything?

WINONA: No.

JACK: I’m glad.

WINONA: It was made up. Just like your thing with Nicolas.

JACK: No. Th at really happened.

WINONA: No. It didn’t.

JACK: You don’t think so?

WINONA: If it had really happened, you would have been punished,

don’t you think?

JACK: I tried to get punished.

WINONA: I know you’ve been worried about it.

JACK: Yes. I have.

WINONA: You should stop worrying now.

JACK: Really? You think I should?

(Music is interrupted by a knock on the door. Winona disappears.)

Scene 18: Th e Policeman

(Enter Policeman.)

POLICEMAN: Mr. Gorsky! Are you OK?

JACK: Oh. I was just watching television. I must have fallen asleep.

POLICEMAN: (Shaking Jack’s  hand.) Detective Kazinsky. Good

evening.

JACK: Ah… yes. Good evening.

POLICEMAN: Th e door was open, so I came in. You left the door

ajar.

JACK: Yes, yes… of course.

POLICEMAN: I came to tell you that we closed Nicolas’ case.

JACK: Of course. Just give me a minute, I’d like to collect a  few

things.

POLICEMAN: We know who did it.

JACK: I understand.

564

POLICEMAN: It was the choirmaster.

JACK: Who?!.

POLICEMAN: Th e conductor of the boy’s youth choir.

JACK: But that’s impossible.

POLICEMAN: To be completely honest, it wasn’t that surprising.

JACK: It wasn’t? Did he confess?

POLICEMAN: Not to this case in particular, but he pleaded guilty

to about fi fteen other felony counts of child molesting. Mostly

girls, though. Th ey were in shock, and many of them couldn’t

even recall the rapes. It’s going to be a major case… What is

a society that rapes its own children going to come to? (Jack

is silent, he can’t answer the question.) He’s been doing this for

more than twenty years. Can you believe that in a number of

cases, he even had intercourse with the mothers of his current

victims when they themselves were minors?

JACK: Is that true?

POLICEMAN: We’re like rats. When we over-populate we turn into

monstrous brutes.

JACK: You think that that’s the problem – over-population?

POLICEMAN: (Shrugs his shoulders.) It may be. (Beat.) You know,

for a while there, I suspected you.

JACK: Is that so?

POLICEMAN: I thought that you drugged the boy when he spent

the night. I’m a cop – that comes with the territory I guess. In

any case, I always feel a little guilty when I suspect an innocent

person. I’m sorry. (He pulls a book out of his briefcase.) I’d like

to ask you a favor. Would you autograph your book for me?

Actually, it’s for my nephew.

JACK: With pleasure. What’s his name?

POLICEMAN: Christopher.

JACK: How old is he?

POLICEMAN: Fifteen.

JACK: Oh. He’s  a big boy already. (Jack autographs the book with

a fl ourish.)

565

POLICEMAN: Th anks. (As he is leaving he fi nally notices Monica on

the fl oor.)

POLICEMAN: What’s that?

JACK: Th at’s my wife.

POLICEMAN: Is she alright?

JACK: Oh yeah. She had a headache, so she just lied down a bit.

POLICEMAN: Does she always sleep on the fl oor?

JACK: It’s because of her back.

POLICEMAN: She’s sleeping deep. For a while there I thought she

was dead.

JACK: “Comes with the territory,” eh? (Th e policeman smiles.)

POLICEMAN: Well, then. All the best to you. And once again

I apologize for the intrusion.

JACK: Th at’s OK.

(Th e Policeman almost steps on the Beta tapes on the fl oor next to

Monica.)

POLICEMAN: You’ve got some tapes on the fl oor. Do you need

them? (He picks them up and hands them to Jack.)

JACK: Oh yes. Th ey are…tapes… Th ank you.

(Jack takes the tapes form the policeman. Th e policeman leaves. Jack

is stunned. He doesn’t seem to realize what has hit him. He sits down

on the fl oor next to Monica. He starts talking to her in a very soft voice.

He touches her hair, and noticing that it is wet, he begins to dry it with

a napkin. He is reminded of how beautiful she is, and he strokes fi rst

her face, then her breasts. He unbuttons her shirt…

Blackout / Lights Up.)

Scene 19: Happy End

(Jack’s and Monica’s apartment. It’s a beautiful sun-fi lled morning.

Jack is eating breakfast, reading the papers, and his general demeanor

is cheerful. Monica, dressed in her nightgown enters from the bedroom.

566

She seems a bit wobbly, and has a slightly sheepish smile of a girl who

did something naughty and funny.)

MONICA: Jack… Good morning.

JACK: Good morning, darling.

MONICA: I slept wonderfully.

JACK: So did I.

MONICA: Of course I remember everything, but I wanted to ask

you about one teeny-weeny little thing: I have a feeling, that

we… that you…with me… you and I together… well… did we?

JACK: We did.

MONICA: (She throws her arms around him.) You’ re my darling.

(Th eir “crisis” is over.)

Scene 20: A Job Off er

(Th e lobby of a TV studio building. Th e Program Director is sitting at

a piano, playing. Jack approaches him.)

JACK: Mr. Birnbaum?

(Th e program director stops playing, gets up and welcomes Jack.)

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Good afternoon. Zack Birnbaum.

JACK: Jack Gorsky.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: I’m reading your stuff , it’s quite good. I’m

sorry the NIKE thing didn’t work out. You have a feeling for

human weakness, Mr. Gorsky. Th e kind of people you write

about are exactly the sort of folks we need on our shows.

JACK: Th ey are all made up.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Correct. But still, they’re real folks. Right

off the street.

JACK: You know, had it been up to me, I wouldn’t have sued at all.

I’m here to apologize, and to somehow fi nd out how to make

it right again.

567

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: You don’t need to apologize. Actually, I’m

glad you did sue. If nothing else it helped to shake things up

a bit here, which, frankly, was badly needed.

JACK: I see.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: What did you talk about on that show?

JACK: You didn’t see it?

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Unfortunately not.

JACK: About this and that. Mostly about love.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: I’ll be straight with you: We’ll probably

never air it. (Jack sighs a sigh of relief, which the program director

misinterprets as a sign of disappointment.) It’s not your fault.

We’re in process of changing the entire structure of our

programming. “Coming Clean” is fi nished.

JACK: May I ask you why? Were the ratings low?

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: No. It wasn’t about the ratings.

JACK: Oh, I thought that it’s always about the ratings.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Not at all. Ratings are not important. You

know what low ratings are good for? To get rid of shows we

want to get rid of.

JACK: So why did you get rid of “Coming Clean.”

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: It had low ratings.

JACK: I see.

(He is about to leave.)

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Also, because I’m getting a divorce. And

for other reasons too. It’s not easy for me either. I’m like the

pianist from that story of yours, with the alcoholic wife, who

keeps hiding her bottles inside the piano. He gets a divorce,

but then, his instrument just doesn’t sound as good as it used

to, and he can’t understand why.

JACK: “Mr. Christopher’s Bottles.”

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Th at one. Do you know what had the

highest ratings in the history of television?

JACK: I don’t.

568

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Th e fi rst Gulf War in ninety one! More

than a billion people watched it! But it’s a bit of an ethical

dilemma. Should we be starting wars only because they have

high ratings? What do you think?

JACK: Well… I don’t know.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Mr. Gorsky. We’re launching a  new

show in the original “Coming Clean” slot. Something like the

Jerry Springer Show. Aggressive, live broadcast, DVDs on

the shelves the next day, and all that. I know that you had

certain expectations in regard to your appearance on “Coming

Clean,” that you wanted to use it to promote your book, etc,

etc… Well, I completely understand that you’re upset, and I’m

deeply sorry that it didn’t air. So… I’d like to make up for it,

and… I have a proposition for you: Work for us.

Scene 21: TV Studio III – Getting Ready

(TV studio. Th e technicians are setting up for a  TV Show called

“Wet Sponge.” Th e set is being built; the stagehands are bringing

buckets fi lled with water, sponges, etc. Just like she did with Kasia,

the production assistant, is giving instructions to her new assistant.)

PRODUCTION ASSISTANT: Okeydokey honey, so at quarter

too, you’ll herd them into the studio. You seat the short ones

in the front OK? Folks, who’re over six feet or have an afro

must not sit in the front, and guess why not? Because if they

do, that camera boom over there will cut off their head. And

that’s something we don’t want to happen, do we?

ASSISTANT: No.

PRODUCTION ASSISTANT: If you see someone in something

with stripes, you send ’em back to change. Because, why?

Because that makes the picture wavy. If someone wears white,

same deal. If someone has a Mickey Mouse T-shirt you send

569

‘em to change. Because, why? Because we don’t have the rights.

Now, run along.

(Simultaneously, we see Jack and the new talk show host, the former

make-up girl rehearsing for the second installment of the new show.

Behind them, the studio audience, about twenty young people, taking

their seats.)

JACK: You must never stop talking, OK. If you run out of things to

say, you’ll repeat the refrain.

MAKE-UP GIRL: “PEOPLE ARE PITIFUL AND THEIR LIVES

ARE PATHETIC.”

JACK: Good. If a guest mentions the word “bed,” you’ll say the bed

refrain.

MAKE-UP GIRL: “Better to start it in bed then to end it there.”

JACK: Exactly. If somebody yells: “Show your tits!”

MAKE-UP GIRL: I’ll show my tits.

JACK: No. No tits today.

MAKE-UP GIRL: OK.

JACK: I’ll throw the fi rst sponge from off stage. (He asks the production

assistant for a sponge.) Ela, a sponge! And you’ll say, what?

MAKE-UP GIRL: “Nice try. But next time, aim better.”

JACK: OK. Let’s do it.

(Simultaneously, the production assistant is warming up the audience.

Music – New Talk Show Th eme.

Th e make-up girl enters dressed scantily, and provocatively. She has

a body mike on and she moves freely around the studio.)

MAKE-UP GIRL: Good evening. Welcome to the second segment

of our awesome show, “Wet Sponge.” (Applause.) Th e show

is aired live, so at home, you’ll see like totally everything that

happens here on stage. We won’t hide anything from you,

and we dig out all the dirt there is. OK? (Applause.) Tonight,

we’ll have Sasha here. She slept with her boss, and got some

nasty STD from him; he promised her he’d get a divorce, but

he didn’t do it, and when she asked for a pay raise, he called

the police on some cooked-up charges that she stole a  fax

570

machine, which was of course a big fat lie. And you know

what? It was exactly the same fax machine on top of which

they did it like tons of times during work hours, so, anyway, it

didn’t work that good anymore, ha…ha…ha… but who cares.

(Th e audience reacts.) So tonight, for Sasha, it’s payback time,

and she wants to tell all. But we have a little surprise for her,

because we also invited her husband, who’s like a professional

shot-putter, or a boxer, or something, and – get this, because

it’s like totally awesome – he doesn’t have the slightest clue

about the aff air! Wow!!! So, we’ll watch his reaction… and I bet

you that we’ll have some “interesting” entertainment tonight,

here on “Wet Sponge.”

(Th eme music, Applause.)

MAKE-UP GIRL: So, again, I want to explain, that what you all have

there next to your seats are sponges, you know the sponges like

the normal sponges they used to have in schools to wipe the

blackboards, like maybe some of you still remember. Yeah…

and in the buckets there is water. And your assignment is, that

if at any time you like see something that you don’t like, at any

time you disagree with something or somebody, that you take

a sponge, dip it in the water, and throw it at the thing you don’t

like. Like at me for example, or whatever.

(Jack throws a sponge, misses on purpose.)

MAKE-UP GIRL: Awesome. But next time, aim better! We don’t

want you to be a nice audience. We want you to be an audience

who reacts; who gets nasty when it’s necessary; an audience

that has like an attitude because… because… PEOPLE ARE

PITIFUL AND THEIR LIVES ARE PATHETIC

(Th eme music. Th e make-up girl moves aside and talks to Jack in low

voice. Lights change, and we see Martha, carrying a cardboard box

– she appears in another part of the stage, the backstage of the TV

studio. She has come to collect some of her belongings. Th e production

assistant holds her back.)

571

PRODUCTION ASSISTANT: I’m sorry Ms. Martha, hi, but you

can’t go there now. (She points to the blinking red sign “SILENCE.”)

MARTHA: I’ll just quickly sneak through to get to the offi ce on the

other side.

PRODUCTION ASSISTANT: Th ere’s no offi ce there.

MARTHA: Of course there is. I’ve been coming to that offi ce for

the past ten years.

PRODUCTION ASSISTANT: I can’t let you in now, honey. You

have to wait for the commercial break. In fi ve minutes.

(Th e theme music is over. Th e make-up girl returns in front of the

camera. Lights change.)

MAKE-UP GIRL: And you know what? I pretty much understand

what Sasha did. I  started on the casting couch too. I  slept

with the program director. (Applause.) Once, we like did it

right here in the studio. I mean not like during a  show or

something, but “after work hours” as they say. Th at’s how I got

this awesome job. (Th e audience laughs, applauds.) I don’t have

a problem with that. Do you?

AUDIENCE: No.

MAKE-UP GIRL: In any case, it’s better to start it in bed than to end

it there, right? I mean that’s what my grandma used to say, and

then she like died of bedsores. Ha…ha…ha.

AUDIENCE MEMBER: Show your tits! (Laughter. But the make-up

girl knows that she must not react to this.)

MAKE-UP GIRL: TV is awesome. I mean, when it fi nally tells the

truth. And the truth is that PEOPLE ARE PITIFUL AND

THEIR LIVES ARE PATHETIC. (Applause.) Th e lady who

like hosted the show we had before, she also slept with the

program director. But she was his wife, so it doesn’t count.

Th en he like kicked her out. She was drinking. She was also

too old.

(Martha is shocked. she is about to run away, but suddenly something

breaks within her, and she runs onto the studio stage, and throws the

cardboard box at the make-up girl, who falls down to the ground.)

572

MARTHA: Show your tits! Show your tits!

(Th e audience begins to applaud wildly, whistle, etc. Th e production

assistant is about to intervene, but Jack gestures wildly for her to hold

back. Th e make-up girl gathers herself. Silence.)

MAKE-UP GIRL: Th at’s not Sasha. Th is is Ms. Martha, the lady

I  just talked about. She’s been working here for like thirty

years, and it looks like she came to pick up her stuff today.

MARTHA: You’ll also have to come and pick up your stuff one day.

MAKE-UP GIRL: Because she wasn’t good enough, she worked bad.

What do you think?

(Th e audience starts throwing wet sponges at Martha. At fi rst they

throw only a few sponges, but gradually there are more and more,

until Martha is completely drenched. Some of the sponges hit her in

her face.)

(Music, Lights Fade Out.)

Scene 22. Th e Celebration

(At a party to celebrate the new TV show.)

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Come in, come in, please… have some…

(He’s off ering fi nger food, wine, etc. to the guests.) Th e whole thing

with the sponges is amazing Jack. Where did you get that idea?

JACK: To tell you the truth, I don’t know.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: (Addressing the other guests.) Th is guy’s got

incredible ideas. “Aggressive camera!”

JACK: “Insidious camera”

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: Check this out: He came up with the idea

that behind the camera that’s shooting the audience, that from

underneath it, things can attack, or shoot something, or spray,

or overrun the audience.

JACK: We’re constantly telling the audience to not be afraid of

the camera, but this is going to be exactly the opposite. Th e

573

“insidious camera” becomes an enemy that could ambush

them at any time.

PAUL: Th at sounds great. I hear your ratings are through the roof.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR: It’s  the most watched “talk show” in

the last ten years. (Th e program director klinks on a wine glass

with a knife to get everyone’s attention.) Ladies and Gentlemen,

please allow me a  few words. What does a  contemporary

TV viewer look like? It’s a person who’s got only twenty-four

hours a day at his disposal. Minus sleep, personal hygiene,

food, bicycle riding, sex,(he puts his arm around the make-

up girl) newspapers, movies, listening to music, and browsing

the net. In addition, there are some people who also need to

go to work. (Laughter.) And it is only during the little time

that remains, that such a person can make a decision for how

long – if at all – he or she will become our viewer. Today, we

don’t need to fi ght for his money any longer; we only fi ght for

his TIME. Jack Gorsky is a man, who has won that battle for

time, because he managed to entertain the viewer better, and

especially FASTER than anyone before him. He came to us

from the realm of literature, but he instinctively understood

where the real power of television lies. Namely in that it shows

our transgressions exactly here and now. Hic et nunc. Ladies

and Gentlemen, Jack Gorsky!

(Applause. Everybody toasts to Jack, and they demand that he too

say a few words.)

JACK: Th is morning I went to the store to buy some rolls, and people

there were talking about the “Wet Sponge.” First there were

just two women discussing it, and then some student, who

obviously didn’t know them, joined in. Well, it turns out that

everybody in that store, including the checkers had seen it.

And everybody had some opinion about it. And I was just

standing there, and I was thinking to myself that…well, I was

simply so moved by it that I just started to cry right there.

I even knocked over a can of tuna, but nobody noticed because

574

they were all completely engaged in the passionate discussion

about the show… So I took the can so that I could show it to

you. (He pulls a can of tuna fi sh out of his pocket).

PAUL: Is that it?

JACK: Yes. I didn’t pay for it. Nobody even noticed when I walked

past the register.

MONICA: You stole a can of tuna?

JACK: I did.

MONICA: Bravo!

JACK: Th anks to our show. It’s an amazing show, and I’d like to thank

you all. Zach, Anita, my wife, to everybody.

(Applause. Everybody toasts to him. Monica hugs him, and kisses

him.)

PAUL: Congratulations. And thank you for talking to Nicolas.

JACK: How is he doing?

PAUL: He’s spending the night at some friends of ours.

JACK: Say hi to him.

MONICA: I’m so proud of you.

JACK: I love you.

MONICA: Let’s go home.

JACK: OK. Wait for me downstairs. I just need to get some things

from the offi ce.

(Th e program director leads people out. Everybody is gradually going,

and before they leave, they congratulate Jack once again.

Light Change.)

Scene 23: Confession In a Dark Studio

(Jack is now alone in the TV Studio. In the back we see the remains of

all the props used during the entire play, including the furniture from

scenes in the characters’ homes. It is as if the whole story we have just

seen was some sort of a TV show. Jack ponders the items, and some of

575

the pieces seem to make him refl ective. Suddenly a voice comes from

a dark corner. It is the former priest Batko.)

BATKO: Do you have a light?

JACK: Of course. (He lights a cigarette for him.) Shouldn’t you go

home?

BATKO: I was just remembering how I once sat in this studio as

a guest. I got a bit lost in my thoughts.

JACK: I heard about it. Do you regret what you said?

BATKO: Today, I’d put it diff erently. (Beat.) Did you know that the

woman, who hosted that show tried to kill herself recently?

JACK: You read the tabloids?

BATKO: Sometimes. (Beat.) How about you?

JACK: A while ago, I wanted to write a short story about a man who

confesses to a crime on a TV show.

BATKO: What crime?

JACK: Th at he raped a little boy.

BATKO: I see.

JACK: He regrets what he’s done. He wants to turn himself in, but

his agent persuades him to tell it on TV, on a live show.

BATKO: His agent?

JACK: Yes. He’s a singer. Not a very successful one, but still, he’s got

an agent.

BATKO: Go on.

JACK: So he goes to that studio, to that show, and admits to

everything. He wants to face it like a real man, and he’s also

a  bit curious about the punishment he’ll receive. And of

course he is incredibly scared. But despite his heavy heart and

trepidations, it actually turns into a rather pleasant afternoon.

Th e host is very kind, the audience roots for him, they applaud,

and everything is really nice. Yet he also realizes that from that

moment on, his life has fundamentally changed. Except, when

he comes home afterwards, he fi nds out that the show wasn’t

aired live, that it was taped. He calls the TV to fi nd out when

576

it would be shown, but nobody knows. And suddenly he fi nds

himself in a terrible conundrum.

(Batko smiles briefl y. He guesses the plot of the story.)

BATKO: Th ey never air it.

JACK: No. Because the show gets cancelled. But his agent decides

to sue the TV for “fraud in the inducement.” Th e TV station

doesn’t want any legal problems, and as compensation they

off er him a  job hosting a  new talk show. He takes it, and

realizes that it’s  exactly what he is good at. He becomes

immensely successful, and so does the show.

BATKO: And?

JACK: Th at’s it. End of story.

BATKO: And what’s the point?

JACK: Th e point is that nobody ever fi nds out. Th e man lives happily

for the next thirty years.

BATKO: But people would fi nd out in the end. Even if the show

never aired. You said there was a studio audience.

JACK: Th ere was. But nobody cares, because he’s  not famous

enough. And after a while they forget.

BATKO: And his family, his friends?

JACK: Th ey don’t know anything.

BATKO: What about the girl, his wife’s sister?

JACK: Did I mention some sister of his wife?

BATKO: Yes.

JACK: She leaves for England, because she can’t stand it here. She

suff ers pangs of conscience, but the raw reality of living in

England brings her back to life. She works as an au-pair,

but she’s got no money, and sometimes she shoplifts – just

like Winona Ryder. When she gets caught, she blames it on

“psychological instability.” Th e court assigns her a psychologist,

who runs some tests on her and she ends up telling him the

whole story. Her description of what happened is the actual

bookend of the story.

577

BATKO: But such a person would have to admit to it. He couldn’t

bear to live with what he did. Sooner or later he starts longing

to tell someone, to confi de in somebody, to come clean.

JACK: Maybe not. He’s  already over it. It was a  crisis, and he

overcame it. He doesn’t have the sort of moral need that would

compel him to deal with it anymore.

BATKO: But if that person lacks such moral imperative, then it’s not

worth to write about him.

(Th is catches Jack’s attention.)

JACK: Is that so? You may be right.

BATKO: Th ink about it.

(Batko gets up and leaves. Jack stands still for a moment; then he takes

a sip of wine, and leaves as well.

Blackout.)

THE END

578

Vladislava Fekete

(1973)

Vladislava Fekete studied dramaturgy

at the Academy of Performing Arts

in Bratislava, where she also defended her dissertation in 2009,

and externally leads courses in Methodology (theatre poetics from

Antics to nowadays). She is the author of television and radio

scripts, and coordinates theatre workshops and symposiums. She is

a director and dramaturge, and cooperates with theatres in Slovakia

and abroad. She translates contemporary Serbian drama and theory

to Slovak (Jovan Hristić, Biljana Srbljanović, Nebojša Romčević,

Milena Marković, Milena Bogavac, Maja Pelević and others.) She

has been director of the Th eatre Institute Bratislava and director of

the festival of contemporary Slovak and world drama Nová dráma /

New Drama, since 2006, and coordinates the activities of the Th eatre

Research Centre and the projects, A History of Slovak Th eatre and

A History of Slovak Drama. Her play Brief Connections was awarded

with the Alfred Radok award for the best play of 2009.

LIST OF PLAYS:

• Krátke spojenia, 2008; premiére 6. 5. 2009, Jihočeské divadlo,

České Budějovice

TRANSLATED PLAYS:

• Krátke spojenia: English – Brief Connections, German – Kurze

Verbindungen

579

Vladislava Fekete

BRIEF CONNECTIONSTranslated by Zuzana Flašková

Th is play is copyright and subject to protection under the Copyright Act.

Th is work may be used solely for dramaturgical purposes in association with

a production of it.

Any other use, in particular its duplication or making it available to third

parties, is subject to the sanctions of §152 of the Penal Code. In the event of any

intent to produce or otherwise use the play, you undertake to seek performing

rights to the work from Aura-Pont s.r.o.

All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the Aura-Pont Agency

Radlická 99, Praha 5, 150 00, Czech Republic, www.aura-pont.cz

Address for correspondance: Veslařský ostrov 62, 147 00 Praha 4

580

Characters:

Her

Him

Lil’

Dara

Boro

Milija

Mum

Gary

Azra

Estate Agent

Srđan

Stranger

Th e play is set in the present. Th e past is marked in green. Th e past

and the present intertwine. Not only in our memories.

581

I.

(Th ere will be a lot of stage directions throughout the script. Don’t let

it shock you, if such a thing is still possible…

She is sitting and crying, but that’s just fi ne, lots of women cry these

days, and no one knows about it. I, for one, try not to cry, or at least

not in front of others. (Th ere has already been a play that starts like

this … but then, so many things in life begin or end with tears. So

let’s not worry about it too much.) She is sitting on the fl oor with piles

of clothes strewn around Her. A bottle of wine sits in one hand and

a glass in the other, untouched, and somewhere there is also an old

phone that She probably got from a fl ea market. It’s beautiful, big and

shiny, like a black exclamation mark. She has just fi nished talking on

her mobile.)

HER: Does your mum know that you’re calling me?

LIL’: No.

HER: You know it costs to call abroad?

LIL’: I’m calling from MY mobile. It’s new.

HER: And who’s paying for it?

LIL’: Dad.

HER: Oh, so… it doesn’t matter.

LIL’: Th e landline would be cheaper than a mobile.

HER: What’s that noise?

LIL’: I was fl ushing, in the loo.

HER: What are you doing there?

LIL’: Have a guess.

HER: Honey, are you alone?

LIL’: No, I’m not, but I am alone in here. Th ey can’t hear me.

HER: Honey, hold on, I’ll call you back!

582

II.

(She thinks for a  moment and then dials, from the landline. She

always calls home from the landline. She doesn’t know why; no reason

in particular. No one picks up. She tries again… nothing. She dials

again.)

HER: Listen, muppet, why didn’t you pick up?

LIL’: I didn’t know who it was. Why did you call from a landline? Are

you at work…saving money?

HER: (Ignoring her questions.) I told you I’d call you back.

LIL’: I don’t have this number. Just your mobile. Mum said not to

accept calls from unknown numbers.

HER: Not to what?

LIL’: Not to pick it up, Jesus!

HER: Okay. Why did you call?

LIL’: Just to see how you are.

(She hesitates for a moment. Doesn’t know what to say. Kids can ask

diffi cult questions. She sips her wine, just in case. She might need

some strength.)

LIL’: Are you there?

HER: Yes.

LIL’: So, how are you?

HER: What d’you mean?

LIL’: Are you happy?

(She fi ghts back the tears. Lil’ is calling her in not exactly a good

moment for answering those kinds of questions. She fi nishes her

wine. She likes good wine. Who doesn’t? I, too, like to spoil myself

with a bottle of good wine now and then. Never mind the cost.)

LIL’: Your love life… How are the men there? Th e same as here?

HER: Th e same as everywhere.

LIL’: Mum says the same.

HER: How about your dad, is he in touch?

LIL’: He got me a computer.

HER: What was wrong with yours?

583

LIL’: Nothing.

HER: What will you do with two of them?

LIL’: Nothing. I’ll keep one in my room and we’ll put the other in

Mum’s bedroom.

HER: But she’s got already got one.

LIL’: So we’ll have three of them. We can connect one to the internet.

You know, viruses…and I can get on Skype…and we can talk

for free.

HER: Do you miss him?

LIL’: Not really. He was a dick.

HER: You shouldn’t say that.

LIL’: Mum said…and how about you, have you met a nice dick?

HER: Did she say that?

LIL’: She says all men are dicks.

HER: Why did you call?

LIL’: I’ve told you, to see how you are.

(She hesitates for a while. But hesitation doesn’t really work with kids.

Th ey can tell.)

HER: Just for that? And how is school?

LIL’: Stupid question, innit? You know I’m a clever clogs.

HER: Yeah…

LIL’: You’re not getting any younger …

(Th is is too much. Every question adds insult to injury. She’s fl ustered,

and the wine isn’t helping.)

LIL’: How about kids? Don’t you want any? Haven’t you heard about

the biological clock? Yours must be ticking faster than the

speed of light.

HER: Th anks, Miss. Having you is more than enough.

LIL’: It’s not the same. You see me three times a year. Th at’s not

enough. You could come more often.

(She knows that Lil’s is just asking big questions that she must have

picked up from the adults, but still she’s  getting more and more

confused by the conversation, forgetting that She’s talking to a fi fteen

year old girl.)

584

HER: Drop it. You know I don’t have much time.

LIL’: And I do? Nobody does these days. I do piano, gymnastics,

French … and then school as well.

HER: I go to the gym twice a week, have English and – surprise,

surprise – I work, too.

(She feels a bit better, but only for a moment.)

LIL’: You can’t speak English? Every moron can speak English!

HER: Well I’m not a moron.

LIL’: Have you bought a fl at yet?

(She feels awkward again.)

You need to take these things seriously. If you want to stay

there, you need to think about your future.

HER: What shall I bring you when I come?

LIL’: (Right away, without thinking, though apparently that’s not why

she called.) Is the latest Harry Potter out yet?

HER: I don’t know… maybe.

LIL’: God, you’re useless! Check it on the web and let me know.

Promise?

HER: Promise.

LIL’: So, I’ll be waiting for you.

HER: Can I talk to your mum?

LIL’: She went out with a  new mate of hers. A  BOYFRIEND!

A LOVER!

(After a brief silence, pleading, like a child.) Can I come? To visit you?

Please, please!

III.

(She’s  sitting thinking. Th e conversation beforehand has left her

properly shaken. I guess She didn’t expect that, at least not coming

from Lil’. An hour or two pass by. Th e time is not important. In the

meantime She tidies up her rented fl at. It’s quite large and light with

585

loads of books and plants. She ‘s giving it a proper clean, washing

all the dishes from last week. She’s not singing or listening to music.

It’s quiet. Suddenly the intercom buzzes, and again. She doesn’t react.

She carries on cleaning. She turns the radio on, then the washing

machine and the TV too… All together they make a proper racket,

but still it won’t silence the beep of an incoming text on her mobile.

She texts back without hesitation and keeps cleaning. Th e phone rings

– it’s her mobile.)

HIM: Why didn’t you open?

HER: I’m not at home!

HIM: You know you can’t lie.

HER: And?

HIM: What was that abrupt text all about?

HER: I don’t have time. I’m working.

HIM: You know you can’t lie.

HER: And?

HIM: Don’t you think we should talk?

HER: No, I don‘t!

HIM: So what are you thinking about?

HER: Th at I want to be on my own.

HIM: For how long?

HER: For long enough.

HIM: And what exactly will that do?

HER: Nothing. It’s been at least six months since ANYTHING has

been done.

HIM: Don’t forget that tomorrow is the do. You promised you’d join

me. I can’t go on my own. Th ey would talk. I can’t stand them

asking. You’re still my girlfriend, at least in public.

HER: Find a new one. I’m busy tomorrow.

HIM: You know you can’t lie.

HER: And?

(Suddenly, the phone rings. Th e pretty, black, shiny one. Like an

exclamation mark. Not her mobile, since She’s still talking to him on

her mobile.)

586

HIM: Someone’s calling you. Who is it?

HER: How should I know?

HIM: You know that no one uses the landline anymore. Why don’t

you cancel it?

HER: Better I cancel you.

(She cuts him off , even though it’s a bit awkward, especially for the

other side, but not every phone call is a pleasure, as we all know…)

IV.

(Th e black shiny phone keeps ringing. She’s wondering whether to pick

it up. It’s one too many phone calls in a day… She picks it up the

moment it seems it’s about to stop…)

HER: Hi Milija.

MILIJA: How do you know it’s me?

HER: Because I do. Only three people have got this number. Th e

little one called already. Th e only one left is Mum, and she

never calls fi rst. She texts me to say how she is, and where she

feels pain, and to report all the local gossip. Th en she waits

for me to call her. Maybe she’s saving money. God knows…

MILIJA: Is this a good moment?

HER: For you, always.

MILIJA: Don’t tell me that you’re in a bad mood. Not you!

HER: Imagine, even I can be in a bad mood.

MILIJA: Honey, I’m fucked. Gary dumped me.

HER: He was a cunt, fucking cook.

MILIJA: Not all men are cunts.

HER: Yes they are.

(She smiles, perhaps remembering what the little one said just

a moment ago…)

MILIJA: But he was the cunt of my life.

587

HER: I’ve told you that practically all cooks are gay. Th e only ones

who beat them statistically are dancers. I’m talking serious,

long-term, empirical research!

(Her comment is met with a positive and noisy response.)

MILIJA: You’re fab, you know?! You always drag me out of my misery.

HER: I know, but that’s not gonna help me.

MILIJA: Honey, what am I going to do? Who’s gonna cook for me?

(Laughter that has nothing to do with a sense of humour…)

HER: You can eat out, in pubs. It’s cheaper, I’ve done my maths, and

it’s much more comfortable. No messy dishes and dirty nails,

and no fucking boring grocery shopping; no stress that you’ll

burn the plastic chicken.

MILIJA: Gary was the best.

HER: And so was John before him, Michael and Milorad. Th e last

one is always the best one.

HER: Remember what we said when we were leaving…

MILIJA: Th is place is tough. No one gives a shit about immigrants.

HER: And this one isn’t?

MILIJA: At least you could speak the language when you got there.

HER: You’re wrong, my dear. Th ey looked at me like I was a zoo

animal. Only I was better at Ypsilons.

MILIJA: At what?

HER: Y griega. Nothing.

MILIJA: Greek what?

(Th ey are obviously enjoying the conversation. Th ey are old mates,

and they miss each other. Th ey are a thousand miles apart…)

HER: Dunja got married, she emailed me.

MILIJA: Stupid cow. To that moron?

HER: No, to a diff erent guy, also a moron.

MILIJA: Have you split up with another guy yet again?

HER: If you don’t succeed as a scientist you can consider a career

in fortunetelling. Milija – Th e Fortune Teller, sounds great.

Post some adverts, and you’ll have the British on their knees.

MILIJA: Are you still blonde?

588

HER: What do you think? How long is it since we last saw each

other?

MILIJA: Five years… long time.

HER: Why don’t you come?

(Silence.)

Do you think we ‘ll ever go back home?

HIM: Which home do you mean? Th ere have been quite a few.

HER: Srbsko. Serbia. Republika Srbija…

(Milija is quiet. Perhaps he’s thinking. It’s not a sin. People do think

sometimes. It happens to me too.)

MILIJA: Do you remember the sociologist? He failed us both twice.

HER: Th e sports sociologist. Sure. I won’t forget him till the day I die,

or even longer …

MILIJA: He died. I read it on the web.

(Th e news makes her a  bit upset. She has never been into sport,

apart from going to her local gym, but still, death is always moving,

regardless of the circumstances.)

HER: I didn’t like him.

MILIJA: But he wanted you to join his department. You were

the only one happy to plough through the third edition of

his masterpiece, ‘General Sociology with a Focus on Sports

Sociology at Secondary Schools in Serbia’. You actually read

the whole thing. If you didn’t lie, that is.

HER: I felt sorry for HIM. Can we change the topic?

MILIJA: I went to Poland.

HER: And you couldn’t drive a few miles down the road to boring,

fucking Bratislava?! Now you’ve pissed me off !

MILIJA: Do you think I’m made of money?! It was a scholarship.

HER: Fuck you. It’ d have been the fi rst time we wouldn’t have had

to share the same bed!!! I’m renting a bigger fl at now.

MILIJA: Bigger fl at, bigger problems.

HER: No fl at, no problems. But I do miss you, do you know that?!

You’re the only man I can say this to.

589

MILIJA: Cause I am gay, so you’re safe. You know I won’t give you

any heartbreak or any other shit.

HER: I really miss you…

MILIJA: You’re strange. What’s wrong with you? Is everything OK

at work?

HER: Don’t you have anything more interesting to say?

MILIJA: Dad was killed!

(Pause.)

Five years ago. Nobody told me!

(God knows why the line cut off right then. Maybe it’s the distance. She

hesitates for a moment, not sure whether to dial his number, but she

gives up. She waits a bit, to see if he calls back, and when the phone

doesn’t ring, She realises that Milija won’t call either. She sits on the

sofa, opens a book and tries to read. She’s enjoying the silence. Th en

she goes and sits at her computer.)

HER: I knew it Milija, I did. Forgive me.

(She is crying.)

V.

(Boro comes in, with a huge box in his hands. He’s a policeman but

he’s off duty now. He’s still carrying his gun. He has it all the time. He

doesn’t feel safe without it. It gives him security. We all need some sort

of security., but I would never go that far.)

BORO: Lil’, look what Daddy got you.

LIL’: Yah.

BORO: Guess what it is!

LIL’: A computer.

BORO: How did you know?

LIL’: Th e box.

BORO: Aren’t you happy?

590

LIL’: You got us one just like that two months ago. Is this a storage

room?

BORO: Th is one is more powerful. You’ll see.

(Boro is still holding the big box, and it’s getting uncomfortable. He

looks awkward and funny. Like every parent, he wants to impress his

child, especially after leaving her for his new life. He keeps checking

for his gun as he struggles not to drop the box. It’s a tick – one that

will never go away.)

LIL’: Okay, I’m off to French.

BORO: Aren’t you happy to see me?

LIL’: You’ve asked that already.

BORO: I asked about the computer.

LIL’: Mum will be happy to see you.

(Little girls can be pretty cynical, particularly when they’re in a bad

mood. Lil’s sits on the fl oor and, ties her laces while she looks up at

her dad.)

Since when do they sell computers in old boxes?

(Boro feels embarrassed by her question. Should he come clean and

tell his child that he’s ‘bought’ her his old computer because he gets to

keep the new laptop he’s just bought himself?)

BORO: Th e box may not be brand new, but the computer is like new!

LIL’: (In French.) Up yours, moron! Fuck you and your new laptop!

BORO: What? I don’t understand! Your English is impressive.

(Boro is trying to be funny. Or maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s never heard

French before.)

LIL’: I’m off .

(Dara appears at the door. She’s a beautiful woman. Well, or at least

she would have been, if it wasn’t for certain unpleasant experiences

that have taken their toll on her looks.)

DARA: (To Lil.’) Are you still here?

BORO: (Th inking she’s talking to him, and immediately going on the

off ensive.) Don’t forget that this fl at still belongs to me too, so

I can stay here as long as I want.

591

DARA: As far as I’m concerned you can DIE here. Lil’, after the class,

straight home, okay?

LIL’: (In French.) But you’ll get rid of this one by then, right?

DARA: (In French.) No worries, I’ll sort it out.

BORO: So now you made sure she speaks the language too, so that

I can understand fuck all. Th at’s just great, and what’s it good

for anyway? Who exactly uses foreign languages round these

parts?

DARA: Certainly not you. Foreign weapons, more like.

BORO: Sure, mock me all you like, Miss Professor! If it wasn’t for

me handing you money you’d hardly survive on your crappy

teacher’s salary.

DARA: Every day I pray to God at least three times to thank him for

all the wars in the world – so that you’ve got something to do

and get well paid for.

BORO: You didn’t mind before.

DARA: Before, everything was diff erent. Now go. I’m expecting

someone.

(Boro sees this as a challenge to argue.)

BORO: Don’t tell me you still have some interest?

DARA: Oh, sorry, I forgot to tell you. I’ve put on at least 15 kilos for

starters, as I’ve completely given up on things, especially on

life. Is that what you wanted to hear?

(Lil’s is singing a  French song, and pretending that her parents’

argument doesn’t bother her, but it does. Every child suff ers when

their parents fi ght, even if they are exes. She makes as if to leave. Just

as she is by the door, she abruptly turns and lets out a loud, sudden

“Wham!”, scaring Boro. His tick kicks in. He drops the box, it falls

down with a noise, he pulls out his gun and aims at her.)

DARA: Boro!

LIL’: Boro!

(Lil’s hides in the loo. She locks herself in and does what she always

does in these situations. She calls her.)

592

VI.

(She is sitting at her computer and starts crying. It’s the second time

today. She can’t write. Th en She gets a text. She looks at her watch.)

HER: Mum!

(It’s her mother. She gets in touch every day at seven pm. Sometimes

She ignores her texts but that means risking a second text, and then

a third…)

Th e text: How are you? I rearranged the living room & am

on a new diet! Must shed 5 kilos by summer. (She knows, this is ‘really important’ and ‘needs to be discussed’ so she

moves to the phone. Th e beautiful, black shiny one. She’s ready for the

monologue. But before that She saves the text she was working on. She

might get back to it one day…)

HER: Hi, it’s me.

MOTHER: Who ME? How about saying your name politely Missus,

or is it still ‘Miss’?

HER: Mum, drop it. It’s obvious it’s me.

MOTHER: You don’t care about me, right?

HER: I do, but I was so busy at work.

MOTHER: Always the same; the same old excuse, always working,

and do you do anything else apart from working? Could you

maybe let me know any interesting details from your rich

social life?

HER: Come on Mum, that’s a bit much, don’t you think?! You’re

exaggerating just a bit…

(She doesn’t manage to answer… She listens passively till the end of

the conversation. Not that She wouldn’t have anything to say but…)

MOTHER: Imagine, the neighbours’ dog was run over. You know,

the Alsatian.

(She didn’t have a clue about the neighbours having a new dog. After

fi fteen years She hardly remembers the old one.)

I felt sorry, though I was scared of it too. When I came

home late at night I always had to steer clear of their gate. Th ey

593

would always say it wasn’t dangerous but you know, Alsatians

can go nuts, and we have little kids playing in the street. What

if he’d jumped over the fence and mauled one of them? Th en

what? Nobody seemed to be bothered about it. And this friend

of mine, she had her book launch yesterday. She wrote another

book, about the past. I think she’s making things up. I’m sure

she’s not spending time in the archives studying. I never see

her there. She’s going from one visit to another, gossiping,

I mean. She never gets bored of that. Th is one will be full of

vague information, just like the others. Anyway, I am sure no

one will read it. It’ s lucky there was a programme on her on

TV. She’s big now, an acknowledged writer. She’d better … Th e

old Slovak teacher died. You know, the one who taught me and

then you. He must have been really old. I don’t think he was

ill. Do you remember? No one ever listened to him, poor man.

Th e funeral is tomorrow. Shame you can’t go. You should.

(She wouldn’t go even if she were in the country. She hates funerals,

dogs, poetry and politics.)

Listen! You won’t believe this! A friend of mine, not the

one with the book, another one, a close friend… she has gone

completely bonkers! She got involved in politics. I don’t get

it, POLITICS! Th ey actually talked her into joining the party,

so now, wherever she goes, she’s promoting them. She has

changed. I think the pensioners here just get bored. I guess

because they have no money. What is she gonna do, what is it

good for? Now she has no time, apart from politics. We don’t

hang out any more. What if anyone sees me with her. Th ey

will think I’ve joined the party too…and I haven’t told you yet

which party she’s campaigning for. I don’t want to say it over

the phone. What if we are bugged? I’ll tell you when you come

home. So, when are you coming?

(She tries to answer but doesn’t get a chance.)

594

And the electricity has gone up again. How will I pay the

bills? Just now it was the water and gas and now, for a change,

electricity. Th is state is a thief.

(She wanted to say that it’s more or less the same shit everywhere, but

She knows She won’t get a chance to get a word in.)

We’ll go on strike. I mean, not me personally. It won’t sort

anything, and never did. We didn’t work for a week, and then

the next two we had to work from dusk till dawn. Th ere’s a new

TV series, a national production. It’s quite decent. Th e one

that you like is in it too. You know, the one you always fancied.

I can’t remember his name now. Tall, dark, handsome. I read

he left his wife and kids, and moved in with his lover. Men in

their fi fties, that’s what you get. Th ey can leave the wife and

kids and just start over again … and you? Are with someone,

fi nally?

(Silence. Pause. Her mum waits for the answer. She knew that sooner

or later this would come up, but it always catches her unprepared,

and She knows too well that her mum won’t leave it till she gets an

answer.)

HER: I don’t know.

MOTHER: What you mean you don’t know? You don’t know if

you’re seeing someone?

HER: I don’t.

MOTHER: You’re pretty, smart, intelligent, you should fi nally fi nd

someone. Something serious.

HER: I don’t know.

MOTHER: Don’t know what? If you’re pretty or if you’re on your

own (?) and what was wrong with that poor guy you brought

home last time?

HER: I don’t know.

MOTHER: I thought you were getting serious, since you introduced

him to us, and he stayed for three days: breakfast, lunch,

dinner …, breakfast, lunch, dinner …, breakfast, lunch, dinner

… my dear!

595

HER: It wasn’t serious. I told you we were friends, and I did give you

money for the food.

MOTHER: Why don’t you try with that one … what was his name?

He’s still single. Last time he was asking about you. I think

he still has a thing for you, and he was decent… what was his

name? He started to teach at the school. Th e kids love him!

HER: Mum, I  am not there! I  live in a  diff erent country, 600

kilometres away.

MOTHER: But you make it sound as if it was at least 6000. Th at’s silly.

All of you ran away to diff erent places. Th ere is no one here.

Th e other day I read in the papers that we suff er from the

highest brain-drain in the region. Ah, I didn’t tell you, our

neighbour is in hospital. Th e one who lives across from the

neighbours with the dog. Th e dead dog, I mean.

(Th ank God, the relationship discussion is over! Her mother keeps

reporting on what’s new and what isn’t. She moves to her computer

with the phone in her hand and starts typing. Her mother keeps

talking and talking…)

VII.

(A small fl at on the outskirts of Birmingham. It looks like student

accommodation, though the ‘student’ living in it has long graduated.

He just hasn’t thought of moving out yet. Where to? And what for?

And who can aff ord it anyway? And this is not a bad place, with lots

of light, full of books, plants and dirty dis. Milija is sitting on the sofa

and facing him is Azra, his older sister. Th ey don’t look very happy.)

AZRA: How are you gonna tell mum?

MILIJA: I’ll stand up and announce it: “Dear mother, I’ve got

something to tell you. I am gay. I mean, homosexual.”

AZRA: Forget it. Th at would kill her.

596

MILIJA: If she survived you having a bastard child who she now

dotes on like the happiest grandma of all time, she’ll survive

this too.

AZRA: You’re being cynical.

MILIJA: I’m being cynical? You opened your legs for the fi rst

UNPROFOR guy you stumbled across and I’m being cynical?

AZRA: Th at child was born out of love!

MILIJA: Yep, international love equals better genes. Is that what you

really meant to say? Well, yeah, at least we’re not all sleeping

with each other. Is she pretty?

AZRA: It’s a boy, Milija. I have a son! Th at’s  the least you could

remember. A boy to carry on the family name.

MILIJA: You see, I knew I could rely on you for that. I’m not sure I’ll

ever have a son. Or a daughter.

(He’s teasing her and he’s enjoying it.)

AZRA: You’ve changed. You weren’t like this before.

MILIJA: Dear sister, I’ve been away from home for 15 years. It’s not

my fault that I can’t go back.

AZRA: But people are coming back.

MILIJA: And running away again.

AZRA: We’ve got a big house, and a garden. You always liked it there.

Look at where you’re living now.

MILIJA: I like it like this. WE like it like this. Gary and I like it like

this.

AZRA: Th at’s why you didn’t want us to come.

MILIJA: You couldn’t.

AZRA: But then, after they opened the borders, you still never

invited us.

MILIJA: Because I knew how you would react.

AZRA: Does anyone know?

MILIJA: Know what?

AZRA: Th at you have a …, that you are …

MILIJA: Th at I am what?

AZRA: You know.

597

MILIJA: Yes, people know. WE don’t have to hide in a shelter, it’s not

like back home.

AZRA: How about taking time out to think about it, and in the end

you might even meet a nice girl. One of us!? I’ve read that

you’ve got plenty of local community clubs here. Why don’t

we go and have a look?

MILIJA: Azra, I don’t want to change. I love him.

AZRA: Does he love you back? Isn’t he just using you? Does he have

a job?

MILIJA: Yes, he does.

AZRA: I suppose you can’t tell me what it is that he does.

MILIJA: He works at Uni, in the canteen.

AZRA: At the canteen? You’re with a cook?

MILIJA: Would you prefer a thief or a murderer? I know. A soldier.

UNPROFOR, ideally. Th at’s more up your street.

AZRA: Screw you. Come home with me. I bought you a ticket. Here.

MILIJA: Azra, you came here, without asking and now you’re

hassling me. In my own place. In my home.

AZRA: Th is is not your home! Your home is there!

MILIJA: Whatever. I live here, and I like it here.

AZRA: Th is is worse than a bad dream! I never dreamt I’d fi nd you

like this and with somebody like that. I came to tell you that

mum needs you, because…

MILIJA: And dad? Don’t tell me he’s transformed into a liberal, gay

rights activist, fi ghting for the legalization of gay marriages?!

AZRA: … dad was killed.

(Pause.)

Five years ago! (After a brief silence.) It’s over. Don’t imagine

it’s not.

(Just as she fi nishes writing, her mother fi nishes talking.)

MOTHER: You’re not listening to me! Why do I bother talking to

you?!

(And she puts the phone down. Finally!)

598

VIII.

(Now she really doesn’t know what to do. It’s late evening and it’s dark

outside. She’s thinking and after a while she takes some stuff out of

the fridge for dinner. Something light. She shouldn’t eat so late, it’s not

right. Defi nitely not for women over thirty. She wouldn’t want to end

up like Dara. She brings the fi tness ball and stares at it. When the

food is ready, (some microwavable ready meal), she sets the table for

two, sits on the ball and stares at the plates. Th ough she’s been on her

own for a while she keeps setting the table for two. she doesn’t want

to eat on her own. She doesn’t enjoy it that way, and, to be honest,

it’s also a matter of habit. You know what I mean. Anyway, the food

doesn’t look that great. It looks awful, actually. Th e intercom sounds.

It must be Him. She holds back the tears. She opens the door. He looks

gorgeous, as usual.)

HIM: Who called you?

HER: When?

HIM: When I was talking to you.

HER: Don’t know. I didn’t pick up.

HIM: You can’t lie.

HER: And?

HIM: You’re not looking bad.

HER: You meant to say I look good?

HIM: I meant to say what I said.

HER: In case it was a compliment, thank you.

HIM: Do you have something to eat?

(She shows him the table. He notices the two plates.)

HIM: Are you expecting someone? Th e one who called you while

you talked to me?

HER: It’s the low-carb diet. One plate with proteins, the other with

veggies.

(Now it comes in handy that she cooks for two. For herself and another

person who is not there: it’s a good habit. After all, it wasn’t such a bad

idea. He’ll never believe her that She wasn’t expecting anyone.)

599

Did you come to eat?

HIM: I came to tell you I’m leaving you!

HER: It was me who left you this afternoon. If my memory serves

me right. And the same thing yesterday afternoon, and, now

I come to think of it, six months ago!

HIM: If it’s over the phone, it doesn’t count.

HER: So leave me…alone.

HIM: I have a child.

HER: Yeah, on a remote control?

HIM: I’m serious. I wanted you to hear it from me.

HER: Congratulations!

HIM: It’s a girl.

(Pause. She’s one.)

HER: Th ey say love rats always have daughters. So it’s true. And it

means you were cheating on me. Is that what you’re actually

trying to tell me?

HIM: No. I didn’t.

HER: Ooh, so in that case she’s not your daughter. Your lover number

two has presented you with somebody else’s love child, what

a bitch! Th at’s pathetic. Does your wife know?

HIM: You’re pathetic.

HER: Since I’ve been with you, you mean.

(She sits at the table and starts eating. She looks calm.)

HIM: So what will happen with us now?

(Th is is getting too much but she still looks calm.)

HER: We can get married and live together till death do us part!

(He leaves, she sits at the other plate. Starts eating the meal. It’s weird

but she’s not crying. I think I would.)

600

IX.

(Th e phone rings? What’s the time? Oh, not again, it’s…)

ESTATE AGENT: Good afternoon.

HER: Good evening.

ESTATE AGENT: Apologies for calling so late but I  didn’t get

a chance before. I was snowed under, fortunately.

(He’s trying to be funny, but he’s the only one laughing at his joke. He

hangs on and then continues.)

I found your email. You’re looking for a fl at. Congratulations!

HER: On what?

ESTATE AGENT: On your new place. Th at’s the best investment…

property.

(Another joke, again without the desired response.)

HER: I haven’t bought anything.

ESTATE AGENT: But you’re planning to.

HER: I’m not.

(Th e Estate Agent starts feeling a bit awkward, uncomfortable, but he

puts it down to his tiredness.)

ESTATE AGENT: But you did call me.

HER: I sent you an email.

ESTATE AGENT: You left your contact details and a phone number.

HER: I didn’t think you’d call back. You know what men are like.

ESTATE AGENT: But I’m not like them.

(He laughs. It’s getting really awkward. Th e Estate Agent feels really

awkward now.) So, young lady, what are we looking for?

HER: Well, I am not young anymore …

ESTATE AGENT: Well, miss, what can I do for you?

HER: Marry me.

ESTATE AGENT: Any time.

HER: Are you free tomorrow? And the next day I move in. And my

housing issue is sorted.

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ESTATE AGENT: Can I  call you tomorrow? You don’t seem to

be in a good mood today, and I’ve called quite late actually,

apologies.

HER: I won’t be in the mood for getting married tomorrow.

ESTATE AGENT: Well, we can try some other day then. Maybe

you’ll feel like getting divorced and we can sort your housing

situation again.

(She is quiet for a while. And she bursts out laughing. Th is was fun.

Well, she might buy a property, with her earnings she could aff ord

a bigger dog kennel and that’s not really appropriate, you see.)

X.

(She checks her emails. She has a new one from her Mother.)

MOTHER: (Mail.)

Imagine, the neighbours’ dog was run over. You know, the

Alsatian.

(She didn’t have a clue about the neighbours having a new dog. After

fi fteen years She hardly remembers the old one.)

I felt sorry, though I was scared of it too. When I came

home late at night I always had to steer clear of their gate. Th ey

would always say it wasn’t dangerous but you know, Alsatians

can go nuts, and we have little kids playing in the street. What

if he’d jumped over the fence and mauled one of them? Th en

what? Nobody seemed to be bothered about it. And this friend

of mine, she had her book launch yesterday. She wrote another

book, about the past. I think she’s making things up. I’m sure

she’s not spending time in the archives studying. I never see

her there. She’s going from one visit to another, gossiping,

I mean. She never gets bored of that. Th is one will be full of

vague information, just like the others. Anyway, I am sure no

one will read it. It’ s lucky there was a programme on her on

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TV. She’s big now, an acknowledged writer. She’d better … Th e

old Slovak teacher died. You know, the one who taught me and

then you. He must have been really old. I don’t think he was

ill. Do you remember? No one ever listened to him, poor man.

Th e funeral is tomorrow. Shame you can’t go. You should.

(She wouldn’t go even if she were in the country. She hates funerals,

dogs, poetry and politics.)

Listen! You won’t believe this! A friend of mine, not the

one with the book, another one, a close friend… she has gone

completely bonkers! She got involved in politics. I don’t get

it, POLITICS! Th ey actually talked her into joining the party,

so now, wherever she goes, she’s promoting them. She has

changed. I think the pensioners here just get bored. I guess

because they have no money. What is she gonna do, what is it

good for? Now she has no time, apart from politics. We don’t

hang out any more. What if anyone sees me with her. Th ey

will think I’ve joined the party too…and I haven’t told you yet

which party she’s campaigning for. I don’t want to say it over

the phone. What if we are bugged? I’ll tell you when you come

home. So, when are you coming?

(She tries to answer but doesn’t get a chance.)

And the electricity has gone up again. How will I pay the

bills? Just now it was the water and gas and now, for a change,

electricity. Th is state is a thief.

(She wanted to say that it’s more or less the same shit everywhere, but

she knows she won’t get a chance to get a word in.)

We’ll go on strike. I mean, not me personally. It won’t sort

anything, and never did. We didn’t work for a week, and then

the next two we had to work from dusk till dawn. I’ve got

more news, but I’ll tell you all about it when you call. A kiss

and a hug, Mum.

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XI.

(Milija is on his own in his fl at in Birmingham. He springs into action.

He wants to surprise his boyfriend the cook by making him dinner.

A  lovely idea! He opens the fridge and closes it. He weighs up his

options. No, he won’t order a take away pizza. A decadent thought

briefl y crosses his mind. He takes a frozen ready meal out, and shoves

it into the microwave. He starts setting the table for two. He pays

attention to details. Th e candles, the wine, the fl owerpot. No time to

buy fl owers. He puts on some Yugo pop music and waits, and waits.

Th en he picks up a book and pulls an old photograph out of it. It must

be a photo of his dad. He’s doesn’t look at it; he just holds it in his

hand. Finally Gary turns up, with fl owers in his hand.)

GARY: Th ese are for you.

MILIJA: (Looking very pleased, putting away the fl owerpot and

arranging the fl owers in a vase.) What are we celebrating?

GARY: Th e split?!

MILIJA: I wasn’t good to her. Azra doesn’t deserve it. She’s a good

sister. Pathetic, as sisters are, but we used to be close.

GARY:

(Wants to talk about something else, but there will be time.) Has she

gone?

MILIJA: Yeah, two minutes ago. We didn’t exactly part on good

terms.

GARY: What did she want?

MILIJA: Me to come back home.

GARY: So why don’t you go back?

MILIJA: Back?

GARY: Home.

MILIJA: My home doesn’t exist anymore. It disappeared from the

map.

GARY: But not from your mind.

MILIJA: I made dinner. It’s no culinary masterpiece but the box says

it’s organic. You know, organic farming, ecology and all that.

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(He was trying to be funny. Everyone is trying to be funny these days.)

GARY: I ate at work.

MILIJA: Was it organic?

(Th e last time he tries to make him laugh. He knows there won’t be

another chance…)

GARY: I  think you’ll never stop thinking about your home., and

you’ll never feel good here.

MILIJA: But I do, this feels like home.

GARY: You’ve just said it, “LIKE home.”

MILIJA: Gary, I know that Azra off ended you, but that’s the way she

is, you know, a bit tactless. She doesn’t know anything else

apart from her village. She never travelled anywhere. Th is was

the fi rst time, and the last one too.

GARY: Azra is right. We ARE diff erent, and we come from diff erent

time zones.

MILIJA: It’s not funny, you know.

GARY: I’m not trying to be funny.

MILIJA: Trouble at work? Come on, we can get through this like

we always do. I don’t earn much, but it’s enough to take care

of the two of us.

GARY: Can you change the music?

MILIJA: Why? I want to listen to it …

GARY: All we ever play is this sentimental crap of yours.

(Milija goes to the stereo and turns it off . Obviously, it’s not him who

has the upper hand. He looks at the CDs, but doesn’t know what to

play. He doesn’t have any other music apart from his ‘sentimental

crap’.)

Your sister has a point.

MILIJA: Azra was just exaggerating. She can’t imagine being

uprooted from one country and then settling in another.

It’s something she can’t understand.

GARY: You’ve lived here for 15 years and you don’t have anyone.

MILIJA: I’ve got you.

GARY: Th at’s not enough, don’t you see?

605

MILIJA: It’s enough for me, and I thought it was for you too.

GARY: Th e best thing for you would be to go back home. It’s okay

now. I read about it in the paper.

(Gary doesn’t understand that he’s being a merciless bastard. Milija

starts to see it.)

GARY: I’ll give you back the money I owe you. You’ll have enough for

the fl ight and you’ll fi nd somebody. I’m bored of it being just

the two of us, and your music – I can’t stand it, and the news

from YOUR homeland. In the last few years I have learnt more

about Bosnia than I have ever known about Britain. Without

ever setting foot there.

MILIJA: You should have told me you wanted to go.

GARY: Th ere? Th anks, but no thanks.

MILIJA: Is it a problem for you that I’m from Bosnia?

GARY: Not for me, it’s a problem for you.

MILIJA: What should I do?

GARY: I think it’s too late for that. Go back home. I think you need

it. How long is it since you last saw your dad?

(Milija knows that Gary doesn’t know anything but he still won’t

forgive him.)

MILIJA: Dad was killed.

(Gary leaves, without saying a word. Without packing his things.

Well, not that he has lot of stuff to take. Actually, he has nothing

worth taking. It seems that he has no memories worth keeping either.

Milija sits at the table set for two. He takes the fl owers out of the vase

and puts them in the bin. He sits at the table and immediately stands

up again. He lights a candle and puts the photograph of his dad on

the plate. He sits opposite, puts on some folk music and starts eating.

After a while…

Milija dials the long, familiar number. He knows it by heart. Whenever

he needs to be cheered up he knows who to call. But She doesn’t pick

up. Th e phone keeps ringing, twice, three times … Just as he is about

to hang up…)

HER: Ciao Milija.

606

MILIJA: How do you know it’s me?

HER: Cause I do. Only three people have this number …

XII.

(Boro didn’t pull the trigger. But it was close. Dara is still in shock. She

can’t open her mouth, which is something of a miracle in her case…

As it is in most women, for that matter. Lil’ runs to the loo.)

LIL’: I’ll go to my godmother’s. I’ll go there. I’ll never come back. (In

French, only the last bit though.) Fuck you!

BORO: (After a while.) What did she say?

DARA: Th at she’s staying at home.

(Pause.)

She’s not going to her French class.

BORO: Good idea!

(Dara says nothing. Th e situation is precarious.)

BORO: Say something!

DARA: (In French.) Get the fuck out of here! I don’t want to see you

ever again!

(Boro doesn’t need translation. He got the message.)

BORO: Okay, I’m off . Where shall I put the box?

DARA: Up your arse.

BORO: You won’t believe me, but I‘ve got no idea what came over

me. I’m sorry.

DARA: Your own child …

BORO: It’s not me, I can’t … really, really …

DARA: (After a while.) I know …

(Suddenly they have a moment. Just like it used to be in the past. Dara

knows that Boro the monster is just a product of their times – times

that they have no control over. Her old Boro is gone, for ever. Boro only

realises now that he’s still holding the gun in his hand.)

BORO: Th row it away!

607

(Dara takes the gun. She holds it in her hand. She doesn’t know what

to do. Th ey embrace each other. Beware, this is not a melodramatic

scene, though it might seem like it at fi rst. Melodrama with guns is

called a war. Th e bell rings, cutting short the happy ending.)

BORO: Th e bell.

DARA: I know.

BORO: Won’t you open?

DARA: I will!

(Srđan appears at the door. He’s Dara’s new partner; her lover.)

SRĐAN: He might feel a bit awkward. Th ere is a big box on the fl oor

and next to it is a dodgy looking guy, and his new lover Dara

has a gun in her hand.

Did Lil’ go to her French class?

DARA: She’s in the loo. Let me introduce you. Th is is my husband.

BORO: Ex husband.

DARA: Th anks. Th e original one was not grey-haired, skinny and

didn’t carry a gun around.

SRĐAN: (Meaning it.) Nice to meet you!

BORO: (After a long pause.) Look after them!

(Dara still has the gun in her hand. She hands it to Srđan. For Srđan

it’s the fi rst time in his life that he has held a gun. I swear… on my life.)

BORO: I’m going…

DARA: (In French.) Goodbye.

BORO: Tell Lil’ I’ll bring her the laptop.

(Boro leaves. Now what? Srđan holds the gun in his hand, and with

the other hand takes some cinema tickets out of his jacket.)

SRĐAN: Do you want to go to the cinema?

(Dara is quiet. It’s a weird situation. A while ago her ex-husband

almost shot her daughter. Li’ is locked up in the loo, God knows how

long for, and her new lover wants to go to the cinema.)

DARA: Is it a comedy?

(She takes the gun from Srđan and drops it in the bin. She knocks on

the loo. No response. Lil’ is still on the phone.)

608

DARA: (In French.) Lil’, Srđan and I are going to the cinema. Call

me when you fi nish.

SRĐAN: What did you say?

DARA: I told her to fl ush! I need to remind her all the time.

(In the loo.)

HER: Can I talk to your mum?

LIL’: She’s gone out with her new friend. Boyfriend. LOVER. Can

I come? To visit you? Please, please!

(Lil’s starts crying, heartbreakingly as only kids can. She comes out of

the loo. Next to the door is the box with the computer. Th e gun is in

the bin. Luckily, Lil’s doesn’t know.)

XIII.

HER: Everything that she says, She also does at the same time.

It’s very descriptive. So what?

I’ll fi nd an empty notebook. I  haven’t written anything

for ages. Fucking computers. I’ll pull a page out, the best are

the middle ones so that they won’t all fall apart, and I’ll start

writing. But fi rst I’ll fi nd a pen. Th is one isn’t working. Let

me fi nd another one. I’ll put it all down on paper. PROS and

CONS, and then I’ll make up my mind. I’ll smoke as I am

thinking, it helps. It’s not gonna be too much. Th e writing.

Let me start…to write. I’m not gonna drink, I want to have

a clear mind. And to be sure that what I have written down

is me and not somebody else, my name, what shall I put? Th e

way my mum calls me, or what other people call me? Everyone

calls me a diff erent name, and they see me diff erently too, and

I feel diff erent too. Sometimes I think the colour of my voice

changes according to who I’m talking to, and my vocabulary

too, and all my diff erent appearances merge into one, into ME.

I fall asleep with them and I wake up with them … purifi ed,

609

and then, during the day, I take them all up again. At times

I am happy with all of them, and sometimes I hate one of

them, but mostly I try to combine them. So that each of ME

fi nds its proper audience.

Okay, so let’s start. Pros, and against them all the Cons.

PROS CONS

– I am single – he’s married (this I do know about)

– he’s got another lover (her I “don’t know” about)

– he sends lovely texts – I’m afraid to ask questions about

us

– when he’s drunk he wants to marry me – when I’m drunk

I want to go back home

– we’ve been together for 3 years – we split up 6 months

ago…

… Since then I keep seeing nuns and pregnant women in

the street, as if there was one lurking round every corner ….

and I‘ve started to be superstitious.

(After a while she realizes that the columns make no sense. Th ere is

too much in them and it doesn’t make sense. It can all be positive or

negative: it just depends on the point of view.)

XIV.

(Her and Milija are sitting in the student club at a certain Serbian

university in a certain Serbian city and are drinking. To be more

precise, they’re getting plastered. Th ey keep at it, heading straight for

a blinding hangover the next morning. Th ey are having a great time

together, both happy and not worried about a little headache… Th is

is just one of those moments that are worth living. Th ere won’t be

any more. For a long time. She leaves the country the next day and

so does he. To diff erent countries. Incompatible ones. But they’re not

610

dwelling on any of that, or on the impending farewell. Although this

get together is about just that; a way of saying goodbye.)

MILIJA: Do you know that the toreador seeks death to become

immortal?

HER: So you want to be famous? I  thought you wanted to be

a scientist….

MILIJA: Yes, a super-famous scientist!

HER: Well, that ain‘t gonna happen here. Here, you can become, at

best, a super anonymous policeman.

MILIJA: Everything went to shit. How come we didn’t see it coming?

HER: We didn’t want to see it as it was happening. Th at’s  the

diff erence.

MILIJA: Fuck, you really understand me. Why aren’t you a man?

HER: I’m that bull from your toreador story.

MILIJA: You won’t have it easy in life, girl.

HER: You know I don’t care, boy?

MILIJA: Olé???

HER: Olé!!!!

(Th ey’re playing like children. Like best friends. Despite being

completely pissed.)

MILIJA: Are you worried about something?

HER: He who kills a bull, is like …

MILIJA: …he who kills a man, Isaiah 66.3.

XV.

(She is packing her stuff . It might seem a bit erratic. She’s packing it

all as if she doesn’t care in the slightest. She’s piling up all her clothes.

She has a lot. A woman of her standing should have loads of dresses;

each one of them unique; a diff erent one for every occasion. Now all

the brands are piled up on top of one another. Once she’s fi nished, she

knocks the pile over. Th en she sits in the middle and pulls out a bottle

611

of wine and a glass. She pours herself a glass. And she feels good. As if

perched high up on her throne. She snaps her fi ngers … and nothing.

Nothing at all. She tries again. Nothing again. Th ird time lucky. Th e

phone rings. She knew it!)

XVI.

(Her and Dara sit next to each other, somewhere in the street. Dara

has been bleeding but is not crying. She is clean and crying. It’s not

raining, or snowing. It’s  just getting dark, luckily (at least no one

witnesses this scene.) An ordinary evening. Most people are living

their ordinary lives, and can’t be bothered about somebody else’s story.

Pretty insensitive, dare I say it.)

DARA: I don’t envy you.

HER: I don’t envy you either.

(Or myself – thinks Dara to herself.

She uses the handkerchief to wipe the blood off Dara’s face, but you

can’t wipe bruises off with a handkerchief. Th ey’re not painted on.

Th ey’re the work of a professional; oncealed under her clothes, yet still

very painful, but it’s not the pain that hurts the most.)

DARA: Leave it. It’s fi ne.

HER: It’s not a trophy. We need to take it off . Lil’ mustn’t see anything.

DARA: It’s my fault.

HER: Don’t you ever say that again.

DARA: I kept nagging him that we don’t have this or that, and that

Lil’ needs to have it all… stuff that we couldn’t do as kids:

piano, gymnastics, French…

HER: But that’s not anything unusual.

DARA: In this country it is. Th at’s  why I  am paying for it now.

My fault. Serves me right. I wanted it all, so I got it all. All

inclusive, plus a bonus on top.

HER: You didn’t ask for a husband who’s a murderer.

612

DARA: Oh, I did. He murdered left, right and centre. He murdered

everyone he could, our family too.

HER: He wasn’t a bad guy. Maybe he didn’t have a choice. Maybe the

damned war was an opportunity he couldn’t refuse. He didn’t

know that in war it’s not just the people who lose their lives

that are the victims, but the survivors too.

DARA: He was great. Do you remember how he used to play the

guitar?

HER: Till late at night. We would all tell him songs to play. He knew

them all.

DARA: We were all happy then. You, Milija, Dunja, Boro, and me …

Who would have thought that this was waiting for us around

the corner? Th at we would all end up in diff erent places? I miss

you. All of you.

HER: Milija is happy in Britain. Finally he can work on his career

as a scientist. Th at was his dream. And he has fi nally found

a boyfriend, who understands him, apparently. I haven’t seen

him for a while. But we talk from time to time …

DARA: He doesn’t write to me. He can’t forgive me that Boro was

in Bosnia.

HER: But it wasn’t him.

DARA: Maybe!

HER: In war you don’t know your own friend.

DARA: It couldn’t have been him. I thought about it a thousand

times. When Milija’s dad was killed, Boro wasn’t there. He

wasn’t even there! Do you believe me?

HER: It wasn’t him!

DARA: He didn’t even know him. Th ey never met each other…

(Pause.) …but what if …

HER: He would feel it. When you’re looking death in the face, you

must feel something. Boro would knew if it was Milija’s dad

standing in front of him.

DARA: It’s good that you left.

HER: If you say so.

613

DARA: I would be glad if Lil’ could stay with you for a while.

HER: I’ll take care of her, whenever.

DARA: She dreams of studying languages: French.

(Silence.)

DARA: It wasn’t him, right?

HER: (Quietly.) It couldn’t have been him. When Milija’s dad got

killed, Boro wasn’t there.

DARA: If we only knew that it would come to this …

HER: … we would never have been born. We would have refused

to be born! We would have said “screw you” to a life like this!

XVII.

(He calls again, the third attempt, this time the mobile. Only three

people have the landline number. He’s not one of them (anymore.)

Number three, the lucky number.)

HIM: I was thinking about the idea you had.

HER: Which one? I used to have too many.

HIM: We’ll get married and live together happily ever after till death

do us part.

HER: I didn’t mean it. It was a joke, and a bad one, at that.

HIM: What if we moved away somewhere?

HER: I’ve already moved away once. I’m settled here. Besides I don’t

have enough suitcases.

HIM: We don’t need suitcases, and we’ll leave the memories behind.

Wherever we’re going to, it’s gonna be just you and me.

HER: I don’t have enough money to fl y to the moon. I need to save.

I’m buying a fl at. Sorry. (After a while.) You know I love you.

(Th is is the fi rst time she’s said the word. Th ere’s nothing else to say. If

you can come up with something better, well congratulations!)

614

XIII.

(Boro is sitting in a pub. Th ere are loads of pubs where he is, and people

drink a lot. Maybe they’re trying to forget. But not everything can be

forgotten. Not even the strongest whisky is strong enough for that.

Boro’ has got a lot on his conscience, and he drinks proportionately.

To be precise, he’s drinking himself to death. He’s already pissed and

sees, or at least he thinks he sees, a familiar face.)

BORO: Will you have a glass with me? So that we can fi nally sort it

out, face to face. Man to man.

STRANGER: I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else, mate.

(In this country, they are all very matey and casual, it’s kind of cool.

Only, it can be pretty inappropriate at times. Like now.)

BORO: Don’t pretend to be too cool, for fuck’s sake. Come here,

I tell you.

(Boro’s tick kicks in, he touches his belt, but the gun is not there. He left

it at Dara’s place. Th at’s where it’s place is, in a bin, but now, he kind

of needs it. Perhaps he regrets that moment of weakness…)

STRANGER: You must have mistaken me for someone else.

BORO: (Staggering towards the Stranger.) It is you. Don’t pretend

you don’t know me. You and me, we’ve been through a lot

together. You, me, the chicks… We wouldn’t have it half bad

if it hadn’t all got screwed up.

STRANGER: Th at’s true …

BORO: You see. So I need to draw you a picture to refresh your

memory.

STRANGER: … true that it all got screwed up, I mean!

BORO: So, still nothing? Do you want me to punch you in the face?

Would that help?

STRANGER: Or the other way round. I can punch YOU in the face!

BORO:

(His tongue is getting tied in knots, but he keeps talking. Nothing can

stop Him. He needs to get it out.)

615

Th at’s not a good idea. I have a good memory, you fucking

ignoramus. I  just need to explain what really happened.

Whatever you heard, it’s not true. Th ey’re just making it up,

so that they can pretend to be clean. But I am! My conscience

is clear. I wasn’t even there, in the village. I got pissed the night

before, and felt sick, and threw up the whole night.

STRANGER: He feels sorry for Boro. He doesn’t understand what

it is that is worrying him, but the look of him makes him feel

sorry for the guy.

Can we agree on one thing?

BORO: You and me? Any time. I knew you’d understand!

STRANGER: Let’s agree that I do believe you, every word you say.

Whatever you think of saying, I believe you. You don’t even

need to say it. Okay? And now leave me alone.

BORO: Considers the meaning of the Stranger’s words but it seems

he’s not convinced.

Shouldn’t I belt you one? I really want this to be clear. Once

and for all!

STRANGER: You don’t get it, do you? I’m not who you think I am!

BORO: You’re taking the piss, mate. I don’t like it. If I had my gun

with me, you’d believe that you’re God if I told you so.

STRANGER: And what if I AM your God?

(Th e Stranger has changed strategy. God knows, maybe he’ll get

somewhere.)

BORO: (Boro crossing himself.) Well, in that case, listen to me and

forgive me, Milija!

(And Boro starts talking and he talks and talks and talks…)

BORO: It was dark everywhere, we couldn’t see anything. Th at was

our strategy, not to see the victims. But the cries, I can still

hear the cries. I can hear them very clearly. Th ey echoed up in

the mountain, which swallowed up all the suff ering. No one

knew who we were killing and why, and I’d been throwing up

since that morning, when I heard the cry. I heard the women

scream, and the children too, and I knew I had to leave right

616

away. But it was pitch dark and I couldn’t stand up, and I was

just throwing up, and lying around in my own vomit and blood,

and I was screaming with them… stop it, for God’s sake, stop

the killing, stop it …. But no one heard me. If they did, maybe

that evening would have ended up diff erently, maybe your dad

would be still alive, to bother you for being gay. My conscience

is clear. Do you understand? My only fault is that I exist. Th at

I wanted that shit to fi nish as soon as possible and carry on

living like before. Like normal people.

(No one pays attention to him. Boro is screaming and his whole body

is twisted in pain… his mouth is foaming.)

BORO: Amen.

XIV.

(She is still sitting among the piles of her clothes. She slowly starts

putting them on, all of them, one layer after another. She’s turning

into a huge blob. It doesn’t look bad, or good. She pulls her suitcase

out from under the bed. She always keeps her suitcase under the bed.

She sits in it, but she can’t close it…)

THE END

617

Viliam Klimáček

(1958)

Viliam Klimáček studied general

medicine at the Faculty of Medicine

of Comenius University in Bratislava. After graduating he worked

for nine years as a surgeon and anesthetist in the Clinic of Cardio-

Vascular Surgery in Bratislava. He wrote books of poems – Up to

the Ears (Až po uši, 1988); Toffi es (Karamelky, 1992); short stories –

Lookinglassstroking (Ďalekohladenie, 1991); stories and poetry for

children – Leg to Leg (Noha k nohe, in 1996 the book was listed

in the “Collection of fi fty best children’s  books in the world” in

Poland); prosaic trilogy – A Virgin Man in the Underground (Panic

v podzemí, 1997); Vanya Krutov (Váňa Krutov, 1999); Nadia has

Time (Naďa má čas, 2002); novels – Satan’s Daughters (Satanove

dcéry, 2007) and Th e Square of Astronauts (Námestie kozmonautov,

2007); radio plays – A Tattoed Woman (Vytetovaná žena, 1995); Th e

Gentle Woman’s Diary (Denník nežnej, 1996); If You Won’t Love

Me (Ak ma nebudete mať radi, 1999); opera librettos – Cirostratus

(2002); Lonely (Osamelá, 2003); Hippocampus (2004); and TV scripts

– Sometimes I would Kill You (Niekedy by som ťa zabila, 1997); Th e

Teacher Room (Zborovňa, 1999–2000). He regularly writes for radio

(for example the successful dramatization of Tolkien’s Lord of the

Rings, 2001 and Ecco’s novel Baudolino, 2006) and television.

In 1985 Klimáček co-founded the GUnaGU Th eatre in Bratislava,

which today ranks among the most important alternative theatres

in Slovakia. Since its establishment up to this day the theatre has

presented more than 60 original plays and projects refl ecting closely

both human experience and Slovak reality. He works in the theatre

as its Artistic Director, and director, writer and actor. A number

of Klimáček’s plays have won prizes at home and abroad – he is

a seven-time holder of the prize of the Alfréd Radok foundation,

618

he has twice won the DRÁMA competition for best Slovak drama.

Klimáček’s plays have been published in collections – Mária Sabína

(1997, 7 plays), GUnaGU Remix (2000, 7 plays) and Ten Plays (Desať

hier, 2004 – 10 plays and a CD with the production Cirostratus).

Since 1993, he has worked as a freelance writer and manager of the

GUnaGU Th eatre. His extensive dramatic work makes him one of

the most prolifi c playwrights in Slovakia, and many of his plays were

staged on Slovak as well as world stages.

LIST OF PLAYS (selection):

• Koža, 1986

• Poveternostná situácia, 1988

• Bigbít, 1990; première 29. 9. 1990, GUnaGu Th eatre, Bratislava

(Slovakia)

• Loj, 1992; première 25. 4. 1992, GUnaGu Th eatre, Bratislava

(Slovakia)

• Nuda na pláži, 1993

• Smrtičky a vraždeníčka, 1994; première 21. 1. 1995, GUnaGu

Th eatre, Bratislava (Slovakia)

• Mária Sabína, 1994; première 28. 10. 1995, GUnaGu Th eatre,

Bratislava (Slovakia)

• Gotika, 1995; première 9. 11. 2002, GUnaGu Th eatre, Bratislava

(Slovakia)

• Jawa nostalgická, 1997; première 17. 11. 1997, GUnaGu

Th eatre, Bratislava (Slovakia)

• Argentína, 1997; première 16. 3. 1998, GUnaGu Th eatre,

Bratislava (Slovakia)

• Dáma s  kolibríkom, 1999; première 10. 4. 1999, GUnaGu

Th eatre, Bratislava (Slovakia)

• Rozkvitli sekery, 2000; première 5. 5. 2001, Th eatre of the Slovak

National Uprising, Martin (Slovakia)

619

• Čechov boxer, 2001; première 4. 11. 2001, GUnaGu Th eatre,

Bratislava (Slovakia)

• Lara, 2001; première 26. 1. 2002, GUnaGu Th eatre, Bratislava

(Slovakia)

• Hypermarket, 2002; première 16. 4. 2004, National Th eatre,

Prague

• Staré lásky, 2003; première 26. 11. 2004, Chamber Th eatre,

Martin (Slovakia)

• Historky z  fastfoodu, 2004; première 6. 10. 2007 GUnaGu

Th eatre, Bratislava (Slovakia)

• Kto sa bojí Beatles, 2005; première 21. 4. 2007, Slovak National

Th eatre, Bratislava (Slovakia)

• www.osamelá.sk, 2006; première 15. 1. 2006, GUnaGu Th eatre,

Bratislava (Slovakia)

• Dr. Gustáv Husák, 2006; première 23. 10. 2006, Aréna Th eatre,

Bratislava (Slovakia)

• Závisláci (som bilbord), 2006 première 11. 11. 2006, GUnaGu

Th eatre, Bratislava (Slovakia)

• Dračí doupě, 2007; première 7. 11. 2007, Dejvické divadlo,

Prague

• In Da Haus, 2008; première 29. 3. 2008, GUnaGu Th eatre,

Bratislava

• Komunismus, 2008; première 28. 11. 2008, Aréna Th eatre,

Bratislava (Slovakia)

• Ja v Prahe, kufre v Londýne, 2010; première 21. 9. 2010, Th eatre

Letí and Th eatre Na zábradlí, Prague

• Elektrárna (Jsem Kraftwerk), 2010; première 15. 10. 2010,

HaDivadlo, Brno

TRANSLATED PLAYS:

• Nuda na pláži: English – Beach Boredom

• Gotika: English – Gothic

• Gotika: Hungarian – Gótika

620

• Rozkvitli sekery? English – Axes in Flower

• Čechov boxer: English – Chekhov – Boxer, Russian – Cecov

boxer

• Hypermarket: English – Supermarket, French – Hypermarché,

Hungarian – A Hipermarket

• www.osamelá.sk: English – www.lonely.sk

• Komunismus: English – Communism

• Elektrárna (Jsem Kraftwerk): English – I Am the Kraftwerk

621

Viliam Klimáček

I AM THE KRAFTWERKA Play in 5 Acts & A Sitcom

Translated by Michaela Pňačeková

Written for HaDivadlo, Brno

Th e play was created in the cooperation

with the Centre for Contemporary Drama

Th is play is fully protected under the copyright law of Czech Republic and is

subject to royalty. It cannot be nor used nor changed without an appropriate

written permission given by the DILIA Agency. Th e providing of this play

to a  third party for uses other than production due is also subjected to

DILIA permission.

A violation of this restriction and using this play without the permission will

be interpreted as an infringement of copyright law and will underlie to the civil

and criminal liability.

All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the DILIA Agency

Krátkého 1, Praha 9, 190 03, Czech Republic, www.dilia.cz

622

Characters:

Hana Mayerová, a well-known actress

Eliška Halasová, an activist, later becomes the mayor

Milan Žluk, the power plant caretaker

Karolína Winter, a radio speaker, later a journalist, a PA at the end

Petr Hakr, a playwright and writer

Milan Pope, a businessman, Mayerová’s lover

Th e theater company:

Viktor Angel, the director and guru

Nela Lenská, actress

Marie Králová, production manager, actress

Emil Mayer, actor, Mayerová’s son

Míla Payer, stage designer and actor

Jan ‘Th e Baptist’ Malina, elderly actor, company sympathizer

Characters in the sitcom:

Waitress (played by Nela)

Queen (played by the Journalist)

Wood (played by Halasová)

Knight (played by Pope)

Apart from Act 4, the play takes place in the old turbine hall of

a former power plant, where the theater company is squatting. Act 4

is a video projection of a sitcom. Act 2 takes place the night after Act

1. Act 3 takes place a week after Act 2. Act 4 and 5 take place three

years after Act 1.

I would like to personally thank A. P. Chekhov.

623

ACT 1: THE SQUAT

(A hall of an old power plant on the edge of the city, occupied by the

actors.)

CARETAKER: Leave right now or I’ll call the police!

MAYER: Why? We are here on a fi eld trip. (He is examining the

interior.)

CARETAKER: Th is is not a museum!

PAYER: Look, the turbine!

CARETAKER: Don’t touch anything!

PAYER: It’s Kaplan’s turbine, right?

CARETAKER: What’s it to you?

PAYER: Mr. Kaplan won’t be angry.

CARETAKER: (Looks up.) Th ey’re here again! (Runs off .)

NELA: (Enters.) Who’s the wacko?

MAYER: Th e building caretaker.

NELA: (Handing chains to the others.) Quick!

KRÁLOVÁ: (Enters with blankets in her hands.) Put these under

you. It might be a while.

MAYER: (Everyone is chaining themselves to the banister, they sit

down on the blankets.) Isn’t this a bit much?

PAYER: Just like Greenpeace.

ANGEL: (Enters.) Th ey’ll see we mean business! (He chains himself.)

MALINA: (Enters.) Amazing! It’s like in ‘68. Th ey will not be able to

pull us apart, not even with a water cannon. (Chains himself.)

KRÁLOVÁ: What kind of cannon?!

PAYER: We’ll be under fi re, Králová. Th e Fast Deployment Unit.

MAYER: Don’t be an ass. (To Králová.) Don’t worry, Maria. Th e

worst that will happen is that the police will come.

NELA: We can hold out, right?

MALINA: We have had democracy in this country for twenty years

now and I still hate the police. Is that my weakness or the

system’s?

KRÁLOVÁ: Please stop!

624

PAYER: Králová, do you want to start a revolution?

KRÁLOVÁ: I want to start doing theater!

MALINA: Can I chain myself closer to the bathroom? Just in case…

ANGEL: Th at will be a problem, Mr. Malina.

MALINA: I wouldn’t want to spoil the happening. My prostrate…

KRÁLOVÁ: Go at the end of our line. (To Malina.) Try it.

MALINA: (Goes around the corner with the chain and comes back

again.) Perfect! I’m bothering you, I know.

ANGEL: We’re glad we have you. (He’s the last one to chain himself.)

Now it’s decided. Th eater has to be done diff erently from now

on. In diff erent venues and with themes that are diff erent from

what we have done until now.

CARETAKER: (Rushes in with an air rifl e and shoots at the ceiling.)

Fucking swallows! A hit! Hit! (Notices the actors in chains.)

What the hell is going on?!

ANGEL: We have seized the power plant. Art instead of bombs!

Th eater instead of electricity!

CARETAKER: Th is is illegal!

PAYER: Do you have a permit for that gun?

CARETAKER: Permit?

MAYER: For that fi rearm?

CARETAKER: It’s an air gun.

PAYER: Do you know that you just shot an endangered bird?

CARETAKER: A swallow?

MAYER: A Eurasian jay. Very similar to a swallow.

MALINA: You can get a 15 000 Crown fi ne or thirty lashes on the

main square for killing it.

CARETAKER: I  have a  gun license, driver’s  license, a  passport,

a  fi shing license – but you don’t have anything! You have

really gone too far! You’re trespassing on private property! (He

shakes the chains.) And this? What is this?!

HALASOVÁ: (Enters.) Great, guys! (To the Caretaker.) Th e citizens

have right to know what’s going on with their property. Th e

former water plant is now the property of the town.

625

CARETAKER: Th e town has sold it!

HALASOVÁ: Th e contract is void!

CARETAKER: I am responsible for safety here!

HALASOVÁ: (Pointing at the air gun.) You are putting us in danger!

CARETAKER: But this is just an air gun!

NELA: (Squirming with pain.) He shot me in the leg! It hurts! I am

bleeding.

CARETAKER: I haven’t done anything!

PAYER: You were aiming at us. We have eight eyewitnesses.

CARETAKER: Th is is bullshit! A scam!

PAYER: You’ll have to go to court now!

NELA: (Stops playing wounded.) I just wanted to prove to you that

we are real actors. We study scenes like this in our fi rst year

of training.

CARETAKER: You aren’t fooling me! Do it one more time? (Nela

starts squirming)

ANGEL: NELA, please, cut it out. (Nela stops.)

CARETAKER: You didn’t fool me. Listen everybody, I really don’t

give a damn about your acting skills but in exactly one week,

at 8 am, bulldozers are will arrive and this plant is going down!

HALASOVÁ: (Showing him the papers.) Th is is a petition of 2300

citizens protesting against the demolition of a  national

technical historical building.

CARETAKER: Of what?

MALINA: Our predecessors suff ered under the Habsburg Monarchy

but they built this plant while sweating blood. It solely supplied

renaissance households with Czech energy.

CARETAKER: It’s in ruins!

HALASOVÁ: We applied for a historic sight registration! Tomorrow,

I’m going to speak with the mayor. Th e plant is to be renovated

and used as a theater!

CARETAKER: But Madame, who would do theater here?!

ANGEL: We would! And we graduated from theater school a month

ago.

626

CARETAKER: Some artists you are! I am calling the police! (Leaves

and returns.) Punks! (Exits.)

HALASOVÁ: You are amazing! If I were younger, I would chain

myself with you!

KRÁLOVÁ: (Introducing her to the others.) Th is is Mrs. Halasová,

she gave me the tip.

HALASOVÁ: Another shopping center? Th e town needs a theater,

gallery, poetry a café, a library! Everything has its time.

ANGEL: (Shakes her hand.) Viktor Angel.

HALASOVÁ: Oh, so it’s you? Maria told me so much about you.

ANGEL: Mrs. Halasová, we’ll be happy if we will be able to run the

theater at least, but the gallery, the café…

HALASOVÁ: You have a  big heart but you’re shortsighted.

You have to open your eyes to the possibilities that aren’t

immediately visible! Don’t be afraid to have no fear! Th en you

can achieve everything! (Recites an excerpt from Midsummer

Night’s Dream by Shakespeare.)

Th e poet’s eye in a fi ne frenzy rolling, Doth glance from

heaven to Earth, from Earth to heaven.

And as imagination bodies forth

Th e forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen

Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing

A local habitation and a name.

(Civilly.) Th e mayor has called the police to tell them to

leave you alone! (Exits.)

MAYER: Th is woman is a dangerous weapon.

KRÁLOVÁ: She’s a high school teacher. Her students are going all

around town collecting signatures for our petition.

MALINA: Isn’t that slightly illegal?

PAYER: It’s slightly illegal to chain yourself to a power plant.

MALINA: I hope it won’t be used against us – that we’re taking

advantage of students.

KRÁLOVÁ: Th ey love her.

PAYER: Is that possible?

627

KRÁLOVÁ: She taught me English.

NELA: Th e poet’s eye in a fi ne frenzy rolling…what?

KRÁLOVÁ: She is a Shakespeare nut. Her students call her the

“Merry Wife of Windsor.”

ANGEL: Th ey are really voluntarily walking around with the

petition?

KRÁLOVÁ: Trust me, she is cool.

ANGEL: What kind of media are coming?

KRÁLOVÁ: Two dailies, three weeklies, a regional TV team, four

radio stations. I invited the journalists myself.

ANGEL: Th ey should have been here by now.

KRÁLOVÁ: Th e TV station is coming, you’ll see. My old classmate

works there. (Her phone rings.) Th at’s her! (Telephoning.) Hi…

oh…OK, bye. (She tucks the phone in her pocket.) A warehouse

for propane and butane is on fi re. She is shooting a  news

report over there.

ANGEL: So there’s no TV.

PAYER: If we burnt this one down they would shoot us too.

(Králová’s phone rings.)

KRÁLOVÁ: (Listening.) Yes…goodbye. (Puts the mobile away.)

Hello? You promised…thank you. (Puts the phone away, it

rings again but she ignores it.)

NELA: Something tells me that we will be chained here and no one

will come.

ANGEL: Nela, please!

KRÁLOVÁ: (Crying.) I really tried…

MAYER: Don’t cry, Maria.

NELA: (To Maria.) Sorry, Mary.

ANGEL: Five years we studied together. We have waited for this

moment for fi ve years. Can’t we wait a few more hours?

MALINA: We graduated in 1975. We have never had a theater venue

for longer than a year. As soon as we got better we had to

move. We even played in a house where transport wagons to

concentration camps during WW2 used to leave from. Th e

628

communists may have driven us from one venue to another,

but they couldn’t destroy us.

KRÁLOVÁ: (Mayer hands her a tissue, she wipes her tears away.)

I’m sorry.

MALINA: We were tired though. Very tired.

PAYER: You’re good, Maria.

ANGEL: Th e streets are teeming with artists but it’s diffi cult to fi nd

good technicians, scene shifters and production managers.

KRÁLOVÁ: (Opening her backpack.) Please, have some. (Off ering

cookies.)

NELA: (Tastes one.) Did you…yourself?

MAYER: What other theater has a production manager like that,

huh?

KRÁLOVÁ: I come home at night and get bored, so I bake. Actually

I don’t even eat it, I give it away.

PAYER: Th e strudel last time, mmm.

MALINA: I humbly bow before you and your artistry, Miss Maria.

(Takes a  cookie, everyone’s  eating, sitting on the ground,

chained. Malina starts singing an old song from a play – the

others join in.)

MAYEROVÁ: (At another place with Pope.) Won’t it be embarrassing?

POPE: Hana, you are so free and easy.

MAYEROVÁ: I don’t feel so free and easy right now.

POPE: A mother can see her child any time!

MAYEROVÁ: Don’t you understand? I am afraid to go to his class

productions because when he sees me, he leaves the stage! Is

it my fault that I am a better actress?

POPE: Be generous. Forgive him his mistakes.

MAYEROVÁ: I know, I know… I want to be there as a mother. I want

to be understanding, but as soon as I see him acting, I change

into a bitchy actress. How is he standing? He doesn’t seek out

the light! He stands in the dark; is he ashamed of himself or

what?!

POPE: It’s the light technician’s fault.

629

MAYEROVÁ: It’s  always the actor’s  fault. Although we like to

put it on the director, the technician, bad costume design,

whatever – it’s always in our hands. Do you know what I did

with performances that were disasters from the start? I turned

them into hits of the season! For example – Th e Cuckoo Never

Dies!

POPE: Oh, you and your Cuckoo!

MAYEROVÁ: Th ree hundred thirty two performances! An awful

play with awful directing and horrible technical staging, which

did more harm than help, with the drunken stage manager;

and I made it the highlight of Czech theater! I told him: Emil,

don’t study acting, study engineering. He wanted art! Look

now I’ve gotten bent out of shape again and he isn’t even

around.

POPE: Save your energy, dear. Th ey are not acting today.

MAYEROVÁ: Right, you’re right. I’m going to support the young

generation. If those kids hadn’t attacked us with their petition

yesterday, I  wouldn’t even know that my own child had

established a new company.

POPE: Th ey didn’t do anything to us, tangerine. Th ey were very

respectful. You should treat your own blood like that.

MAYEROVÁ: (Listening to the actors singing.) Are they…singing?

POPE: It’ll be alright, you’ll see. (Th ey enter the plant.)

MAYEROVÁ: Good afternoon.

POPE: Good day.

MAYER: Jesus Christ…

ANGEL: Welcome! Our fi rst guests!

MAYEROVÁ: What nice chains you have…you have chains?

ANGEL: We believe that the police are going to come for us.

MAYEROVÁ: For God’s sake, I hope you are not going to fi ght. It

could be dangerous!

ANGEL: We ‘re using Gandhi’s methods.

POPE: Mahatma Gandhi didn’t need chrome chains if I understand

it correctly, young man…

630

ANGEL: Viktor Angel, the director.

POPE: Milan Pope. If I  understand correctly, Mr. Angel, you’ve

occupied this building with good intentions but against the

law.

ANGEL: Exactly. So that others with bad intentions wouldn’t tear it

down in compliance with that law.

MAYEROVÁ: (Saying hello to her son.) Hi Emil.

MAYER: Hi.

KRÁLOVÁ: (To Mayer.) It was a great idea to invite her.

MAYER: I didn’t invite her!

KRÁLOVÁ: She is nice though.

MAYER: Well, this is the end of our theater!

HALASOVÁ: (Enters with the Caretaker, Hakr, and a journalist.)

I bring guests!

CARETAKER: No guests! Everybody out!

MAYEROVÁ: What an unpleasant man.

HAKR: (To the Caretaker.) We have been looking for it for an hour.

Shall we go?

HALASOVÁ: Th is is the journalist, Ms…

JOURNALIST: Winter. Radio 200.

ANGEL: Welcome.

CARETAKER: Is this live?

JOURNALIST: No.

CARETAKER: I have to make a statement! How many people will

be listening?!

HALASOVÁ: All ten of us. (Th e journalist hands him her recorder.)

CARETAKER: (Speaking into the recorder.) As caretaker of

the building I  protest this occupation. It’s  a  brutal…

unprecedented…a very unconventional and violent act! Th e

threat is more grave as it is the young generation doing it!

MALINA: I’m over fi fty.

HAKR: (To the Caretaker.) Is someone harming you? Maybe it’d

be better if we listen to what the young generation has to say,

wouldn’t it? (He shakes hands with the Caretaker.) Petr Hakr.

631

HALASOVÁ: (To the Caretaker.) You will end up being ashamed of

the things you’ve said.

JOURNALIST: Hakr? Th e writer?

HAKR: Unknown face, well-known name. Th at’s an author’s fate. I’ve

created over one hundred characters that have made actors,

cameramen, fi lmmakers and even one fi lm editor famous. But

me, no one knows me. Do I care? I don’t! (To actors). I’ve come

to support you! Stay fi rm!

JOURNALIST: (To Hakr.) Could you say a few words to our listeners?

MAYEROVÁ: (To Hakr.) Maestro!

HAKR: (To Mayerová.) Lady Hana! I’m so happy to see you. You

were amazing in Cuckoo!

MAYEROVÁ: Your best piece, maestro. I knew from the start it

would be successful. A  good script is the foundation. Say,

where have all the good scripts gone?

HAKR: Th ey’re all around but we don’t see them. (Looks around.)

Young actors have occupied a power plant. Isn’t that a good

story?

MAYEROVÁ: We’ll see.

NELA: (To Hakr.) I’m happy you’re here.

HAKR: Nela! I  didn’t see you, sorry. Th e chains were somehow

upstaging you.

NELA: (To actors.) I invited Mr. Hakr to come when I ran into him

at a seminar at school. (To Mayerová.) Good afternoon.

MAYEROVÁ: Good luck, dear colleague.

NELA: Th ank you for coming.

JOURNALIST: (To Hakr.) Can we do an interview? Radio 200.

HAKR: Of course, Ms…

JOURNALIST: Winter. (Th e actors start drumming.)

ANGEL: (To all.) Welcome! Th e number of people now present is

not as important as…

MAYEROVÁ: (To Pope.) It’s good that we came.

ANGEL: …the things we want to achieve. I am going to say a few

words about our program.

632

JOURNALIST: (To Hakr.) Th is is the third time you’ve been married,

Mr. Hakr. Your wife is expecting a  baby. Do you know if

it’s a boy or a girl?

HAKR: It’ll be a boy with blue eyes and unlike me he’ll be athletic

enough to spring away from the paparazzi! (He moves away

from the Journalist.)

CARETAKER: (To Mayer.) Excuse me, is it really you?

MAYEROVÁ: How can I help you?

CARETAKER: Milan Žluk, a fi lm fan! You played Magdalena thirty

years ago, right?

MAYEROVÁ: Which Magdalena?

CARETAKER: Th e girl that disarmed the German tank! “Prague

on Barricades”!

MAYEROVÁ: Oh my goodness, a black and white fi lm.

POPE: I haven’t seen that one.

CARETAKER: A great part. A young girl and a panzerfaust!

MAYEROVÁ: It’s not worth mentioning.

CARETAKER: A timeless performance! I worship your art!

ANGEL: I’d like to continue. (Th e sound of the police sirens and the

fl ashing lights.)

CARETAKER: Finally, everything will go back to normal! (Runs out.)

HALASOVÁ: Wait! (Runs after him.)

MAYEROVÁ: Most of the fi lms I made were in color. (Actors drum

on bongos until everybody’s quiet.)

ANGEL: I’ll be brief. We have occupied this unused place because

they want to tear it down. Th e building that used to supply the

town with light can be reborn anew. We are the power plant

now! Each one of us can proclaim – I am the kraftwerk, I am

the energy. (Hakr’s phone goes off , Angel is speaking, we can

see only his gestures.)

HAKR: I can’t right now, dear…red door? As you like. Bye.

ANGEL: …we’ve just fi nished our studies. We don’t have a venue.

We’ve refused off ers from traditional stages. We do not want

become ‘traditionalized’. We want to do theater while we’re

633

still young and have the energy, which is a once in a lifetime

opportunity. (Malina slips out inconspicuously to the bathroom

behind the corner.) We are not anarchists; we’re not fi ghting

the state. On the contrary, we behave civilly toward it: we

pay taxes, health and social insurance and in exchange for

that we would like the state to be civil toward us. We want to

put on performances here at minimal costs to show people

that theater doesn’t have to be an old fashioned waste of time.

Today we need to take a fresh look at the unpredictable reality

that becomes more and more diffi cult to put your fi nger on by

the day. We live in chaos and are as confused by today’s world

as our audiences are. It seems that the clear, tried and true

values have disappeared. But they exist, buried somewhere.

And we don’t even know an easy way to fi gure them out.

However, through our art we want to pose questions that can

take us there.

MAYEROVÁ: (To Pope.) My Emil is supposed to pose those

questions? My goodness.

POPE: Don’t lose your dignity. (Malina returns.)

JOURNALIST: (Into the recorder.) Mrs. Mayerová, what are you

working on at the moment?

MAYEROVÁ: I’m shooting a TV series that takes place in court –

Judge Lukešová…

JOURNALIST: Your new partner is the one hundred and twelfth

richest man in this country.

POPE: One hundred and ninth.

JOURNALIST: (To Pope.) Is it true that you have the sixth biggest

Czech surrealist collection?

POPE: Th e fi fth.

JOURNALIST: What is the estimated value?

POPE: Incalculable.

MAYEROVÁ: Why aren’t you interviewing the young people?

Th at’s why we are here.

634

JOURNALIST: (To Mayerová.) Recently your son has made his

acting debut in a mouthwash commercial. Does he take after

his mother?

MAYEROVÁ: Our generation became famous making movies.

Nowadays, the young ones need to take anything they can

get… (Drums beat.)

ANGEL: We are going to continue!

POPE: (Looking out of the window.) I don’t think the police are going

to do anything.

MAYEROVÁ: Th ey only brought one car. (Th e drums are loud, Hakr

is telephoning, he can’t hear, he’s shouting.)

HAKR: (Suddenly the drumming stops, he is still shouting into the

phone.) Buy the yellow one! (Quietly.) Yellow is fi ne, bye!

ANGEL: Our fi rst performance is going to be Th e Odyssey. We

want to stage it as a modern man’s journey through the 20th

century. Th e Trojan War symbolizes World War I  and II;

Ulysses’ wandering translates into the search for the meaning

of western civilization after World War II. Th e nymph

Calypso’s island is a metaphor for the psychedelic drug era,

the one-eyed Cyclops, Polyphemus, and his cannibalism will

symbolize the Stalin era. Th e island of the witch Kirke, who

turned Ulysses’ men into swine with a magic potion, is the

parable of consumerism. Th e Sirens’ island symbolizes the

nostalgic wave of socialist pop zombies and the fi nal arrival

of Ulysses in Ithaca and the murder of Penelope’s admirers will

be staged as a bloody computer game. Odyssey ends the 20th

century for us. Th en we’ll back to the drawing board again.

We believe that Homo politicus is going to transform into his

predecessor, Homo erectus.

POPE: (To Mayerová.) Erection man.

MAYEROVÁ: Milan!

ANGEL: Upright man. Th e Odyssey is a whole day project. We’ll

start at 10 a.m. and fi nish at 10 p.m.

MAYEROVÁ: My God!

635

POPE: You’ll completely exhaust your audience!

ANGEL: Th ey can eat with us. We’ll have goulash for lunch; bread,

butter and milk for dinner.

MAYEROVÁ: Ew, how proletarian!

KRÁLOVÁ: Excuse me…I  am Maria Králová, the production

manager. We’ll cook the goulash, actually it’ll be me (and I am

pretty good), it’ll be a part of the happening and it’ll be made

with tofu. We’re not going to discriminate against vegetarians.

POPE: What about the carnivores?

KRÁLOVÁ: We’ve found that everyone can eat goulash without

meat.

ANGEL: Th e opening night is scheduled to take place next week

as soon as the power plant situation is taken care of. In

conclusion, I’d like to introduce the company to you. (He

announces the names and the actors in chains are introducing

themselves.) You already know our production manager,

she’s also an actress. Nela Lenská, actress. Emil Mayer, actor.

MAYEROVÁ: Bravo! Bravo, Emil!

ANGEL: Míla Payer, stage designer and actor on occasion…

PAYER: …an awesome one!

MALINA: Jan ‘the Baptist’ Malina..

ANGEL: Our oldest serving actor. My name’s  Viktor Angel and

I’m the director. Th ank you for your attention. (Onlookers

applaud, Halasová enters.)

HALASOVÁ: Th e police will not take action unless the mayor asks

them to and the mayor promised not to ask them. Th ey will

stay parked outside for an hour and then they’ll leave.

ACTORS: Bravo! Long live Halasová! God save Halasová! God save

Halasová!

HALASOVÁ: Th ank you so much but I have a better slogan! Break

the chains!

ACTORS: (Chanting accompanied by drumming, they unchain

themselves.) Break the chains! Break the chains! Break the

chains!

636

CARETAKER: (Enters) OK! OK! I’m not a sore loser. I will give in,

but only because there is an extraordinary woman among you;

the actress and artist, Lady Mayerová! (Applause.)

MAYEROVÁ: Th ank you all, thank you so much!

CARETAKER: (To Mayerová.) I will be my pleasure to show you the

plant, Madame. Does anyone else want to join us?

POPE: What is the property worth? (Th e guests leave with the

caretaker.)

MAYEROVÁ: Emil, aren’t you coming?

MAYER: Don’t have time.

MAYEROVÁ: You won. You don’t have to fi ght anymore.

MAYER: Th anks to you?! Oh, thank god you came. You took our

breath away!

POPE: (To Mayerová.) Are you coming, tangerine?

MAYEROVÁ: Just a moment!

MAYER: Go be with him.

MAYEROVÁ: You are an embarrassment! Pull yourself together!

(She’s leaving with the group, only the actors stay.)

ANGEL: I want to thank all of you! Th e power plant is ours! At least

for a while!

MAYER: Wasn’t it a bit too easy in a way?

MALINA: Wrong. Th is is just the beginning.

KRÁLOVÁ: (To Angel.) You were amazing, Viktor. You persuaded

them!

ANGEL: Th ank you. Would you mind making some tea? (Králová

leaves.)

MAYER: (To Angel.) Could you talk to my mother? To make her feel

appreciated?

ANGEL: She helped us.

MAYER: One more hour and she will have a part in our production.

She’ll be Penelope, Kirke, Siren, everything. She’ll even play

the Cyclops so that she’ll be in the center of attention.

ANGEL: Take a break and I will deal with it. (Goes to Nela.) I haven’t

given you a kiss yet today, sorry.

637

NELA: (Turns away from him.) Not here.

ANGEL: Since when do you mind?

NELA: Not in front of everyone.

ANGEL: Aren’t you happy?

NELA: Of course, I am. We have a venue for our theater! It’s awesome.

I thought they would kick us out in no time.

ANGEL: Success is just as close as you are. (Hugs Nela.)

NELA: I’m worried. (Králová enters, sees them.)

KRÁLOVÁ: Th e tea…I have green, black, and mint. Th ere are two

pots so I can make two kinds. What kinds do you want?

MALINA: Hot.

PAYER: Green.

MAYER: Mint.

NELA: (Gets loose from Angel.) Black.

ANGEL: I’m going to smoke a cigarette. (Leaves. Králová is watching

him.)

KRÁLOVÁ: So which one should I make?

MALINA: A typical example of a two pot democracy. If there are

two options, the people want the third one. Th en a dictator

jumps in and makes only one sort of tea. Th e sort he wants.

In both pots.

PAYER: But that’s so unfair.

MALINA: History is made out of hectoliters of unfair tea.

KRÁLOVÁ: I guess….I’ll just make something… (Halasová is follows

her.)

HALASOVÁ: Do you need help, Maria?

KRÁLOVÁ: Th ank you. (Drying.)

HALASOVÁ: What’s the problem, dear?

KRÁLOVÁ: I don’t know.

HALASOVÁ: Are you in love with him? Th e director?

KRÁLOVÁ: I really am. And he doesn’t see it. Doesn’t want to see

it. What should I do?

HALASOVÁ: We have all loved someone like that.

638

KRÁLOVÁ: I can’t stop, I have to work, keep busy, to think up tasks,

work on making things better, make phone calls, make plans;

I can’t stop working, otherwise I’ll go mad. I’m scared to go to

bed because when I go to sleep, my head starts screening short

fi lms, my scull is the MK Studio, the short fi lm studio of Maria

Králová, I sleep and I screen fi lm shots on my eyelids, he is

on each of them – him walking, talking to me, accidentally

touching me, my fi lms, sick, fi lms, is this normal?!

HALASOVÁ: Love is normal. Rejection is normal. What wouldn’t

be normal would be if our dreams came true right away. You

have to be patient.

KRÁLOVÁ: Right. Th e worker bee. Collects honey every day until

she drops dead.

HALASOVÁ: Králová, Králová. Even in high school you ended up

choosing the most unsuitable boys.

MAYER: (Behind them.) Maria, wait!

ACT 2: THE NIGHT

(Night. Candles are burning in the turbine hall, there are sleeping

bags on the ground, someone is strumming a guitar, everyone is sitting

around as if at a campfi re, the night has put them at ease…)

HAKR: Do you know, Nela, authors are an endangered species

nowadays. We are about to become extinct.

NELA: I can’t believe you can’t take care of yourself, Mr. Hakr.

HAKR: I am Peter. Let’s be on fi rst name basis.

NELA: Nela.

HAKR: Of course, there’s evolution – the strongest of us mutate

slightly in order to survive.

NELA: Th ey transform?

HAKR: Terror and various ideologies ruled the theaters before,

now the terror of directors rules them. Th e guru, the work

639

of the art interpreter hovers above us on a cloud. Th ey are

not able to write a  two page dialogue, and that’s why they

passionately murder others’ works, passing it off as love for

theater. Everything’s good for them – ancient Greece is the

best – Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides – they won’t sue them.

Th e best of all however is Homer because we don’t even know

whether he existed.

NELA: Are you making fun of us and our version of Odyssey?

HAKR: You think I’m laughing? I’m crying over my own doubts. I’m

raging over my inability to become as enthusiastic about art

as your friends are! Nela, I am dying of the worst illness of the

21st century – cynicism! I don’t have to write anymore, it is

enough for me to put down those remaining who didn’t lose

their courage and still write for theater. Or those who are as

innocent as you. (Kisses Nela’s hand.) Th e more well-read the

writer is, the more diffi cult it is for them to write because they

know that everything’s been said, though not by everyone.

Th e most literate ones, the ones who are certain that they

could write the canonic works of world drama, but which were

written by others for them – those are the ones who become

critics. Note my crafty use of clever words. My heart is so cold.

I am a reptile, Nela. I am an intellectual snake who is incapable

of getting enthusiastic about anything anymore.

NELA: I don’t believe that.

HAKR: You are the power plant, I  am just an alkaline battery,

a Duracell.

NELA: Isn’t it the other way round?

HAKR: lost all my motivation. I’ve been doing it for a long time

and I know its ways. It was so nice being a beginner. Without

information, with enthusiasm only. Nowadays you don’t have

to write much, it’s enough to have good PR. An author has

to have a website and a Facebook profi le. You have to add

every idiot as a friend who praises you and ignore those who

criticize you. Where do you live?

640

NELA: At my parents’.

HAKR: Th at’s a mistake. You have to move out; the sooner the better.

Rent a small studio for interviews. When you are starting your

career, don’t be picky about the medium. Talk to everyone.

Do TV cooking shows, walk dogs from the shelter, give soup

to the homeless – just make sure it’s  caught on tape. I’ve

been divorced three times, I’ve got three kids. I bought an

apartment for each wife and now I’m building a house. I still

have my studio. A  week ago a  lifestyle magazine took my

photo there. Always have shoes on. Remember that. A great

artist can’t wear slippers! An actress, that’s something else. She

must be barefoot during a photo shoot.

NELA: I like your plays. We discussed them a lot in class.

HAKR: I’ve learned to write simple sentences. My plays are written

to be translated so they can be staged abroad. Th e result is

that no one understands them – neither at home, nor abroad.

I wanted to be universal and now I’m not even local. I don’t

put my heart into it anymore, it’s become completely cerebral.

I used to write more. My plays were as well-structured as

a pearl necklace. No one writes like that anymore, no one

wants to stage plays like that. Our era doesn’t ask for pearl

necklaces. It wants to rub a hand full of dirt in your face, but

once in while you might fi nd a pearl in it. Every single play has

portions that are meant to appeal to the TV-trained viewer.

And those with the least talent cram their plays full of TV

teams or journalists at least, who ask for things that should

have been clear from the dialogues but the author didn’t

manage to convey them. But what really drives me mad are

mobile phone scenes! How can you connect two people that

are thousand kilometers away from each other? Th ey make

a phone call! Th ere is no theater magic anymore, there is no

soul transfer, ghosts in castles are too weird, so mobile phones

are perfect! Only with great luck can you fi nd hidden, unique

pearls, Nela and there is no one to cast them among.

641

JOURNALIST: (Comes with a microphone.) Mr. Hakr, it’s late and

here you are talking to a young actress. In your opinion, what

would your fourth pregnant wife have to say about that?

HAKR: (Into the microphone.) As people in Brno say – kiss my

compendium. (Leaves, Halasová runs after him.)

HALASOVÁ: Mr. Hakr! Don’t you want to sign our petition?

JOURNALIST: (To Nela.) What are actresses capable of for their

careers?

NELA: Talk to everyone. Can I ask what Radio 200 means exactly?

JOURNALIST: 200 of the greatest hits a day.

NELA: So if the average length of a song is three minutes, 200 hits

play only ten hours. What else do you broadcast?

JOURNALIST: Interviews with young ladies who count.

POPE: (Enters with Mayerová.) Tangerine, we should go. It’s past

midnight.

MAYEROVÁ: You are such a drag, Milan. I’m fi nally having fun.

Being with them makes me feel young.

POPE: You are younger than most of them. You have a young soul.

(Th e sound of an electric discharge.)

MAYEROVÁ: Did you hear that?

POPE: No.

MAYEROVÁ: All of it is very intoxicating! I should go talk to my son.

I noticed immediately that that girl doesn’t love him.

POPE: Which one?

MAYEROVÁ: Th e one that made tea. Th e production girl. He runs

after her like a dog.

POPE: I hadn’t noticed.

MAYEROVÁ: Because your name is not Mayerová, darling. I’m

a mother and mothers are pikes, they carefully watch everyone

that rubs up against their fi sh. Sometimes I have the urge to

hug him, caress him but I get scared that he would just give

me the cold shoulder. It’s not right for a mother to hug such

a big boy.

POPE: A boy his age is like a coiled emotional spring.

642

MAYEROVÁ: He won’t tell me anything! He’s been avoiding me the

whole evening!

ANGEL: (Enters.) May I, Mrs. Mayerová:?

MAYEROVÁ: I was just thinking of you, mister director! First, I’d

like to congratulate you on tonight; no, don’t interrupt me;

I  know, it’s  just the  beginning and you haven’t shown us

anything yet but I can feel it – and Mayerová is always right –

soon you will turn this place into a great theater and you will

achieve everything here that you spoke of. Let me ask you just

one thing, what’s going on with Emil?

POPE: I am going to have a look at the turbine. (Exits.)

ANGEL: Emil… had typical stage fright.

MAYEROVÁ: Stage fright?

ANGEL: Is it that strange?

MAYEROVÁ: But there almost wasn’t even an audience.

ANGEL: Because of you.

MAYEROVÁ: Because of his own mother? I used to bathe him and

powder his little bum. Stage fright? Please!

ANGEL: Th is is not about a son and a mother. Th is is about two

artists.

MAYEROVÁ: Oh, sorry. I forgot, Emil is an artist. For Christ’s sake,

who is not an artist nowadays?! No one wants to work, they

want to create art! Th ousands of nobodies fi ll the bookstores

and theaters with their art! Soon there won’t be anyone left to

watch or read it! Like there is one-actor theater, there will be

the one-viewer theater. Th ere are no good bakers, craftsmen,

mechanics; if you want to have your electricity installed, some

jerk comes around and mucks up your safety fuse. In a café

they spit in your coff ee because you’re a celebrity and every

meal is like the next and they all cost a fortune. Quality and

expertise have vanished. Why? Because everyone wants to

be an artist! Waiting tables until they make it, doing theater

at night. Th e repairman leaves you with a  leaking radiator

because he is in a hurry to a theater rehearsal! Art is simply

643

exploding. I’ve been acting for thirty years and I ask myself

everyday whether I’ve been doing it the right way. Th ere’s no

other way than to believe in oneself. Shall I kill myself because

I’m talented? Talent is a calling! It’s complete torture to let it

go to waste. I’d never wish to anyone the fright I have before

starting a new fi lm or having a new part in a play. Yes, my name

is famous, I am a name in fact, but I start from scratch each

time and no one knows that I’m eating myself from the inside

and sincerely wonder whether I’ll manage. Will I get through

today? And then your own son does the same thing and you

keep telling him that only the best succeed, but to no avail.

On top of that, he is off ended being advised by the best in the

business! But I can’t talk to him like an experienced actress

to a newcomer, right!? I have to be nice to him, praise him all

the time. I can’t tell him not to gesticulate so much because

he looks like a windmill. I can’t ask him about his breathing.

You won’t be able to keep your breath up and only the people

in the third row will hear you. I can’t say that! But I am totally

free to send money to his bank account! Online banking has

been our only contact over the past few years. Shall I tell him

he won’t be receiving any more money? What do you think?

Will he be able to communicate with me – a loving person

who wants to help him?!

ANGEL: I don’t know.

MAYEROVÁ: Sorry, I’m an idiot, I don’t know why I’m telling you

all this.

ANGEL: I like Emil.

MAYEROVÁ: Is it my fault?

ANGEL: He could become a  very promising actor if he fi nds

a suitable role. He doesn’t trust himself. We’ve been friends

for years and I think I can fi nd him roles that will make him

a star. You’ll be proud of him, you’ll see.

MAYEROVÁ: Th ank you. (She loses consciousness and falls into

Angel’s arms.)

644

ANGEL: Are you OK?

MAYEROVÁ: I’m sorry, I haven’t eaten since this morning. When

I go to see my son, I feel like I’m in a death march. Is that

normal?

ANGEL: How can I help you?

MAYEROVÁ: Help him to become a good actor.

ANGEL: You can count on that. (Mayerová calls Pope.)

MAYEROVÁ: Milan! Let’s go!

CARETAKER: (Enters with Pope.) Th ey wanted to scrap it – the

turbine – but I stood in the doorway and said: I won’t give

you my turbine!

POPE: Amazing.

CARETAKER: Call anytime and I’ll show you the drainage canal.

It’s  too dangerous now, at night. Good evening, Madame!

(To Angel.) What now, monsieur Danton? Or shall I call you

Robespierre?!

ANGEL: Call me Angel.

CARETAKER: If there is going to be a revolution, then let’s have

a real revolution! Now you’ve won! But has your revolutionary

committee considered the extra hours that the masses now

work? Who’s  going to pay them? Or shall we just build

a guillotine outside?

ANGEL: What do you want, man?

CARETAKER: I want to sleep!

ANGEL: Take a sleeping bag.

CARETAKER: I want to sleep at home in my own bed! Next to

my dear wife! Us, the middle class, the philistines that you

hold in contempt so much, we have families and we’re used

to spending our evenings with them. What is your policy on

this, Mr. Marat?!

ANGEL: (Gives him money.) Take a cab.

CARETAKER: No way! If I leave you might burn the plant to the

ground. If there’s  just a  single person here, I  have to stay!

645

I can’t lock you in! Although I was forced to surrender, I am

responsible for this building!

ANGEL: (Calls.) Míla, please!

PAYER: (Runs in, understands the situation.) Won’t you have a gin

with us?

CARETAKER: Don’t try to bribe me! Original?

PAYER: Of course.

CARETAKER: I have my dignity. Th ere’s no water in it?

PAYER: Genuine gin.

CARETAKER: I’m full of character. Real genuine gin?

PAYER: Have a taste.

CARETAKER: Art alone is to blame for my mistrust. Th is is a total

sham! What are they collecting money for? I know all about

the current art scene, I live close to a gallery and I see things

through my window! Disgusting things! Even I wouldn’t paint

like that after three shots of gin! Domestic or English?

PAYER: 100% genuine English gin.

CARETAKER: And the biggest fraud in the whole so-called art scene

– I’m sorry but I have to say this – is theater! To put a blue

cloth on the stage and persuade people it’s the sea!? Why are

they lying? And they never drink real whisky. Th e bottles are

always fi lled with iced tea! I know because my friend is a fl y

man. Is it good, the gin?

PAYER: It’s even cold. (Th ey leave, Nela enters.)

ANGEL: Nela, wait. What’s going on? I don’t get it.

NELA: Neither do I.

ANGEL: Have I done something wrong?

NELA: Not at all.

ANGEL: Have I hurt your feelings?

NELA: Really, not at all . But I suddenly realized who you really are.

ANGEL: Should I be worried?

NELA: I like you but I don’t think you need me anymore.

ANGEL: Come on! I  need you more than ever! We are starting

a great thing together! I could not NOT need you!

646

NELA: I have the feeling that I’m not actually with you but somewhere

behind you… that theater is in fact your life partner… it’s not

a nine to fi ve job, it’s the love of your life… let me fi nish…

I don’t want to share you with anyone… and I can’t compete

with theater… it’ll be with you your whole life, it’s already

inside of you… it’s a parasite… leave me alone… it’s a beautiful

parasite that eats our love alive…

ANGEL: You are the theater! You will always be my priority!

NELA: Did you hear what you just said? You don’t really believe

this. You always taught us to recite our texts out loud so that

we start to believe in what we are saying because if we don’t

mean it, it won’t come true. Th at’s why I am an actress – I can

give the right intonation to a character I don’t agree with. But

I’m not willing to talk to you as if this was a lover’s dialogue

written for a diff erent woman. I’m sorry.

ANGEL: When I  was little, I  didn’t have real friends, just

acquaintances. Sandbox buddies, chums to go cycling with,

someone to go to movies with. Only when I started to study

directing did I fi nd real friends. You. Nela, I don’t have anyone

else.

NELA: When you were speaking today you were diff erent. I’ve

always admired your ability to give things the right name, but

today you were amazing. You convinced everyone. I started

to worry that you could convince me of anything you wanted

to. Even about things that aren’t true.

ANGEL: It is true! I love you!

NELA: (Frees herself from his arms.) Give me some space, OK?

I don’t know. Just give me some time.

HALASOVÁ: (Rushes in.) Help us! We need men!

PAYER: What’s going on?

HALASOVÁ: Mrs. Mayerová has passed out! (Pope and the actors

bring the inert Mayerová’s body in and lay it on a sleeping bag.)

MAYEROVÁ: (Regains consciousness.) Th ank you…you don’t have

to…it’s so embarrassing…I’m so sorry…

647

POPE: Are you alright?

MAYEROVÁ: I’m fi ne. Today is just not my day.

POPE: Why do you go on these crazy diets, huh?

HALASOVÁ: Would you like a banana?

MAYEROVÁ: Th ank you…thanks (Eats a banana.)

POPE: Friends, thanks for your help. Madame Mayerová is fi ne and

now I’d like to ask you for a little privacy.

ANGEL: Should I call a doctor?

MAYEROVÁ: No, it’s alight.

POPE: You can leave now, dear friends, everything’s  fi ne! (Th e

actors leave them alone, Halasová and Malina are speaking

in another place.)

HALASOVÁ: You know, Mr. Malina, I used to watch your shows

in Prostějov.

MALINA: Great years. Bad era, but the years – just great.

HALASOVÁ: Your name used to be diff erent…

MALINA: Malinovský. I  changed my name after Judith Malina,

the founder of the Living Th eatre. If only the Bolsheviks had

known!

HALASOVÁ: I used to sit in your theater nearly every night. I didn’t

understand everything but I felt that you were speaking to me,

too. Where did you draw your freedom from?

MALINA: Th ere were more of us, so it was easier. And we looked

like them. (Points at the actors around him.) I live alone, I gave

notice at my old theater and there’s not that much ahead of me.

I have no desire for to have a role in Macbeth. I’m not tormented

by any ambition; I just want to experience something when it

is really happening. I didn’t have a systematic acting education.

Th ere wasn’t any other choice under the old regime. Th e best

books were smuggled from abroad and loaned out for one

night. I’ve never read with greater concentration than when it

was forbidden. Now, everything’s being published and I buy it

and never read it. I’m glad I’ve collected books that I’ve always

wanted even if I won’t read them. It’s great fortune to come

648

across the right books at the right moment. Just like meeting

the right people at the right time.

HALASOVÁ: It’s worked out for you.

MALINA: Do you know what frightens me? Th e former

establishment wanted to destroy us. Now they ignore us. Once

they guarded the primitive cyclostyles so that people couldn’t

create seditious texts, nowadays you can write anything and

nobody notices. Did you see how very few people came today?

HALASOVÁ: It’ll get better. Th ey haven’t gotten used to it yet. (Th ey

leave, the caretaker and Payer enter, they take turns drinking

the bottle of gin.)

CARETAKER: Have you seen “Ballad of a Soldier”?

PAYER: No. (Drinks.) Have you seen “Pulp Fiction”?

CARETAKER: No. (Drinks.) Have you seen “Th e Battle of the Rails”?

PAYER: No. (Drinks.) Have you seen “Th e Yellow Submarine”?

CARETAKER: No. (Drinks.) Have you seen “Th e Guns of Navarone”?

PAYER: No. (Drinks.) Have you seen “Monty Python and the Holy

Grail”?

CARETAKER: No. (Drinks.) Have you seen “Th e Bridge on the River

Kwai”?

PAYER: No. (Drinks.) Have you seen “Leningrad Cowboys Go

America”?

CARETAKER: No. (Drinks.) Have you seen “Th e Battle of Britain”?

PAYER: No. (Drinks.) Have you seen “House of Flying Daggers”?

CARETAKER: Yes.

PAYER: Yes?

CARETAKER: No. (Drinks.) Th at was “Th e Cranes are Flying”…

Have you seen “Midway”?

PAYER: No. (Drinks.) Have you seen Th e “Discreet Charm of the

Bourgeoisie”? (Th ey leave, Angel and Mayer enter.)

MAYER: Didn’t I say that?

ANGEL: She just got sick, that’s all.

MAYER: And now she’s the center of attention!

ANGEL: Aren’t you a bit harsh on her?

649

MAYER: You don’t know her.

ANGEL: And Maria?

MAYER: We made tea. I held her hand when she was adding the

sugar…

ANGEL: Th at’s why it was so sugary.

MAYER: I don’t know where I’m at with her. Sometimes she wants

me, other times she doesn’t.

ANGEL: Have you told her at least?

MAYER: What?

ANGEL: Th at you love her, for god’s sake!

MAYER: She’s got to see it, right?

ANGEL: What do you think she sees? A guy who looks like a slice

of bread waiting to be buttered?! Th at’s a great way to get on

her nerves! You have to tell her!

MAYER: You’re right! Th anks a lot! (Runs away.)

ANGEL: Emil! (Pope enters.)

POPE: Lady Hana would like to talk to you.

ANGEL: (Comes to Mayerová lying on the ground.) Are you feeling

better?

MAYEROVÁ: I want to apologize for what had happened earlier.

ANGEL: It’s very human.

MAYEROVÁ: I  have never spoken so openly about my fear of

acting with anyone before or about what I feel every time I’m

standing in front of the camera. I’d like to ask you to keep it

between you and me – it’ll be our secret.

ANGEL: Of course.

MAYEROVÁ: I’m not used to this kind of blabbering but tonight….

there’s something magical in the air, you know. Mysterious

energy fl oating around…at the end of the day this is a power

plant, right?

ANGEL: Can I confess something? I was intimidated by you. Emil…

MAYEROVÁ: Can we please not talk about him?

ANGEL: I feel like we’ve known each other for ages.

650

MAYEROVÁ: It’s the energy. (Th e sound of an electric discharge,

a mysterious sparkling.)

ANGEL: What was that?

MAYEROVÁ: I thought it was only my imagination.

ANGEL: A strange sound.

MAYEROVÁ: A sign.

ANGEL: You’re tired.

MAYEROVÁ: Don’t leave.

ANGEL: I’ve always worked only with people from my own class

from school. Never with someone…as famous as you. Every

time I go on stage I’m overcome by shyness. And I know that

the actors must never see my embarrassment because they’d

never trust me again. Th at’s my secret.

MAYEROVÁ: I completely understand, Viktor. (Laughing.) Will you

give me a role in your Odyssey?

ANGEL: We would be wallpaper next to you.

MAYEROVÁ: Hold my hand. (Angel holds her hand, Králová enters.)

KRÁLOVÁ: Viktor, you have to…oh, sorry.

ANGEL: (Lets go of Mayerová’s hand.) What’s up?

KRÁLOVÁ: Later.

ANGEL: Come on, Maria!

KRÁLOVÁ: I’ve made up a  schedule – who’s  going shopping

tomorrow and suddenly no one wants to go. Everyone wants

to paint the set pieces and sweep the fl oors…you’ll have to

take care of it, they don’t listen to me.

ANGEL: Will do. (To Mayerová.) Good night.

MAYEROVÁ: Milan! (Pope enters.) Let’s go.

POPE: Are you really OK?

MAYEROVÁ: Th at banana really saved me.

POPE: Tomorrow, I am personally going to make you breakfast in

bed. Ham and eggs, juice and black coff ee.

MAYEROVÁ: OK, OK. (Looks around.)

POPE: What’s going on?

MAYEROVÁ: I want to say goodbye. (Leaves.)

651

POPE: But your son is… (Points at the opposite side, Mayerová has

already left, the Journalist enters, on the phone.)

JOURNALIST: (On the phone.) I have about an hour of recorded

material…interviews in the power plant…yes, Mayerová is

also here…that one…we’ll broadcast only 30 seconds from

Mayerová’s  interview? Delete all the others? OK…sure.

(Leaves, Hakr and Nela enter.)

HAKR: I don’t want to put you off . I’m showing you the path you

shouldn’t take. I’m the dark mirror, don’t look at me too long.

NELA: Why are you doing this?

HAKR: Because I was like you years ago. I got excited about anything

that was provoking. I’ve collected material for my life’s work.

I’ve wanted to write it a hundred times but there was always

something else to do – a series, a fundraiser script, a sitcom,

an awards ceremony script to be written… I don’t think I’ll

write my real best work anymore.

NELA: You can’t give up!

HAKR: Why shouldn’t I? For whom? Th e actors moan that their

work in theaters doesn’t leave them feeling fulfi lled. Th ey set

up touring groups so that they can fi nally do real theater and

what do they do, what do they come up with? Commercial shit

that was played 50 years ago in Germany and the UK! And the

viewer doesn’t care, they clap until they have blisters on their

hands! No one wants to see the new Hakr, they want to see old

Mayerová. Th ey want to see faces not theater.

NELA: You need help.

HAKR: Be careful.

NELA: Do you know this one? Good girls go to heaven and the bad

ones go everywhere else?

HAKR: You want to get me thinking about how dirty you are?

NELA: Why didn’t you go to your loving wife? Tell me the truth!

HAKR: Why did you leave your ‘awesome’ director? Tell me truth!

NELA: I didn’t leave him.

HAKR: You’re lying.

652

NELA: He left me –he just doesn’t know it. And you…you’re not as

cynical as you think you are. If you were really genuinely bad,

you wouldn’t talk about yourself like that. You’d hide things,

make them seem better.

HAKR: I’m burnt-out. But I can live with that.

NELA: No, you’re not.

HAKR: (Puts her hand on his forehead.) I’m still burning…

Nela, right now you think that the power plant is the most

interesting place in your life. But if you stay here you’ll regret

it. I can get you into fi lm. Th ink about it. (Th ey leave, the drunk

caretaker enters, holding onto Payer’s shoulders, Angel enters,

then Mayerová.)

MAYEROVÁ: Here you are! (She gives Angel a  long kiss, he is

surprised and runs off , the drunks are singing.)

ACT 3 – THE TURBINE

(A week later. Daylight, music comes from a CD player on the ground,

there’s a very noisy and chaotic atmosphere. Th e actors are building

a set piece, drilling, hammering, dancing, the production manager is

peeling potatoes.)

MALINA: When Living Th eatre had a show in Czechoslovakia, they

didn’t need any set.

PAYER: (Reproachfully.) A table, a catafalque and a discotheque all

in one. Very low-cost. (Points at the set piece.) One set piece

– is that too much for you?

MAYER: Th ey were here?

MALINA: Living Th eater? Yes, in 1980.

PAYER: We can’t completely get rid of stage design.

KRÁLOVÁ: Can someone else peel the potatoes for a change?

MAYER: I’ll do it. (Exchanges seats with Králová, who watches him

for a while.)

653

KRÁLOVÁ: Don’t cut yourself.

MALINA: During socialism, the potato was both a  food and an

educational tool. In military service, they sat me in front of

a 2-meter pile of potatoes and no one was allowed eat until

they were all peeled. Th ree hundred and twenty hungry

soldiers! Imagine how fast I fi nished to avoid making them

angry! (Takes the knife from Mayer and peels the potato fast

as lightning).

MAYER: What were the Living Th eater like?

MALINA: Th ey played Antigone. In Prague in the Na Ořechovce

pub.

PAYER: Did the regime allow it?

MALINA: Th ey didn’t know about it.

KRÁLOVÁ: (To Mayer.) If the peels are too thick, there won’t be

any potato left.

MALINA: I heard 200 people are coming.

KRÁLOVÁ: Th e Merry Wife of Windsor is taking the whole class.

Some people are also coming from town. Our posters are

everywhere – Odyssey, the opening night!

MAYER: Maria and I put them up.

KRÁLOVÁ: (Looks in the pot.) Good. Who will go buy sweet

peppers?

MAYER: I will.

KRÁLOVÁ: Finish what you’re doing. Someone else? (Th e men

start hammering and drilling even more.) Th anks, gentlemen.

(Leaves.)

PAYER: What was the stage design like?

MALINA: Living? Th ey taped the fl oor; it signifi ed: this is our space;

and they acted. No lights, casual clothes, in the middle of the

pub. An experience of a lifetime.

PAYER: Because they were good or because it was forbidden fruit?

MALINA: Th ey sparkled with amazing energy. We’d lived off it half

a year.

CARETAKER: (Enters with a drill.) Try this one.

654

PAYER: (Tries his drill.) Perfect!

CARETAKER: Germanis German. When the others are fi nished,

they’re still drilling. Have you seen “Th e Bridge”?

PAYER: A war fi lm?

CARETAKER: German. Young guys, younger than you, ground

soldiers, they defend a bridge. It’s totally meaningless because

the war had already been lost and it’s over and yet they lay

down their lives for some bridge. Th at’s what I call a fi lm.

MAYER: For God’s sake, Mr. Žluk, who cares?

CARETAKER: What about the lesson?!

MALINA: You really like war. Admit it.

CARETAKER: Why would I like it?

MALINA: It’s subconscious, Mr. Žluk. Th e Moravian native Sigmund

Freud wrote a lot on this topic. What about Nazi uniforms?

Elegant, right?

CARETAKER: Th ey were dressed nicely, yes.

MALINA: And do you know why? Hugo Boss was the designer for

the German army back then. Hence the suave look. When we

were little, we played partisans and Germans and every kid

wanted to be a German offi cer. Why? Because they were so

elegant! You can’t rid yourself of your subconscious.

CARETAKER: Excuse me?! I have no subconscious! You… Hugo

Boss! (He takes the drill and leaves.)

MALINA: Th e Freud party didn’t last long. (Mayerová enters.)

MAYEROVÁ: Good afternoon!

PAYER:, MALINA: Hello.

MAYEROVÁ: Hello Emil.

MAYER: Hi.

MAYEROVÁ: Is the director here?

PAYER: He is rehearsing in the back.

MAYEROVÁ: How is it going? (Exits, men are working for a while,

then Mayer angrily throws a potato in the pot.)

MAYER: Fuck! (Exits, in another place, Mayerová looks at the ceiling,

Angel joins her.)

655

ANGEL: What do you see there?

MAYEROVÁ: Viktor! (A  passionate kiss.) I  love swallows. Th ey

make their homes in the most impossible places. Th ey spend

lot of time building it and then some fool destroys it. (Th e

Caretaker enters with his air gun.) Mr. Žluk, I’m asking you

in all earnestness – if you really do respect me – stop killing

those birds!

CARETAKER: Sorry, Madame. (Leaves.)

MAYEROVÁ: I had to see you! I interrupted my fi lm shoot and I ran

over here.

ANGEL: What will the others say?

MAYEROVÁ: I don’t give a damn what they say, about them, about

the newspaper, about the people, about the gossip. If I have

you, I feel invincible.

ANGEL: Sorry, I’m rehearsing now…

MAYEROVÁ: I’m disturbing you.

ANGEL: No, no…

MAYEROVÁ: I’ll go.

ANGEL: I didn’t want to make you feel…

MAYEROVÁ: You haven’t made feel anything yet. Feel. Here. Here.

Here. And here. (She puts his hand at various parts of her

body.) Now I’m all felt up. By you. Will you sleep at my place

tonight?

ANGEL: Haven’t you gotten bored of me yet?

MAYEROVÁ: Silly boy. Young men either incredibly overestimate

themselves or extremely underestimate themselves. Why

don’t you trust yourself?

ANGEL: I am insecure… the relationship with Nela fell apart… we’d

been together fi ve years…

MAYEROVÁ: I don’t want to hear about other women. (She hears

her son’s voice.)

MAYER’S VOICE: Mom! Mom!

MAYEROVÁ: Go! I have to deal with this by myself. (Angel leaves,

Mayer enters.)

656

MAYER: Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?

MAYEROVÁ: What is your point?

MAYER: Why do you destroy everything?

MAYEROVÁ: I’m sorry if you see it that way.

MAYER: Me?! Aren’t you sorry for what you are doing to me?

MAYEROVÁ: I don’t know… I got carried away…by a whirlwind…

MAYER: You’re talking like you’re in some stupid fi lm. Th ere’s no

camera here!

MAYEROVÁ: Don’t talk to me like that, you little brat!

MAYER: Look in the mirror. When is the last time you looked at

yourself in a mirror?

MAYEROVÁ: You’re crossing the line here!

MAYER: Mom, you’re being completely unreasonable.

MAYEROVÁ: Emil!

MAYER: He’s young enough to be your son.

MAYEROVÁ: I’m getting out of here!

MAYER: Go! You can’t look at yourself or at your fi lms…I always

have to run out of the theater! Scratched frame, scratched

face! An old actress on scratched fi lm.

MAYEROVÁ: You’ve really lost it!

MAYER: I don’t have a mother, I have an old celluloid fi lm reel! And

it’s going to fall apart! And your face too with all the weird

stories no one is interested in anymore! To hell with all of you

and let the young ones in on the next generation make their

fi lms! (Mayerová slaps him.)

MAYEROVÁ: You want to be on the screen, you poor fool? Someone

would have to want that face of yours, sweetheart! What have

you achieved? What have you shot? A  commercial? Wow,

you’ll get an Oscar for a mouthwash commercial?! (Mayer

cries.) I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…

MAYER: Leave me alone!

MAYEROVÁ: Come on, love…everything’s  going to be better…

even I’m not perfect, I know…I’m a weak woman…yes, weak…

everyone thinks I can bear anything but someday I’ll burst

657

and fall apart into wheels and screws and springs…come on…

don’t cry…

MAYER: Why are you doing this to me?

MAYEROVÁ: Because it’s hard to be with someone, but it’s even

harder to be alone. (Pope’s voice is heard in the distance.)

POPE’S VOICE: Tangerine, where are you?

MAYEROVÁ: Go, please. I love you. Forgive me. Go! (Mayer leaves,

Pope enters.) Milan, try to understand!

POPE: I  know what’s  going on. You’re sensitive, an artist, your

emotions can drive you mad so easily, I  understand the

infatuation with youth and I can tolerate it, I get it, are you

listening, honey? I can tolerate anything because I love you, but

I’m scared that after this short…distraction a great heartache

will follow and I don’t want that. It’s not about me although

I’m suff ering. And who is interested in an old suff ering guy?

I feel sorry for your future suff ering.

MAYEROVÁ: I’m happy, happy like I haven’t been in years. You

are the most amazing and tolerant partner I’ve ever had. We

made an agreement some time ago that if one of us feels an

urge stronger than themselves, the other will give them their

permission. Milan, I just fell in love like a twenty year old!

POPE: I’m your friend, but I’m also a man that is losing a woman

he is not going to give up! (Pope clumsily throws himself on

Mayerová, kisses her, she hits him unintentionally.)

MAYEROVÁ: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…why do you have to be so

stubborn? Why do you have to spoil everything? (Pope gives

her an envelope.) What is it? (Takes out a travel ticket out of

the envelope.)

POPE: I bought you a trip.

MAYEROVÁ: A trip?

POPE: In a special submarine to the Titanic. It’s a great mystical

experience!

MAYEROVÁ: Th e Titanic? Th at…Titanic?!

658

POPE: My agent got the last spot. American millionaires are fi ghting

for it like little children.

MAYEROVÁ: You bought me a ticket to the Titanic? To see that

shipwreck? Am I the wreck? Did you mean that? I am the

wreck to be watched from the submarine? (Th rows the ticket

at him.) Here’s your Titanic! (Leaves.)

POPE: Hana… (Slowly leaves after her, Halasová enters, Malina is

alone in the hall putting together a set piece.)

HALASOVÁ: (Waving the petition.) We got ten thousand signatures!

Ten thousand in a week! Th at’s something!

MALINA: We can establish a political party.

HALASOVÁ: Th e mayor was pretending he was with us but he

was lobbying with the investors behind our backs! But now

that he’s seen ten thousand signatures, he‘s scared! He called

everything off and cancelled the demolition! Th e power plant

is safe for the next six months at least and then we’ll see!

(Notices the potatoes) Th ere’s some cooking going on here!

MALINA: Th e Odyssey goulash. For tomorrow’s opening.

HALASOVÁ: Mr. Malina, you do quite well here, am I right?

MALINA: (Looks around.) Now that they’re not here, I can say it out

loud. (Shouts.) I am Jan Baptist Malina and I feel greeeeeaat!

(Calmly.) Not in front of them, you know.

HALASOVÁ: I  like my last year class so much. Th ey’re fi nishing

soon and I’m not going to see them anymore. I’ve never had

such clever kids. But there is no way I would say that in front

of them, you know.

MALINA: A close-mouthed Merry Wife of Windsor – how ironic.

(Both laugh.) Th ere are not many people of our generation to

talk to anymore. Being the same generation means you don’t

have the need to explain. Everyone understands everything.

You can be silent with them because you’re silent for the

same reasons. (Nela enters, on the phone with Hakr who is in

another location.)

NELA: (On the phone.) I had four missed calls? Who’s calling?

659

HAKR: (On the phone.) It’s Petr! Hakr! I’ll call you back so you don’t

have to pay for the call!

NELA: You can talk.

HAKR: A week ago, you know, how we talked in the plant….

NELA: Yes.

HAKR: I started writing a play. For you. I haven’t written anything

real in years but I feel this is it now. A blind girl falls in love

with an ugly guy. Because she doesn’t see him and she hears

only his voice, she believes he’s handsome. You’re there?

NELA: Yes. Continue.

HAKR: It’s for two actors, very intimate. I have the fi rst eleven pages.

And I’ve talked to the production manager, he’s got a part for

you. Nothing big yet, eight shooting days. Come meet him.

Nela? Are you listening?

NELA: Sure. Th ank you.

HAKR: Aren’t you happy?

NELA: It’s all happening too fast.

HAKR: I’ll help you out. I’ll be there with you at least at the beginning.

You can be so much more than just a  theater actress. But

I don’t want to push you or anything. I don’t, get it? Should

I hang up?

NELA: No…thanks, really thanks. I just need a little bit of time.

HAKR: Th e audition is tomorrow. It’s up to you. If you’re not there

by 10am, it’s fi ne. If you come, it’s fi ne too. I’m not forcing you,

OK, please? I only want to help you. As a friend.

NELA: I’ll call you. (Exits, Hakr exits too, Angel and Mayer enter,

fi ghting.)

MAYER: You think this is normal?

ANGEL: What should I do?!

MAYER: You’re sleeping with my mother, what the fuck! (Th ey notice

Malina and Halasová, they’re fi ghting more quietly.)

ANGEL: Th is isn’t my fault.

MAYER: Is it mine?!

ANGEL: Try to understand it, be reasonable…

660

MAYER: What’s reasonable about this? Th at you’re sleeping with

her? My best friend! Do you know how I feel?

ANGEL: Th ings happen, man. People make mistakes, they walk

around each other, sometimes they pass each other, sometimes

they bump into each other and sometimes…. It just happened!

MAYER: And I trusted you.

ANGEL: You’re still my friend, whatever happens. Can’t you

understand that this wasn’t planned? Th at sometimes the

situation just throws itself on you?!

MAYER: Did you throw yourself on her or did she throw herself

on you?

ANGEL: Your relationship with your mother is totally pathological.

MAYER: Do you know what pisses me off ? Not only did you

throw away our friendship, it’s  also going to destroy you!

She’s a vampire! Do you know how many men she has told

to fuck off ?!

ANGEL: Go fi nd yourself someone so you can stop saying all this

dumb shit! (Mayer runs off , Angel runs after him.) Majo! Wait.

Majo! (Th e Journalist enters.)

JOURNALIST: Where can I fi nd the building caretaker?

MALINA: Hunting swallows. (Th e Journalist leaves.)

HALASOVÁ: What an interesting atmosphere in here! I hope there

will be an opening.

MALINA: Have you seen a premiere without hysteria?

HALASOVÁ: Good bye. (Exits, in another spot – Caretaker and

Journalist.)

JOURNALIST: Would you like to earn some money?

CARETAKER: What’s do you want?

JOURNALIST: I  work for a  magazine now. We can’t send

a photographer here because it would be too obvious. (Gives

him a camera.) If you take a picture of Mayerová and the

director in the act, you’ll get 1000 Crowns.

CARETAKER: Since when does a radio make use of pictures?

JOURNALIST: Like I said, I changed jobs. So, will you do it?

661

CARETAKER: I’m just an average guy, don’t ask me to do something

like that.

JOURNALIST: 2000 Crowns.

CARETAKER: I have my standards.

JOURNALIST: 3000 Crowns.

CARETAKER: You want me to spy on people?

JOURNALIST: 4000 Crowns.

CARETAKER: I can’t do it.

JOURNALIST: 5000 Crowns.

CARETAKER: And it’s dangerous.

JOURNALIST: 5000 Crowns.

CARETAKER: It could completely mess up my life.

JOURNALIST: 5000 Crowns.

CARETAKER: How does it work?

JOURNALIST: (Shows him the camera.) Aim, then push this button.

Th e rest is automatic.

CARETAKER: But Lady Mayerová has just left.

JOURNALIST: It doesn’t have to be today. Tomorrow. But it needs

to be juicy, understand?

CARETAKER: Juicy?

JOURNALIST: When he kisses her or something.

CARETAKER: Sure thing, juicy it’ll be. (Th ey exit, Králová with

a shopping bag, Mayer behind her.)

MAYER: I’ll help you. (Helps put down her backpack, Králová: is

tired.) Did something happen?

KRÁLOVÁ: Someone was following me.

MAYER: It’s a dangerous quarter.

KRÁLOVÁ: No, downtown. I heard steps but when I turned around

there was no one there. So I stopped in front of a shop window

and fi xed my hair. And then I saw her. Mayo, she looked like

me – the same hair, same eyes, she was even dressed the same

way too.

MAYER: Wasn’t it you?

662

KRÁLOVÁ: I’m not crazy, OK! Th ere were two of us. Will you help

me?

MAYER: You know I’ll always…

KRÁLOVÁ: I have a doppelganger! She is stalking me and sucking

out the life out of me. I’m very weak, sorry, I need to lie down.

(Leaves.)

MAYER: Maria…

KRÁLOVÁ: Th e red pepper’s in the bag.

MAYER: Should we go to the doctor?

KRÁLOVÁ: Look, I know it looks like a total schizophrenia, I’m

aware of that. But if I’m aware of it then it’s not schizophrenia,

because if you’re schizophrenic, you don’t realize it. And

I know I’m not OK, which means I’m not sick, just overworked.

MAYER: Th e sleeping bags are in the back.

KRÁLOVÁ: Do not disturb! (Exits, Malina heard everything.)

MAYER: (To Malina.) What are we going to do?

MALINA: I also saw my doppelganger, too, twenty years ago – but

at that time I drank like a fi sh.

MAYER: Maria doesn’t drink.

MALINA: When I quit he was gone.

MAYER: She does everything herself; she cooks, shops, organizes

ticket sales and others just criticize. Viktor won’t help her,

he’s rehearsing all the time. How can she manage it all alone?

I thought we were a team.

MALINA: One drinks because there’s lack of something or because

there’s too much of something. Our production manager’s the

fi rst case. You’d have to be blind to not see that she’s in love

with the director.

MAYER: Now you start!

MALINA: Go to her, man.

MAYER: Should I?

MALINA: You have to. (Mayer leaves, Nela enters, a backpack on;

Angel is with her.)

ANGEL: You don’t mean it seriously! You’re leaving?

663

NELA: Please don’t make things worse!

ANGEL: Why, tell me why?!

NELA: Can’t you see how I feel? I feel like blowing up, exploding into

million pieces! I’m scared that I’ll either hurt myself or you!

ANGEL: OK, let’s not talk about us, let’s  talk about theater. We

haven’t done anything yet and you’re already scared?

NELA: I’m scared of myself.

ANGEL: I’ve known you so long…

NELA: You know nothing about me.

ANGEL: What are you afraid of?

NELA: Me. Noe I understand I’m not such an idealist as I thought

I was. And then I’m afraid that no one will show up and we’ll

start hating each other because of our failure. I want to leave

before that happens.

ANGEL: You have so little faith in me?

NELA: I have so little faith in myself.

ANGEL: You know I’m the one who doubts the most. I don’t tell

everyone, but you know. I don’t have a recipe for success but

I know that we have to do this for a few years and that this will

be good because each of us is good in a diff erent way. And as

soon as I see that we’re going in circles, I’ll be the fi rst one to

jump ship.

NELA: I have a part in this movie. Don’t be angry.

ANGEL: Is it because of Mayerová?

NELA: It had started earlier than that.

ANGEL: Is it because of him?

NELA: Yes, also… it’s complicated… and I don’t have to tell you

anything! You never listened to me! I’ve always had the feeling

your ears were fi lled with wax just like Ulysses’!

ANGEL: I’ll have to call off the premiere.

NELA: You don’t have to. Maria knows everything. I used to rehearse

my part with her. She’ll do great. She’s perfect. Only you never

wanted to give her a chance.

ANGEL: Behind my back…. Králová?!

664

NELA: Th at’s why she’s so tired. She takes care of us and on top

of that she’s studying the text. I was planning to leave only

after the premiere was over, but there’s an audition in Prague

tomorrow. You won’t miss me, you’ll see. (Nela leaves, Pope

enters.)

POPE: Mr. Angel, may I, please?

ANGEL: Not now.

POPE: It’s about Madame Mayerová.

ANGEL: Are you going to challenge me to a duel?!

POPE: (Gives him a package.) She forgot her medicine. It’s very

important. She has to take it daily. You know, she’s  a  bit

chaotic, you need to keep an eye on her. Twice a day, after

meals.

ANGEL: Medicine?

POPE: Be good to her. She’s  a  special woman and she deserves

happiness. (Pope leaves, Mayer rushes in.)

MAYER: Help me! Maria… (Th ey bring in Králová, who is drugged,

they hold her.) She took some drops, don’t know what kind…

three bottles!

ANGEL: What drops?!

KRÁLOVÁ: I just wanted to fall asleep.

PAYER: (Enters.) What’s going on?

MAYER: Call the ambulance! She was trying to kill herself!

ANGEL: We have to force her to walk. We can’t let her fall asleep.

Come on! (Th ey drag her around the hall.)

MAYER: Don’t go to sleep, Maria! Please! Don’t sleep. Stay with

us! I love you so much. I can’t live without you, please wake

up. I love you! I love you so much! (He is kissing the lifeless

Králová, the actors gather to watch, music is being played,

Mayer is moving along with her, they look as if they were

dancing, lights off .)

665

ACT 4: THE SITCOM

(Th ree years have passed.)

(A projection starts. Credits

“THE CAFÉ. Episode 232”)

(SITCOM: An actors’ café in a puppet theater. Nela is working behind

the bar. She is polishing the glasses. Th ey don’t seem shiny enough to

her, so she spits on them and polishes them again. Canned laughter

is heard. Th en she checks the alcohol bottles. She pours a little bit of

water in each. Laughter. Th e Black Queen enters. Nela looks at her

watch, surprised.)

NELA: Is it break already?

QUEEN: Th ey ate me ten minutes early. Th e dragon had to make

a phone call.

(Laughter.)

NELA: What can I get you?

QUEEN: Fernet.

(Nela pours a shot of Fernet. Th e Queen takes a whiff and slowly pours

it out as if she were a cowboy in a commercial.)

QUEEN: Th is ain’t no Jim Beam.

(Laughter.)

QUEEN: I’ll have tea. Th ey say there’s a fi lm person in the audience.

Looking for actors.

NELA: At a children’s show?

QUEEN: Th ey need new faces.

(She sits down. Th e Knight-in-Armor enters. He gets stuck in the door

while entering. Nela helps him. Laughter.)

NELA: What would you like?

KNIGHT: Oil.

NELA: Olive?

KNIGHT: Motor oil.

(Laughter. Nela oils his joints with an oil can. Quiet laughter. Th e

Knight is doing exercises like in gym class. Th en he takes the oil can

666

from her, sits at a table and slowly drinks from it through a hole in

his helmet. Laughter.)

NELA: How’s it going?

KNIGHT: Th e fucking kids, they are throwing fi re crackers onto

the stage.

(Th e Knight reaches behind his back and takes out a burning dynamite.

He’s holding it. Applause.)

QUEEN: You’re safe, you’ve got your armor. My veil burnt last time.

But there’s nothing one won’t do for an audience of children,

right?

(Laughter.)

KNIGHT: Th ey say there is a TV person in the audience.

NELA: Rather a fi lm person, right?

KNIGHT: TV. Th ey are looking for actors for a commercial.

QUEEN: What kind?

KNIGHT: An antiperspirant foot spray.

(A disgusted ewwww.)

QUEEN: Classless.

(Wood enters.. Silence. He is stands, surprised.)

WOOD: What, no laughter?

KNIGHT: Because you’re an idiot.

WOOD: Th is is not fair. I have the funniest mask in this sitcom. Nela

can you open me up?

(Nela takes out a  tool kit and tries to open a  window on the

Wood’s trunk, where the actor’s face is. She uses a hammer, saw, drill.

Nothing works. Laughter. Th e Knight hands her the dynamite. A lot

of laughter. Nela puts the dynamite on the Wood and everyone hides

behind the bar. An explosion. Applause and whistling. Finally we see

Wood’s face.)

WOOD: Give me a beer.

(Nela pours the beer into a watering can. Laughter. Wood drinks beer

from the watering can.)

WOOD: Th ere’s supposed to be someone from an agency here.

NELA: From TV, right?

667

WOOD: From an agency. Th ey’re looking for actors for an event.

QUEEN: What kind?

WOOD: A chainsaw store opening.

QUEEN: Pathetic.

KNIGHT: Beneath our dignity. Th ey won’t fi nd anyone here, you’ll

see.

(All of them are drinking, the Queen drinks Fernet, the Knight drinks

oil, Wood drinks beer from the watering can.)

QUEEN: Where is this person sitting?

WOOD: Th ird row, at the end.

(Laughter. Everyone drinks for a while, the Queen drinks Fernet, the

Knight drinks oil, Wood drinks beer from the watering can.)

KNIGHT: Left or right?

(Laughter.)

WOOD: Don’t know.

(Everyone drinks for a while, the Queen drinks Fernet, the Knight

drinks oil, Wood drinks beer from the watering can.. Th e Queen

stands up.)

QUEEN: Put it on my tab.

(She leaves. Nela writes it on the bill.)

KNIGHT: Th e woman has no dignity.

(Wood stands up.)

WOOD: Put it on my tab.

(Leaves. Nela writes it on the bill.)

KNIGHT: Th ey have no backbones, these hyenas.

(Nela sits down with the Knight.)

NELA: You’re a real character.

KNIGHT: Could you give me a scratch?

(Nela scratches him on his back on the armor. Laughter.)

NELA: You are the only artist that didn’t sell out.

KNIGHT: Unfortunately, I’m always last.

(Laughter. Th e Knight is trying to stand up but he can’t.)

KNIGHT: Nela, help me!

668

(Nela helps him stand up from the chair. While walking out, he knocks

over glasses, bottles, and in the end the radio as well.)

KNIGHT: Put it on my tab!

(Laughter. He leaves. Nela is cleaning the café.)

(While the ‘fi lm Nela’ is sweeping the fl oor in the sitcom, ‘real Nela’

appears on the stage and looks around. Soon the fi lm Nela notices

the real Nela.)

FILM NELA: Hi.

REAL NELA: Hi.

FILM NELA: How are you?

REAL NELA: So so.

FILM NELA: You were sick yesterday. Are you pregnant again?

REAL NELA: Don’t scare me.

FILM NELA: You have been running to the bathroom all the time.

REAL NELA: I don’t feel well.

FILM NELA: Th at orange diet is stupid.

REAL NELA: It’s not about the diet. I want to leave.

FILM NELA: Where?

REAL NELA: Away from here. Far away. From all this.

FILM NELA: You want to leave the sitcom? You’re contract-bound.

REAL NELA: I’m not OK.

FILM NELA: You’re just exhausted. You’ll shoot 42 more episodes

and that’s it. We’ll go to Turkey to the sea. Or to Egypt.

REAL NELA: I’m not going with you.

FILM NELA: Th at’s sudden.

REAL NELA: I’ve come to tell you that I’m through with TV, with

advertising, with all of it. And with him too.

FILM NELA: Him? You’ll never follow through.

REAL NELA: I’m through with you too.

FILM NELA: You can’t be through with me.

REAL NELA: I can try.

(In the sitcom: Wood enters, he’s got a hatchet in his head and a chain

saw in his hand.)

WOOD: Nela, do you know who they chose for the event?

669

FILM NELA: Get out of here!

(Wood leaves. Laughter. Wood peeks into the café.)

WOOD: Th ey were laughing at me!

(Wood shuts the door quickly. Film Nela is walking through the cafe

and talking to the real Nela.)

FILM NELA: What do you want to do?

REAL NELA: I’ll go back to the power plant.

FILM NELA: What about our baby?

REAL NELA: Our?!

FILM NELA: He’s as much mine as he is yours.

REAL NELA: I’ll fi nd a sitter just like before. It won’t be a problem.

FILM NELA: He’ll miss his father.

REAL NELA: If he hasn’t missed him yet…

FILM NELA: He’s come to visit once a month.

REAL NELA: He’ll be better off without that kind of a father. I want

to act in Th e Kraftwerk.

FILM NELA: Th ree years later?

REAL NELA: I’ve got a career, money, fame, but I’m not happy. Do

you know that I act in this small company for minimum wage

just so they’ll have me?

FILM NELA: But they want to cast you.

REAL NELA: Just because people come to see me. Th e directors

think it’s a good joke and my colleagues laugh at me behind

my back. As soon as I come up on stage the crowd goes into

an uproar: that’s the girl from “Th e Café!” Th ey expect me to

be funny. I played in Th e Seagull yesterday.

FILM NELA: Were you funny?

REAL NELA: (Shakes her head no.) But they were laughing. I felt like

shooting myself at the end instead of Treplev. (Hakr enters, the

real Nela is talking to him, fi lm Nela is watching them.)

HAKR: My wife is divorcing me

NELA: You’ve been saying this for a year.

HAKR: But this time it’s serious.

NELA: And now just tell me that you’ll marry me and I’ll cry.

670

HAKR: She threw all my shirts on the street. Right out the window.

Th e wind was blowing and my shirts were fl oating through

the street as if 20 of my doppelgangers were dancing around.

NELA: Nice description. Put it in a play like me.

HAKR: Nela! I’ve been living out of my car for a week now!

NELA: (Gives him the keys.) You can stay at our studio apartment.

I’m leaving.

HAKR: Th at’s not a joke, is it?

NELA: No.

HAKR: What about Peter?

NELA: Will you miss him?

HAKR: Don’t make me out as an emotional retard. I love him.

NELA: I don’t want him to see you. He’ll soak up your evil ways like

a sponge.

HAKR: Th e production offi ce called me.

NELA: And I was stunned by the thought you’d come here because

of Peter and me.

HAKR: Of course I also came for you and for our son!

NELA: Have you come to try to persuade me?

HAKR: Nela, look, I’ve been an asshole, I know. For three years

I’ve been promising you that I’ll get divorced but tomorrow

I’m seeing a lawyer. We’ll start all over again, Nela. Are you

listening? If you want to leave me, I won’t prevent you. If you

want to take our child, I don’t know how I’ll cope with it but

we can still talk about it later. So take him and we’ll talk it

over later. But our careers shouldn’t suff er because of our

relationship! If you quit the TV show, they’ll cancel it!

NELA: I’ll quit just to spite you.

HAKR: Let’s just leave me out of it, OK? I’m not that important. But

there’s something bigger than us…

NELA: Th e TV starry sky and my name on a contract?

HAKR: Exactly. I couldn’t have put it better.

NELA: But it was you who said that, darling. I never talked like this,

I got this cynicism from you. You cloned your own fi lth in me.

671

HAKR: I warned you.

NELA: Why did you get me pregnant?

HAKR: Because you wanted it. Both of us wanted it.

NELA: Unfortunately, you’re right.

HAKR: Listen! How can I express to you that you and I will disappear,

but our work will remain?!

NELA: Do you really think that any of that will live on?

HAKR: “Th e Café” has the best ratings in the country. You can’t just

leave! You don’t just quit when you’re ahead!

NELA: I pity you.

HAKR: Yes, pity me. I do it for the money. I can be hired for money

and I write series, and? If I don’t write them, someone else will.

Someone less capable. Shall I kill myself because I’m good? So

I write. I know why I’m doing it. You must know why you’re

doing it. It’s no fun to write the third sitcom in a row. But

I have to make a living. I left and I’m starting all over again. If

I wanted to leave with you, I need the means to do it. I’ll take

you somewhere far away when you fi nish shooting, just you

and me and our son. Do you hear me?

NELA: I need to leave now because if I don’t, something terrible

will happen.

HAKR: Problems make me stronger. I’m like a Phoenix, I always rise

from the ashes.

NELA: I was never worried about you.

HAKR: I  fi nished our play. (He hands her the script.) I’ve never

written anything this good in my entire life.

NELA: (Reading.) Th e Fires of Madness. (Is leafi ng through

Hakr’s play up to the end and reads the last page.) Do they

die? At the end – do they die? Why do you leave it a question?

HAKR: It’s  an open ending. It’s  his nature to spoil her and she

realizes who she loves. She doesn’t want to return to him but

she has nowhere to go. Neither a comedy, nor a tragedy. Th ey

both remain in a burnt out wasteland and aimlessly wander

here and there. Is it life? Is it death? Do they live? Do they die?

672

You choose. (He exits and a moment later he appears in the

sitcom café. He and the fi lm Nela are smoking, silently staring

at each other.)

NELA: I’ve already chosen. (She exits, after a short while the fi lm

Nela takes out a gun and shoots Hakr, the still camera of the

sitcom starts shaking and shoots a close-up of Hakr’s chest –

the blood stain on his breast gets bigger and bigger.)

ACT 5: ICELAND

(Th e power plant hall three years later. It fi nally resembles theater

– chairs, curtains, spotlights. Payer and Angel are carrying a big

number 3.)

PAYER: Here?

ANGEL: Farther away. (Th ey move it aside.)

PAYER: What’s wrong?

ANGEL: Th at we’re celebrating. All of this stinks.

PAYER: We’ve made a theater out of a power plant and we’ve kept it

going three years! Th at’s a reason to celebrate, isn’t it?

ANGEL: Don’t know.

PAYER: What is with you?

ANGEL: Don’t know.

PAYER: I’ve heard that Nela wants to come back. Everyone’s talking

about it.

ANGEL: Not in front of me.

PAYER: It was in the newspaper. If I can call that colorful piece of

shit newspaper. Did she call you?

ANGEL: No.

PAYER: I  saw her on the  cover. And there in big letters stood:

“Doesn’t she want the millions?” Followed by: “She left

a successful series for an unknown theater company!” And

then they wrote that Hakr was missing. Now he leaves? Th at

673

little prick! Couldn’t he have left earlier? If it hadn’t been for

him, she’d never have left!

ANGEL: (Looking at the 3.) If it’s lit the right way, it’ll be good.

PAYER: We should welcome her back.

ANGEL: Have the bulletins arrived? If not, call the printer. Th anks.

JOURNALIST: (Enters.) Good afternoon, I called you…

ANGEL: Ms. Winter, come in.

JOURNALIST: I’ve come to look at the venue.

ANGEL: Th e premiere is in a week.

JOURNALIST: Th at’s OK, we want to be sure that sheriff will get

a seat to match his status.

ANGEL: We’ll be arranging the seats tomorrow.

JOURNALIST: Th at’s OK. Could he sit here?

ANGEL: Th e actors will be using that space.

JOURNALIST: And here?

PAYER: Th e screen will be there, he wouldn’t see anything.

ANGEL: I’ll show you a  good seat, come with me. (Th ey leave,

Mayerová and Králová enter.)

MAYEROVÁ: Maria, fi rst you have to understand the man, and love

will come afterwards.

KRÁLOVÁ: But I don’t love Emil.

MAYEROVÁ: God, you’re so stubborn! You’ve only been married

for three years! When we’re young, we’re obsessed with love

but we don’t actually know what it means. We’re obsessed

by the word! Love! Love! Each one of us imagines something

diff erent beyond the word. Romance, an intimate talk, bed,

a candle lit dinner. Love is not as important as friendship. In

a few years, love disappears from every relationship; and then

you’ll value the friendship.

KRÁLOVÁ: He’s good to me. He’s nice. He tries to satisfy my every

need. I respect him.

MAYEROVÁ: You two are like a roller-coaster ride but vice versa.

You got on at the bottom instead of at the top and now you’re

slowly climbing upwards and yet you’re wondering why it lasts

674

so long. But once you’re up, you’ll see the ride! Be patient and

it’ll all come, my dear.

KRÁLOVÁ: Please, Mrs. Mayerová, don’t call me ‘my dear’.

MAYEROVÁ: And you, Maria, don’t call me Mrs. Mayerová.

KRÁLOVÁ: Sorry.

MAYEROVÁ: Mom.

KRÁLOVÁ: Sorry, mom.

MAYEROVÁ: When will you have a baby?

KRÁLOVÁ: Emil’s my baby. When I take care of him, I forget myself.

MAYEROVÁ: A child would bring you closer. A child means new

issues, worries, and you’ll easily forget that you’re not being

loved.

KRÁLOVÁ: But I am loved. Yet I don’t love.

MAYEROVÁ: And Emil?

KRÁLOVÁ: He doesn’t mind. He’s happy when we’re together. I’m

glad to be with him. We don’t bother each other. I’m glad to

see him and sometimes I’m happy to be alone.

MAYEROVÁ: Take my advice, the only help is a baby, a baby and

a baby!

KRÁLOVÁ: Children should save ten year old relationships, not

ours.

MAYEROVÁ: I know, I’m not the perfect mother-in-law, I must often

bite my tongue to not give you advice, but sometimes things

are just so clear to me that I can’t remain silent. Who’ll advise

you better? Th e most important thing is your self-confi dence.

Maria, you should dress diff erently, trust me. You wear black

all the time, sorry but it feels like you’re in mourning. It can’t

make you feel feminine.

KRÁLOVÁ: Emil likes black.

MAYEROVÁ: Yes, it’s a sexy color, especially on the underwear,

with lace and all that, it excites them – God, men are so one-

dimensional – but on the outside, the body needs development.

You are a young woman, not only a woman, an actress!

KRÁLOVÁ: Mrs. Mayerová, are you making fun of me?

675

MAYEROVÁ: Mom.

KRÁLOVÁ: Are you making fun of me, mom?

MAYEROVÁ: Look, we both know that there’s no way an actress

would praise another actress when sober, and we are now

embarrassingly sober and family at that, so I’m telling you –

since you took Nela’s part, you’re moving up! You’ve got another

woman in you and she wants to get out! Th ere’s a woman

shrouded in black – sorry I really hate that color – but you

are a white woman! Woman – – Light! Open the windows

and let her out! And do you know the easiest way to start?

Change your clothes!

KRÁLOVÁ: I am happy with how I am.

MAYEROVÁ: A  new life begins in new clothes. It might seem

superfi cial to you but everything that leads to your change is

permitted! I started my new life when I least expected it. Here!

In this power plant! I want to help you. Do you think that

three years ago I ever thought I would have a fashion parlor?

And look now! All women who want to be someone get their

clothes be made at my store. Of course, they’re designed by

others, I off ered only my name, but what a name! A good name

is worth a fortune! I simply have a good eye for elegance and

beauty and what is fi tting. Is it a gift from God? Th e temptation

to leave acting and devote myself only to fashion was there for

a while, but Viktor convinced me that I am an actress and one

doesn’t walk away from such a gift. Nowadays, everyone who

has a brain does business, but those who also are sensitive

also do art. I am the abstract idea of my parlor but every day

I  forget about it when I stand in front of the camera or in

theater because I want to enjoy acting as long as I can. Viktor

is my battery, just one touch and my pilot light is on! Is there

a sparkle in my eyes? Is there?

KRÁLOVÁ: Yes, Ma’am.

MAYEROVÁ: Mom.

KRÁLOVÁ: Yes, Mom

676

MAYEROVÁ: Only a man can light such a fi re. Viktor has faith in

me and if I know this; if I know he loves me, I can do anything!

Design fashion, make fi lms, theater, anything! Our self-esteem

decides who we are. Who’s interested in a snail in a shell? Th e

pikes own the lake. And a pike wouldn’t wear a turtleneck

and jeans like you. Promise that you’ll come by the parlor

tomorrow. Promise?

KRÁLOVÁ: I’ll come.

MAYEROVÁ: Right after rehearsal?

KRÁLOVÁ: Right after rehearsal.

MAYEROVÁ: Mom.

KRÁLOVÁ: Mom. (Th e Journalist and Angel enter.)

JOURNALIST: We need ten tickets.

ANGEL: No problem. (To Mayerová.) You know each other, don’t

you?

MAYEROVÁ: (Ice cold.) Th at’s the lady who wrote the article “Aging

Juliet and Naive Romeo?”

ANGEL: It was such a long time ago. It’s water under the bridge.

JOURNALIST: I don’t work in media anymore.

ANGEL: Ms. Winter is now Sir Sheriff ’s assistant.

MAYEROVÁ: (To Králová.) Politicians go to premieres? Is there an

election coming up?

JOURNALIST: (To Angel.) We have one special condition, the

sheriff must keep his phone on during the show.

ANGEL: No problem.

JOURNALIST: It’ll be on vibrate, don’t worry. Th e Sheriff has to be

on call twenty four seven.

MAYEROVÁ: Are you expecting fl oods? Or an invasion from Venus?

ANGEL: (To Mayerová.) Hana, please…

JOURNALIST: Is there wifi here? I will need to check my e-mails

during the performance.

ANGEL: You want to have your lap top on?!!

JOURNALIST: I’ll sit in the last row, don’t worry. So agreed? Good

bye, director! (Exits, ignoring Mayerová.)

677

MAYEROVÁ: Th at woman behaves like she owns the place and you

just keep your mouth shut?

ANGEL: What? Should I have just thrown her out?

MAYEROVÁ: You should have pushed her down the stairs!

KRÁLOVÁ: Th ere are no stairs here.

MAYEROVÁ: Metaphorically speaking!

ANGEL: I am not a director anymore, I’m just a white-collar guy

trying to keep my own theater! (Leaves.)

MAYEROVÁ: Did I say something wrong? (Mayer enters.)

MAYER: Maria, we’ll be doing scene 3 in a  bit, hi mom, we’re

starting from page 10 and going till the end. In the evening

we’ll run through the whole thing with music. Costume fi tting

is tomorrow, the best thing would be if you tried the shoes on

in the morning so they can spray them afterwards. Míla will

take you downtown because he’s driving his car to pick up

some boards. When you’re back, I’ll go pick up the bulletins

and posters.

MAYEROVÁ: Hello Emil.

MAYER: Hi, I’ve said hi already, sorry, don’t know where my head is.

KRÁLOVÁ: Do you need some help?

MAYER: Darling, you go rehearse, don’t worry, I’ll manage, focus

on your part, you’ve got a lot on your mind. You’re the actress

now, and I am the production manager. I’ll call the mayor.

(Leaves.)

MAYEROVÁ: Emil’s a new man! I can’t get used to it.

KRÁLOVÁ: I’m afraid I’ll disappoint him.

MAYEROVÁ: In a costume from my company? No way! (Halasová

enters.) Madame Mayor, what brings you here?

HALASOVÁ: Good afternoon. I’ve heard the sheriff is coming to

the premiere?

KRÁLOVÁ: Yes.

HALASOVÁ: I’m afraid that I can’t come then.

KRÁLOVÁ: I can’t even begin to imagine the premiere without you.

678

HALASOVÁ: He hasn’t been here once and suddenly he loves the

theater?! Doesn’t that make you a bit suspicious?

KRÁLOVÁ: I don’t actually know him.

HALASOVÁ: You’re lucky. I’ve heard Ms. Lenská is coming back?

MAYEROVÁ: Th e tabloids – write things.

HALASOVÁ: It’d be great, such a star!

MAYEROVÁ: Is Viktor in his offi ce? (Exits, Mayer enters.)

HALASOVÁ: Where’s your boss?

MAYER: I am the deputy director.

MAYEROVÁ: (Shouts from behind.) Viktor! Viktor!

KRÁLOVÁ: Anyway, he’s got no time at the moment.

MAYER: You can talk to me.

HALASOVÁ: (Hands him the contract.) Th is is for him. For all of

you.

MAYER: (Reads.) A rent-free contract?

HALASOVÁ: Th e power plant is yours! For ten years!

MAYER: You’re wonderful!

KRÁLOVÁ: How did you manage?

HALASOVÁ: Th at’s why I became mayor, right? (Her phone rings.)

But it comes at a price. In time. (She is taking out cell phones

in various colors from her bag.) Th e blue one – I don’t have

to pick it up, golden – strictly confi dential, yellow – only

in the afternoon; but this one is the most important. (She

holds up a phone with a colorful pendant and starts talking.)

Yes, honey…in the fridge…a  blue casserole…not in the

microwave…on the plate…put the dumplings in a plastic bag

and heat them twenty seconds…yes….I’m going…yes. (Tucks

the phone in.) How did Margaret Th atcher manage? Please

give the director my regards. It’s  either the sheriff or me.

(Exits, Angel and Mayerová in another place.)

MAYEROVÁ: Are you angry with me?

ANGEL: No, no.

MAYEROVÁ: Sorry that I couldn’t hold my tongue, but a cell phone

in a theater?! Where are we? Well, I know where we are but

679

I can’t get used to it! I don’t want to! What happened to this

country, to these people?! And the mayor won’t come if the

sheriff comes?!

ANGEL: Shit, I feel like a hostage!

MAYEROVÁ: Sorry…I didn’t want to spoil your mood.

ANGEL: It’s not your fault.

MAYEROVÁ: Why are you avoiding me?

ANGEL: It’s only your impression.

MAYEROVÁ: You haven’t called me for a week. I had to come by

myself. You’ve grown distant.

ANGEL: Come on.

MAYEROVÁ: A woman is a very sensitive thermostat, my dear.

ANGEL: You should get the Nobel Prize in Physics.

MAYEROVÁ: You’re obnoxious.

ANGEL: I just have tons of work, sorry, it’s the anniversary.

MAYEROVÁ: When it’s over, will you sleep with me again?

ANGEL: Don’t start again.

MAYEROVÁ: Where’s  the boy who couldn’t leave me alone for

a second? You used to call me Mrs. Teacher, do you remember?

‘Let’s study’, you whispered into my ear and with feverish lips

I said to you: ‘Viktor, I’ll teach you things half of the men in

this country are dreaming of and the other half wouldn’t dare

even imagine!’ It was amazing! It’d be enough to whisper in

my ear again and everything would be back to normal. I’ll take

my little boy to secret places and he won’t be afraid anymore.

ANGEL: Stop, please, it’s embarrassing.

MAYEROVÁ: Are you thinking of her?

ANGEL: Of whom?

MAYEROVÁ: You know very well who.

ANGEL: I haven’t bought a single magazine with her interview and

she was in all of them.

MAYEROVÁ: I can’t understand what they see in her. Forgettable

face, mediocre talent.

680

ANGEL: You know very well that I didn’t even watch that stupid

sitcom! And I’ve only heard she’s  supposed to come back!

She’s not coming between us.

MAYEROVÁ: Who is it then?

ANGEL: I don’t feel anything for you anymore.

MAYEROVÁ: (Puts his hand on her breasts.) Not even now?

ANGEL: No.

MAYEROVÁ: And when you came to my dressing room and I nearly

missed my scene? Haninger had to improvise for three minutes,

until I came on stage, all sweaty. Haninger improvised! So

comical! Him, who never said an unscripted phrase. Can you

imagine how angry he was? And I didn’t care because I could

feel your touch. My performance was the best ever. I’m so

thankful to you for realizing again who I was. What’s really

great about our relationship is that we enrich one another! You

can’t deny this, Viktor. You wouldn’t be where you are without

me. Sorry, I have to remind you of that.

ANGEL: No, I wouldn’t. At the edge of a cliff .

MAYEROVÁ: What have I done to you?

ANGEL: Nothing but I can’t go on like this.

MAYEROVÁ: Young men underestimate such a  simple thing as

hugging.

ANGEL: You preach all the time.

MAYEROVÁ: (Hugs him.) Shut up, shut up please! Don’t talk with

your mouth, talk with your body. (Angel moves away from her,

she hugs him again.)

ANGEL: Please, let’s end this.

MAYEROVÁ: Please? You’re begging? A well-mannered young man

says – cut your head off , rip yourself up with a knife, jump

from the 30th fl oor, but please?! Damn your please!

ANGEL: How should I tell you that I don’t want to continue?

MAYEROVÁ: In a way that is true! I don’t believe you don’t want it.

Th at’s absurd. He doesn’t want it! You don’t want it…?

681

ANGEL: I  don’t want to see you, I  don’t want to destroy

what’s beautiful between us.

MAYEROVÁ: He doesn’t want to destroy it! You’ve already destroyed

everything! If I  didn’t take things into my own hands, nothing

beautiful would ever have happened between us! You knew

nothing! You even didn’t know how to kiss properly! You had

no self-confi dence! You wanted to run like a scared rabbit!

I taught you that love isn’t just three minutes in bed and then

off to shower!

ANGEL: I’m not attracted to you anymore.

MAYEROVÁ: Another manly lie. I  don’t arouse him! Men are

waiting from here to Prague for a glance from me! Do you

know how many men I could have had by now?! Younger and

more handsome ones! And more infl uential! I  could have

gotten married in Switzerland but I stayed with you! I could

have made a movie in Africa but I stayed because you hated

the tropical heat. I was so stupid! (Cries.) How can you say

that? How can you…even…to a  woman…to me…that you

don’t fi nd me attractive?

ANGEL: Hana… Hana, please, don’t cry.

MAYEROVÁ: I get it, you wanted to get rid of me, you wanted to

be hard but you can’t…you can’t lie…your eyes are so naïve

and I  love them because of that…they can’t lie…you want

to leave…OK…I’m not a student, I won’t commit suicide…

we’re two adults…we could have talked about it like normal

people…you didn’t have to come up with that kind of idiotic

stuff …so we’re breaking up.

ANGEL: I am sorry.

MAYEROVÁ: OK, OK…I’m fi ne now… but why did you lie? You

were lying, right?

ANGEL: I was.

MAYEROVÁ: I still arouse you, don’t I?

ANGEL: You do.

MAYEROVÁ: What do you fi nd most attractive about me?

682

ANGEL: I don’t know… everything…

MAYEROVÁ: Breasts? Do you like my breasts?

ANGEL: I do.

MAYEROVÁ: And my legs? Do you love my legs?

ANGEL: I do.

MAYEROVÁ: My eyes. What about my eyes?

ANGEL: Eyes, yes. Eyes too.

MAYEROVÁ: Touch my butt. Do you like it in your hands?

ANGEL: I do.

MAYEROVÁ: How much do you like to touch my butt?

ANGEL: Very…much.

MAYEROVÁ: Lick my ear. You like licking it, don’t you?

ANGEL: I do. Ear.

MAYEROVÁ: Are you smelling my hair? Smell it!

ANGEL: Smelling it. (Th e sound of an electric discharge, a crackle.)

MAYEROVÁ: Did you hear that? (Angel shakes his head.) My neck.

Do you like kissing it?

ANGEL: Kissing it.

MAYEROVÁ: So kiss it. So I can feel you. You lied, didn’t you?

ANGEL: I did.

MAYEROVÁ: I  arouse you so very much, right? Very very very

much?

ANGEL: Very much.

MAYEROVÁ: Don’t you want to take me?

ANGEL: Don’t know… yes…

MAYEROVÁ: Would you?

ANGEL: Yes, yes.

MAYEROVÁ: Right here, in the costume storage room?

ANGEL: Yes.

MAYEROVÁ: Even on Ulysses’ cloak? Shall we put it on the ground?

ANGEL: We shall.

MAYEROVÁ: Ulysses’ cloak, right?

ANGEL: Th e cloak.

683

MAYEROVÁ: Now I  know you want me. You’re not lying now.

You’re telling the truth.

ANGEL: I want you.

MAYEROVÁ: Th e lips can lie but the body can’t.

ANGEL: I want you!

MAYEROVÁ: (Pushes him away.) But I don’t want you! Get out!

You’re disgusting! It’s not you who’s leaving, I am! I don’t want

to see you again.

ANGEL: Hana…

MAYEROVÁ: Get out! (Králová enters the hall, pushing Malina in

a wheelchair.)

MALINA: You’ve really changed it! A real theater!

KRÁLOVÁ: We miss you.

MALINA: I miss you too. It’s been a year since I was last here, but

I follow everything that’s going on. I have every review that

was written about you. I used to ignore reviews on principle,

but when the Kraftwerk Th eatre started up, I started to read

them. It’s mostly your praise! Th ey’re impressed with you.

I always believed that you would succeed but I didn’t expect

it’d be such a success!

KRÁLOVÁ: We don’t feel it that way, Mr. Malina.

MALINA: Actors are a closed community, they live by their theater

and they need an outside voice. I am the only one of you who

has stood before hell’s gate and the doctors brought me back,

so trust me, I gained a bit of perspective.

KRÁLOVÁ: When are they going to release you?

MALINA: I don’t know. All the doctors are playing mum. I won’t

walk again. But I don’t give a damn. Let’s talk about us. You’ve

managed to give the world a great generational testimony.

KRÁLOVÁ: To the world? We don’t have any audience.

MALINA: Th ey’ll come.

KRÁLOVÁ: We’re speaking for our generation but the generation

doesn’t want to listen.

684

MALINA: Where are all the snobs, damn it? Th e snobs were always

saviors of the theater! Th ey are necessary. I’ve always respected

them. Th ey smell what’s in and then they attract the others.

Can’t we rely on snobs anymore?

KRÁLOVÁ: It seem like we can’t.

MALINA: Th e theater is doomed! (Mayer enters.)

MAYER: Maria, you’ve got rehearsal in a while, good afternoon Mr.

Malina, how are you, the director is calling you, I’m going to

the printer’s because they haven’t printed out the bulletins yet

and I’m going to tell them off personally, otherwise they won’t

print them, if you haven’t tried the shoes on yet, then don’t,

the costume designer’s changed them to boots and he’ll bring

them in tomorrow, a madhouse today!

MALINA: A lot of interesting stuff occurred to me in hospital…

We should be called the Dependent Th eater Company. I’ve

had independent companies up to my ears. Everyone’s trying

to act so independently but after a while, they’re all the same.

Let’s admit to ourselves that artistic independence doesn’t

last long in these times. We’re all dependent – even the most

independent ones – on our talents! On our audiences! What

do you think, beautiful Maria.

KRÁLOVÁ: No one has ever called me beautiful.

MALINA: Really? Our work makes no sense without the audience.

Even the greatest Avant-garde dies if it doesn’t have an

admiring crowd. It doesn’t have to be big, a  few thousand

people suffi ce… a few thousand… even three hundred faithful

are enough. You should have had young people here by now

who are willing to sleep in front of the plant and watch your

every step breathlessly. Where are the fanatic admirers,

disciples whose models you are? Damn, I’m ridiculous, I know,

but what can I do if the ardor for art doesn’t even reach the

socks of the saint Antonin Artaud?!

(At another location – the Caretaker and Angel.)

685

CARETAKER: Sir director! I  got you a  sponsor! He’s  agreed to

support the theater for ten years!

ANGEL: Oh.

CARETAKER: Aren’t you happy?

ANGEL: What do you want in exchange, Mr. Žluk?

CARETAKER: I want nothing, you know me. I didn’t like you at fi rst,

I don’t deny that. But you’ve convinced me. A gallery!

ANGEL: Gallery?

CARETAKER: Th e sponsor will turn the fi rst fl oor into a gallery

where all the dynamo is.

ANGEL: What kind of gallery?

CARETAKER: An art gallery. Even the mayor would love that.

ANGEL: Wait, wait, what kind of a gallery would that be?

CARETAKER: Normal. Good art.

ANGEL: Good art?

CARETAKER: Practical. For people.

ANGEL: Can you be more specifi c?

CARETAKER: Design.

ANGEL: Design?

CARETAKER: Ceramics.

ANGEL: Statues? Glass?

CARETAKER: Something like that.

ANGEL: Speak!

CARETAKER: Ceramic stuff …objects…hollow.

ANGEL: I don’t understand.

CARETAKER: Wash basins. And also square objects, colorful…

ANGEL: Square?

CARETAKER: Tiles.

ANGEL: Tiles?

CARETAKER: Bathroom tiles. But very artsy! Designed by the

prominent German artists from Schleswig-Holstein!

ANGEL: Bathtubs too?

686

CARETAKER: Maybe… yes…certainly bathtubs too. Diff erent

shapes and sizes. I saw the catalog. One was shaped like a four

leaf clover, a great model! Th ere’s nothing like it!

ANGEL: What about bidets?

CARETAKER: Sure, bidets too! A bidet is a very practical thing.

A  revolutionary invention in hygiene. I’m glad you like it!

It’s a German company, very credible!

ANGEL: No way. I don’t agree.

CARETAKER: But they’re coming tomorrow!

ANGEL: Tell them we’re not interested.

CARETAKER: I  wanted to help you. Yes, with my whole heart

I wanted to, but I see you cannot be saved! I’m not surprised

no one comes here. You don’t understand the people! You

don’t feel the times! I pity you! (Exits, Nela enters, she’s upset

and she’s holding a dead swallow.)

NELA: I was scared to call you. Because this is not me. I don’t know

who’s come instead of me. Someone wears me like a coat. Do

you recognize me?

ANGEL: Are you OK?

NELA: I can’t stay long. I left my son sleeping in a hotel room, I’m in

a hurry but tomorrow I’ll have a babysitter and plenty of time,

of course only if you take me back. Will you take me? (Hands

him the swallow.)

ANGEL: It’d be a mistake to refuse, I guess. No one says it out loud

but all of them hint that they miss you.

NELA: Really?

ANGEL: I feel it. Intuition.

NELA: Intuition…

ANGEL: You’re the only actress that runs the other direction. From

show – business to theater.

NELA: I am the water that runs uphill, I am the wind that blows

inside itself. (Loses balance, nearly falls.)

ANGEL: Are you OK?

687

NELA: (Sits down.) I wanted to be so prepared for this I gave myself

a fever. (Angel touches her forehead.)

ANGEL: You’re ice cold. You’re shivering.

NELA: Don’t worry about me, OK? Let’s not talk about the woman

I have on but about the one that’s inside. She’d love to act.

ANGEL: Which one?

NELA: Th e one on the outside, me, both!

ANGEL: Should I call a doctor?

NELA: No, stay… please! Some things cannot be undone… but I’d

like us to… become friends again. If that’s a too strong word

for you, say, colleagues. People who care for the same thing.

ANGEL: I’ve already forgotten what we had had in common.

NELA: A great fi re was burning inside of me. I was blind, I loved an

ugly man. Ugly inside. Th e worst thing is that the fi re’s still

going. I’m not blind anymore, I understand everything now,

I have a child with him. Th at’s  the punishment of the one

on the outside. Th e coat’s punishment. I live in a wasteland,

that’s  the punishment of the one inside. She won’t enjoy

anything anymore. I’ve done something awful…

ANGEL: A nice monologue. From one of Hakr’s plays?

NELA: Sorry? No…not from a play… why am I  telling you this..

you never could listen… Ulysses with wax in his ears… sorry,

I have to go to the hotel, Peter is going to wake up soon…

I didn’t expect you to forgive me.

ANGEL: I don’t have to forgive you. I’m not better than you are.

NELA: I wanted to save him. But I couldn’t even save myself.

ANGEL: Welcome back to the power plant! (Pope enters.)

POPE: Do you have a moment, young man?

ANGEL: Yes?

POPE: (Smacks him in the face.) She had a  nervous breakdown

and now she’s in my car crying! She’s a wreck! You should be

ashamed of yourself! You killed Hana Mayerová!

ANGEL: She left on her own.

688

POPE: You killed her soul! You tore it with your teeth! (He jumps

around like a boxer.) You don’t want to fi ght?!

ANGEL: Do I look like it?

POPE: I hit you in the face!

ANGEL: It’s the fi rst human gesture I’ve felt today.

POPE: You must have been very harsh with her! I’ve never seen

her in such a condition! An extraordinary woman, and now

she’s a shaking mess thanks to you! I’m embarrassed just to

talk to you, young man!

ANGEL: Mr…

POPE: Pope! Doctor Pope!

ANGEL: Doctor Pope. While she was with me, she didn’t need any

medicine. Probably my presence gave her all the vital minerals

and trace elements. She was healthy and happy until… it

doesn’t matter. So from now on, if she stays with you, do not

forget about the medicine. Farewell. (Pope exits. Angel to

Nela.) Farewell… (He leaves, Payer enters in overalls, which

are sprayed all over, Králová is pushing Malina’s wheelchair.)

MALINA: Good day to you too.

PAYER: Nela?! Is that you?

KRÁLOVÁ: When did you arrive?

NELA: Hi… I don’t want to disturb you… can I just listen to you? For

a while… then I have to go to the hotel.

PAYER: Is everything OK?

KRÁLOVÁ: For God’s sake, everyone just stop speaking. (Nela sits

down on a chair.)

NELA: I got into the theater company again…

PAYER: Finally!

MALINA: Th e director has made me happy. Where is he?

MAYER: (Enters.) Why aren’t we rehearsing? Have you seen Viktor?

(Nela receives a text message.)

NELA: Th at’s him… (Reading.) I want to thank you all… for standing

by me the past three years… it was always great to be with you

even though we were scraping along… I want to say good bye

689

to all of you and ask you to understand that I’m leaving. Emil

will be my… text to be continued…

KRÁLOVÁ: He can’t!

MAYER: Everything’s  on and running! Bulletins, posters, the

celebration!

PAYER: Th at’s absolute bullshit! (Nela is trying to get a signal by

holding up the phone, she gets the continuing text.)

NELA: (Reading the text.) …successor. When the sheriff ’s assistant

came today, I realized I didn’t want to do it anymore… I don’t

want to be the pragmatic clerk during the day so that I can

be an artist at night… I’m disgusted by that. But a person

who runs a theater can’t be like that… He needs to be above

all that… I feel so…message continues (Everybody’s waiting,

Nela’s searching for the signal, a text comes.) …used. I doubt

more and more if I was leading you in the right direction…

(Angel’s face appears high up, under the ceiling.)

ANGEL: I  don’t want to make excuses. Th e times were never

good, they either took our freedom or gave us too much of

it. I don’t have the energy to fi ght for someone all the time.

I’m not as good as you want me to be. I can’t even fulfi ll my

own expectations. I have these unknown lands inside of me.

Th at was the meaning of theater for me – to speak about

them, risking they would disappear before we revealed them.

I couldn’t have done it without you. You fulfi lled my eff orts but

also my most hidden anxieties. No one wants to look at those

lands. Maybe because we weren’t able to joke about them,

the people who like to laugh never came to our theater. And

nowadays, people want to laugh more and more. I’m going to

Iceland. I love you. Yours, Viktor Angel. (His face disappears.)

KRÁLOVÁ: What now?

PAYER: We can’t do it without him.

KRÁLOVÁ: Without him Kraftwerk is dead.

MAYER: You’re all much further than you think. You’ll get by. We

all will manage!

690

KRÁLOVÁ: Why Iceland?

MALINA: I’d love to help you but you know…

KRÁLOVÁ: I’ll go after him.

NELA: I think…that’s exactly what he doesn’t want.

MAYER: Listen to me everyone! Big unexpected changes happened

today but we’re ready for the premiere and therefore there’s no

reason to panic. Our show is nearly fi nished, only one piece is

missing. Viktor would want the show to go on. He would want

us to continue what he started. He believes that we’ll succeed,

and I do too. Let’s start the rehearsal with Act 3 because we

always start with Act 1 and then there’s little time for Act 3.

We always have great beginnings but terrible endings, so we

need to choose an ending, sorry but we have three of them

now. I suggest we go through all three to see which one is the

best. It’s possible that the fourth will be the best, the most

unexpected ending. What do you say? (Th e Caretaker rushes

in with his air gun.)

CARETAKER: Th e swallows are back!

(He shoots into the air, everyone’s looking up. Feathers fall from the

ceiling, dense like rain until everyone’s up to their ankles in bloody

feathers.)

THE END

691

692

The Arts and Theatre Institute

The Arts and Theatre Institute is a governmental non-profi t organization

founded by the Ministry of Culture of the Czech Republic. It was

established in 1959 as the Theatre Institute. In 2007 the institute

changed its name to the Arts and Theatre Institute (ATI).

The mission of the ATI is to provide the Czech and international

public with a comprehensive range of services in the fi eld of theatre

and individual services connected to other branches of the arts

(music, literature, dance and visual arts). The ATI collects objects and

work relating to the theatre, processes and provides access to them,

pursues research, initiates and participates in international projects, and

publishes literature related to theatre, arts and research.

The Arts and Theatre Institute is also the headquarters of the Czech

Offi ce of the EU Culture Programme.

The Mission of the Theatre InstituteThe Theatre Institute (TI), founded in 1959, is a modern and open centre

focusing on information, scholarship, consultation, education, and

production in the fi eld of theatre. Its primary mission is to provide the

Czech and foreign public with comprehensive information services on

the entire fi eld of theatre, initiate and participate in international projects,

promote and present Czech theatre abroad, study and document the

theatre arts, and publish specialised theatre literature.

Departments of the Theatre Institute:

• Bibliography Department

• Publication Department

• Information and Documentation Department

• Department for Czech Theatre Studies

• Library

• International Cooperation and PR

• Collections and Archive Department

• Prague Quadrennial

The Mission of the Arts Institute The Arts Institute (AI) was founded as an independent department

of the Theatre Institute in 2005 with the mission of advancing and

elevating the social prestige of the arts. The AI supports the exchange

of information and experience among the arts, provides information and

advisory services, pursues educational activities and research, presents

and promotes the Czech arts abroad, and initiates and coordinates its

own and international projects.

The Arts Institute is comprised of three separate sections devoted

to music, dance and literature. The Music Section is also the base of

the Czech Music Council, which is the Czech branch of the International

Music Council of UNESCO. The Dance Department is the base of the

professional association Vision of Dance.

Sections of the Arts Institute:

• Music Section

• Dance Section

• Literature Section

• Artists in Residence Programme

• Czech Music Council

www.idu.czThe website of the Arts and Theatre Institute contains basic information

on the ATI, its activities, employee contacts, news, information on services

aimed at the professional and lay communities, links to the databases

of the library, the video library, bibliographies and documentation, artist

in residence announcements, a complete list of publications of the ATI,

and other important links and information.

www.czechtheatreport.cz The web portal of the ATI’s Department of International Cooperation and

PR provides information on current international projects, a catalogue

of contemporary Czech drama called Let’s  Play Czech, and other

information relating to international cooperation.

www.theatre.cz This is the English-language website of the ATI aimed at providing the

public abroad with current information on Czech theare, and it includes

a quarterly newsletter, database of productions available for touring,

a directory of festivals, institutions, and periodicals, and other links and

information.

ATI Websites

www.culturenet.cz This culture portal run by the AI presents current information from every

branch of the arts, announces grant opportunities, seminars, conferences,

job opportunities, opportunities to participate in international projects,

and news on cultural policy. It also contains a  directory of cultural

institutions in the Czech Republic and abroad.

www.czechlit.cz This Czech literature portal provides information on contemporary Czech

literature and its mission is to promote Czech writers abroad.

Contact:

Institut umění – Divadelní ústav

Arts and Th eatre Institute

Celetná 17, 110 00 Prague 1

T: +420 224 809 111

F: +420 224 811 226

E: info@idu.cz

www.idu.cz

• We represent leading artists both from the Czech Republic and from

abroad. We also nurture young talent in theatre, fi lm, literature and the

audio-visual arts. We currently have over 300 playwrights, translators,

scriptwriters, actors, musicians, etc. on our books

• We provide full agency service, representing Czech copyright holders

both in the Czech Republic and abroad; and looking after copyright

interests for the authors from other countries being produced or

published in the Czech Republic. Our services include legal and fi nancial

support

• Our partners are major literary agencies worldwide, e.g. William

Morris and ICM (USA), Casarotto Ramsay and United Agents (UK), HLA

Management (Australia), Rowohlt Verlag (Germany), Thomas Sessler

Verlag (Austria), to name just a few

• We initiated the establishment of The Alfréd Radok Foundation (1992)

with whom we co-organize a yearly award for the best Czech original

play – The Alfréd Radok Playwriting Competition

(www.cenyalfredaradoka.cz)

• On our website, www.aura-pont.cz, we provide a  bulletin – Letters

from Aura-Pont – bringing the up-to-date information about new

plays and translations. We also publish an original theatre database –

A Compendium for Dramaturges – containing details of more than 2500

scripts, both Czech and foreign.

• We are involved in a  range of activities including cultural event

management.

Th e Aura-Pont team looks forward to hearing from you…

“Aura-Pont represents me since

its inception.It was one of the fi rst

new literary agencies created in

1990 under the new democratic

conditions. People are great and

I have been happy to work with them

ever since then.“

Václav Havel, playwright

“We as authors have enough to

do creating new work, so where

looking after our copyright and

fees is concerned, it’s  necessary

to delegate to somebody else. The

Aura-Pont agency has been a long-

time and reliable nurse.”

Zdeněk Svěrák, playwright, actor,

author of the script

for the Oscar-winning fi lm Kolya

“For us playwrights in foreign

countries and foreign languages,

Aura-Pont shines like a welcoming

light on the threshold of the theatres

of the Czech lands.”

Tom Stoppard, playwright

“Why I am with Aura – Pont is rather

simple.They believed in me when

I needed it most – at the beginning

of the ‘90s. Their approach to clients

has a purely personal touch which

I  appreciate. Moreover, people are

not just literary agents, they are

often creative people: I have respect

for what they achieved outside the

agency.”

Petr Zelenka, playwright, fi lm &

theatre director

Aura-Pont was the fi rst privately owned

Th eatre and Literary Agency to be established

in the Czech Republic in 1990, the impetus coming

from the playwright and former Czech President

Václav Havel.

Aura-Pont, Theatre and Literary Agency, Ltd.Member of C&COM Group

Veslařský ostrov 62, 147 00 Praha 4, Czech RepublicTel.:+420 251 554 938 Fax:+420 251 550 207

E-mail: aura-pont@aura-pont.cz

www.aura-pont.cz

AGENCY PROVIDES via its departments the following services:

• The Theatre Department supplies services concerning Theatre

matters to authors as well as to users. We seek good terms for the

use of works of both Czech and foreign authors. We are constantly

looking abroad for scripts of new plays and offering them to Czech

theatres as well as offering works of Czech authors to foreign

agents. We conclude agreements with all professional venues,

private theatres, theatre agencies, amateur groups, art schools and

theatre companies to authorize the use of works of both Czech and

foreign protected authors. We provide support for young and starting

playwrights (grants, stage lectures, Evald Schorm Awards etc.) and

for translators as well (workshops for young and starting translators).

• The Literary Department represents Czech authors and translators

(or their heirs) in the use of their work for books or revues within the

Czech Republic, as well as abroad. We negotiate also agreements

between foreign rights-holders and Czech publishers. We promote

the works of represented authors around the world.

• The Music Department hires music materials of stage works by the

top Czech composers, such as Smetana, Dvořák, Martinů and many

others. It represents many foreign publishers when supplying music

scores to Czech users.

DILIA, Theatrical, Literary and Audiovisual Agency, has been securing copyright to full satisfaction of the authors for more then 60 years. In this domain DILIA is the longest established and biggest agency with immeasurable experience and very good relationships with similar agencies abroad.

• The Media Department represents Czech and foreign authors of

audio-visual art and art used audio-visually. Most of the famous

Czech fi lm directors, scriptwriters, cinematographers, fi lm architects

and designers belong to our clientele, for example Jiří Menzel, Jan

Hřebejk or Bohdan Sláma. The Media Department provides licencing

for various uses of audio-visual art including commercials.

COLLECTIVE ADMINISTRATION of copyright and associated author’s rights

is one of the main activities of the civic association. We execute

the collective administration of copyright for the authors in the

fi eld of literature including scientifi c works and audiovision

and represent among others following types of authors –

writers, translators, adaptators, directors, scriptwriters etc.

The scope of the collective management administered by DILIA

is very large and covers obligatory collective management

(collecting private copying levies and reprography levies,

licensing cable retransmission etc.) and also voluntarily

collective management (ex. radio broadcast of literary works

etc.). This administration is carried out for both Czech and

foreign right holders in accordance with reciprocal agreements

with DILIA’s foreign partners (CMO’s, agencies, guilds etc.)

DILIA is a member of the international non-governmental

organizations CISAC (www.cisac.org), IFRRO (www.ifrro.org)

and SAA (www.saa-authors.eu).

DILIA, Theatrical, Literary and Audiovisual AgencyKrátkého 1, 190 03 Prague 9, Czech Republic

Tel.: +420 266 199 876 Fax: +420 283 893 599spalova@dilia.cz

www.dilia.cz

702

The publication GAME’S NOT OVER –

New Czech Plays (not only) for Your Tablet / E-Reader is available

as electronic book on the Information Website about Czech Theatre

www.theatre.cz operated by the Arts and Theatre Institute. This e-book

was published in cooperatin with the agencies Aura-Pont and DILIA.

Editors: Martina Černá, Jitka Sloupová, Marie Špalová

Language editors: Heather McGadie, Howard Lotker

Graphic design: Jan Šavrda

Printer: Fermata

ISBN 978-80-7008-265-2 (pdf)

ISBN 978-80-7008-278-2 (epub)

ISBN 978-80-7008-279-9 (mobi)

© Institut umění – Divadelní ústav, Aura-Pont, DILIA

Translation Eva Daníčková, Zuzana Flašková, Heather McGadie,

Hana Pavelková, Michaela Pňačeková, David Short, Štěpán S. Šimek,

Paul Wilson

Distribution:

Institut umění – Divadelní ústav, Celetná 17, 110 00 Praha 1

Department of International Cooperation and PR, Martina Černá,

e-mail: martina.cerna@divadlo.cz

www.idu.cz

www.theatre.cz

www.czechtheatreport.cz