Game's Not Over

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) SCORE 2011 LIVES 12 GAME’S NOT OVER New Czech Plays (not only) for Your Tablet / E-Reader

Special Bonus: Two Brand New Plays from Slovakia

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

Content

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

Radmila Adamová Proﬁ le 10 The Elle Girls 11

David Drábek Proﬁ le 55 The Coast of Bohemia 58

Magdaléna Frydrych Gregorová Proﬁ le 132 Dorotka 133

Arnošt Goldﬂ am Proﬁ le 179 Dolls and Dollies 181

Václav Havel Proﬁ le 217 Leaving 220

Petr Kolečko: Proﬁ le 284 Gods Don’t Play Ice Hockey 286 Kateřina Rudčenková: Proﬁ le 332 A Time of Cherry Smoke 334

Roman Sikora: Proﬁ le 372 The Confession of a Masochist 375

Milan Uhde: Proﬁ le 434 The Miracle at the Black House 437

Petr Zelenka: Proﬁ le 502 Coming Clean 504

BONUS:

Vladislava Fekete: Proﬁ le 578 Brief Connections 579

Viliam Klimáček: Proﬁ le 617 I am the Kraftwerk 621

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

7 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

8 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

9 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,

10 Radmila Adamová THE ELLE GIRLS

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

11 Characters:

Model E1 Model E2 Model E3 Photographer Mother Nurse Agent (All characters are female.)

Part 1: Morning Part 2: Evening

12 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.

13 (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…

14 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

15 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?

16 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.

17 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

18 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.

19 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

20 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

21 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.

22 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!

23 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?

24 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?

25 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,

26 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…

27 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!

28 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?

29 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,

30 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!

31 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

32 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…

33 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…

34 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!

35 (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?

36 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…

37 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?

38 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.)

39 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

40 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

41 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…

42 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.

43 (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!

44 (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?

45 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.

46 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

47 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

48 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

49 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.

50 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.

51 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?

52 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.)

53 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

54 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.

55 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

56 • 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

57 David Drábek THE COAST OF BOHEMIA A Play About Immobility

Translated by Štěpán S. Šimek

All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the DILIA Agency Krátkého 1, Praha 9, 190 03, Czech Republic, www.dilia.cz

58 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

59 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

60 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.

61 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.

62 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.)

63 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.

64 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

65 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…

66 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…

67 (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…

68 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.

69 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…

70 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…

71 (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.)

72 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.

73 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.

74 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

75 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.)

76 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.)

77 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.

78 (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.

79 (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.)

80 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.

81 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..

82 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

83 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…

84 (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-

85 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.)

86 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.

87 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?

88 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.)

89 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…

90 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

91 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.

92 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…)

93 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.

94 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….

95 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

96 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

97 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

98 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.)

99 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

100 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.

101 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.)

102 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.)

103 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?

104 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…

105 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.)

106 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…

107 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.

108 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.)

109 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!!!

110 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,

111 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

112 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…

113 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

114 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?

115 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

116 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.

117 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.

118 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.)

119 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.)

120 (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

121 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

122 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.

123 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…

124 (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

125 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.

126 (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.

127 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?

128 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.

129 (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

130 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

131 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

132 • Život je sen, 2009 • Vltavínky, 2009; première 5.12. 2009 Klicperovo divadlo, Hradec Králové (Studio Beseda)

TRANSLATED PLAYS:

• Dorotka: English – Dorotka

133 Magdalena Frydrychová DOROTKA A play

Translated by Michaela Pňačeková

All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the DILIA Agency Krátkého 1, Praha 9, 190 03, Czech Republic, www.dilia.cz

134 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.

135 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.

136 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.

137 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.)

138 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.

139 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.

140 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.

141 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?

142 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?

143 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.

144 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.

145 (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.

146 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?

147 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.

148 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.

149 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.

150 (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.

151 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?

152 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.

153 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?

154 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..

155 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

156 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?

157 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?

158 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?

159 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.

160 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.

161 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?

162 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.)

163 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

164 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.

165 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.)

166 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.

167 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.

168 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.

169 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.)

170 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.

171 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?

172 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.

173 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?

174 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?

175 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!

176 (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.

177 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

178 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

179 • 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

180 Arnošt Goldﬂ am DOLLS AND DOLLIES

Translated 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

181 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.

182 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,

183 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

184 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.

185 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.)

186 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

187 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!

188 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

189 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.

190 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

191 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

192 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.

193 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

194 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

195 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

196 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

197 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

198 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….

199 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

200 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

201 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

202 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

203 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

204 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!

205 (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,

206 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

207 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,

208 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

209 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

210 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

211 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.

212 (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.)

213 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,

214 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?

215 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

216 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

217 (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

218 • 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’a n g e 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

219 • 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

220 Václav Havel LEAVING A play in fi ve acts

Translated by Paul Wilson

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

221 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.

222 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?

223 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

224 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.)

225 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?

226 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.)

227 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 –

228 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.

229 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?

230 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

231 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?

232 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.

233 (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 –

234 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?

235 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?

236 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.

237 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.)

238 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 –

239 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.)

240 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.

241 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.

242 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?

243 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.

244 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.

245 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.

246 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.)

247 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.)

248 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.

249 (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

250 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.)

251 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

252 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

253 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 –

254 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.)

255 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 –

256 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

257 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

258 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

259 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 –

260 (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.)

261 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.

262 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.)

263 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.)

264 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.

265 (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

266 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.

267 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.

268 (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,

269 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?

270 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?

271 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.

272 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.

273 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.

274 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.

275 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.”

276 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

277 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

278 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

279 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.

280 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

281 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.)

282 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

283 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

284 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

285 Petr Kolečko GODS DON’T PLAY ICE HOCKEY

Translated by David Short

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

286 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

287 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.

288 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.

289 (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’.

290 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?

291 (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.

292 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,

293 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?

294 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.

295 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.)

296 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?

297 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.

298 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.

299 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.

300 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’?

301 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.

302 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?

303 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?

304 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.

305 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!

306 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.

(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.

307 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.

308 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,

309 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.

310 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.

311 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.

312 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

313 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.)

314 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.)

315 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.

316 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.

317 RUDOLF: Come on, lads, you know it’s not allowed… No work, no pay. EDDIE: What a prat ’e is, Rudolf.

(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?

318 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.)

319 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.

320 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.

321 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.

322 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.

323 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.)

324 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.

325 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!

326 (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!

(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.

327 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.

328 (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.

329 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.

330 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

331 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

332 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

333 Kateřina Rudčenková A TIME OF CHERRY SMOKE A Play in Semisomnolence

Translated by Heather McGadie

All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the DILIA Agency Krátkého 1, Praha 9, 190 03, Czech Republic, www.dilia.cz

334 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).

335 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,

336 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.

337 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

338 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?

339 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.

340 (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.

341 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

342 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.

343 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

344 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

345 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…

346 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.

347 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

348 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.

349 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?

350 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.

351 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.

352 (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.

353 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?

354 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!

355 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

356 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…

357 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.

358 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.

359 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?

360 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!

361 (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?

362 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?

363 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!

364 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?

365 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?

366 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

367 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.

368 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.

369 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.)

370 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,

371 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.

372 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

373 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

374 Roman Sikora THE CONFESSION OF A MASOCHIST or Labyrinth of the World and Paradise of the Whip

Translated by Hana Pavelková

All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the DILIA Agency Krátkého 1, Praha 9, 190 03, Czech Republic, www.dilia.cz

375 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.

376 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.

377 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.

378 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?

379 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:

380 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.

381 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,

382 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

383 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.

384 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?

385 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

386 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

387 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.

388 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?

389 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,

390 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,

391 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.

392 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:

393 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

394 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?

395 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

396 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

397 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

398 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

399 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

400 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

401 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

402 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.

403 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.

404 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,

405 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.

406 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.

407 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,

408 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.)

409 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

410 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.

411 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.

412 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.

413 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

414 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

415 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..

416 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

417 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

418 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.

419 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

420 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.

421 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

422 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

423 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.

424 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.

425 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.

426 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.

427 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

428 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?

429 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.

430 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,

431 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

432 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

433 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).

434 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

435 • 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

436 Milan Uhde THE MIRACLE AT THE BLACK HOUSE A 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.

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

437 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

438 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,

439 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.

440 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.

441 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

442 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.

443 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.)

444 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.

445 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

446 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.

447 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.

448 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.

449 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.

450 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:

451 ‘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.

452 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.

453 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.

454 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!

455 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.

456 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

457 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.

458 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.

459 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.

460 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.)

461 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.

462 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.

463 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.

464 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.

465 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.

466 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?

467 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.

468 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?

469 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.

470 (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.

471 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.

472 (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.

473 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.

474 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.

475 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.

476 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.

477 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.

478 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.

479 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.

480 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

481 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?

482 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

483 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.

484 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.

485 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.

486 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.

487 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

488 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?

489 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.

490 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.

491 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.

492 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.

493 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.

494 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.

495 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.

496 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!

497 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…

498 (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.

499 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.)

500 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

501 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)

502 • 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

503 Petr Zelenka COMING CLEAN A Play

Translated by Štěpán S. Šimek

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

504 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.

505 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.)

506 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

507 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.

508 (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.

509 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.

510 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

511 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.

512 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

513 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

514 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.)

515 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.

516 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.

517 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

518 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

519 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

520 (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.

521 (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?

522 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

523 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

524 (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.

525 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?

526 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?

527 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?

528 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?

529 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.)

530 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.

531 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.)

532 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.)

533 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.)

534 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?

535 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.

536 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.

537 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?

538 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.

539 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…)

540 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

541 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

542 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.

543 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

544 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

545 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.

546 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

547 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?

548 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.

549 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?!

550 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.)

551 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

552 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.

553 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.)

554 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?

555 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.

556 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

557 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?

558 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.

559 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.

560 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.)

561 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?

562 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.

563 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.)

564 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.

565 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.

566 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.

567 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

568 ‘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

569 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.)

570 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.)

571 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

572 “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

573 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

574 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

575 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.

576 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

577 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

578 Vladislava Fekete BRIEF CONNECTIONS

Translated by Zuzana Flašková

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

579 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.

580 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!

581 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?

582 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.)

583 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

584 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.)

585 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.

586 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?

587 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.

588 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.)

(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?

589 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.

590 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.)

591 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

592 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.)

593 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!

594 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.

595 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.

596 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!)

597 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.)

598 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.)

599 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.

600 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.)

(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

601 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.

602 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.

603 (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?

604 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.

605 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!

606 (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.)

607 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,

608 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

609 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

610 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.

611 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.

612 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!)

613 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.)

614 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

615 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

616 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,

617 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)

618 • 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

619 • 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

620 Viliam Klimáček I AM THE KRAFTWERK A 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

All inquiries for rights should be addressed to the DILIA Agency Krátkého 1, Praha 9, 190 03, Czech Republic, www.dilia.cz

621 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.

622 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!

623 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.

624 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.

625 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?

626 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

627 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.

628 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…

629 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.

630 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.

631 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

632 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.

633 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!

634 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!

635 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.

636 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.

637 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

638 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?

639 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.

640 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.

641 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

642 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.)

643 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!

644 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!

645 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…

646 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

647 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?

648 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.

649 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.)

650 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.

651 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.)

652 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.

653 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.)

654 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.)

655 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

656 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?!

657 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?

658 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…

659 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?

660 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?

661 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?

662 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?!

663 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 .)

664 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

665 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?

666 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!

667 (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?

668 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.

669 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.

670 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?

671 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

672 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

673 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?

674 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

675 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.)

676 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.

677 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

678 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.

679 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…?

680 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?

681 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.

682 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.

683 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.)

684 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?

685 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?

686 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.

687 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

688 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!

689 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

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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 Institute The 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 ATI Websites

www.idu.cz The 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. 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: [email protected] 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 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 represents me since “For us playwrights in foreign its inception.It was one of the fi rst countries and foreign languages, new literary agencies created in Aura-Pont shines like a welcoming 1990 under the new democratic light on the threshold of the theatres conditions. People are great and of the Czech lands.” I have been happy to work with them Tom Stoppard, playwright ever since then.“ Václav Havel, playwright “Why I am with Aura – Pont is rather simple.They believed in me when “We as authors have enough to I needed it most – at the beginning do creating new work, so where of the ‘90s. Their approach to clients looking after our copyright and has a purely personal touch which fees is concerned, it’s necessary I appreciate. Moreover, people are to delegate to somebody else. The not just literary agents, they are Aura-Pont agency has been a long- often creative people: I have respect time and reliable nurse.” for what they achieved outside the Zdeněk Svěrák, playwright, actor, agency.” author of the script Petr Zelenka, playwright, fi lm & for the Oscar-winning fi lm Kolya theatre director

Aura-Pont, Theatre and Literary Agency, Ltd. Member of C&COM Group Veslařský ostrov 62, 147 00 Praha 4, Czech Republic Tel.:+420 251 554 938 Fax:+420 251 550 207 E-mail: [email protected] www.aura-pont.cz 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.

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. • 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 Agency Krátkého 1, 190 03 Prague 9, Czech Republic Tel.: +420 266 199 876 Fax: +420 283 893 599 [email protected] www.dilia.cz 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)

Distribution: Institut umění – Divadelní ústav, Celetná 17, 110 00 Praha 1 Department of International Cooperation and PR, Martina Černá, e-mail: [email protected]

www.idu.cz www.theatre.cz www.czechtheatreport.cz

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