Константин Воскресенский – Film Screenplay. The Adventures of Kesha the Russian Boy (страница 3)
At the threshold, he pauses. Speaks without turning around.
NIKOLAY
Fever. Yes. A fever with five holes in it.
He walks out into pale winter light. The door closes behind him with a soft click that sounds like a coffin lid.
CUT TO:
Scene 4. INT. FAMILY APARTMENT, KLIMOVSK – DAY (1985)
WARM TONES. A different world. A cramped but cheerful apartment in the Moscow suburbs. Faded wallpaper with little blue flowers, lace curtains, a crib in the corner. The smell of borscht from the kitchen. A television plays the evening news at low volume.
A BABY sleeps in the crib, fists clenched, breathing softly. Around him, a family argues – not about anything grave, but with the passionate energy only Russians can bring to the subject of baby names.
MOTHER (23, beautiful, exhausted, still in her hospital gown) holds the birth certificate.
MOTHER
His name is Innokentiy. It’s decided. I’ve already written it on the form.
GRANDMOTHER MARINA (50s, formidable, hair pinned back with military precision, the kind of woman who could command a platoon and still have dinner ready by six) slams her palm on the table.
GRANDMOTHER MARINA
Innokentiy? Are you out of your mind? The boys at school will murder him! They’ll call him Kesha, like that ridiculous cartoon parrot!
GRANDFATHER NIKOLAY sits in the corner, smoking. He has been silent since he returned from the morgue three weeks ago. He watches his daughter argue and says nothing.
Little AUNT NADIA (7), sitting on the floor with a coloring book and a mouth full of biscuit, looks up brightly.
AUNT NADIA
You should call him Kesha! Like the parrot from the cartoon! Kesha is funny!
Beat. The room erupts. Mother throws her hands up. Grandmother Marina shakes her head.
GRANDMOTHER MARINA
Fine. Three names. In a hat. Whatever God decides.
Three scraps of paper are torn from a school notebook: ILYA, ROMAN, KONSTANTIN. Mother closes her eyes. Reaches into a ceramic bowl. Pulls one out. Opens it.
MOTHER
Konstantin.
She looks at the sleeping baby. Smiles. In the corner, Grandfather Nikolay finally speaks. His voice is hoarse from disuse.
GRANDFATHER NIKOLAY
Konstantin means "steadfast." He’ll need that.
Nobody asks why. But the room goes quiet for a moment. The baby sleeps on, oblivious to his new name, his dead father, and the country that is already beginning to fall apart around him.
ADULT KESHA (V.O.)
I was born with someone else’s name, lost my father before I could walk, and got a new dad before I could talk. That’s Russia for you. Nothing stays the same for long. Except the borscht. The borscht never changes.
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Scene 5. INT. FAMILY APARTMENT – DAY (1988)
KESHA (3) sits on the floor, building a tower of wooden blocks with the concentration of a nuclear physicist. Each block is placed with deliberate care. He bites his lower lip as he works.
His MOTHER stands in the doorway with a new man: STEPFATHER (28), kind-faced, quiet, wearing a freshly ironed shirt that suggests he has spent the morning preparing for this introduction. His shoes are polished. His hands are clean.
Stepfather crouches down to Kesha’s level. Extends his hand. Kesha looks at the hand. Looks at the man’s face. With the gravity of a tiny diplomat making his first international appearance, he shakes it.
KESHA
Hi, Dad.
Stepfather blinks. Looks at Mother. She nods. He turns back to Kesha, something fragile and unprepared moving across his face.
STEPFATHER
Hello, Kesha. That’s a fine tower.
KESHA
It falls down a lot. But I keep building it.
He hands Stepfather a wooden block. Stepfather places it on the tower. It balances perfectly. Kesha nods approvingly, as if this man has passed an important test.
Mother watches from the doorway. Her eyes are wet. She turns away before anyone sees.
ADULT KESHA (V.O.)
He never said a word in anger or laid a finger on me. He also preferred not to interfere, but just help out financially. I can’t say it was the most successful strategy. But he gave me space to grow up by myself. Without trying to forge me in his own image. For that, I am eternally grateful.
CUT TO:
Scene 6. EXT. YEVPATORIA BEACH, CRIMEA – DAY (1988)
Blazing summer sun. A crowded Soviet beach at the height of the season: women in broad-brimmed hats reading romance novels, men in tiny swimsuits playing cards, radios competing with each other across blankets. The Black Sea sparkles like hammered tin. Ice cream vendors shout their prices. Children shriek.
Mother and AUNT IRA wade into the warm water, leaving three-year-old KESHA with a SUNBATHING WOMAN nearby.
MOTHER
Watch him for two minutes? Just two minutes. Please?
The woman adjusts her hat. Smiles. Closes her eyes.
Kesha stares at her. Stares at the sea. Stares at a seagull pecking at a sandwich wrapper. Then he stands up and toddles away with the determination of a man who knows exactly where he is going.
MINUTES LATER: Mother and Aunt Ira return, dripping. The blanket is empty. The sunbathing woman is asleep.
MOTHER
KESHA! KESHA!