Валентин Красногоров – THEATER PLAYS (страница 11)

MAN: And I’m telling you – slow your roll and cool your jets. He’s going to die.

DIRECTOR: I know. The question is when.

MAN: On the third evening after the full moon, when Jupiter enters Capricorn. Soon, that is.

DIRECTOR: What gibberish is that?

MAN: It’s what the astrologers are predicting.

DIRECTOR: Very good. Then I’ll start rehearsals when Sagittarius enters Virgo. And I’m using the words “Sagittarius” and “Virgo” metaphorically, out of respect for the lady here.

MAN: I’m begging you not to kick up a fuss.

DIRECTOR: Cash on the barrel.

MAN: The consultant will explain it all to you.

DIRECTOR: She said I should talk to you about the money.

CONSULTANT enters.

CONSULTANT: What are you arguing about?

A pause

MAN: The director’s refusing to continue the rehearsal.

CONSULTANT: He’s only joking. (looking DIRECTOR square in the eyes) Aren’t you?

DIRECTOR: It turns out he’s not dead!

CONSULTANT: (chilly) And how is that your business?

DIRECTOR: (bringing his tone down several notches) It’s actually about the money…

CONSULTANT: Aren’t you ashamed to dicker over such a pittance? The pocket change you’re asking for, I carry in my purse as spending money. (stiffly) Do your job.

DIRECTOR: Yes, but they’re saying…

CONSULTANT: I don’t know what they’re saying, but I’m saying that you have to go on with the rehearsal. We’ve been shooting the breeze for an hour and a half already. (in a rigid, low voice) You apparently have a very poor idea of the person you’re working for. This is no place for arrogance and crackbrained notions. Just rehearse, and the rest is no concern of yours.

DIRECTOR: (realizing that he has no choice) Very well.

CONSULTANT: And don’t forget to stick to the text and meet our other terms.

DIRECTOR: I’ll remember.

CONSULTANT: And I’ll sit here, to listen and watch.

DIRECTOR: (struggling to hide his annoyance, addresses his cast) On with the rehearsal. Whose turn is it?

MAN: I yield to the lady.

DIRECTOR: The lady it is, then. Begin.

WOMAN: (glancing at her piece of paper) Dear friend! What a fearsome word!

DIRECTOR: Stop. Why is “friend” a fearsome word?

WOMAN: Sorry, I skipped a line. (starts over) Dear friend! How many times have we told each other goodbye, but today we have to bid you farewell. “Farewell” – what a fearsome word!

DIRECTOR: Less pathos, more sincerity. You’re really in disbelief: how can it suddenly be “farewell”?

WOMAN: (stirringly) “Farewell”… What a fearsome word! I don’t believe it, and I never will. It’s impossible! In my mind, I’ll never part with you. (with a change of tone) And after this speech, isn’t his wife going to scratch my eyes out? She’ll think I was his mistress, and I’ve never spoken a word to him in my life.

DIRECTOR: Why do you care what the wife thinks? You’re not talking to her but to the millions. All the state TV stations will be put on notice that this is a show they have to broadcast. And the independents too, needless to say.

WOMAN: Awesome! I must make time to see my hair stylist.

DIRECTOR: Don’t do anything on your own account. Our makeup artists will get you ready. Start again.

WOMAN: Dear friend!

DIRECTOR: Wait. You’re not feeling anything, and that’s why you can’t find the right tone.

WOMAN: And what am I supposed to feel?

DIRECTOR: You don’t know? Very well, I’ll try to help you. Both of you need to be clear on the circumstances in which you’ll be delivering your speeches. Then you’ll understand the solemnity of this gala occasion, and your words will find the intonation they need, all on their own. It’s going to be very beautiful, believe me – a feast for the eyes. No one has ever staged a ceremony like this, on such a scale. My competitors’ll just die of envy. (gradually growing more animated) Guests in formal attire, military bands in glittering uniforms, delegations and wreaths from civic organizations, funeral marches, Chopin, Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, silken flags at half-staff, fluttering in the wind… Banners angled downward, a coat of arms, the coffin, a thunderous farewell salute… A squadron of fighter planes flying over the square, his medals on velvet pillows…

MAN: I don’t think he has any medals.

DIRECTOR: It doesn’t matter. We’ll make some for him.

MAN: And where will the service be held?

DIRECTOR: There isn’t going to be any service. First, it’s not in the budget – too pricey. Second, I was told that he’s an atheist and, unlike you, never pretended to be religious.

WOMAN: Where are we going to be standing?

DIRECTOR: In the center of the square and the center of attention, right by the coffin. And the coffin, covered in flowers, will be on a gun-carriage drawn by six black horses… (sighs) Can it be that he’s not going to die, and this beautiful sight will forever reside only in my imagination?

MAN: Keep your chin up. It’ll all work out somehow.

DIRECTOR: We can hope. (glancing at CONSULTANT) But let’s go on. So, the two of you are standing beside the coffin, not only as a prime minister and a member of the government, but also as a man and a woman, a symbol of mutual compassion, the embodiment of humanity, of warmth and hope. But remember: no matter how beautiful a visual may be, it is, first and foremost, an act of propaganda. It’s aimed not at glorifying the deceased, but at reinforcing the power that you represent. So you have to look dignified and imposing the whole time. Both of you are grieving, but in different ways. The woman can allow herself to feel more deeply and sincerely. The man needs to be more aware of how serious this moment is and how much responsibility he bears to the country. Now imagine everything that I’ve just described, and your words will come out right.

MAN: (inspired, his eyes sparkling) Yes. It seems like I’m standing on the square already…

DIRECTOR: Then don’t wait. Carry on with your speech.

MAN: (with feeling) Dear friend! Sometimes you criticized us, but we were never enemies. Yes, we had differences of opinion; yes, we often argued… But we always knew that in the depths of our souls we stood together, that we both loved our motherland, our people.

DIRECTOR: Why are you calling him “friend”?

MAN: What’s it supposed to be?

DIRECTOR: Look at what it says in the text you’re holding.

MAN: (guilty) It says “brother.”

DIRECTOR: (making sure that CONSULTANT is listening) The author of the script is like the Lord God Himself. He is the only creator, and all we do is interpret his thoughts to the best of our ability and understanding. But you’ve decided that you can tinker with the text, like a failing student who’s been slacking instead of studying. The author is not only more talented than either of us but also crafts his words carefully, ponders the rhythm of the speech, the structure of the phrase. But every now and then, there’s an actor who thinks he can improvise and knock everybody’s socks off.

MAN: But I only changed one word…

DIRECTOR: Sometimes all it takes is a changed comma to distort the meaning of the whole speech. Do it over.

MAN: (with a glance at the paper to be sure, he repeats his lines, this time punching up the correct word) Dear BROTHER! Sometimes you criticized us, but we were never enemies. Yes, we had differences of opinion; yes, we often argued…

DIRECTOR: That was good! Go on.

MAN: Shortly before your death, you sent me a letter acknowledging that your criticism was wrong, that you realized it had been a mistake. You asked for forgiveness, asked permission to stand alongside us, expressed a desire to work closely with us, to fight together for our country’s bright future. But you didn’t know that we had long ago forgiven you, that I was never angry with you. On the contrary, I have always been grateful to you for your honest and bold criticism. We are proud of our friendship with you, dear BROTHER. You are ours, you are one of us. We can be content: the bright future, so long awaited, is already close at hand, is already here.

DIRECTOR: Splendid! Satisfaction at long last! Now you have to shake hands with her… No, wait… (a thought has dawned on him) Don’t shake hands – hug. Yes, that’ll be a good gimmick! It’s as if you’re not mourning separately but together. Do you understand?

WOMAN: No.

MAN: You never understand anything.

WOMAN: Anyone would think you’re such a genius. You can’t even portray sorrow.