CONSULTANT: No, at this point all he’s thinking about is the interpretation and how you’re going to perform your roles tomorrow.

DIRECTOR: How does he know what my interpretation is? He hasn’t seen the rehearsal.

CONSULTANT answers him with a silent look that speaks volumes.

Excuse me.

WOMAN: What are we going to do?

CONSULTANT: You may want to stop chattering and finish the rehearsal as quickly as possible. (to DIRECTOR) Oh, and the budget has to be drastically cut. You’ve overdone it. After all, it’s not a president or a prime minister who’s being buried, just a private party.

DIRECTOR: But then my entire beautiful game plan falls apart…

CONSULTANT: Do you have any objections?

DIRECTOR: None at all.

CONSULTANT: Then why are you standing around? Finish your work.

DIRECTOR: Yes, ma’am. (to the actors) Take your places… (to MAN) Where did you stop? Read the last line of dialogue.

MAN: Give me a minute. (searches for the place in his script) Here it is: We can be content: the bright future, so long awaited, is already here. (lets the hand holding his script page drop)

DIRECTOR: And what comes next?

MAN: Nothing. The End.

DIRECTOR: (wearily) Oh, all right: the end is the end.

THE END

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A strange tragicomedy in two acts

Translated from Russian by Eugene Reznikov and James Walker.

Synopsis

Every personage of this strange, absurd play talks and thinks only about sex. But the frivolous title of this comedy is delusive: the drama is complicated, tragic, and at the same time, amusing. It is difficult to define the genre of this play. It may be called both a psychological drama, and a theater of the absurd, a play that deals with paradox, a philosophical play…. It may be defined as a comedy, but it will not be a mistake to call it also a tragedy. The characters come from nowhere and leave to nowhere. They are familiar to each other and at the same time seem to see each other for the first time. There are 5 characters in the play: the Husband, the Wife, the Sister, the Girl, and the Professor. They are quite real and authentic. At the same time, it is difficult to understand, whether the Wife really is someone’s wife, the Professor – a real professor, etc. There is no plot in the traditional meaning of the word. The play is constructed on the principle of a rondo: movement goes in a circle, or, more precisely, along a spiral. The characters’ actions are motivated by loneliness, by their yearning for love and emotion, their desire to escape from their problems. Or maybe all these conversations are simply the product of a deranged mind? The play has been staged in Moscow by the most famous theater director of Russia, Roman Viktyuk, and is an enormous success. The play is also performed by theaters of Australia, Bolgaria, Estonia, Finland, Germany, Great Britain, India, Montenegro, Mongolia, Poland, Rumania,Turkey, and Ukraina. 2 men and 3 women. Interior .

CHARACTERS

HUSBAND

WIFE

PROFESSOR

GIRL

SISTER

Part 1

The stage can represent an empty space. The room may be furnished with nothing more than a table, some chairs and an armchair.

The HUSBAND is reading a book. The WIFE enters. The HUSBAND continues to read. The WIFE goes out, enters again. The HUSBAND continues to read.

WIFE. Let's have sex.

HUSBAND. OK. (Continues to read.)

WIFE. Let's have sex!

HUSBAND. (Continues to read.) OK!

WIFE. I said – let's have sex!

HUSBAND. What?

WIFE. Sex!!

HUSBAND. Right now?

WIFE. Why not?

HUSBAND. Just let me finish reading this page.

WIFE. What if I want it right now?

HUSBAND. What has come over you?

WIFE. Nothing. Do you have any objections?

HUSBAND. Me? No. (Continues to read.)

WIFE. Well?

HUSBAND. Well, what?

WIFE. You said that you have no objection.

HUSBAND. To what?

WIFE. To doing it.

HUSBAND. Doing what?

WIFE. Put down the book, or I’ll throw it out the window.

HUSBAND. The book doesn’t have anything to do with it.

WIFE. I know that it doesn’t. But you don’t want me throw you out the window, do you?

HUSBAND. What do you want from me?

WIFE. I have said, let's have sex.

HUSBAND. You interrupted me in a particularly interesting place – he is sneaking up to her bed with a gun.

WIFE. Nobody sneaks up to my bed.

HUSBAND. That’s good.

WIFE. I am not so sure.

HUSBAND. (Furtively glancing at the book.) I think he’s going to kill her now.

WIFE. (Grabs out the book away from him and throws it into the corner.) I will kill you now.

HUSBAND. What do you want from me?

WIFE. Nothing. A woman is not supposed to want it. You are the one who is supposed to want it.

HUSBAND. You seem very irritable today.

WIFE. There is nothing wrong with me.

HUSBAND. Did something happen at work?

WIFE. Do people have sex only when something happens at work?

HUSBAND. No. Not necessarily.

WIFE. Thank God. Otherwise else I would think that nothing ever happens to you at work.

HUSBAND. I think that now it is not the right time, and this is not the right place.

WIFE. For you, never is the right time and nowhere is the right place for sex.

HUSBAND. Somebody could come in …

WIFE. But we’re alone now, so let’s hurry!

HUSBAND. You know, it would be inappropriate here.

WIFE. So tell me when and where it would be appropriate for you? Why does it always have to be in the matrimonial bed, always at the same time, on the weekend, ten minutes after the light is turned off? Why not in the morning, why not in the afternoon? Why always lying in bed? Why not standing up or sitting down? Why not on the floor or on a table? Why not on the washing machine? Why not on a swing in the garden? Why not on a roll of barbed wire? Why not by candlelight? Why don’t you take me by surprise, without warning, when I’m not expecting it, where it’s inconvenient? Why does it always have to be at home, in a warm and comfortable room, when we’re yawning before going to sleep, in the same everlasting bed?

HUSBAND. Because… Because in the bed is more convenient.

WIFE. More convenient? Then why are the times on the back seat of a cramped car, or in a forest on an ant hill, or on a dark backstairs the ones we remember forever, while matrimonial caresses at home, in the soft, wide, convenient bed so suitable for sexual pleasure are forgotten in ten minutes?

HUSBAND. Because… I don’t know why.

WIFE. Why don’t you come up to me when I’m washing the dishes and take me from behind? Why don’t you look for a chance, why don’t you pursue me? Why I am always sure that you won’t do anything unexpected? Why not at a symphony concert? Why not in someone else’s apartment, where somebody might come in at any moment?

HUSBAND. Somebody could come in here at any moment.

WIFE. Well, let them. Let something happen at last. I don’t want to be stuck inevitably doing the same thing over and over. I want unpredictability. I want to not know what awaits me tonight. Maybe a meeting with a girlfriend in a cafe, or maybe a party at somebody’s home… Or a quiet walk alone through the park, or taking a rest in an armchair with a book in my hands, or an unexpected rendezvous on a dark beach under the stars… Under the bright stars in a mysterious black sky… White sand, pounding waves, the passionate embrace of unfamiliar arms, hands greedily exploring a new and unfamiliar body – my body – that longs impatiently for those arms… But none of this will ever be, and I know precisely what will happen today, and tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow. It seems as if my life has already ended, because I already know everything; I’ve already gone through everything. There is nothing new left to happen. I’m not living, I only continue to exist. I read the same page of the same book, and it is so boring to me, boring, boring… It’s so boring to me! Let's have sex!