Read one-act comedy plays. Read online "French one-act drama"

Sergey Mogilevtsev

LITTLE COMEDIES

"Little Comedies" are 17 small plays, among which there is a one-act play "Intermission", absurd plays like "Resuscitation", "Accountant" and "Report", a dialogue for all times "Author and Censor", small farce plays " Fruits of the Enlightenment", "White Silence" and "A Funny Case", historical dialogues "Oedipus" and "Smell", as well as very small sketches such as "Dinosaurs", "Home Academy", "The Power of Love", "Little Things in Life ".

INTERRUPTION…………………………………………...…
REPORT…………………………..…………………..…..
RESUME……………………………………..…
AUTHOR AND CENSOR……………………………..….
ACCOUNTANT………………………………………...….
FRUITS OF ENLIGHTENMENT……………………..….…
WHITE SILENCE………………………………….
FUNNY CASE……………………………...…
SMELL………………………………………………….
OEDIPUS, or LOVE OF JUSTICE......
EINSTEIN AND CHEKHOV……………………………...
POWER OF LOVE………………………………………...
TWO OF A KIND……………………………...
LITTLE NOTHINGS OF LIFE…………………………………….
DINOSAURS…………………………………………..
ALGEBRA AND HARMONY……………………………
HOME ACADEMY…………………………..

INTERMISSION

Scenes at the theater entrance

SCENE ONE

A small area at the entrance to the theater, filled with a crowd of spectators.
The first act of the sensational comedy has just ended.
Everyone is excited and vying with each other to express their opinions.

Theatrical master and beginning dramaturg.

Theater master (indignantly). Outrageous, inadmissible, impudent, and... and... (chokes with indignation). And, I would say, even provocative! No, of course, a certain amount of provocation is certainly necessary, but not to the same extent! After all, this will no longer be a theater, not a temple of art, but some kind of revolution! I always say that a playwright cannot live without provoking the audience, but everything is good in moderation and in its time. But the time for provocation in drama has not yet come, I always tell my students about this. (Looking down at the young interlocutor.) Tell me, do you agree with me?
Aspiring playwright. Of course, teacher, I reached the finals of the annual drama competition that bears your name, and my play about the life of modern students took first place. Remember, you also highly praised her for the originality and depth of the topic being explored?
MATER (impatiently). Yes, yes, I remember, thank God, my memory has not yet been lost, because, as you know, I am not yet sixty. Or maybe it already exists, I don’t remember exactly.
Beginner (looking at him with interest). Is it true?
M et r. Why can't you see this? My friend, thank God, the year has not yet given me over; thank God, I can still be good for a lot of things!
Beginner (gaining courage). And they say that you are already exhausted! (He immediately gets scared.)
M et r. Who's speaking?
Beginning (making excuses). Yes, all sorts of ill-wishers. They say that you are afraid of sharp edges, and you will never write about topical issues, for example, about a possible revolution, as in the play that we are watching!
MATER (also scared, looks around just in case, waves his hands). God forbid you, boy, to mention the revolution in this country! Anything: red, white, or orange. There is no need to mention especially the orange one, this is the most pressing issue right now. You can mention anything you want: shortcomings in education, theft that is widespread among our people, and even, for that matter, corruption in higher spheres. But just never mention the Orange Revolution, this is the most dangerous topic now!
Beginning. But why? The author of today's play mentions.
M et r. He will end badly. He does not know what can be mentioned and what cannot be mentioned. He lost his brakes, this author, and the director, following him, without consulting where necessary, also decided to rush with the wind. But this wind will bring a storm, and will end in long-term intensive care for both.
Beginning. And the audience loves it, they laugh so hard!
M et r. Spectators will also be sent to intensive care. Not now, but after some time. In a word, dear student, to succeed in this country, you need to have brakes, I never get tired of repeating this!
Beginner (in despair). Teacher, but with the brakes I will never grow to your level!
M et r (important). And very good, for this country just me is enough!

They step aside.
D v a l i t e r a t o r a.

First writer. What kind of play, what kind of characters? Where have you seen such characters? Such characters cannot exist in modern plays!
Second L i t e r a t o r. Do you write contemporary plays?
First. No, I'm writing a saga about space exploration!
Second. So why are you meddling in something other than your own business?
First. And what are you writing about, remind me?
Second. I am writing a biography of an important statesman ruling in a not so distant country.
First. You write strange things.
Second. Today's comedy is also quite strange!

They step aside.
The viewer is positive and the viewer is negative.

Positive. I don’t understand, is the author stupid, stupid, or both? Where has he seen such a newspaper editor and such an oligarch giving the president purebred foals?
NEGATIVE. In some African countries, presidents do not even accept things. I heard that they don’t even disdain a human in the morning!
Positive. So it’s in Africa, you idiot, where do you and I live?! Finally, you have to think!
NEGATIVE (not understanding anything). That's what I'm thinking!

They step aside.
Spectator and lady.

D a m a. The author talks about terrible things. For example, about the catacombs in the center of Moscow, and about the homeless children who live there. Is this really possible in our time?
Spectator (hugging the lady). Darling, in our time anything is possible, but it is better to watch everything to the end, and not judge the impression of the first act.
D a m a. And yet the catacombs in the center of Moscow, and even with children, homeless people, and poets reading their brilliant poems by candlelight - this can only be born in a brilliant head! (Dreamy.) How I would like to meet the author of the play!
3 r i t e l. I don't advise you to do this! They are all perverts, so they write about abnormal things!

They are leaving.
F a n f a r o n i R a z o n e r.

F a n f a r o n. The first act is over, and I’m already angry as a hundred devils! The author talks about the birth of the party, putting so much bile into his mouth, and inventing such funny names, as if he despises everyone like the last pigs!
Resoner. Politics is the ultimate disgusting thing; no wonder he despises her!
F a n f a r o n. But he calls everyone assholes!
Resoner. Well, I think this is hyperbole, and nothing more!
F a n f a r o n. What kind of hyperbole is this if anyone and everyone who is not too lazy is enrolling in his party of bastards? It seems that we are all half-baked!
Resoner. If you consider the issue deeply enough, then it is not difficult to imagine!
F a n f a r o n. That's it, let's quickly go into the theater and wait for the end of the play, especially since two bells have already rung.
Resoner. It is reasonable.

They go into the theater.
The area at the entrance is quickly emptying.
The third bell rings.

SCENE TWO

A crowd of spectators, even more excited than before.
OFFICIAL WITH DAUGHTER.

C h i n o v n i k. Unheard of, outrageous, and generally a call for revolution! If they find out at work that I was at this premiere, they will fire me immediately.
Daughter. Come on, dad, there are things worse than this. Sometimes, dad, it’s so erotic that your jaws ache looking at it all!
C h i n o v n i k. Better the naked truth than the truth of life! You should be put in prison for the truth of life!

They are leaving.
It’s a very big novice of the mother.

B ig o r novice. I paid a thousand dollars for tickets (for each one!) in the first row, and what do we see? The author, like a surgeon, cuts into the body of our politics, and extracts from there such terrible things that even the tongue does not dare to name them out loud! He calls on the oligarchs to give money to the people and not to send the president greyhound puppies as gifts, that is, I beg your pardon, purebred foals. He calls the highest party officials complete bastards, and the lower ones - bastards in life, he completely declares the press to be corrupt, public opinion non-existent, and he mocks the public as if it were an indecent wench!
LADY (laughing). He calls your public also non-existent, and says that he knows about public baths, public laundries and public reception rooms, as well as public toilets, but does not know what a public is!
Big. That's it, I'm saying that this is unheard of insolence and even some kind of public terrorism! I can’t imagine what I will say at the government meeting tomorrow?
D a m a. Say you've been to public baths.
Big. That's right, bathhouses are better than such freedom of public expression!

They are leaving.
D e w e d s.

First lady. Did you notice what kind of hats these two sluts who played women in the play wore? The secretary and the oligarch's wife? It is not clear where they got them from: either they were pulled out of a theater chest, or they were discharged from Paris on a special flight?!
Second lady. When a ticket costs an average of five thousand dollars, it doesn’t matter whether it’s Paris or a theater chest!

D a s t u d e n t a.

FIRST STUDENT: Have you noticed that the author of the play says something that everyone already knows, but this, nevertheless, produces the effect of a bomb exploding?!
Second student. The fact of the matter is that someone always has to be the first to say out loud what everyone has already seen for a long time. The truth, spoken out loud, becomes dynamite that explodes the public.
First. By the way, about the public. Which definition of this phenomenon do you like better: the one that compares the public to public loads, or to public toilets?
Second. I like public toilets better, they are closer to the truth!

Two actors who went out to smoke.

First actor. Do you see how excited they all are? That's the power of acting!
Second akter. This is not our strength, but that of the author of the play. However, it is still unclear whether this is a failure or success for him; Did you notice how he walked backstage, now blushing, now turning pale, and alternately clutching his stomach and then his heart?
First. Yes, there were cases when the authors of the play died during the performance, unable to bear either the burden of glory or the bitterness of defeat.
Second. Will you stay for the banquet after the performance today?
First. But of course! a banquet is a sacred affair, and always at the expense of the author!
Second. Yes, you need to take advantage of the moment, tomorrow he will either be imprisoned or raised to unprecedented heavens!
First. If they imprison him, they will imprison us too, and the theater will either be burned down or converted into a public canteen.
Second. Don’t you know that a hundred years ago there was something like a public canteen here? A fashionable restaurant that was visited by all and sundry, from writers and whores to bandits and cabinet ministers?
First. We still have the same layout in the auditorium!

D u a t e a t r a l y h u c h k a.

First bug. I made some good money at this performance today! People are rushing towards something unprecedented, as if an elephant is being led through the center of Moscow!
Second bug: Yes, I also made a small fortune selling tickets! If there were more such authors and such plays, we would then open either a theater or a brothel.
First. For me, a brothel is better, it’s sold out every day, but theater is an unpredictable and dark business. Today he is there, and tomorrow he is sent to Siberia in full force.
Second. What Siberia, we live in a democracy!
First. Listen, colleague, at least for me, your workmate, don’t bullshit me! Let's better thank the author and send him money in an envelope!
Second. But under no circumstances should you do this! An author who gets rich will lose all his anger, immediately become lazy, and will not be able to write. And after this, our earnings will fall.
First. Yes, you are right, colleague, let's give some of the money to those street children he talks about in the play. Those who huddle in the Moscow catacombs, in attics and basements.
Second. And this shouldn’t be done either: homeless children are precisely what inspire the author’s heightened conscience, forcing him to write brilliant plays. The children will disappear, the author will disappear, and at the same time our modest earnings!
First. Well then, let's give money to that poet dying from consumption, the main character of his comedy, huddling underground with homeless people, street children and rats. Let's donate some of the money to publish his poetry book!
Second. Are you crazy, colleague?! The poet in poverty underground, the main character of today's performance, who dreams of publishing his own book of poems, is none other than the author of the play himself. This is his alter ego, his inner essence. When we take the poet out of the dungeon, we take the author out of the dungeon, and then he will definitely not write anything else. Under no circumstances should you give money to a poet!
First. But then who can you give it to?
Second. And those law enforcement officers who allow us to work at the entrance to the theater - that’s what we need to give to them. Without law enforcement officers, well-fed and gifted, no work in this country is possible!
First. My God, what a country, what guards!
Second. Do you, colleague, want something different?
First. God forbid, everything suits me, but I feel so damn sorry for the children and poets!

D v a k r i t i k a.

F irst cr itic. Again a play about the underground, and this time the main character is a poet who fell ill with tuberculosis.
Second critic. Not a bad move, I must say!
First. Yes, you are right, although this has already happened. Not about the poet and tuberculosis, but something like this, in Gogol, and Gorky, and others.
Second. In this country, everything is repeated: the underground, tuberculosis, and poetry underground.
First. What will you write about tomorrow?
Second. And I won’t write about this performance at all.
First. Why?
Second. For a variety of reasons. You see, if we have democracy in our country (and no one knows this for certain), then the value of the performance is small, because one can criticize corruption and mean morals at every corner. This means that my review of this performance is of little value. If we don’t have democracy in our country, then today’s performance is a slap in the face to the ruling regime, and we should completely forget about it. For your own good, to sleep peacefully and not shake at night from every rustle.
First. My God, what have we come to in this country!
Second. It’s not we who have reached it, it’s us who have reached it. However, everything can be exactly the opposite, and the one who first writes an enthusiastic review of this performance will be declared the greatest critic of our time!
First. Or sent to Siberia along with the author.
Second. For mercy's sake, colleague, who is being sent to Siberia these days? Haven't you read Shakespeare with his Polonius and unfortunate Ophelia?
First. Yes, Polonius and Ophelia are signs of our time. However, let's go faster, otherwise we won't make it to the third act!

They hastily leave, and after them, a lot of the gaps dissolve.
The theater doors close.
The third bell rings.

SCENE THREE

After the third act.
End of the performance.
The spectators go outside, but, excited by the spectacle they saw, they do not disperse, but fill the area near the theater.
T r o e d e v e r s in h o l b o m.

The first girl. What a pity that night has already come, and in the moonlight my blue dress does not shine as much as in the sun. Did you notice how in the theater everyone did nothing but look back at me?
Second girl. And it seemed to me that everyone was just staring at my blue dress.
The third girl. You are both fools, you all stared at me, and no one looked at the stage.
First. What a surprise! I didn't look at the stage either!
Second. And I.
Third. Was there any kind of stage at all in the theater?
First (summarizing). In any case, if there was, our blue dresses, without a doubt, outshone everything that was presented there!

Svetskaya lion and with her a flock of worshipers.

Svetskaya l'vitsa. Did you notice how everyone was just staring at my cleavage? And this despite the fact that I didn’t put on my brilics - I left all the brilics in the safe so that, God forbid, someone would steal it. They steal, bastards, they steal shamelessly, whether here in Russia, in Cannes, in Nice, or at parties in New York. And I, girls, cannot give away my briliks left and right for free, I already give myself away so generously that I no longer have enough strength to give to everyone; you know that I am so loving that, according to some, either enemies or well-wishers, I replace several brothels at the same time; I’m specially released into hot spots like Chechnya, where I dance naked on tables covered with oriental dishes, and hundreds of bearded and armed men standing around simply go crazy, either shooting tirelessly until the morning, or running madly into the mountains , and wander there alone all day long, becoming easy prey for wild animals and mujahideen. I, girls, am the center of the modern world, built on chaos and debauchery, and it’s not for nothing that the current play also talked about me; because, girls, it is debauchery that rules the modern world, and you don’t have to wear diamonds around your neck, but you can just come to the theater, and no one will look at the stage, but everyone will just stare at you, pouring out, like Yesenin’s bitch, saliva and juice, and filling the theatrical air with the thick stench of eternal debauchery and lust. (Suddenly screams.) Hurray, long live debauchery as a new national idea, and let you all go to hell with your search for truth, goodness and beauty!

She takes off her clothes and remains completely naked. The worshipers surrounding her do the same.

Worshipers. Wow! yes! yeah! ho-ho! hee hee! wow! no-go-go! Ahaha! here you go! come on! joke! We don't care! hurray, hurray, we are drummers!

Pausa.

Beginning journal. It seems that I was one of the heroes of the ended performance. Perhaps this is the strength of great productions, that their heroes leave the stage at the end of the performance and mix with the crowd, henceforth living among people, acquiring flesh and blood, acquiring a new life through the power of the author’s imagination. We need to write a note about this and take it to the editor-in-chief tomorrow. However, in our newspaper you can only publish about the right things, and it’s better not to stutter about what no one can see yet, so as not to get into trouble.

Pausa.

TV presenter. What did the play say about the national idea? Is there any national idea now? The play talked about bastards who unite in a party of rejected brats, and supposedly we have the majority of such bastards; some kind of perversion, but maybe the world around us is so perverted that the national idea should also be perverted to the extreme? Once upon a time everyone marched for the faith, the fatherland and the tsar, then for freedom and universal brotherhood, then for liberation from the invasion of fierce enemies and for building a bright future, now there are no more bright ideas left. Now is the time of darkness and dark ideas; the time of premature babies and premature babies; and it is around all sorts of idiots that people can rally to wait out the troubled times... Some kind of nonsense, but how similar it is to the truth! But can I talk about this from a television screen?

D v a b o m f a.

F irst b o m f. We had a lot of fun! Did you notice that we were dressed more decently than everyone else?
Second b o m f. This is no wonder, after all, you and I dress in garbage dumps, and Moscow garbage dumps are the richest garbage dumps in the world!

Pausa.

P o o t h e s u n d e m e l . So, I am the main character of the play that has just been shown, who calmly mixed with the crowd, and now lives my life, not at all surprised by this. I lived underground in the ancient catacombs built near Moscow by the still mad and formidable kings, I read my poems to homeless people and rats, who listened to me with equal fascination, leaving all other matters for the time being. I came to the surface, I ceased to be a hero of the underground, I took from there, from hell, a full pillowcase filled with my poems, suffered in solitude, and now I don’t know how these poems will be received by people living above. There is too much difference between those who live above and those who live below. There is too big a gap between the poor and the rich. While I was sitting below, the world changed, and it may very well happen that I became superfluous to this world. Well, I can always go back down to my dungeon or go wandering around Russia, throwing my pillowcase with poems behind my back; because this has already happened once, and I will only repeat the path of others who have walked the same road before me.

R epresentatives of the mayor.

First. How outrageous! The play claims that there are no toilets left in Moscow! that there is everything here: chic restaurants, casinos, underground garages, and fountains, and that there were no toilets before, and there are no toilets now, and that puzzled citizens and guests of the capital have to go to the gateways to relieve their needs, as if they were minor , and big!
Second. And what kind of word is this: “outhouses”! Couldn't it have been said: "toilets"? Why so highlight the richness of our Russian language?
First. But the most outrageous thing is the statement about personal golden toilets, which are allegedly installed in the armored limousines of officials of this city, who, precisely for this reason, don’t care about toilets!
Second. You and I agreed not to use the word “toilets”!
First. How can one not use this damned word, how can one not talk about these toilets, if tomorrow at a meeting of the mayor’s office they ask me where the toilets in Moscow went, and I answer that instead of them we built a hundred first-class fountains?!
Second. Say that Muscovites and guests of the capital who admire the fountains forget to relieve themselves of various kinds, and that the need for toilets will soon completely disappear, we just need to build more fountains!
First. Thank you for the advice, I’ll say so at the meeting at the mayor’s office.

Deputies of the State Duma.

First. And why are deputies always being bullied? It’s almost like the deputies are to blame, they didn’t pass such a bill, they are complete lackeys and will sign everything that is handed to them... Are you signing everything that is handed to you?
Second. I don’t sign anything at all, I have a special seal that imitates my signature, and I attach it to the papers.
First. You see, I don’t sign anything, because I have exactly the same seal; but they say: the deputies are corrupt, and they sign everything they submit! I would be ashamed to say that!
Second. A play like this should be banned; and it’s best to shoot both the author and the director, so that others will be discouraged!
First. What kind of executions? Still, don’t forget that we have a democracy!
Second. Under democracy they shoot no less than under tyranny!
First. Then a bill should be introduced to ban such plays because they offend public morals.
Second. Would you sign such a bill?
First. No, I told you that I don’t sign anything, but put a stamp on it.
Second. Well then, I won’t sign either. Let them say after this that we are all conservatives and are stifling freedom!

Someone passing through from Nizhnego.

No one. I myself am here by chance, passing through from Nizhny; I wanted, you know, to go to the Tretyakov Gallery and become familiar with the lofty, but I ended up at this performance, where, I must admit, I didn’t understand a single thing! You don’t know where they serve set meals here, you really want to eat before the train, you just have everything in the pit of your stomach! and, excuse me, I don’t have the funds for caviar and sandwiches in the buffet; We, sorry, in Nizhny are not as luxurious as here in Moscow, everything is simpler and more decent here. By the way, you don’t know why they let me in for free; in Nizhny they would have torn off three skins from me for such a performance?!

Two young people, extremely cheerful.

First. Wow, this hasn't happened in a long time! The spirit of Pushkin and Gogol hovered over the stage today, and only they, it seems, were not enough to complete this evening with dignity!
Second (shouting). I call Pushkin! I call Gogol!
First. You're a fool, you're screaming, what if they really show up!

Slight shaking of air. Dukh and A.S. appear. Pushkina and N.V. G o g o l i.

D u x P u sh k i n a. Did you call Pushkin? (Looks around curiously.) Bah, what a doomsday, everything is like the good old days! Nothing, gentlemen, changes in the world, and only brilliant poems and brilliant plays control the structure of this universe!
D u x G o g o l i. Did you call Gogol? (Looks around carefully.) Bah, can’t it be you, brother Pushkin?!
Pushkin. Bah, no way it’s you, brother Gogol!
G o g o l. Who else should it be if not me? They called me out of the darkness, from the underground kingdom of Hades, or where I am now, but why they called me, I can’t imagine! here, even without you and me, brother Pushkin, there are authors who have something to say to the common people; who have something to say to this despicable plebs, whom we, friend Pushkin, always made fun of, whom we sincerely despised, and on whom we always depended, like a schoolboy on a strict mathematics teacher!
Pushkin. Yes, friend Gogol, your truth is that the plebs are ridiculous and pathetic, be it an important official, a theater master, a socialite, a member of parliament, or an illiterate provincial; The plebs are always low and at the same time high, because apart from us, the chosen ones, and this despicable plebs, there is nothing at all in the world; and as for the author of the play, we really have nothing to do here; It’s not that he outdid us, because, as we know, it’s generally impossible to outshine us; but he simply came at the right time, and brought the right play, so let's wish him all the best, and let's go back where we came from.
G o g o l. Yes, it never hurt to wish the comedian prosperity and good luck at all times. I wish you, new author, happiness and prosperity, may your days on earth last, and may you not die of happiness at the sight of the first, as well as the second, third and hundredth luck, but patiently reach the end, carrying on your back the eternal cross of rejection and glory!
Pushkin. And I wish the same for you, current comedian! Be happy and contact us whenever you need it!

Both disappear.
The crowd of the theater dissipates.
Cars appear.

Author. Oh my God, viewer, viewer, viewer! O contemporary viewer! However, the viewer is the same in all centuries, and the modern viewer is no different from the viewer of the times of Nero and Seneca, and Nero himself is no different from the current emperors and autocrats of various kinds and types. Everything changes, and everything is unchanged, only the scenery changes its color and pattern, and the hats on the heads of the actresses are either sprinkled with flies, or lined on the sides with a white or black veil. And everything else remains the same at all times. At all times, passions run high on stage, the author seeks to ridicule Caesar, and Caesar for this sends him a handful of gold denarii as a gift, and then orders him either to open his veins, or orders him to secretly strangle him in some alley. Nothing changes, nothing! At all times, public lists, public baths and public toilets serve as a synonym for a non-existent public, which either rises to unprecedented heights, or is trampled into the mud, watered by the tears of a gullible spectator, then torn to pieces by the gladiator’s comrades and the urine of the eternal plebs, your only judge, author, modest comedy! He, this plebs, now taking the guise of Caesar, now an important minister, now a critic, now a slutty wench, now ranting about a non-existent fanfare, now a reasoner making flat jokes - he, this eternal plebs, will be your eternal judge, modest author of comedy! You are connected with him by invisible bonds, you hate him, you fear him, and at the same time you adore him, because you have no one else. You are alone, the author of a comedy, you have no family, no friends, no attachments, no true love, for your love is comedy and striking laughter, behind which are hidden the bitter tears of your sleepless nights, filled with crazy inspiration and crazy ups, prayers to immortal Muses and no less insane fall into the abyss of creative impotence. So thank fate for the fact, O comedian, that you have this pathetic plebs, whom you both idolize and hate, for this eternal spectator of yours, connected to you by an eternal chain of success and defeat. Laugh with him, rejoice and shed bitter tears, for such is your theatrical life, and you have no other life and never will. I greet you, my eternal viewer, and do not judge, if possible, too harshly the weak comedian, because your approval will help me live until tomorrow morning, and your condemnation will force me to open my veins, which, however, have been opened more than once, for more than once you admired me and doomed me to eternal torment! (Raises his hands up.) Hello, O sun of a new day, and if I see you again, illuminate for me those mysterious letters, those pages of a new comedy, which, unheard by anyone, is already knocking, like a newborn chick, on the fragile shell of my heart!

Lowering his head, he enters the theater.
The doors slam shut.
The area in front of the theater is empty.

End.

One act play

He.
She.

A room that can conventionally be called a room - the convention stems from the lighting, as well as from the draperies and various covers with which the walls are covered and the furniture is covered: ordinary walls and ordinary furniture, which, however, are in a state of some kind of evacuation, some expectations stemming, obviously, from the internal state of the characters - Ego and E e. Life on suitcases, life in anticipation of the impending departure - this is how one could call the state of the characters in the play and the position of the objects surrounding them; which, by the way, as the state of anticipation and the atmosphere of evacuation subsides, they may well take on the appearance of an ordinary living room somewhere on the top floor of one of the Moscow high-rise buildings, located on the very edge of the city; this is, obviously, really the edge of Moscow: outside the windows there are many lakes, forest plantations, swamps, but all these landscapes are also muted, and, obviously, covered by a curtain of rain; upon careful study - and the entire back wall of the room is one unclear and foggy landscape - you can find a striking resemblance to the landscapes depicted by Leonardo behind his mysterious Mona Lisa: the same rivers, streams, groves, fogs, creating a feeling of eternity and mystery of existence . By the way, instead of landscapes outside the windows on the back wall, replacing them, one, smiling and mysterious Mona Lisa can hang. Although, on the other hand, the action still takes place under the roof of one of the old Moscow high-rise buildings, located somewhere on the outskirts of the city. It is impossible to say anything more definite either about the room or about the landscapes outside the window.
Evening or night. He lies with his hands behind his head, apparently waiting for something. The door opens and Ona comes in.

She (takes off her shoes at the door, worried). What a strange place: not a single passerby, only lanterns, and these endless paths along the banks of ponds and swamps. I heard ducks quack in the dark. Imagine: a solid wall of reeds, the quack of ducks, and this continuous frog concert, from which you can simply go crazy. (Listens to something outside the windows.) Hear, hear, it’s them again! (Wrinkles his forehead, trying to understand something.) Don’t you think it’s strange that these swamps exist almost in the center of Moscow? Really, it’s strange, isn’t it, some kind of Middle Ages?!
Oh (rising from the sofa, smoothing his hair with his hands). There is nothing strange about this, Moscow is a huge city, a modern metropolis, stretching for almost a hundred kilometers, and inside it you can find everything you want, including ponds with ducks and frogs. Just think - frogs in the pond, something unprecedented in these times! By the way, in the area of ​​the Ostankino TV tower you can easily see a flying saucer. They say that the TV tower area is a favorite meeting place for intelligent aliens. They just hang there in whole bunches, like ripe plums on a tree, and for some reason no one is surprised by this. Everyone has gotten used to it, and they simply don’t see them point-blank anymore, as if they don’t exist in nature. It’s as if normal life simply exists, and all these fabulous starships, aliens, spacesuits, humanoids and little green men never existed at all. People are so sucked in by their ordinary everyday life problems that they simply don’t care about all these aliens invented by science fiction writers, even if they are more complex and amazing than anything that storytellers and poets have come up with. Swamps with frogs are much more real than wide, illuminated streets filled with pedestrians and cars. So calmly walk along the paths past the ponds and swamps, listen to the noise of the reeds and the quacking of the ducks, and don’t think about anything extraneous. Pretend that nothing extraneous exists; except you, me, this room, and these endless ponds and swamps outside the window, in which frogs and ducks live.
She. Do you really think this is the right thing to do?
He. Yes, I think that will be exactly the case!
Oh na (comes to the window). How high it is here, not like your aunt’s, in our cozy little nest, because it’s on the third floor, and here it’ll probably be a hundred.
He. Forget about your aunt, we won't live with her anymore.
She. And where will we live? Here, in this hotel?
He. Yes, in this hotel, one hundred and one floors higher than your aunt’s, in our cozy nest.
She. Auntie had such a good time, and we had to sign with you. You promised to marry me because we will have a child.
He. Yes, I promised, but, you know, I need to finish the report first.
Oh na (pouting lips, feignedly). Oh, nasty, it’s always like this with you; You are always writing and writing something: now reports, now these stories of yours about the stars.
He. I haven’t written stories about stars for a long time, I write novels about life and death, and also, perhaps, about love and hate; very thick and very solid. In general, over the last twenty years I have become incredibly respectable and fat.
Oh na (surprised). Yes, you have clearly gained weight in the few days that we have been living in this hotel. And the hair on your head seems to have become thinner.
Oh (irritated). I repeat to you that this is not a hotel, and that not a few days have passed. You simply don’t know anything, and therefore it’s better to walk along your endless paths with frogs and reeds, and think about eternity and fate. Understand: I urgently need to finish the report, otherwise everything will start all over again, and we will again not get to your stupid aunt, in our cozy room on the third floor of an old five-story building.
Oh na (offended). And my aunt is not stupid, there is no point in slandering her in vain! Be grateful that she gave us her room, while she and her two children huddle in the hallway and pretend that this doesn’t bother her at all. (Trustingly, caressing towards Him.) You know, she still hopes that you will finally propose to me; You may not realize it, but I, too, have gained some weight. (Strokes himself on the stomach.) Girls, you know, can also sometimes gain some weight. You are not the only one who has gained weight and lost some of the hair on the top of your head; I could also allow myself to become at least a little fatter! (Walks around the room and strokes his slightly protruding belly.) Do you think it’s not very big?
He is screaming). Oh, leave those cunning things of yours! Stop these feminine tricks and evasions of yours, stop blackmailing me! I have no time for your imaginary belly and these cute insidious tricks; I need to finish the report urgently.
Oh na (offended). Please finish if this is important to you; Just don't yell at me and don't think it's tricky. (He approaches the table and picks up a stack of sheets of paper.) Is this your stupid report?
He is screaming). Put everything back in its place immediately! Put it down, otherwise we'll never get out of this damn place!
Ohna (perplexed). Can't we get out? from this hotel?
He is screaming). Yes, yes, damn it, otherwise we'll never get out of this hotel!

Pause.
She vaguely walks around the room, touches various things, examines them critically, shakes her head doubtfully, then decisively turns to Him.

She. I don't like it here. My aunt's was much nicer. This bed of ours with metal pom-pom balls, so old and so reliable, cannot be compared with your stupid sofa (he kicks the sofa with annoyance.) And our shelf with books, so small and so comfortable; You could always put notes on top of it. (Looks around.) Why don’t you have a single book here? Do you really not want to read?
He is screaming). Here with us, you understand this - with us! - everything here is ours, common, the same as your stupid aunt’s! There is nothing here that is mine or yours separately, everything here belongs to the two of us: me and you.
Ohna (objecting). I don’t need this stupid sofa, it’s probably very disgusting to sit on; I need my bed with metal pom pom balls. The same one that stands in our room, in my evil aunt’s apartment, on the third floor of a building on Shchelkovskoye Highway. (With doubt.) And here, below, what street is outside the window?
He. There is no street here, this is a completely special area; here there are only ponds with ducks and frogs, and also thickets of endless reeds, in which, obviously, something also lives: crucian carp, for example, or perch, or pike; Someone is sure to live in the reeds, maybe some birds, or rats, like an otter or a muskrat. But this has nothing to do with the matter, how do you not understand this?
She. Rats? Why rats, don't need rats, I don't want rats! (In fright, he climbs onto the sofa, tucks his legs under him.) There were no rats in my aunt’s apartment, let’s go back there, to our bed with balls, a shelf with books and notes. By the way, why don’t I see your notes? Don’t you review the material you covered during the holidays?
Oh (in despair). No, I don't want to repeat anything; I’m damn tired of repeating what has happened, I want change, you understand - change! No notes, no lectures, nothing to remind me of the past; only the future, which, unfortunately, still has not arrived; no schoolwork, no studying, no repetition of what has been learned; only the future, which, like the rising sun, should illuminate everything anew and put an end to the chimeras of the night. That’s why, dear, I haven’t used any notes for a long time.
Ohna (objecting). But you are writing this important report of yours! What is he talking about, if this is, of course, no secret, about that failed laboratory work of yours that you were forced to retake twice? Do you remember a week ago, there was still talk about superconductivity and the transfer of energy over a distance?
He is screaming). No, a thousand times no, this has nothing to do with superconductivity! and this also has nothing to do with the transfer of energy over a distance; I already said that this is a report about you and me, about the two of us, about our common life.
Oh na (critically). What kind of common life can there be if, apart from the proposal - I don’t argue, it was very unusual and beautiful, although it made everyone laugh very much - if besides this proposal with flowers and a cake for all my closest friends, you did absolutely nothing positive; nothing positive; you don’t want to see my growing belly, you don’t care about the experiences of my aunt, who feels sorry for me, and that’s the only reason she doesn’t kick us out into the street, into the snow and frost. (Indifferently hopeless.) If you don’t marry me, I’ll commit suicide.
Oh (quietly, insinuatingly). Yes, what will you do? Will you drink poison, or, say, jump out of the window? or maybe you'll lie down on the rails like Anna Karenina? Do you know, there are many ways to commit suicide, which one would you prefer at the moment?
Ohna (just as indifferently, shrugging her shoulders). I haven't decided yet, I need to think about it.
He. Well, think, think, and in the meantime I’ll write a report.

He sits down at the table, pushes a pile of sheets towards him, thinks, resting his cheek on his hand, then a couple of times impulsively begins to write something, but then throws the pen on the table, leans back in his chair, throws his hands behind his head, and, staring at the window opening, motionless freezes in place.

Oh na (mockingly). What, you can't write? What are you writing now, again a story about traveling in space? will you give it to that editor of yours from the magazine, who has already returned ten things to you without having read any of them to the end? Aren't you tired of dealing with this bastard yet?

He sits silently on a chair, staring out the window, and is silent. There was an expression of disgusted indifference on his face.

Ohna (comes up from behind, hugs her shoulders). Are you upset about something? Can't find a plot for a story? Are you really worried about this? You know, when three days ago you told me about your adventures on public transport, do you remember how you came across lucky numbers on your tickets one after another, and any, even your most unusual, wish came true? Beautiful girls were smiling at you, the weather was constantly changing on the street, it was raining, then the sun appeared again from behind the clouds, then suddenly the tram, for no apparent reason, stopped in the one place you needed? - so, when three days ago you told me about these lucky numbers on the tickets, I immediately thought that this was a very good plot for a story; for a fantasy story, since you have certainly decided to devote yourself only to fantasy. Imagine: a person on public transport - let it again, as in your case, be a tram - receives an irredeemable lucky ticket; like an irredeemable ruble, remember this story from the Strugatsky brothers! - and so he travels with this lucky ticket of his, transfers from a tram to a bus, gets on the metro from a bus, can even ride in a taxi or travel on an airplane, and all this is completely free, although no one around him has any idea about anything, but everyone they just smile vying with each other, especially beautiful girls, flight attendants, conductors, etc., and offer him all kinds of help; and he revels in this power of his, and still does not fully know where this irredeemable ticket came from? and at the very end, when he is already quite bored with endless happiness, he gives his ticket to some student in a hurry to go on a date, whose entire future life depends on it, and who would never be able to get to his girlfriend in the usual way; to a girl who is alone and can make him happy. Can you imagine how beautiful and noble this is: the former lucky man, tired of the endless fulfillment of desires, shares his power with an unhappy young man in love, who, it would seem, cannot be helped with anything, and he himself returns to a quiet and peaceful life, because he is also a student, and a quiet and modest girl is also waiting for him somewhere in a secluded room; to whom he also proposes, because this can no longer be delayed; because he promised her so much, and she gave him so much, the most precious thing she had in the world - because if he did not give his lucky ticket to another and did not return to his waiting beloved, she might would do something terrible; something that he will really, really regret.
Oh (sarcastically). In a small, cozy room, on the third floor along Shchelkovskoye Highway, in the apartment of your noisy aunt, who has quieted down for the time being, because she, like you, is waiting for a decisive proposal from me? a marriage proposal, which I still don’t do and don’t do, although for some reason your tummy grows and grows day by day; just like that, for no apparent reason, suddenly it slowly grows and grows until it grows big, big, the size of a watermelon, or the size of Mount Chomolungma, and in the end it explodes with a deafening crash, scattering into thousands of small parts, and from it thousands of small and pretty children will not appear, such curly and ruddy devils who will surround me on all sides like countless locusts, clog my nose, ears, eyes, stick to my mouth, hang on my arms and legs, and I will no longer I can write nothing, not a line, not a paragraph, not a single fantastic story about happy irredeemable tickets, unhappy students who do not have time to meet their beloved, but only hourly and every day, having abandoned literature and college, I will begin to unload cars at the station, earning pennies for the whole this screaming and sucking abyss, which requires only one thing: to eat, eat and eat, and which doesn’t give a damn about all my very real and not so Napoleonic plans?! who will bury me with you in a quiet, cozy room on the third floor along Shchelkovskoye Highway, in the apartment of your noisy aunt, who immediately after that will put us outside into the snow, frost and scorching sun? and then it’s not you, but I, who will be forced to commit suicide, and the story about the irredeemable ticket will be written by someone else, maybe even that same student who managed to go on a date with his beloved at the last moment? and you will remain a young widow with a whole brood of pretty and rosy imps in your arms, and someone else will caress and console you; someone who has a bit of free time left; who was given this very drop of free time; who was not put under pressure and did not hang over his soul in the form of a sharpened Damocles tamahawk, was not forced to put an end to his entire successful future, in which there is a place for everything, including you, and, perhaps, this screaming and sucking swarm of your ruddy and curly infuriating, but which requires only one thing - time, a little respite, which you stubbornly refuse to give me? (Screams.) Why don’t you want to give me this small, vital respite? why did you torture me with your countless ultimatums? why did you hang on me with all this swarm of unborn curly-haired villains? Why are you constantly threatening to either jump out of the window, or get poisoned, or open your veins, or do something else disgusting and terrible? Why do you invariably and inevitably turn into your stupid and grumpy aunt, from whom you want to run, clasping your head in your hands, to somewhere far away, even to the ends of the earth? why are you quickly becoming a bitch? a girl who cannot be married under any circumstances; even if her huge insatiable belly grows and grows day by day; why, answer me, damn why?

She starts quietly, then sobs louder and louder.
He quickly walks from corner to corner, clutching his head, repeating: “No, this is unbearable, I can’t stand it, every time it’s the same, like in the circus, like a horse running in a circle under the blows of the driver!”

Oh na (through sobs). Insensitive, unbearable, heartless, why did you walk with me along the walls of the Novodevichy Convent, why did you kiss me in the snow, why did you confess your love, give flowers and make such an unusual proposal that is made only in books? Why did you captivate me with your stories about distant islands and fabulous travels, why did you fool me and my friends, who were completely stunned by your sudden visits and advised me to leave all my suitors, of whom I had so many that I could always choose the most worthy of them? and attractive?
He. I was simply one of them, your many suitors, and, apparently, I turned out to be the most worthy and most attractive.
She. Why did you make me tear up my fan letters?
He. I was jealous, what was wrong with that?
She. Why did you agree to exchange your student dormitory for this room in the apartment of my kind aunt, who, out of kindness, still hasn’t kicked us out into the snow and cold, although we both deserved it long ago?
He. I thought that in calm conditions it would be easier for me to write my fantasy stories.
She. Why did you give me a big, round belly, so huge that it’s inconvenient for me to go to college, because going there as an abandoned fool means ridicule from friends and sympathetic whispers from teachers?
He. Then, this is how intimacy between two young people always ends, because nature, as always, takes precedence over caution and rationality; because it always has been and always will be; Finally, remember the story of Romeo and Juliet; remember that they, like us, had to make a lot of mistakes.
Oh na (desperately). Why haven’t you married me yet, why haven’t you legitimized my large and round belly, which, perhaps, is not visible to a prying eye, but which will be so in the very shortest time?
He. Because I am not psychologically ready to tie the knot; because I am still an inexperienced young man, pondering my life and existence, deciding, but still unable to solve the main question of philosophy, dreaming of becoming a great writer, and fearing a quiet family hearth no less than the most severe natural disaster: an earthquake or a locust invasion ! (Suddenly running his hand over his eyes.) However, now I don’t care anymore, I’m tired, I can’t stand this endlessly repetitive and annoying conversation; I’m sorry, but I need to lie down and at least get a little rest from everything; take a break from this endless running in circles, from the flapping of the whip and the laughter of the drunken audience in the booth; who doesn’t care how many laps I’ve already run, how many times the burning whip has touched my lathered skin, and when, in the end, all this will end.

He goes to the sofa, lies down, and immediately falls asleep.
She approaches the table, mechanically picks up the report, shuffles through the sheets, then begins to read.

She is reading). “In this latest report, which, like all previous ones, will obviously not be accepted by the Commission, I still maintain that I acted correctly, moreover, the only correct one; the future was in my hands, the future trembled in the balance, and the future of both of us depended on my actions, dear gentlemen, members of the Commission; I didn’t dare to tie the knot, put an end to my future life, or cross out my career; further events, my whole life, all my books, my family, my friends, children, fame - my entire future life path confirms this as well as possible; I have benefited thousands, perhaps even millions of people; As for her crazy and unforgivable outburst, her terrible and stupid departure from life, then, I dare to hope, I, dear gentlemen, members of the Commission, have no direct connection with this; perhaps indirect, but in no way, not direct; however, despite this statement of mine, I am almost sure that this report of mine, written with blood and suffering, will not be accepted by respected gentlemen; Nevertheless, as before, I remain with my hard-won convictions, which may be misconceptions. Best regards, and so on. The date and date, of course, are not important.”

With a sad smile, he holds the papers in his hands for a while, then puts them on the table, writes something directly on them, and, quickly going up to the sofa, lightly kisses Ego’s temple; after that he disappears from the room.
He wakes up after a while, lies with his eyes open, with his hands behind his head, then gets up, goes to the table, takes the top sheet and reads the words written by Her: “Sorry, the report has not been accepted.” Silently sits down on a chair and sits for a long time, looking at the closed door.

After a long and painful silence, the door finally opens and Ona enters the room.
They both look into each other's eyes for a long time and silently.

A curtain

RESUSCITATION

Scenes of hospital life

FIRST PATIENT.
SECOND PATIENT.
FIRST SANITAR.
Second Sanitar.

A hospital room, completely empty, illuminated by the unbearably bright light of fluorescent lamps, painted a poisonous white; the paint on the walls and plaster on the ceiling had crumbled in places due to time and, obviously, dampness; the floor is smooth, covered with linoleum; there is a sink in the corner; there are no windows.

Scene one. Start

The door opens and the FIRST ORDER brings in the FIRST PATIENT on a gurney; places the gurney in the middle of the room, so that the patient's legs look directly at the audience; then he leaves, closing the door to the room.
Pause.
You can hear a thin stream of water flowing into the sink from the tap; gradually it turns into separate, tedious drops, one after another hitting the tile; uneven beats, reminiscent of the heartbeat of a person fighting for life; They either become more frequent or almost disappear completely.
The patient is motionless, only sometimes, reflexively, he slightly moves his bare toes.
Pause.
The drops fall at different rhythms.
The door opens with a creak, and into the room the Second Orderly, who, however, looks like two drops of water on the First, rolls a gurney-bed on which, motionless, with closed eyes, the SECOND PATIENT lies; he looks like the First, like two peas in a pod. The second orderly places the gurney-bed in the middle of the room, parallel to the first bed, and, turning indifferently, goes out the door, which, obviously, has not been lubricated for a long time, and closes with difficulty and with a creak.
Pause.
The heartbeats of both patients can be heard in the ward. The beats are convulsive and uneven.
Sometimes an uneven spasm runs through the patient's bare feet.
Pause.
Suddenly, the FIRST PATIENT convulsively rises up on the bed, opens his eyes and rolls them wildly around. Then he turns to the Second, and, seeing him, becomes indescribably excited, begins to wave his arms, tries to say something, but only wheezes, and eventually falls out of the bed onto the floor.
A red light comes on under the ceiling and begins to blink irregularly.
The door opens and the FIRST ORDER runs into the room, grabs the FIRST PATIENT in his arms, and, hastily throwing him onto a gurney, takes him out rooms.
The light bulb under the ceiling suddenly goes out, but instead of it, water begins to drip from the tap, the beating of the drops reminiscent of the rhythm of the dying beats of the heart. It is uneven, suddenly interrupted, then barely audibly resumed, and only very slowly, gradually, comes to a relatively even state. The door opens, and the First Orderly rolls into the First Patient’s room, puts the gurney in its original place, and, turning indifferently, leaves the room .
Silence. The fluorescent lights in the ceiling glow brightly.
Pause.
Suddenly, the Second Patient rises convulsively on the bed, wildly rotates his head and eyes to the sides, fixes his gaze on the First, and, seeing him, tries to reach out with his hands to the next bed, clinging with his fingers, but suddenly loses his balance and falls to the floor with a crash.
A red lamp lights up under the ceiling and begins to blink continuously.
The sounds of a siren are heard in the distance, the stomping of feet is heard, and the Second Orderly runs into the room, throwing the door wide open. He takes the fallen patient in his arms, somehow lays him on the bed, and, rolling it in front of him, runs headlong out of the room.
Unlubricated door hinges squeal disgustingly.
The light bulb under the ceiling goes out, but in the distance, the sound now increases and then decreases, a siren rings continuously. Then he falls silent.
Silence in which slowly, one by one, drops of water fall from the tap.
Gradually they turn into the beats of a sick heart fighting for life.
Hit.
Silence.
Hit.
Silence.
There is a very long pause, during which a spasm runs through the FIRST PATIENT’S feet from time to time, sometimes the fingers begin to move, but then the legs stretch even longer than before, and there is no sound in the ward nothing but the hum of bright fluorescent lights from the ceiling.
Silence.
Suddenly a trickle of water runs out of the tap and just as suddenly ends.
Pause.
Footsteps are heard in the distance, get closer, the door opens, and the Second Orderly rolls the SECOND PATIENT into the ward, puts the gurney in its original place, and , turning indifferently, leaves, closing the door with a creak. Both beds stand parallel, the patients lie with their bare heels towards the spectators, sometimes involuntarily moving their yellow dead fingers.
Silence, pause.
A trickle of water ran.
Footsteps were heard in the distance, approached the chamber, passed by, and disappeared somewhere around the bend.
Continuous hum of fluorescent lights.
Patients lie motionless.
Pause.

Blackout.

Scene two. Love

The First Patient suddenly opens his eyes, lies motionless for some time, then rises convulsively, looks around wildly, stops with his gaze at the Second Patient and looks at him for a long time, as if studying in face. Then he begins to smile for no reason, his face literally glows with happiness and joy, he lightly reaches out with his hand and pats his neighbor on the stomach.
The second patient opens his eyes, lies motionless for some time, then convulsively rises on the bed, looks at his neighbor, and gradually, through a mask of misunderstanding and indifference, maybe even non-existence, the understanding of happiness comes to him. He stretches his hands forward, clasps them with the hands of his newfound friend, and inexpressible, unearthly happiness spreads across his face.
For some time, absorbed in mutual love, both patients hold each other’s hands and quietly, happily smile at each other. They no longer need anyone in the world, because the whole world is contained for them in their newly found, only, and, perhaps, last friend, better than whom they can no longer find.
Pause.
The hands are still intertwined.
Pause.
The eyes are still fixed on the eyes.
Pause.
Love still flows throughout the ward.
A trickle of water ran.
THE FIRST PATIENT slowly, very slowly, very quietly, but inevitably, begins to fall onto his side, then slowly falls onto the bed and stretches out along it, convulsively jerking his arm and leg.
A red light flashes under the ceiling.
The beats of water imitate the pulse of a tired heart.
The door opens, the First Orderly appears in the ward and hastily takes the patient away.
Pause.
A trickle of water ran.
THE SECOND PATIENT agonizes on the bed. The second orderly takes the poor guy out the door.
The splash of water resembles agony.
The lamp under the ceiling blinks continuously.
Pause.
Suddenly everything stops, and the FIRST ORDER brings the FIRST PATIENT'S bed into the ward. Reinstalls it in its original place. Then he leaves.
Pause.
The second orderly rolls into the room of the second immobile patient. Both patients are lying in the same places.
Pause.
A small tremor ran down the FIRST PATIENT’S feet.
Pause.
The second patient weakly moved his yellow, dead little finger.
A very long pause.
A trickle of water dripped faintly and disappeared.

Blackout.

Scene three. Hatred

Same picture.
Pause.
A drop fell.
Then quickly again and again, anxiously and quickly.
The light bulb under the ceiling blinks alarmingly.
The patients are sitting on their beds, looking at each other with hatred.
Pause.
The patients push each other's beds away from them with hatred.
Pause.
The patients are fidgeting on the floor, trying to gnaw at their opponent’s throat.
Pause.
Two twisted bodies froze on the floor in unnatural positions.
The First and Second Orderlies take turns taking the bodies away from the ward.
A single drop fell.

Blackout.

Scene four. Astonishment

The fourth scene is built on the principle of the previous ones.
Scenes five, six and beyond: Progress, Relapse, Discharge and others are constructed similarly.
The sound of drops falling into a sink somewhere behind the stage.

Author.
Price

Author. O Censor, you decided to cross my path, forbidding me to write what flows from my soul overflowing with plots! You, being insignificant yourself, decided to forbid me to publish where I usually published. You, who cannot write two words clearly, you, who engage in such a low hobby in your leisure time that it is indecent to even mention, are you deciding whether I should continue to live or die? For the inability to publish means true death for me.
Price Yes, I have some influence on the editor of the magazine in which you intended to publish your works. But, firstly, it seemed to me that in one of them you showed me myself, and not in a very attractive form. And this, you must admit, is not very pleasant for me.
Author. Be silent, most insignificant of people! Possessing, as I already said, some influence on the editor I know, and, in addition, an unusually low soul, you were suddenly frightened when you saw yourself in one of my things. But, my dear, you just looked into one of the mirrors that I produce in huge quantities, for my works, my satires, are the mirrors into which many people look. Including you, my deeply adored Censor, for I adore fools like you, who provide me with fertile material for my little and innocent satires. Have you ever heard of the word “typical”? So, my dear friend, you are just faced with a case where in the particular you see the general, inherent in many people, including you. You are just a typical donkey, my deeply adored friend, who saw your disgusting donkey face in the mirror of my fairy tale. Look at her and bray like a donkey from your own powerlessness!
Price This will not happen, because I forbade the publication of your notorious fairy tale. This is the mirror in which, as you claim, many people, including me, see their donkey faces.
Author. Well then, dear ass, I will publish it elsewhere, or I will write a hundred more similar tales in which nonentities like you will still see themselves. I will scatter these fairy tales, these satires, these comedies throughout the world, I will install these mirrors of truth wherever possible, so that donkeys like you will not be able to hide from them anywhere. Any nonentity like you, who indulged his vanity in such a base occupation, which is even embarrassing to mention here (and you know that I am well acquainted with your personal life, and have had my fill, although not of my own free will, rummaged through your dirty laundry), - none of your kind will be able to dodge my immortal mirrors without seeing in them yourself, crowned with the crown of a respectable donkey. For satire, my friend, is immortal, and no one can ban it.
Price I will do it!
Author. No, my friend, you won't. No one before you could do this, and no one after you can do this. As for our specific case, it’s better to practice your unattractive hobby in silence, and don’t try to stop something that cannot be stopped. Satires were dedicated to emperors, and insignificant beggars, and even immortal gods, so where can you, the most insignificant rogue I know, hide from their crushing laughter!? Your profession, O Censor, is ridiculous and useless at all times, but your vices are vile and at first glance do not bother anyone. However, this is not so, for these vices are darkness, darkness and darkness, and it is the fear of recognizing oneself in the mirror of merciless satire that forces people like you to close the mirrors of eternal satire with curtains of shame. But this is a futile endeavor, my dear friend! Cook on the fire of your baseness an eternal stew of stupidity and obscenity, shake your saggy breasts of meanness and depravity, and do not try to prohibit what is impossible to prohibit. I said everything. Vale!

ACCOUNTANT

Scenes by the telephone

Disabled person.
Photographer.
Accountant.
The girl with the manometer.
A girl with a lamp.
The girl is in her hands.

Scene one

Phone on a background of empty space. The door opens and Invalid appears. He picks up the phone and dials the number.

I n v a l i d. Ale! Good afternoon Who is this? Is this an office? Give me an accountant! No accountant? Who is there? Do you have an accountant? What do you want? How much does a cubic meter of water cost? Who's speaking? The disabled person speaks. Ask the housing office accountant? She is sick in the head and inflates accounting figures. Why am I sick? I am sick according to health records. So you can’t tell us the secret numbers? Ask the housing office accountant? I'm telling you, she's sick in the head. In addition, it inflates accounting figures. And I am disabled by health records. I am entitled to a preferential network. What? Are you sick too, but they don’t give you a benefit? How much does a cubic meter of water cost? But you won’t tell me because you should ask an accountant? And I am disabled, and she is sick in the head. Do you give a damn because you’re sick too? But I don’t give a damn, because it’s a preferential system! And our accountant is sick in the head! And I am disabled in general matters! How much does a cubic meter of water cost? Ale! Ale!

All-clear beeps are heard. He hangs up the phone.

(Shouts.) I’ll put you on the general grid myself! I will bring you all to clean water!

He turns and leaves, extremely annoyed.

Scene two

The same Invalid, limping, returns to the room. There is now a chair and a small rug next to the phone. In the corner there is a ficus, or palm tree in a tub.

I nvalid (picks up the phone and dials the number). Ale! Who is this? Is this an office? This is not an office, this is electrical supplies? Where is the office? Is the office now on a new phone number? 3 - 10 - 11 - 19? Hello, girl, don't hang up! How much do world supplies cost? How many people? For one disabled person! According to the grid, or according to the certificate? According to the certificate and general condition? Is it better to ask the housing office accountant? She shifts and steals energy! Do you give a damn, and I don’t care either? I’m not disabled, I’m in good health and I’m in good general condition! What? Did you recognize me even without a certificate? Hello, girl, don't hang up!

There are beeps on the phone. Throws the phone on the floor.

(Screams.) I’ll recognize you too, and I’ll make you dry in the sun! They steal energy, but I have a stamped certificate!

He leaves, angrily kicking the rug with his foot.

Scene three

A room, a telephone on a stand, a rug, a palm tree in the corner, paintings and photographs on the walls; dim landscape in the open window.

I nvalid (enters, limping, on a crutch, picks up the phone, dials and screams at the same time). Hello, I'm disabled! Is this a general affairs office? What? Did the office burn down? Let's get some water fillers then! What? Are the fillers temporarily not working? Then let's power the lighting! Has your energy temporarily run out? Who's on the phone? Sewer duty and wastewater exposure? Hello, girl, how much does a cubic meter of impact cost? Should you ask your housing office accountant? She's with a shift, and steals the cleanup! Do you give a damn, you're already up to your neck in the sewer? And I am disabled with a certificate for general diseases! Do you even care if all the pipes burst? And my certificate was already burst, and the certificate was wet!

He pulls out a wet certificate from his pocket.

(Screams.) Ale, ale! Girl, can you hear me?

There are beeps in the tube, interrupted by the sound of flushing and juicy gurgling. He screams, kicks the rug with his foot, and hits paintings and photographs with a crutch.

(Screams.) There are thieves everywhere, but my certificate is wet! Well, it’s okay, I’ll dig you up in the sewer with a certificate!

He leaves, limping heavily, clutching a wet certificate in his hand.

Scene four

A room in which chairs, cabinets, shelves and books were added, a large carpet on the floor, which replaced a small rug, as well as the GIRLS with a pressure meter, electric with a light bulb and a toilet in your hands. Here is the photographer, calmly arranging the tripod of his camera.

I nvalid (runs in on a crutch, a certificate with the only word “CERTIFICAT”, as well as a round stamp, sticking out of his pocket; shouts at the DEVICE and the PHOTOGRAPHER). I am disabled! I have a certificate! How much do water treatments cost?
The girl with the meter (crouching, as in a curtsy). One hundred and forty rubles, your honor!
I N V A L I D. I am not mercy! I'm online for general questions! I will bring you all to clean water!

He hits the Maiden with a crutch with a meter, hits the phone and everything that comes to hand, after which he runs away from the room.
The photographer calmly takes out the photograph, puts it in a frame, and hangs it crookedly on the impoverished wall.

P h o to g r a f (with respect). Always welcome to a good person!

Blackout.

Scene five

The same.

INVALID (on two crutches and with a certificate in his pocket, he runs into the room and shouts right from the threshold). I am disabled! I have a certificate! We also have an accountant with a shift! How much do electrical options cost?
Maid with a light bulb (guiltyly, lowering her eyes, stepping forward). Thirty cents, monsieur champion!
I nvalid (gloatingly). Yeah, gotcha, you worthless pimp! (He hits her and the light bulb with his crutch, and also smashes everything around that breaks; he runs out of the room, waving the crutch and the stamped certificate.)
Photographer (in vain handing him the photo card). Panova, you are charging twenty zlotys for the photographer’s services! (He shrugs his shoulders in bewilderment and hangs the photograph on the ruined wall.)

Temporary blackout.

Scene six

The same thing, the room is quite ruined, but somehow put back in place.

I nvalid (runs in with a bunch of crutches under his arms and in his hands; his head is wrapped in a wide bandage; in his pocket he has a stack of certificates with a seal; he throws the crutches into the hall and to the sides, shouts victoriously). Ale, I’m disabled, our accountant drowned in cleaning!
The girl is holding her head in her hands (decidedly stepping forward). Comrade, there is no need to create tragedies! We'll clean everything up and the accountant will be back!
I nvalid (shouts joyfully). Hurray, I found a real estate dealer!

He hits her with a crutch.

(Screams.) I’m disabled, you can’t get away from me!

He breaks the phone with a crutch and throws its remains towards the audience.

(Shouts.) I have information and general questions!

Throws paintings and photographs into the hall.

(Screams.) I will dry you all with a certificate and without cleaning!

He pushes cabinets and bookshelves, throws chairs into the hall, followed by a carpet.

(Screams.) And our accountant is also shifty!

Throws a stack of stamped certificates at the audience.

Scene seven

The door opens and Buhgalter comes in.

B u h g a l t e r (wet and with a pump for pumping in hand). Who called the accountant here?

Silent scene from the Invalid, the Accountant, the Photographer and all three Maidens. Invalid froze with his crutch raised above his head, with the certificate clutched in his hand and with such a malicious expression on his face that shows everyone that he has finally brought the thief to light. He is a sincere man, and had nothing in his thoughts except to expose the criminal gang. The photographer bent down, putting his head under the dark cape of his camera, astonished by the appearance of Bukhgalter no less than the others, hoping, if possible, to leave him in the photograph for posterity.
The accountant with a pump for pumping in her hands does not understand absolutely anything, because she had just struggled with a terrible cold stream that sucked her into the dungeon, exhausted and no longer hoping to come out alive, and, transferred by some miraculous force to the top , was taken aback, blinded by the splashing light. Moreover, she is wet and uncomfortable.
The girl with the pressure meter looks in horror at the needle of the device, as if she were reading there an announcement about the end of the world.
The girl with an electric light bulb, very large and made of soft rubber, because otherwise she would not have been able to withstand the crutches Inval and yes, she raised it up, like a lamp of happiness, thereby symbolizing the appearance of a light of truth. On her face we read indescribable bliss.
The girl, on the contrary, clutched him in her arms, like a child that evil people were going to maliciously take away. On her face we read fear and determination not to give it to anyone. Slowly but inevitably, filling the air with the fragrance of the steppes, a bouquet of delicate violets blooms over her white treasure.
Continuous rattling of a non-existent phone.

A curtain.

FRUITS OF ENLIGHTENMENT

Little comedy

L o l i t a, schoolgirl, 13 years old.
Judge.
FIRST PRIVATE.
SECOND PRIVATE.
ANSWER, Deputy Minister of Education.
Pub l i c a in the hall.

Judge. So, Lolita, are you saying that Darwin’s teaching about the origin of all life on earth contradicts Holy Scripture, and on this basis it is false?
L o l i t a. Yes, Your Grace.
Judge. I'm not your lordship, call me your honor. However, if you want, you can call me your lordship, for such a little girl I will make an exception.
L o l i t a. Okay, Your Grace.
Judge. And on this basis, that is, on the falsity of Darwin's teachings, which contradicts Holy Scripture, you are suing the Ministry of Education?
L o l i t a. Absolutely true; I don’t want to study at school what contradicts my inner beliefs, and I ask that Darwin’s teachings be removed from the school curriculum!
Judge. Did you come up with this yourself?
L o l i t a. No, we came up with it together with dad. (Looks at father.)
Judge. It’s good that you answer honestly, now let’s listen to the opposite side.

L o l i t u is replaced by an answerer.

ANSWER: I have been working in public education for forty years, and I have never heard of such little girls making any accusations against us. In the old days she would have been expelled from school.
Judge. Times are different now.
ANSWER: Yes, that's true. How true it is that, being a professor of physics, I absolutely do not believe in the Holy Scriptures, which, moreover, I have never even held in my hands, and I consider everything that is written there to be nonsense!
Judgment (also reasonable). How can you consider something that you have never read to be nonsense?
ANSWER: I do not need to read anything to form an opinion on a subject, I rely on the power of deduction and the intuition of a natural scientist!
Judge. Let's say. So, you consider everything written in the Holy Scriptures to be false, and propose not to touch the teachings of Darwin, as the only true one, and in accordance with the school curriculum?
ANSWER: Absolutely correct. And, besides, I propose to expel Lolita from school, first flogging her on the first day, and prohibiting her from engaging in official science!
L o l i t a (from her seat). I don’t give a damn about your science, but as for flogging, you can do it with your own grandmother!
ANSWER: What a grandmother, I’m already a grandfather myself, I’ll soon be approaching eighty!
L o l i t a (sarcastically). That's it, you old stump, you defend all sorts of rubbish!
Judge (in protest). Stop, stop, remarks from either side are not accepted. So, there are two clearly and unambiguously stated opinions, which we will ask the jury to express!

The jurors talk animatedly among themselves, then take turns speaking.

FIRST PRIVATE. We conferred here, and our opinions were divided. For example, I believe that Lolita is right, and the earth, as well as all life on it, was created by God six and a half thousand years ago. There was no evolution, and therefore Darwin’s teachings are completely false and reactionary!
ANSWER (from the spot). Maybe dinosaurs never existed?
First juror. Have you ever seen them yourself?
ANSWER: But they find bones, after all!
FIRST PRIVATE. The dice could easily have been tossed!
ANSWER: Who can give me a lift?
FIRST PRIVATE. The devil is a plant, but you believe him!
ANSWER: Or maybe there are no stars in the sky?
FIRST PRIVATE. Have you touched these stars with your hands, have you walked on them with your feet? Maybe these are just lanterns lit by the Lord God!
O ANSWER: Oh God, what kind of obscurantism, what kind of heresy!
L o l i t a (from her seat). You see, he used the name of God! Still, you can’t do without a creator!
Judge (knocks with the hammer again). Okay, we've heard from half the jury; Let's listen to the second half now!
Second Juror (coming to the stand). We conferred here, and our opinions were divided. I, for example, and that part of the jury that agrees with me, believe that Darwin's teachings are correct and should be left in textbooks. The teaching of the church should be prohibited, as it sows obscurantism and clogs the brains of modern students!
L o l i t a (from her seat). You yourself are an obscurantist, but my brain is in perfect order!
ANSWER (from the spot). Well, I told you that we should flog her; at least for contempt of court!
Judge (knocking with his hammer). That's enough, that's enough, let me think! So, we have listened to two opposing opinions calling for banning Darwin's teachings, or, conversely, leaving it in the school curriculum. I thought all night about this dilemma, and, to be honest, I could not resolve it,
ANSWER: But why, because everything is clear as day!
L o l i t a. That's the thing, it's God's!
Judge (not paying attention). I, gentlemen, am ready to believe the Holy Scripture, but only if it explains to me where dinosaurs came from, or at least the bones that supposedly belong to them? And in the same way, I am ready to leave Darwin’s teachings at school, but only when I am allowed to touch a star and make sure that it is not a Chinese lantern hung by angels in the firmament of heaven, but something else that science has long convinced us of. In a word, gentlemen, lower a star from the sky for me, and bring at least a bad dinosaur into the courtroom, and until then, don’t interfere with the court’s work, because, gentlemen, there is a lot to do, and here you are with your ridiculous squabbles. (Finally hits the table with a hammer.)
ANSWER (in despair). Well, at least let me flog Lolita!
L o l i t a (sarcastically). Not until you kiss Darwin's monkey!
Someone from the public (sighing). Here they are, gentlemen, the fruits of the current enlightenment!

They all disperse, talking animatedly.

A curtain.

WHITE SILENCE

Little comedy

MAIN POLAR NIK.
1st mate
2nd assistant.
1st white honey.
2nd white honey.

The North Pole, White Silence spreads over many thousands of kilometers. Suddenly the ice swells and a bathyscaphe emerges from it. The lid opens, and conquerors of terrible depths emerge onto the ice floe.

MAIN POLAR. Hurray, we conquered the North Pole! We descended to a depth of 4 thousand meters!
1st assistant: We have accomplished an unprecedented feat that no one has done before us and will not do after us!
2nd assistant: We have staked out a shelf area with an area of ​​millions of kilometers, and now, as treasure hunters, we can single-handedly develop this gold mine!
CHIEF POLARNIK (opening a bottle of champagne and treating his colleagues). But the main thing, friends, is not this, the main thing is that we installed a titanium flag confirming our presence in this place on earth. We marked the northernmost point of the planet, just as polar bears, the true owners of these places, mark their territories. Now no one will dare to encroach on our territory, because the law of the titanium mark is the same for everyone.
1st Aide: Anyone who encroaches on this sacred territory will no longer have to deal with us, but with the power of an entire state, armed with missiles, planes and submarines! He will face such an unprecedented force that no one can resist!
2nd assistant. We will mine copper and diamonds, gold and uranium here, pump oil and gas, and everyone else will look at us and lick their fingers, because they didn’t think of being the first to put a titanium mark here!
CHIEF POLARNIK (finishing the champagne and throwing the bottle onto the ice). Yes, friends, we will call this wonderful country the land of White Silence, we will light thousands of artificial suns over it, we will encircle it with a network of transmitting antennas, each of which will buzz, choking with delight, about the feat of domestic science that has made this unimaginable breakthrough into the future!
1st assistant. Vivat to domestic science!
2nd assistant. Vivat to fearless polar explorers!
CHIEF POLAR NIK. And now, friends, according to the law of these harsh places, I myself, as the Chief Polar Explorer, like that polar bear that guards its territory, will mark these sacred lands.

He urinates in all four directions of the world.
Two white bears appear.

1st white honey. You don't know who is marking your territory?
2nd white honey. I don’t know, but the villain will pay dearly for this!

They pounce on polar explorers and tear them to shreds.

1st honey. Well, how do you like the meat of these alien invaders?
2nd medved. It’s disgusting, because I came across the oldest and most impudent one, the one who marked my treasured ice floe. I admit that I have never eaten such rotten meat in my life!
1st honey. Yes, I see, you couldn’t even swallow his beard!
2nd medved. Let this gray bast be swallowed by seagulls and hungry fish, but I won’t supplement with such a lousy piece of tow!
First. Yes, all science dudes taste incredibly disgusting, because they haven’t washed for years, dreaming of their great discoveries. I think that even hungry cuttlefish, seagulls and polar fish would disdain them!
Second. That's for sure, Canadian lumberjacks tasted much better. (Pervom.) Well, let's go, time is short, and there are more and more insolent people ready to mark our territory every year!
First. Let's go, buddy, the White Silence is already calling us with its eternal call!

They leave.
White Silence is spread to all four directions of the world.

End.

FUNNY CASE

Little comedy

1st akademik.
2nd akademik.
The president.
Great F i l o s o f.
A n g e l.
Secretary.

PRESIDENT (sitting at his desk, signing important papers). Well, what’s all the noise, I again can’t concentrate and sign the resignation letter of the presumptuous governor. They dig in, you know, they steal for nothing, and then I have to take the rap for them!
SECRETARY (leaning forward politely). Everyone is stealing from us, Mr. President! and the common people are even greater than the governors and officials; This, one might say, is such a fad in our country - to steal everything that is bad!
PRESIDENT (nervously). Don’t call me master, thank God, we have no masters for a long time, we have a sovereign democracy!
SECRETARY (bending politely). Yes, Mr. President!
PRESIDENT (satisfied). That's better! And as for theft, which has spread like a plague, you are wrong! How it spreads and how it will subside, you know, everything depends on the direction of the wind.
SECRETARY (still polite). Yes, Mr. President, the wind, of course, blows where it is told.
PRESIDENT (continuing the thought). And let's say, of course, we! So what's all the noise?
Secretary. It was the academicians who came to complain about the Lord God.
PRESIDENT (in surprise, putting his pen aside). To whom, to whom? on the Lord God? What exactly do they want?
Secretary. Give you the petition.
PRESIDENT (after thinking for a moment). Well, okay, let them come in, but without hysterics, and without this, you know, academic superiority. Like, we are great academicians, they say, we receive Nobel Prizes, but you are a simple president of the people, and we don’t care about you!
SECRETARY (scared). They don’t have such a thing in their minds; they know when to spit and when not to!
PRESIDENT: Well then ask, and if anything happens, kick him out the door!

The secretary introduces the academician.

1st academician (submits a petition to the President). Here is your honor's request, please consider it urgently and take the necessary measures!
PRESIDENT. I am not your honor, I am the president!
1st akademik: Yes, your honor!
PRESIDENT: That’s better. What is the meaning of your request?
2nd academician (coming forward). We complain about the dominance of obscurantists and clerics, and ask to protect us from the Lord God!
1st akademik (pushing his comrade). Life has completely disappeared from the dominance of the church, only you, Father Tsar, can help your servants!
PRESIDENT (reasonably). I'm not a tsar-father, I'm a president. What exactly do you want from me?
2nd academician (pushing away a friend). Crush, our benefactor, the unbelted ministers of the cult, and declare science the only true and invincible teaching!
PRESIDENT (softly). I am not your benefactor, I am someone else's benefactor; however, it doesn’t matter; And as for the clergy, we’ve already been through this!

There is a noise outside the door, the Great Philosopher enters with a banner in his hands.

Great Philosopher (from the threshold). Protect God, Mr. President, from the machinations of academic obscurantists, and they will carry you in their arms! Don't let atheistic propaganda take over faith and truth again! (Falls to his knees, continuing to hold the banner in his hands.)
PRESIDENT (he is clearly puzzled and does not know who to give preference to). Pin down the unruly clergymen? protect God from academic obscurantists? But what should I do, who should I give preference to? (He walks nervously around the office, squeezing his head with his hands.)

A white Angel flies from the ceiling.

A n g e l (in an angelic voice). Don’t rack your brains, Mr. President, and don’t give preference to either one or the other. There are fools everywhere. Drive away all these brethren, because just as God does not need anyone’s protection, so science is not at all threatened by churchmen and clerics.
PRESIDENT (surprised). No, its true?
ANGEL (in the same angelic voice). It couldn't be truer. And then goodbye, I don’t have time here anymore!

Disappears as suddenly as it appeared.

PRESIDENT (with an enlightened face, to the secretary). Drive everyone in the neck, and as painfully as possible!
SECRETARY (joyfully). Yes, Mr. President!

He chases everyone away and noisily slams the door behind them.

PRESIDENT (to himself). Wow, you barely got away! These academicians and philosophers pestered me! I’ll go and sleep for a couple of hours until someone comes again with a request and a new angel falls from the ceiling.

Stretching, he leaves.

3 canopy

Scene from the life of Oedipus

E d i p.
I o k a s t a.

I o k a s t a. I have to confess to you, Oedipus, that I am not only your wife, from whom you had children, but also your mother.
E d i p. My mother? What are you saying, crazy? Was it not this disgusting smell with which the gods punished Thebes that clouded your mind? How can you be my mother?
I o k a s t a. And yet, Oedipus, it is so. Moreover, that royal-looking man who drove the chariot and hit you with a whip, and you killed him in a fit of rage, know that this man is your father.
E d i p. My father? Did I kill my own father?
I o k a s t a. I set it all up this way. Know, my husband and my son, that from your very birth I have been inflamed with criminal love for you. I looked at the small, chubby baby and saw the grown man who would one day become my husband.
E d i p. Unhappy, is this possible?
I o k a s t a. Perhaps, if such thoughts are instilled in a person by some evil demon. This was obviously the case in my case! I burned with passion for my own son and committed one crime after another for her sake.
E d i p. What crime have you committed? tell me, don’t hide anything now!
I o k a s t a. I have already spoken about my criminal passion for you. Because of her, because of this criminal passion, your father, the king of the seven gates of Thebes, was forced to hate you. You turned out to be his rival, completely unaware of it. But the insightful king, your father, saw my criminal passion and gave the order for your death. I turned the father against the son, I made him the killer of the baby - it doesn’t matter that you didn’t die by accident, because the slave who was supposed to kill you disobeyed the will of the king and gave you to be raised by shepherds, from whom you eventually went to the big one. peace, - I made a murderer out of my husband, and for this the gods sent a terrible disaster to Thebes. That smell you were just talking about is the smell of human corpses decomposing in the sun, for for many years now a terrible pestilence has reigned in Thebes, sparing no one, neither infants nor decrepit old people.
E d i p. Your first crime is an unnatural passion for your own child. The second is turning your own husband into a murderer. The third is the deprivation of childhood and happiness from me, the legitimate heir to the royal throne, forced to wander for many years without a stake and a courtyard. Another of your crimes is the pestilence that fell on the seven gates of Thebes. Truly, you are a terrible woman, and everything around you either dies or is struck by hatred, decomposing in the sun and emitting a terrible suffocating smell.
I o k a s t a. This is the smell of my criminal love.
E d i p. You're right. Truly, your love smells bad. But what else terrible have you done, what other atrocities have you brought to me and this city?
I o k a s t a. Oh, know, Oedipus, that all this time, when you lived with the shepherds in the mountains, and then, when you wandered along the roads of Hellas, I continued to secretly follow you, whispering in your ear with the help of special informers thoughts about the need to return to Thebes. I instilled in you hatred of your own father, I specially arranged your meeting on a narrow road - that meeting that became fatal for him. I made you the killer of your own father. I pitted you against each other, just as one pits two scorpions at the bottom of a jug, forcing them to rush at each other, as a result of which they both die. My love burned my insides, burned everything around that I saw and touched, turning everything into dead corpses swollen from the sun, forcing the gods to curse me, and you, and your own father, and your dear seven-gate Thebes. I am a terrible criminal, Oedipus, and my crimes are immeasurable.
E d i p. Yes, that's true. And the worst of them is our marriage, the marriage of a son and mother, for nothing can be worse than this crime. Now I understand why the seven-gate Thebes suffers - they suffer because of you, Jocasta. Your criminal passion for your own son, your foul-smelling love, really killed all living things around. You are a terrible criminal, Jocasta, and your atrocities must end.
I o k a s t a. I know this, Oedipus. My criminal passion over time became so swollen and decomposed in the sun that the smell of it killed everything around me for many hundreds of stages. I’m oozing pus all over, Oedipus, because I achieved what I wanted, making you my husband, and for this turning into a piece of swollen rotten meat. I no longer belong here, in the kingdom of people and light. Farewell my husband and my son, I will not detain you a moment longer!

He takes out a dagger from the folds of his chiton and plunges it into his chest; falls lifeless to the floor.

E d i p (raising his hands up). Oh gods, if you do not want to punish me for the crimes of which I was the unwitting cause, then I will have to do it myself!

He bends over to Iocaste, takes off her belt, pulls out a metal latch from it and gouges out his eyes with it.

So be it, for this is obviously what the gods wanted! I do not have the right to be sighted and see all the horrors in which I have become an involuntary participant! Do not see or smell this terrible smell - the smell of criminal love! The only way to do this is to go into exile voluntarily!

Staggering, he leaves the palace and goes into exile.

A curtain

OEDIPUS, or LOVE

TO JUSTICE

E d i p.
S f i n k s.

E d i p. You know, Sphinx, the more I live on earth, the more I observe in myself the desire for justice. Just some tides of justice, like tides in the sea, roll over me, and I am forced to decide matters not as the king’s duty requires, but with the benefit of every small creature: a slave, for example, a concubine, a peasant, even the last flea , which my hand does not rise to crush, even though it does me harm. I am very fair, Sphinx, and that is my problem.
S f i n k s. Yes, for a king to be fair is a big burden. Of course, the king must appear fair in the eyes of his subordinates, but only seem fair, and nothing more. In fact, he is forced to act cruelly and cunningly, as required by his duty to the state. It seems to me, Oedipus, that you are so fair because you suffered a lot in childhood. After all, Oedipus, you didn’t have a real childhood.
E d i p. You're right, Sphinx, I didn't have a real childhood, like all the other normal children have, even the children of pathetic slaves. In this sense, I was punished by the gods for something. And someone who did not have a normal childhood becomes very sensitive to any injustice. He immediately sees when the weak are offended, and feels a great desire to stand up for them.
S f i n k s. Your reign, Oedipus, has truly become a golden age for the weak and defenseless citizens of the country. Everyone in Thebes bless your name, you are proclaimed the most just king in all of Greece. You must live and enjoy this, Oedipus!
E d i p. Yes, Sphinx, but the misfortunes that befell me in childhood now, in adulthood, give rise to such hellish passions that it makes my life truly nightmarish. In addition to monstrous justice, which in nine cases out of ten is certainly harmful, I also experience monstrous hatred of my father. After all, he was my main offender in childhood. Hatred burns me, Sphinx, no less than the desire to be fair. It seems to me that hatred is the other side of justice.
S f i n k s. You're right, Oedipus. Many revolutionaries, overthrowers of thrones and kingdoms, also experienced an exaggerated sense of justice. They shed rivers of blood, and all because they did not have a happy childhood. They experienced the same hellish passions as you, Oedipus. By the way, I’ll tell you a secret that over time such passions will be called Oedipal in your honor.
E d i p (sad). What do I care about that, Sphinx? I am still the most unfortunate person on earth. I am a king, I am the ruler of the richest city in Greece, my subjects adore me and are ready to carry me in their arms, but there is still no happiness in my unfortunate soul. Justice burns me, I writhe in it like a salamander writhes in fire. My world, Sphinx, is a world of hellish torment and hellish passions. And all this, I repeat, is a consequence of my unhappy childhood. Sometimes it seems to me that I am on the verge of some unheard-of actions and crimes.
S f i n k s (sad). Yes, Oedipus, you are standing, and there is no escape from it. Anyone who had an unhappy childhood is bound to do something terrible in adulthood. Oedipal passions will push him to this. And, worst of all, monstrous events will be committed out of love for justice.
E d i p (raises his hands up). Oh woe is me, woe!
S f i n k s (with compassion). Be strong, Oedipus. This is obviously the will of the gods. And if so, let us humbly accept all their plans and stoically meet new disasters, no matter how terrible they may be!

Disappears.
Edip sadly lowers his head and indulges in the most terrible thoughts, but soon he raises his head, and his face gradually brightens: the love of justice, the priceless gift of the gods, again filled his soul with nobility and compassion.

A curtain

EINSTEIN AND CHEKHOV

EINSHTEIN. I'm a carefree finch, I'm a carefree finch!

Invents the special theory of relativity.
Chekhov runs out.

Chekhov. But we’ll give you an enema! (Gives him an enema.)
EINSTEIN (not noticing the enema). I'm a carefree finch, I'm a carefree finch!

Invents the general theory of relativity.
Chekhov runs out.

Chekhov. But we’ll give you a second enema! (Gives him a second enema.)
EINSTEIN (not noticing the second clyster). I'm a carefree finch, I'm a carefree finch! (Invents general field theory.)
Chekhov. But we’ll put you in ward No. 6! (Takes him to ward No. 6.)
EINSHTEIN. Chekhov, for what?
Chekhov (evil). I am Doctor Chekhov, I will bring you all to clean water!

He exposes everyone and dies of anger by coughing up blood.

POWER OF LOVE

G l a f i r a.
3 yu z yukov.

3 yu z yukov. Glafira, my love!
G l a f i r a. But I'll hit you in the face! and here I am, punching you in the face! (Hits him in the face.)
3 Yuzyukov (indignantly). For what, Glafira?
Glafira (continuing to hit Zyuzyukov in the face). And for love, vile scoundrel, and for love!
3 Yuzyukov (trying to escape from Glafira, not so ardently). Glafira, but they don’t hit you in the face for love!
G l a f i r a. How they beat you, you vile scoundrel, how they beat you! (He grabs Zyuzyukov by the hair and drags him along the ground.)
3 yuzyukov (half-dead). Glafira, I stopped loving you!
Glafira (satisfied). But this, scoundrel, is a different matter. Here's to improving your health (he gives Zyuziyukov money), and so that you no longer address me with these endearments! We are not some French titi-miti, we are Russian women, we are not trained to talk about love!

Zyuzyukov, staggering, leaves to improve his health.
Glafira, straightening her hair with her hands, looks obscenely at the seller in a local tent and smiles, revealing gold false teeth.

A curtain

TWO OF A KIND

He.
She.

He. You and I are two boots - a pair.
She. If we are two boots, then I am the right pair, and you are the left.
He. Even though you’re right-wing, you’re all cracked, and even though I’m left-wing, I’m all brand new.
She. Even though you're brand new, you're wearing it on the wrong foot.
He. Even though I’m wearing the wrong leg, I’m sitting on it like a glove.
She. You're a real fool.
He. You're a fool yourself, but you can't get treatment at all.
She. Why should I get treatment if all the medicine is spent on you, but it doesn’t help - you become stupid day by day.
He. Even though I’m going crazy, I’m sober, and even though you don’t drink, you’re staggering around like a used cat.
She. Am I a used cat? Here you go, here you go! (Hits him in the face.)
He. Oh, that's how you are, so you're still fighting? (He hits her in the face.)
Ohna (jumps to the side). Scoundrel, you gave me a black eye!
He. And you broke my cheekbone and scratched my whole cheek; However, what can I take from you, such a fool that it’s sickening to watch!
She. It’s sickening to look at me, but it’s impossible to look at you at all; you're a fool, and you're also a watchman!
He. Even though I’m listed as a watchman, I earn experience, but how you earn money still needs to be checked!
Oh na (offended). Well, check it out and make sure they don’t break off your horns!
He. Why should I break my horns, am I a goat?
She. Isn't that a goat?
He. No, not a goat.
He. You yourself are a damn goose, and your manners are like those of the girl from the panel.
She. And you are a swamp bastard!
He. And you are an utter scarecrow!
She. And you, and you... however, why talk about it with a fool? I give him my word - and he gives me ten; If he were smart, he would have been silent a long time ago!
He. Yes, you have the floor too - and you answer ten. I told you that you and I are two boots - a pair; you always have to repeat the same thing ten times; Are you deaf or something, or is your head filled with cotton wool instead of brains?
She. It’s you, the fool, who has cotton wool stuffed in his head; Well, if we are two boots - a pair, then I am certainly the right one, the best pair! (And so on and so forth, all from beginning to end.)

End

LITTLE NOTHINGS OF LIFE

A z i a t o v, a tuberculosis patient.
N o t r o g o v a , nurse.

Tuberculosis sanatorium, hot afternoon.

A z i a t v (grabbing N e t o r o g u s waist from behind). Madam, how beautiful you are!
Untouchable (indignantly, breaking away from Aziatov). But you are a tuberculosis patient!
A z i a t o v (grabbing her by the waist again). And yet, madam, how beautiful you are!
Not touchy (breaking free, but not so confidently). For mercy's sake, you have Koch sticks! (Raises his head arrogantly.)
Aziatov (in a fit of despair, stretching out his hands to the Untouched). Madam, you look like Aphrodite!
Not touchy (suddenly softening). Okay, just don’t remember the robe! (Grabs Aziatov by the sleeve and pulls him into the closet.)

The door slams shut. Rumbles and wheezing are heard.

A curtain

DINOSAURS

Jurassic scenes

Participating:
P etr A l e k e vi ch, dinosaur No. 1.
Kuzma Panteleevich, dinosaur No. 2.

P etr A l e k s e e v i c h. A-go-go-oooo! Awww, Kuzma Panteleevich!
Kuzma Panteleevich. Wow! Awww, Pyotr Alekseevich!
P etr A l e k e vi ch. We are dying out, Kuzma Panteleevich! A-go-go-oooo!
Kuzma Panteleevich. Uhu-gu-uuu! We are dying out, just like we are dying out, Pyotr Alekseevich!
P e tr A l e k e v i ch. Farewell, old times! Whoa-ho-oo! (Hits the ground with his tail.)
Kuzma Panteleevich. We are leaving, we are leaving, Pyotr Alekseevich! Woo-hoo-hoo! We're leaving forever! (Also hits the ground with its tail.)

A hail of sulfur and ash falls, moving tails are visible on the surface for some time, then they disappear.

A curtain

ALGEBRA AND HARMONY

M o z a r t.
Salieri.

Salieri (sitting at the table, experiencing the pangs of creativity; joyfully). I believed in algebra harmony! I invented the Beauty Formula! Now no Mozart is my order! With the help of my Beauty Formula, I am able to create a symphony no worse than his!

Mozart enters.

MOZART (mockingly). What a fool you are, Salieri! Do you really not know that it is impossible to believe harmony with algebra? You can put your Beauty Formula in the place where your legs grow! Now don’t bother me, but rather sit down and listen to my new “Requiem”! (Sits down at the harpsichord and performs his new “Requiem.”)

Salieris, in annoyance, tears his Beauty Formula into pieces and shoves it into the place where the legs grow.
The powerful chords of “Requiem” are heard.

A curtain

HOME ACADEMY

Scenes from the life of idiots

Galkin, inventor of the bicycle.
Lomakin, inventor of the steam locomotive.
Glafira, Galkin's wife.

Galkin. Eureka, I reinvented the wheel!
G l a f i r a. But I’ll slap you in the face for this, you damn bastard! (Hits him on the cheeks.)
L o m a k i n. Glafira, don’t hit Galkin, he’s a genius!
G l a f i r a. And here I am, punching you in the face at the same time, you damn bastard! (He hits Lomakin on the cheeks.)
Lomakin (plaintively). For what, Glafira?
Glafira (menacingly). Why did you invent the steam locomotive, you damned bastard? The entire environment has been destroyed!

Silent scene.

CHARACTERS:

Old husband

Old wife.

Lieutenant Migunov.

Marya Vasilievna, his wife.

Children of Lieutenant Migunov.

On stage - Male. He stands by an open suitcase, holding a bundle of letters in his hand. He is shocked to the last degree.

Husband. No, this can't be! That's bullshit! I'm sleeping. (Closes his eyes with his hand.) Wake up! Sergei Nikolaevich, wake up! (Opens eyes.) Awoke. (Reads the letter.) “My dear, my dear Anya... (moans) where can I find the words to tell you what joy your last, your wonderful, your tender, your affectionate letter brought me..." What is this?!! What it is?! I!!! When I was twenty-two years old, I didn’t write her such tender, calf-like letters!.. (Reads.) “...If you knew how much your letters mean to me - especially here, among these silent snowdrifts, in a dugout... To know that someone is thinking about you, that there is a close soul in the world...” No, this is really nonsense, this is horror, this is some kind of darkening! (Feverishly leafs through other letters.)“Darling...”, “Darling...”, “Wonderful...”, “My dear girl...” My God! Girl!!! When was this written? Maybe this was written fifty years ago? No, not fifty. “February 1942. Active Army." (Leaned on the table, closed his eyes.) No, I can’t take it anymore, my legs are swollen from horror... To live to see gray hair, to walk a long life path with a person hand in hand and suddenly... to find out... (He grabbed his head, walked around the room, stopped.) No, tell me, what is this?! What should I do?! After all, I... I even forgot... honestly, I forgot what is supposed to be done in such cases.

Phone call.

Husband (picks up the phone). Yes! Who? And, Evgeny Isaakovich, hello, dear! No, no, tell me I won't. No, dear Evgeniy Isaakovich, I can’t, today under no circumstances can I. I have... What? I have... No, not the flu. As you said? Gastropneumolaryngitis? No no. I have... I already forgot what it's called. I have a family drama. No, what theater?! What production? I really have drama... tragedy! What? Thermometer? (Touches forehead.) Yes, it seems there is. You think? Yes, I think I'll go to bed. What? (In a fallen voice, gloomily.) She is not home. I say: she is not at home! A! (Through gritted teeth.) He sews warm clothes in the jacket for the fighters. What? Does he care? Um... yes... he cares. What? I obey. I'll pass it on. Thank you. And you too. Goodbye... (Shouts.) Evgeny Isaakovich, forgive me, dear, I have one, so to speak, purely personal, purely personal question for you. Please tell me, do you happen to remember what they are doing... Hello! You listen? I say, do you happen to remember what you do, what you do when... um... how should I say... when your wife cheats? How? What are you saying? Thermometer? No, I'm completely serious... What? Are they shooting? Hm. No, that doesn't work. It doesn't fit, I say. Divorce? Nope. This is, perhaps, as they say, a fixed idea. I say: we need to think about it. Why do I need to know this? Yes, you see... I have here... I'm here... I'm solving a very interesting crossword puzzle... Yes, yes, exactly - in Ogonyok. Exceptionally interesting. And there is just a question on this, so to speak, topic.

There's a bell in the hallway.

One minute.

The call is repeated.

What? Sorry, Evgeny Isaakovich... There's a call here. Yes, I am now.

Leaves, returns. Following him, the Wife appears in the room - an elderly, unremarkable woman. She is very tired, she has a string bag in her hand. With the words “Hello, darling,” she wants to kiss her husband on the temple, but he disdainfully and even disgustingly pushes her away and goes to the phone.

Husband. Hello! (Gloomily.) Yes, sorry, Evgeny Isaakovich. Yes Yes. One came here (looks for a word)...personality.

The wife stopped and looked at him in surprise.

Yes, so where did we stop? I say we need to think about what to do with these invoices. I say - with overhead for nails and roofing felt. And for roofing iron. What? Yes, yes, I understand that you don't understand. They must be sent immediately, otherwise the bank will not open a current account until the end of the month. What? Crossword? Hm... Well, of course, you also need to write out an invoice for the crossword puzzle... What? Thermometer? Hm. And on the thermometer... And on thermometers too... Evgeniy Isaakovich, what did I want to say? Have you seen Pyotr Ivanovich? No? And Matvey Semenovich? Wait, dear, I wanted something else... Hello! Hello!.. (Reluctantly and hesitantly hangs up.)

Pause.

Wife (at the open suitcase, calmly). What does it mean?

Husband(intimidated). Hm. Yes. So I wanted to ask: what does this mean? A?

Wife. You were rummaging through...

Husband(brave). Yes, I was rummaging. I was looking for a manufactured goods card.

Wife (closing the suitcase). Found?

Husband. Hm... N-yes... This... You understand - it’s not there anywhere. And I looked in my purse, and in my chest of drawers... And at our kiosk today they were selling such wonderful jumpers...

Wife. Well? Wool?

Husband. No, perhaps they are vigones... But they are so dense.

Wife. Have you had lunch?

Husband. Had lunch. You know, the potato cutlets for main course today were quite tasty.

Wife. We should probably take it.

Husband. What to take?

Wife. Jumper. Not for myself, but...

Husband (alert). A?

Wife. We'll send you to the front.

Husband(sardonic). Yeah!! (He walked around the room, approached Zhenya, looked at her intently.) To whom?

Wife. What - to whom?

Husband. Jumper, which is on my manufactured goods card? Lieutenant Migunov?

Wife. Yes.

Husband (walks around the room again and stops in front of the Wife again). Anna! I know everything.

Wife. What?

The husband points to the suitcase.

Wife. Ah, here it is - have you read my letters?!

Husband. All my life, I’ve been reading your letters like a fool for thirty years.

Wife. Well, of course. These were letters from aunts, from godfather, and these...

Husband. Oh yes, madam, I have not yet had the pleasure of reading the letters of your lovers.

Wife. Goat! What's wrong with you? What kind of theater is this?

Husband(shouting). What kind of Goat am I to you!!

Wife. Well, of course, Kozlik.

Husband. There was Kozlik, and now...

Wife. And now?

Husband. Kozlov Sergey Nikolaevich!

Wife(sits down). Well, so, Kozlov Sergey Nikolaevich. Let's not shout. I don’t have enough... with these letters...

Husband. Say - “and without that”! I demand that you answer me: are these letters addressed to you?

Wife. To me.

Husband. And you are not ashamed?

Wife. A little bit.

Husband. Anna, what's wrong with you?! Have you always been like this?

Wife. Yes, I guess I’ve always been like this...

Husband (sits helplessly on a chair). My God... Thirty years... Day after day... Hand in hand... (jumps up and runs around the room.) No, it’s necessary! A?! What a disgrace! What a shame! This kind of, God forgive me, mymra, which you can’t even look at... and at you, too - it’s a joke! What a time!

The wife, resting her head on the back of the chair, quietly cries.

Husband. Yeah! Still conscientious, then?

Wife. I do not know what to do. I'm confused. Help me.

Husband. Ugh. Listen, it’s just like Anna Karenina. As if she was not fifty-something, but twenty-two years old.

Wife. Yes.

Husband. What "yes"?

Wife. Twenty two.

Husband (backs away in fear). What are you doing? Yes, you seem...

Wife. No, I'm just tired. I'm terribly tired, Kozlik. We worked all day - sewing mittens... cutting flannel into foot wraps...

Husband. Migunov? Hehe. Lieutenant?

Wife. Maybe Migunov too. (Cries.) Poor boy! My dear, my good, my glorious...

Husband (walks around nervously). Listen... No, this... This eventually turns... This - I don’t know what!.. This is nonsense! I still have to listen to her... all sorts of love serenades!..

Wife. Forgive me, Kozlik. I'm tired. My head is spinning.

Husband. She has a head! What do I have - a watermelon or some kind of lampshade? (Stopping.) Who is this Migunov?

Wife. Don't know.

The husband looks at her, then goes to the door and begins to get dressed.

Wife(rising). What are you doing? Where are you going?

Husband. Ha! Where! Ha ha!

Wife. No, Seryozha, really!

Husband (putting on his coat). In fact - two weeks! Leave me alone! Enough. What is the name of this... this institution? Marriage registry? Yeah. Marriage registry…

Wife (tries to hug him). Goat, honey, what's wrong with you? I assure you that I do not know Lieutenant Migunov.

Husband. Yes? (Points to the suitcase.) And what's that?

Wife. I want to say that we don’t know him personally.

Husband(sarcastically). "Personally"!

Wife. I never even saw him.

Husband(sarcastically). "In the eyes"!

Wife. We only wrote letters to each other.

Husband. Only letters? And he didn’t even see you?

Wife. Of course.

Husband. Yeah. And why, it’s interesting to know, did he write you these tender, calf-like letters... if he didn’t see you?

Wife. Well, that’s why I wrote... that’s probably why I wrote, because I didn’t see it.

Husband (walks around the room, sits on a chair, squeezes his head with his hands). No I can not. This is not just nonsense, this is some kind of drunken, fantastic, nightmarish nonsense!..

Wife. No, Kozlik, this is not nonsense. It all happened very simply. Do you remember how we collected parcels for the soldiers last fall?

Husband. Well, I remember. So what?

Wife. Well, as you know, I sent it too. So my package got to this lieutenant Migunov.

Husband. Well?

Wife. He sent me an answer. Thanked. He asked me to write about myself: who I am, what I am... I didn’t know anything about him then, and I still don’t know anything about him now. I only know that this man is at the front, that he is protecting you, and me, and our land. And so, when he sent me a letter and asked me to write to him... I wrote that I was twenty-two years old, that I was a girl.

Husband (gets up, laughs nervously, walks around the room). Fine. Very good. Fabulous. But... But why - twenty-two years?

Wife. Well... it just seemed to me... I thought... that a person would be more pleased if a young woman writes to him, and not one... as you very successfully defined: mymra...

Husband(embarrassed). Oh well. OK. What's there? (Laughs joyfully.) But you know - you’re great! A? After all, it’s true: a young man feels better when a young woman writes to him.

Wife. And probably not only for young people.

Husband (walks around the room, laughs). Well done! By God, well done! (Stopped.) Listen, why are you... this... on the sly? A? Why are you... this... incognito from me?

Wife. Why? (After thinking.) Because I took it seriously.

Husband. Well, am I really such a... um... savras?

Wife. And then, you know, I really felt like a young girl when I wrote these letters. And, perhaps, to tell the truth, I was even a little bit in love. And I imagined Migunov as you know? Say? No, I won’t say... In general, it was you, the way you were in nine hundred and fourteen. Do you remember? A young warrant officer with such a mustache... When I wrote to this lieutenant Migunov, it seemed to me that I was writing to you...

Husband. Hm... You know, I somehow feel... by God, I feel like I'm starting to... love this Migunov. Overall, a nice guy, I think. A? Where is he? On what front?

Wife(gloomily). How? Haven't you read?

Husband. What?

Wife. You read the letters.

Husband. Well!

Wife. He is seriously injured. He has been in the hospital here for two months now.

Husband. Here? We have?

Wife. Well, yes. Oh, you should know, Kozlik, how I suffered.

Husband. Have you been to him?

Wife. What? God bless you, how can I...

Husband. Yes, sure. If he imagines that you... This, of course... somehow... I see.

Wife. And what he called me! How he asked me to come! I think he sent me at least twenty letters from there, from the hospital. And I - I didn’t even have the courage to answer his last letters.

Husband. Yes, you have a position, I must say...

Phone call. The wife goes to the phone.

Husband. Wait a minute. It's probably Briskin. We were separated. (Picks up the phone.) Yes? Evgeny Isaakovich? Hello! What? Not certainly in that way? What? Whom? Anna Ivanovna? Who? A? Yes, yes, please. (Hands the phone to Zhenya.) You.

Wife. It is he!

Husband (passes the phone to her). Lieutenant Migunov.

Wife(hoarsely) . Hello! (Clears throat.) Yes, it's me. (Gradually gets into the role, becomes somewhat flirtatious.) What? Are you happy to hear my voice? Little voice? (Pause.) Are you kidding? Indeed? I'm very, very happy too. (Confused.) What? I can not hear. Hello!.. Come see me?

Looks at her husband. He quickly walks around the room in excitement.

Today? Are you leaving for the front? I really don't know. For half an hour? Not alone? The whole company? No, you know, my dear... you know, my dear...

Her husband tells her something in a loud, ominous whisper.

I... I don't feel well... I... (To my husband.) What? I have... gastropneumolaryngitis. (Laughs in response to Migunov’s remark.) No, no... You know, Migunov, I’m scared... I really want to see you. (Looks at the Husband.) But... Are you listening? What? Hello! Hello! Hello! (Hangs up.)

Husband. A?

Wife. And he doesn't want to listen. He says: I’m leaving for the front and I can’t, for the life of me, I can’t help but see you, my good fairy.

Husband. So he said: good fairy?

Wife. My good fairy.

Husband(snorts). Number!

Wife. He...here, nearby, spoke from a machine gun. He'll come now.

Husband. Yes, sir. And not one more, it seems?

Wife. Yes... He says: excuse me, but we will come to you with a whole company.

Husband. Nope. There will be a funny number now.

Wife. Oh, Kozlik, my dear, what a terrible, what a stupid situation I have found myself in!..

Husband. Yes. But, to tell the truth, he also... got it.

Wife. No. I can't. I'll leave.

Husband. Yes? What? And I? And here I am with him - what, should I arrange a duel?

The bell rings in the hallway.

Wife(horrified) . It's them. (Throws herself at her husband’s neck.) My God, Kozlik, what should I... what should we do?!

Husband. "Us"! Hm... You know what? Fixed idea!

Phone call.

Husband (holding the phone, but not removing it). Do you know that? We will say that you are not you.

Wife. How - am I not me?

Husband. That is, that she is not you... (Picks up the phone.) Hello! (To his wife.) That is, that you are not her... (Into the phone.) Yes? (To his wife.) In a word, Anechka is our daughter.

The bell rings in the hallway.

Husband(into the phone). Evgeny Isaakovich? Yes, yes, we were separated.

Wife. But, Kozlik, where is she?

Husband. So where? Well, she left... Sorry, Evgeniy Isaakovich. (To his wife.) What?

Wife (wringing hands). Where?

Husband(into the phone). Just a minute... (To his wife.) Well, where? Well, you never know, in the end...

The bell rings in the hallway. The wife leaves. On the way, I looked in the mirror. I straightened my hair.

Husband(into the phone). What? Sorry, Evgeny Isaakovich. It's very noisy here today. What? I can not hear! How is the question phrased? What question? Oh, in the crossword... In the crossword it is worded like this...

Evgeny Isaakovich, dear, maybe... Hello! Maybe you will be so kind... maybe you will call - well, in about five or ten minutes. No, no, it’s just that we have here today...

While he is saying his last words, the Wife appears in the room, followed by a forty-five-year-old bearded man in the uniform of an artillery officer, an elderly woman and two children - a boy and a girl. The bearded man has another child in his arms - an infant.

Lieutenant Migunov. Is she not there?

Wife. She's gone.

The husband looked around, wanted to hang up, but couldn’t: the loop wouldn’t fit on the hook.

Husband. Nope.

Lieutenant Migunov. Will you be her mother?

Wife. Yes. But this...

Lieutenant Migunov. And this is dad.

Wife. Get acquainted.

Lieutenant Migunov. Very nice. I have the honor. Lieutenant Migunov.

Husband(About myself) . Number!

Lieutenant Migunov. What?

Husband. Kozlov. Accountant.

Lieutenant Migunov (introducing his wife). My wife is Marya Vasilievna, the mother of my children.

Marya Vasilievna. Hello.

Wife. Sit down please. Sit down.

Lieutenant Migunov(introducing). My children, as well as my wife's. However, I must admit, not all, but only, so to speak, the left flank. The rest are at the front.

Marya Vasilievna. Come here - the left flank. (Takes the baby.)

Lieutenant Migunov. Forgive me for showing up to you with my entire unit. (To my husband.) Light up.

Husband. Thank you. (Shakes his head, saying “non-smoker.”)

Wife. What nice kids.

Husband. Yes, yes, exceptional.

Wife(to the boy). What is your name?

Marya Vasilievna. His name is Oleg.

Wife(to the boy). Oleg?

Boy. Yeah.

Wife. And you?

Marya Vasilievna. Her name is Galya.

Wife. Galya?

Girl. Yes.

Husband(to the boy). Please tell me, Oleg, how old are you?

Lieutenant Migunov(to son). Well, did you put water in your mouth?

Marya Vasilievna. The tenth went to him.

Husband. Tenth? Is it true?

Boy. Yeah.

Marya Vasilievna. And this nine is not there yet.

Wife. It's not nine?!!

Girl. Yes.

Lieutenant Migunov. But where is Anya... that is, excuse me, Anna Ivanovna?

Husband (exchanging glances with his wife). Anechka... Anechka... She, you know, was called in urgently...

Lieutenant Migunov. I just spoke to her five minutes ago over the machine.

Husband. Yes. You know, these are the times now - here today, there tomorrow.

Marya Vasilievna(To his wife). Where is she going so urgently?

Wife. Her… (Looks at the Husband.)

Husband. (He showed her with his hand.) He’s chopping wood.

Marya Vasilievna. Oh, for logging?

Husband. Whoa.

Lieutenant Migunov(thoughtfully). Firewood is a good thing.

Marya Vasilievna. Is yours central?

Wife(thoughtfully). We have? Yes Yes. Excuse me, what did you say? Central?

Marya Vasilievna. Torment, in a word?

Lieutenant Migunov. It's a shame, it's a shame. Or maybe it was for the best that I didn’t catch her. You know, we only know her through letters.

Husband. Yes, yes, of course... We've known for a long time.

Lieutenant Migunov. She didn't even see me. But what letters she wrote! Oh, you should know... What touching, affectionate and at the same time some courageous, encouraging, truly patriotic letters. So she knows - she read it.

Marya Vasilievna(To his wife). Wonderful girl!

Husband(chuckling). A? What are you going to say?

The wife is embarrassed and silent.

Lieutenant Migunov(thoughtfully). I remember it used to be in the winter - you were sitting in your dugout. I won’t say that it was very boring... No, I wasn’t bored. They entertained themselves, and did not allow the enemy to fall into complete apathy. Well, between us, our artillery is funny. I am an artilleryman.

Husband (looking sideways towards the Wife). Yes, yes, of course, we know.

Lieutenant Migunov. Yes. We weren’t bored, but still in our hearts...

Marya Vasilievna. It’s clear - what’s there...

Lieutenant Migunov. And then this letter arrives. It is the same as everyone else - and the stamps on it are official, and ordinary stamps, and “checked by military censorship”... And how much fire there is in this letter, you would know, how much of this youthful freshness, purity, charm, feminine kindness... Then for five days after that you walk around whistling, your insides are whistling somehow... It’s as if you yourself have become younger. I don't know if I'm expressing myself clearly? Do you understand this?

Wife (from the depths of my soul). Yes!

Lieutenant Migunov. Maybe Anna Ivanovna would be offended, don’t tell her about it, but sometimes I read her letters out loud. Once, in April, it seems, before the so-called massive artillery barrage, I read one of her letters to my guys at the battery... You know, the impression is better than any rally!..

Husband. Can you hear? Anna Ivanovna! A?

Marya Vasilievna. How? Are you also Anna Ivanovna?

Husband(scared). How? What? No, I said: Marya Ivanovna.

Lieutenant Migunov. In general, it must be said: our girls and women do not know or know little about what writing is at the front. They write little, little, very little.

Marya Vasilievna. Well, Volodyushka, it’s a shame for you to be offended!

Lieutenant Migunov. It's not a matter of offense here. (Turns to Zhenya.) So you say: firewood.

Wife. I? What kind of firewood?

Lieutenant Migunov (he breathed as if in the cold). This is, of course, a good thing. Vodka, let’s say, is also good to keep warm in the cold. A warm thing - a sweater, mittens, a scarf of some kind - is a great thing. Thank you for this. But - a warm word, a warm woman’s word - this... you can’t exchange this for any sheepskin sheepskin coat (smiled) with felt boots to boot.

Marya Vasilievna. Well, Volodya, stop, it’s time for us to get ready. You still...

Lieutenant Migunov(rising). Yes Yes. That's right, wife. You are my corporal.

Husband. Where are you going?!

Lieutenant Migunov. It's time. (Buttons up his overcoat, for children.) Well, pre-conscripts... (Takes the little one in his arms.) Left flank - alignment with the commander's father!..

Husband(towards the Wife). They didn't even drink tea.

Wife. Yes Yes. Tea.

Marya Vasilievna. What do you. What kind of tea is there?

Lieutenant Migunov (takes up his visor). Well, dear owners, forgive me for the unprovoked aggression. Give a deep bow to Anna Ivanovna. Just don’t tell her, please, that I’m so old, that I’m such a waste, as my venerable wife deigns to put it.

Marya Vasilievna. Volodya, aren’t you ashamed!..

Lieutenant Migunov. Nope. (After a short pause.) Still, it's a pity. Still, I would look at my Anechka. Sorry! Maybe you have her card?

Wife. No!!

Marya Vasilievna. How? Really not a single card? At least some old one.

Husband. What? Card? (Suddenly it dawned on him.) Ho! Well, of course there is. (Runs to the box.)

Wife. Seryozha!

Husband(rummages in the box). Receipts... rent... electricity... Oh, here it is, damn it!..

Marya Vasilievna. Card? Found it?

Husband. Yes. But this is not the one. This is a manufactured goods store. (Takes it out of the box, blows off the dust and hands it to Lieutenant Migunov.) Here…

Marya Vasilievna (looking at the card over her husband’s shoulder). Oh, what a wonderful girl!

Husband. A? What? Is it true?

Lieutenant Migunov. You know... I almost... almost imagined her like that.

Marya Vasilievna(to children). Really, pretty aunt?

Boy. Yeah.

Girl. Yes.

Marya Vasilievna. But, my God, how much she resembles you!

Husband. Well, for mercy's sake, what's surprising here? Still, in the end, to some extent...

Lieutenant Migunov(is reading) . "To the sweet goat - Anya." (Turns to Zhenya.) Excuse me, is she married or...?

Wife(confused). She?..

Husband. What are you talking about, Comrade Lieutenant? She... She's still at school.

Marya Vasilievna(surprised). Yes?

Husband. That is, of course, in high school.

Marya Vasilievna. But, excuse me, why is it written here: “Moscow, 1909.”

Husband. Ninth? Hm. I apologize, this is not the ninth, but the thirty-ninth. This is her handwriting - childish.

Lieutenant Migunov (looks up from the card). Dear friends! Don't consider me impudent. But - a great request: give me this card. A? (To his wife.) Aren't you jealous?

Marya Vasilievna(laughs). I won't get jealous.

The Husband exchanged glances with his Wife. She nodded slightly.

Husband. Well, me too. That is, we too... have nothing against it.

Lieutenant Migunov(shaking hand) . Thank you.

Marya Vasilievna. Volodya, you will be late...

Lieutenant Migunov. Well... (says goodbye.)

Husband. So, to the front?

Lieutenant Migunov. Yes. At twenty-one thirty.

Husband. Well, beat them there, the occupiers.

Lieutenant Migunov. We beat, beat and... what do they call it in accounting? (He showed with his hand.)

Husband. Compound interest?

Lieutenant Migunov. Whoa. In a word, the balance will be, as they say, positive.

Wife. Yes?

Lieutenant Migunov (turned politely to her). You can rest assured... sorry, I forgot the name... Marya Ivanovna?

The wife nodded.

Lieutenant Migunov. But it also depends on you.

Husband. And from us.

The guests are already at the door.

Marya Vasilievna. Well, stay healthy. I'm sorry to trouble you.

Everyone says “goodbye” and “farewell.”

Lieutenant Migunov. Anechka... Kiss Anechka deeply. Please write.

Husband. Well, here's another thing to ask. I will order it - and it will be.

Lieutenant Migunov(in the door) . Wish her happiness, health, vigor, strength and so on, and so on, and so on. And most importantly... the main thing is a good husband...

The Migunovs' husband and family leave. There is only one Wife on stage. Husband returns.

Husband. Have you heard? He says: wish her a good husband! A? How do you like it?

Wife. I like it.

Husband. What do you like?

Wife. I like... When they wish me a good husband.

Husband. Wait... I'm confused. Who are you now? How old are you? What grade are you in?

Wife. I? I’m just an old woman who has a not-so-young husband whom she loves very, very much. (Hugs him.)

Phone call

Husband (together with his wife answers the phone). Hello! Yes? Evgeny Isaakovich? Yes Yes. Free. No, no, completely free. What? Intrigued you. A? How is the question phrased? Which? Oh, in the crossword puzzle.

His wife looks at him in surprise.

Nope. It says, in general, this: “the denouement of a family drama.” What? Dozens of solutions? Well, for example? Yes, yes, I'm listening. Murder? So. Duel... Yes, yes, I'm listening. Divorce. Hm... Suicide. What else? I can not hear! Fight?..

Pause.

Hm... You see, Evgeniy Isaakovich, thank you, but it seems to me that I have already... solved this crossword puzzle. Yes Yes. And somewhat more, so to speak, painless. In any case, I am very, very grateful to you for your touching participation and good advice... Yes! Evgeniy Isaakovich, tell me, my dear, are you still working? No? Are you leaving? How about others? Haven't you rebalanced yet? You know... Tell me, is it not too late? What? Yeah. You know, I guess... I guess I’ll still come and work for an hour or two. Yes Yes. Is there anything else I wanted? Yes! Evgeny Isaakovich. You won’t see this... what’s his name... well, Moskalev, our supply guy? Some unusual jumpers appeared in his kiosk there just now. If you see him, ask him, my dear, to save a couple for me. What? It is very necessary. I want to send this to a comrade at the front.

A curtain

1943

Comedy in one act from the Great Patriotic War

CHARACTERS:

Mikhail's grandfather.

Marya, his wife.

Dunya Ogareva, Komsomol member,

commander of a partisan detachment.

German officer.

His messenger.

Headman.

Partisans.

Mikhaila's grandfather's hut. To the left is part of a Russian stove. To the right is the entrance door. It's getting dark.

A blizzard is raging outside the window. Grandma Marya is getting ready for dinner at the table. Mikhaila comes in from the street. He is covered from head to toe with snow.

Marya. Well, thank you, Lord, finally!..

Mikhaila. Oh, and it’s blowing today, mother, God forbid! Fu!.. (Shakes himself off.)

Marya. As far as I can see, I can only go for a walk at this particular time. Evona, look what a bullfinch!.. And where is he, the old devil, carrying you?! I was already thinking - pah, pah, pah - maybe they dragged him to the police...

Mikhaila (knocking snow off boots). Well, yes! Like a fool, I gave in to them. They need this old horseradish. (Throws down the broom and goes to the table.)

Marya. Sit down, eat...

Mikhaila (stands, rubs hands). You know, I stayed too long at the Maslyukovs’. The men gathered. We talked. This and that. Still, it’s somehow easier to breathe in public. (Sits down and looks around.) Did you hear that, mother? Our people, they say, are attacking again.

Marya(scared). Shhh... “Ours”! (Looked around.) Nowadays, you know, heads are taken off for “ours.”

Mikhaila. To hell with him! Let them film it. Not life either. (Takes a spoon and eats.) Nope. There is also a rumor that punitive forces are coming to our village again.

Marya. Oh my God! Who told you this?

Mikhaila. Yes, this volost, the devil, said as if. If, he says, the partisans are not found, not a single person will be left alive.

Marya. Oh, these partisans to me!.. Fuck them! And so there is no life, and they, the colobrids...

Mikhaila. Well, well, shut up, mother... Okay. If you don't understand, just keep quiet. (Eating.)

Marya. They’re just messing with people... It’s all this Dunka, Ogareva... Isn’t it a stately thing - a girl, a Komsomol member, is fighting the Germans! Because of her, the cursed one, their whole family was shot. How many people died...

Mikhaila. Okay, eat, shut up... (Suddenly I remembered something and slapped myself on the forehead.) Eh, old cudgel!

Marya(scared). What are you doing?

Mikhaila. Yes, I completely forgot... (Rises.) I’m walking now, you know, past the Kochetkovs, and here is this... what’s his name... Volodka, or what? Sonya Minaeva, who was hanged, brother. He thrust something: “For you,” he said, “grandfather, a telegram...”

Marya. What telegram? From whom?

Mikhaila. Nope. He stuck it in and said: “You can read,” he says, “only carefully.” (He goes to the door and rummages in the pockets of his tattered zipper.)

Marya. Oh, come on!.. I guess he was joking with you, old...

Mikhaila. Yes! Good jokes now... (Takes out a note.) Here she is! Evona! Come on, old woman, light a light, let’s read.

Marya, muttering something angrily, fans the fire and lights a small kerosene lamp. The old man takes glasses from behind the shrine, puts them on and ties them with strings.

Marya. Oh my God, my God... Ugh! There is no death for you. We’ve already been living without crucian carp for two years now, and here we are doing all sorts of nonsense...

Mikhaila. Okay, old man, don't grumble. Don't bother, you'll still have Karasin. (Unfolded the note.) Well, let’s read what kind of telegram this is. (Reads from warehouses.)“Dya-dya Mi-hai-la, this-year-nya, if it’s possible, I’ll come to you to spend the night...”

Marya. What? Who's going to come? Who is writing this?

Mikhaila. Wait, wait... (Reads.) “If you allow it and if everything is okay with you, please put a light on the window. I’ll come like this around seven o’clock...”

Marya. Who is writing this?

Mikhaila(scratching the back of his head). Hm... "Oga-ryo-wa Dunya."

Marya. What-oh-oh?! Dunka?!! Has she gone crazy? Is he asking to spend the night with us?

Mikhaila. Quiet, old, quiet. It means she has a job if she asks for it. I probably wouldn’t go without something to do.

Marya(boils). Why is she really shameless!.. She has no shame?! It’s not enough that she gets herself into the noose, and pulls people into it too!..

Mikhaila (scratches the back of his head, looks at the walkers). Nope. At seven o'clock. It's ten to ten. (Takes the light bulb, then, after thinking, puts it back on the table.)

Marya. And so there is no life from these damned Germans. We haven’t lived here for two years now, but we still endure martyrdom. Some people's entire farm was ruined, some people's girls were hanged... There, you hear, they were killed, there they were burned, there they were taken to hard labor. Only we, the old people, seem to be left alone. Well, sit quietly and rejoice. I wish I could live to see my death and - amen, glory to you, Lord...

Mikhaila(scratching the back of his head). Eh, grandma! Eh, you fool, woman! Eh, what foolish words you speak, woman. "Don't touch"! What about your heart? - Doesn’t it bother you that filthy Germans are walking on our Russian soil?!

Marya(quiet) . You never know... (Takes a light bulb and holds it in his hand.) You have to be patient.

Pause.

And why did she really come to us all of a sudden? So what - all over the village and she has nowhere to spend the night except us? Her godfather lives here, her aunt lives there... Also, please tell me, the world has come together like a wedge...

Mikhaila. No, don’t say that, she cleverly came up with it. It was she, the girl, who realized it. For others - what? Who has a son in the Red Army, who is himself under suspicion from the Germans. And you and I seem to live like two old mushrooms, living out our lives.

Pause.

Or maybe it’s true? A? Our hut is tiny, and there is nowhere to hide it. People can even sleep under the floor for the night.

Marya(sarcastically). Yes? How's that?! Under the floor? Is this in winter? Eh, you're a man! You're a fool, man! A girl will come from the forest, probably frozen to death, and you will take her underground! That’s how you guys always treat our female class... No, I’m sorry, it won’t be your way! (Puts a light bulb on the window.) Here! Welcome!

Mikhaila (laughs, hugs his wife). Eh, uterus, uterus... You are good to me, uterus...

There's a knock on the window.

Marya. Evona! Already! She's easy in appearance.

Mikhaila (looking out the window). Who? What? I'm coming, I'm coming, now...

He leaves and returns almost immediately. A German officer, chief lieutenant, stumbles into the hut covered with snow. Behind him - with a machine gun at his stomach - is a German soldier.

Officer. Heil Hitler! Spricht hir Yemand Deutsch? Nine? (To Mikhail.) Du! Sprichst du deutsch? Hello! Does anyone here speak German? You! Do you speak German? (German)

Mikhaila(waves hand). No, no, I'm not muttering your way. I apologize, your honor.

Officer (broken Russian). Uh-uh... who is the owner?

Mikhaila. I'm the owner.

Officer. Is this the village of Ifanovka?

Mikhaila. That's right, Ivanovo village.

Officer. Where does the headman live?

Mikhaila. The headman... he, your honor, lives here, near the white church, in a big house.

Officer(orders). Shows me off!

Mikhaila. Conduct? Well, it's possible. We carry out... (Slowly gets dressed.)

Officer. Schneller! Bistro!

The old man, getting dressed, makes some signs to his wife. She was confused and didn’t understand.

Mikhaila(to the officer). Let's go, your honor.

The Germans and Mikhaila leave. The old woman looks after them in fear. You can hear the gate slam.

Marya (facing the viewer). Oh Lord... Lady... Remember King David... Save and preserve, Queen of Heaven! (Being baptized.)

A light knock on the window.

Marya (running to the window). What else? Who?

He runs to the door and runs into Dunya Ogareva. A girl in a white sheepskin coat and a hat with earflaps.

Dunya(out of breath). Hello, grandma!

Marya (waves his hands at her). Oh, girl, you arrived at a bad time!

Dunya. And what?

Marya. But you almost got into the cat’s paws. We had the Germans. Just now.

Dunya(whistles). Phew... Where did the difficult one bring them from?

Marya. A punitive squad, they say. In a word, they have come to catch you.

Dunya. Soooo. Well. Well done boys! Catch it!.. Where is Uncle Mikhail?

Marya. He took him to the elder. An officer...

Dunya(with annoyance). Nope. And I thought - tomorrow. Well, okay - today it’s possible. Let's play some more cat and mouse.

Marya. How is this, dear, necessary to understand?

Dunya. And so, grandmother, understand that if only the tail remains of a German cat, then we will step on the tail. (Laughs, extends his hand.) Well, grandma, goodbye, I have nothing to do here.

Marya. Back to the forest?

Dunya. The Russian land is big, grandma. There will be a place for us.

Marya. It's cold.

Dunya (meaningfully). Nothing. Don't be afraid. It won't be cold. (Thinking.) Nah. And I have a request for you, grandmother. (He unbuttons his sheepskin coat and takes out a notebook and pencil from his field bag.) Do you know Volodya Minaev? My friend Sonya, who was hanged, brother? I'll write him a note - will you take it down?

Marya. Come on, write.

Dunya (comes to the table, writes). If you deliver it tonight, you'll be great.

The gate slammed. In the yard, and then in the entryway, there were voices. The old woman shudders in fear.

Marya. Oh, girl, there’s no way someone’s coming!..

Dunya. What? Where? (She put the notebook in her bag.)

Marya. Come on, hide.

Both are rushing around the hut.

Marya. Come on... quickly... quickly... climb onto the stove. (He sits her down and Dunya hides on the stove.)

Mikhaila, the Russian headman, the same German officer and a German soldier appear. The soldier has a suitcase in his hand.

Headman. And this, your honor, is the most, so to speak, suitable veil for you personally. Here, I have the honor to tell you, live the most harmless old people living on their own. The situation there, however, is not great, but, so to speak, it is quite safe. And warm. (Touches the stove with his hand.) The stove was lit. If you don’t disdain, your honor, you can lie down on the stove. (To Mikhaila.) Are there any bedbugs?

Mikhaila. Not yet.

Officer. Fine. I'll be here. (To the soldier.) Dubbist fry. Vekke mih um drai ur.

Soldier (puts down the suitcase). Yavol! Um drive ur. Gut nakht. You can be free. Wake me up at three o'clock. (German)

He saluted, turned on his heel and left. Mikhaila, noticing a light bulb on the window, shudders. Hastily puts the light bulb on the table.

Officer. What?!

Mikhaila. It will be brighter here, your honor.

Marya (meaningfully). Late! It's too late.

Officer. What are you saying? Late? Who's late?

Marya. I say it's late. It’s dark, I say, outside...

The officer takes off his overcoat and, unfastening his field bag, goes to the table.

Headman. So, shall I go, Your Honor?

Officer (without looking at him). Yes. Go. You'll come in the morning.

Headman(bows). Be dead, I will come... Have a nice sleep, your honor. I recommend the stove. So to speak, it’s warm and not blowing... (To the owners.) Goodbye, old people.

Mikhaila nodded. The headman leaves. The officer lights a cigarette, lays out papers on the table, and looks through them. Behind him are old people. Marya points to the stove. The old man doesn't understand.

Officer (turning his head). Who is standing there?

Mikhaila. This is where we stand, Mr. Officer.

Officer. What are you worth? Give me something to eat!

Mikhaila (throws up his hands). But there is something, I apologize, and there’s nothing, your honor. As they say, you can roll a ball.

Officer. Ball? What is a “ball”? Okay, give me the ball.

Mikhaila. Hm... Where should I give you, your honor? (The old woman pushes him in the side.)

Officer. I don't understand. Well, bistro! Give me bread, eggs, milk!

Mikhaila(to his wife). Do you have any milk?

Marya. Come on, sir, what kind of milk is this today? After all, there is no milk without a cow, and your soldiers ate all of our cows.

Officer(swears). And the donner-vetter!..

Mikhaila(to his wife). Well, at least warm up some tea.

Marya. Some tea? It's possible. Please. (Takes a bucket and goes into the hallway.)

Officer (sits at the table, writes). And make me a bed soon. I have to go to bed soon.

Mikhaila. Nope. Where do you order, your honor? On the stove or...

Officer. Ah!.. It doesn’t matter.

Mikhaila. On the stove, I think, it’s still more convenient. It’s warm and no one will disturb you.

Marya (opening the door). Mikhaila!

Officer(scared). Who? What?

Mikhaila. “This is me,” the old woman calls. Well, what do you want? (He goes into the hallway.)

The officer writes. Dunya looks out from the stove. The officer throws down his pencil and gets up. Dunya hastily hides. The officer walks around the room, ruffles his hair, sits down again, jumps up again, goes to the stove, warms his hands. Then he sits down at the table again and writes.

Mikhaila returns. He's excited. He only now found out that Dunya was in his house. He looks at the stove, scratches his head, shakes his head. For one second, Dunya Ogareva’s face appeared again.

Mikhaila(coughing) . Hm... Your Honor...

Officer. Yes? What?

Mikhaila. I apologize... Do you need to attend to any special matters?

Officer. What? Which division?

Mikhaila. If anything happens, I’ll show it.

Officer. Go away, don't disturb me. (Rises, holds paper in hand.) Stop!

Mikhaila. Yes?

Officer (Looks at him point blank). Where are the women?

Mikhaila. Wha-oh? Which? What woman?

Officer. Well... your wife! Mistress.

Mikhaila. Aaaaand... Wife? (Calls.) Marya!

Marya comes in with a full bucket.

Marya. Well?

Officer. Where have you been?

Marya. I went for water.

Officer. Is there a sentry in the yard?

Marya(gloomily). How... is it worth it, hero.

Officer. What?

Mikhaila. It’s worth it, he says, your honor.

Marya is fiddling with the samovar.

Officer. Listen to me! Let's have a little conversation. (To Mikhaila.) Tell me, do you know a little why my soldiers and I came to your village?

Mikhaila. Hm... So, there is already a deal, your honor, since they came. Don't go for a walk.

Officer. Yes Yes. No walking. Listen to me! My soldiers and I are going to look for Russian partisans in your village! A? What are you saying?

Mikhaila. How? I don’t understand something, your honor.

Officer. I know that you don't understand. You are a good old people and you have nothing to do with the partisans. I wanted to have your little one calling. Listen, I will read one order that I wrote, your man! (Reads.) “Appeal! The command of the German army knows that a partisan detachment is operating in the area of ​​the village of Ivanovka and that the above... mentioned partisan group is led by a Russian woman, Eudokia Ogaryeva, or, as they call her, Comrade Dunya.” (Pause.) What? Do you know about this Dunya? No?

Mikhaila. Dunya? Hm... I heard something. Only she, in my opinion, your honor, has been dead for a long time.

Officer. Oh no! Still alive... (Sighs.) Very alive. (Looks at the paper.) Further... (Reads.) “The command of the German army announces: everyone who can indicate the location of the Russian partisan Ogarev, as well as who will help the German troops find her, will receive a reward from the German military headquarters: one thousand rubles and a live cow.” (To Mikhail.) Eh? This is good?

Mikhaila(scratching the back of his head). Well... Of course... A cow - I'll tell you that! This is a bonus! If only you, your honor, my advice to you, would also have attributed the calf.

Officer. How? Calf? What is a “calf”? Uh-oh, little cow?!!

Mikhaila. Whoa... Then, I think, they’ll bring you not one, but ten of these Duneks right away.

Officer. Yes? Oh, this is an idea... (Writes.) “A live cow and plus a live little calf”... Yes. Further... “Whoever assists the partisans, hides them in his home or contributes to their escape or non-arrival - the German army will mercilessly punish him, himself, as well as his family - father, mother and little children will suffer the death penalty by hanging.” (Finished reading.) Eh?

Mikhaila(gloomily). Nope.

While the officer was reading, Dunya looked out from the stove. A revolver flashed in her hand, but apparently she did not dare to shoot. The officer finished reading, and she hid again.

Marya (puts the samovar on the table). Here, take a sip.

Officer(funny) . So. OK then. Now I will sip my tea and then sleep a little.

Mikhaila. So where should you, your honor, sleep? You know, I see that you are a good person, so you lie down on our bed, and the old woman and I lie down on the stove.

Officer. A?

Marya. Right. After all, you know, sir, on our stove... this is the very thing...

Officer. What?

Marya. There are a lot of cockroaches.

Officer. How do you say? Cockroaches? What is a "cockroach"? Ahh, little bug! Eh, nonsense!.. The German soldiers have a lot of their own - a sting, a louse, and a bug... (Drinks tea. Mikhail.) Bring me... what's it called? Lots and lots of salt!

Mikhaila. What to bring?

Marya. Bring some straw, he says.

Mikhaila. Oh, straw... (Gloomily.) Well, straw - that's possible. (Leaves.)

The officer finishes drinking tea, gets up, stretches, takes off his uniform, puts a pistol on the table, then sits down and begins to take off his boots. Marya, with her arms crossed over her chest, stands by the stove, looking at him.

Marya (approaches the officer, looks around). Listen... you... what's your name... your reverence. I'll tell you what. Are you serious about the cow or what?

Officer. What? Cow? Oh yes yes. This is serious. (Hastily pulls on his boot and stands up.) And what? Do you know anything?

Marya. And... and the calf, then?

Officer. Yes Yes. And a calf. And one thousand... Even two thousand rubles. Do you know, yes, where Eudokia Ogareva should be?

Marya (after thinking, she nodded). I know.

Officer (puts on his uniform). Well!

Mikhaila appears with a huge armful of straw.

Marya (putting finger to lips). Shhhh. (Signs to the officer to remain silent.)

Mikhaila, standing up, throws straw on the stove. Marya and the officer are watching him. He crushes the straw, then goes downstairs and sighs heavily.

Mikhaila. Oh-ho-ho!

Officer. Listen... you! Go get some more salt! More salt! This is very little.

Mikhaila. The straw, your honor, is all covered with snow.

Officer. Ahh... (Impatiently.) Well, bistro!

Mikhaila. Okay, I'll bring it... (Sighs.) Oh-ho-ho! (Leaves.)

Officer(to Marya). Well?

Marya. I don’t even know how... Oh my God!..

Officer (pounds his fist on the table). Well, talk! Bistro! I will listen to you. Where is she?

Marya. Here she is... close.

Officer. Where?

Marya. Here, in a word... in one house... near the well.

Officer. How?

Marya. I say that here they, the partisans, gather in the same house at night. I heard that Dunya also happens there. Come on, get dressed, I'll show you.

Officer (throws his overcoat over his shoulders). How do you say? At the ring?

Marya. Yes, yes, at the well. Come on, I'll show you. Just don't go alone. Take more of your soldiers with you. Take all that you have...

Officer(thinking) . Hm... Zoldat? Oh, nein. No! (Takes off his overcoat.) We will do this to you. Ti bistro quietly goes there alone. Find out everything and come tell me.

Marya(embarrassed). How is this one? Why alone?

Officer(impatiently). Yes, yes, I already told you. Walk carefully... like this... without any deliberation. Look here and there... How many people are there... who is there. And come tell me everything.

Marya (thought, getting dressed). Well, okay...

Mikhaila appears with an armful of straw.

Mikhaila (getting stuck in the door). ABOUT! On the! woman! Where are you going?

Officer. Well, well, bistro!

Mikhaila. Where are you going, I say?

Marya (doesn't look at him). I’m going to the Minaevs... for milk.

Officer. Yes, yes, milk... (to Mikhail.) You! Listen! Bring... this... more salt!

Mikhaila (scratching the back of his head in confusion). More? Hm... Well, you can do more. (He looks fearfully at Marya and goes out.)

Officer(Marya). Well! Run! I'll be waiting.

Marya (throws a scarf over his head). Okay... (Leaves.)

The officer, worried and nervous, walks around the room, whistling, laughing, rubbing his hands. Leaning back against the stove, he stretches and yawns loudly. Marya returns.

Officer. What?!

Marya. He won't let me in.

Officer. Who should not be allowed in?

Marya. Yes, your guard won't let you in. Yells something. The bastard almost killed me with a gun...

Officer. Oh, nonsense! Come on, I'll tell him. (Goes to the exit.)

Marya (sits on a bench, takes off his shoes.) Okay, go ahead, your honor. And me - now. I'll just change my shoes.

Officer. What?

Marya. I'll change my shoes, I say. I'll put on my felt boots. There is a lot of snow in the yard.

Officer. A! Well, bistro! (Leaves.)

Marya (rises, in a loud whisper). Dunya!

Dunya (looking out from the stove). Yes?

Marya (throwing off his zipun). Quickly, get dressed.

Dunya jumped off the stove, took off her white sheepskin coat, and the old woman took off her coat.

Dunya(changing clothes). Oh, dear grandmother... You know, I wanted to kill him... I just felt sorry for you.

Marya. Enough of you... Feel sorry for us.

Dunya. No, just beat it like that. We will hit them wholesale, everyone at once.

Marya. Okay, shut up. Run into the hallway quickly. It's dark there. He would not know.

Dunya (hugs her, kisses her loudly). Well, grandma... my darling... thank you...

Marya (pushes her away). Yah you! Run!.. Quickly! (Throws Lunin’s clothes onto the stove.) Stop! Hook me up! (Climbs onto the stove. Dunya helps her.) Well, run! Goodbye!

Dunya. See you again, grandma... Soon!

Dunya noticed the chief lieutenant’s pistol on the table, took it, then changed her mind, took the clip out of the pistol, and put the pistol back on the table. All this is very fast.

Officer. Well, everything is in order. You can walk, I said.

Mikhaila (blocking Dunya from him). Well, go, go, why are you poking around!..

Dunya(deaf). I'm coming. (Smelling Maryin’s coat, she dashed into the hallway.)

The officer approaches the table, notices the gun, and puts it in his pocket. Mikhaila, throwing the straw on the floor, wipes her sweaty forehead, looks around - where is Marya?

Officer. What are you doing? A?

Mikhaila. Tired.

Officer. Tired? (Grinned.) Is the salt heavy?

Mikhaila. Oh, it's heavy! (Looks around.) Before, your honor, it was as if she were lighter, like straw... But now... (To herself.) Where did Marya go?

Officer. Your wife is a smart woman.

Mikhaila. Wife? Smart, your honor. Wisely.

Officer(laughs). She knows how to show her nose. (Shows “nose”.)

Mikhaila. He can, your honor. Oh, he can!

Officer. And you can carry away the salt. I won't sleep.

Mikhaila. No?

Officer. No, no... (Yawns.) Although... Ain broom zu shlyafen Get some sleep! (German)…Yes! (Takes off his uniform.) I will lie down for a while and rest. (Tries to climb onto the stove.) If I start wheezing and if your wife comes, wake me up immediately! (Cannot climb onto the stove.) Hey! Listen! You! Help me a little.

Mikhaila sits him down. Almost immediately the officer screams and falls head over heels.

Officer. Oh, Thousand Teufel. Ah, a thousand devils! (German)(Chatters teeth.) Who is there?

Mikhaila(scared). What? There is no one, your honor.

Officer. There's someone alive there! (Picks up a revolver.) Well, look!

Mikhaila. I'm afraid, Your Honor.

Officer (waves a revolver, shouts). Well!..

Marya (sits on the stove, dangling his bare feet). Eh, okay, why hide there? It's me, Your Reverence! Hello!

Officer(horrified) . You?!! How did you get there? You went to the well!

Marya. And you believed...

Officer. Oh, donner-vetter! Es ist aine grosse false! This is a lie! (German) (Rushes towards Marya with a pistol. The old woman jumps off the stove.) Who left? Tell me quickly, who left the house?! (Waves a pistol.) Well! Speak! I will shoot!..

Mikhaila (taking a step towards the officer). Quiet, your honor, don't shout, quiet...

Officer(squeals). Ah-ah-ah!.. And Vee too! All as one! Russian pig! Love it! (Shoots.)

Mikhail shielded his wife with his chest.

Officer. On the! (He shoots again, notices that the gun is not loaded.) Ah, ferfluchte teufel! Ah, diabolism! (German) (Throwing away the pistol, grabbed a stool and swung it.)

Half a minute before, a machine gun rattled on the street and voices were heard. The door swung open. On the threshold is Dunya. There are several partisans behind her.

Dunya (she has a revolver in her hand). Stop! (Shoots.)

The officer dropped the stool, screamed, and grabbed his shot hand.

Dunya. Hande hoch! Hands up! (German)

The officer raises first his left, then - slowly - his right wounded hand.

Officer(to Mikhaila). Who is this?

Mikhaila. And this, your honor, is Dunya Ogareva, for whom you, bastard, promised a live cow and calf.

Dunya. Well... (Points with his hand, as if to get out.)

Two boys with machine guns at the ready come in - one on the right, the other on the left. The officer walks slowly towards the exit.

Marya (stands still leaning against the stove). Hey! Stop! (The officer stopped.) Come on, let me look at you one last time. (Shakes his head.) After all, it’s necessary! A? Just think, honest people... I thought I could buy a Russian man with a stolen cow... Oh, and you’re a fool, I’ll tell you, your frying pan... (Waving her hand.) Go!..

A machine gun rattled louder on the street.

NEW YEAR'S PLAY-FAIRY TALE!

IN SEARCH OF MAGIC

A fabulous New Year's performance based on the play "In Search of the Lost Magic."

Genre: circus New Year's tale for children.

Date of writing: 2015

Duration – 1-15

The premiere took place in December 2015 at the Irkutsk Youth Theater named after. Vampilova.

A magical story that takes place in a circus on New Year's Eve: miracles, magic, funny and completely unexpected adventures that young heroes will have to go through in order to save the New Year's performance.

A good, funny fairy tale about how if you really want to and believe in yourself, then we can make any desire come true.

The circus fairy tale genre makes it possible to introduce ready-made circus acts into the plot, which makes the performance very dynamic and spectacular.

CABARET "ASTORIA"

Buff fantasy on the theme of one biography or a step-by-step course on the destruction of the universe for dummies.

The play contains some facts from the biography of Jura Soifer, an Austrian playwright and poet. But the result is a very free fantasy, which simply makes it possible to once again touch on the topic - “The Artist and Time”, to look at modernity through the prism of historical experience.

It seems that the events described in the play belong to ancient times, but in a strange way, certain historical parallels are visible in the text, willingly or unwillingly.

But here, as they say: all coincidences are random, and the author is for them

bears no responsibility.

SAVE KAMER-JUNKER PUSHKIN

The text was written in the “mono-play” genre and has the subtitle: “The story of one failed feat,” which in itself is already quite sad...

However, this does not prevent directors from defining the genre of their performances quite arbitrarily - from comedy to tragicomedy.

Characters:

Despite the fact that the play is written in mono format, the number of characters is limited solely by the director’s imagination and the theater’s production capabilities.

The premiere took place in October 2013 at the Moscow theater “School of Modern Play”.

First place at the International Drama Competition "Acting

faces" 2012.

The highest award in the field of drama - "Grand Prix" of the Competition

Competitions" as the best play of the year at the Golden Mask festival.

Diploma of the Russian State Library of Arts - "For

a brilliant experiment with dramatic form."

Aurora" became a prize-winner of the international literary competition "About

Petersburg in prose and verse."

PUBLICATIONS:

Collection of plays from the competition “Characters” - “Best Plays of 2012”.

Magazine "Northern Aurora No. 17"

ROCK-N-ROLL AT SUNSET

Lyrical comedy for two lonely dancers.

Characters – 1 - male. 1 - female.

The play is ideal for an enterprise or benefit performance.

For two age actors. Man and woman. The older, the better.

This is the story of the relationship between two already middle-aged people who accidentally meet in an amateur dance training studio.

The characters are very different in character. Therefore, it is not surprising that every scene of their communication turns into a rather funny, sometimes comical situation.

But they still continue to meet, not giving up hope that one day the day will come when they will dance real rock and roll.

Rock-n-Roll - as an image of the fact that life is not over yet. And that at any age there is room for hope and feeling.

ROCK-N-ROLL ON THE BENCH.

Mono-play for a lonely lover of Rock and Roll

Characters: female - 1

Genre - lyrical comedy monoplay for a middle-aged actress.

Acquaintances of actresses have repeatedly approached me with a request to write a play for solo performance. This monoplay is a text for a one-man performance, written based on two of my other popular plays: “Waiting for HIM” and “Rock-n-Roll at Sunset”. And the heroine, to a certain extent, embodies the collective image of all the female characters in these plays.

DON'T FORGET TO SIGN

The play is a laureate of the Voloshin International Drama Competition 2018. First prize.

The premiere took place in April 2019 at the Yekaterinburg Theater "On Plotinka".

Comedy in the genre of social utopia

Date of writing: 2018

Characters – 4 (2 men and 2 women) An older couple and a young couple.

A comedy in which a seemingly ordinary story, a love date of a young couple, is taken to the point of absurdity. Lately you can often hear a joke that soon it will be impossible to go on a date without a lawyer. What will happen if suddenly such a situation arises in reality? What happens when true feelings and relationships inherent in nature itself are replaced by artificial rules and restrictions?

The play has a genre subtitle - “social utopia”. The only question is: how far is our reality from it?

ROPE

The play is a prize-winner of the international drama competition "Badenweiler 2010"

Genre: dark comedy with a cheerful ending.

Characters – 10. (9 – male. 1 – female)

At first glance, completely unrelated scenes, like pieces of a puzzle, gradually come together towards the end into a complete, complete story. The paradox is that, despite the comedic nature of each individual scene, the whole thing turned out to be more than sad.

The premiere took place in December 2016 at the Kiev Academic Theater of Drama and Comedy.

Director - Alexey Lisovets.

IN SEARCH OF THE LOST MAGIC

A fairy tale story that can happen to every boy or girl.

The premiere took place in March 2014 at the Moscow theater "School of Modern Play".

Genre: circus fairy tale for children.

Date of writing: 2012

Characters – 9 (7 adults and 2 children. Boy and Girl – 9-11 years old)

Duration – 1-30

Audience – for primary and secondary school age – 6+

A magical story that takes place in a circus: miracles, magic, funny and completely unexpected adventures that young heroes will have to experience.

“...And all you need is nothing: when you grow up, don’t forget that as a child you dreamed of becoming a wizard.” These words, spoken at the end by one of the characters, could be taken as an epigraph to the play.

And perhaps this performance will remind parents of the time when they themselves were little.

What did they dream about?

It will make you take a fresh look at yourself today and think: am I who I wanted to become as a child?

And isn't it time to change something in your life? To return again to the distant world of childhood, when we sincerely believed that if we really want and believe in ourselves, then we can fulfill any desires.

The circus fairy tale genre makes it possible to introduce ready-made circus acts into the plot, which makes the performance more dynamic, vibrant and spectacular.

WAITING FOR HIM

Lyrical improvisation on the theme “Slow Twistin” for four female voices.

The premiere took place in 2011 at the Moscow theater "On Perovskaya".

The play is a prize-winner of the international drama competition “A New Play for an Old Theater.”

Characters: 4 - female

A lyrical comedy starring four actresses of different ages - from 16 to 60 plus.

The play is performed in two Moscow theaters - "Theater Mansion" and in the "Na Perovskaya" theater.

From the annotation of the performance at the Theater Mansion: “M. Heifetz’s play “Waiting for Him” is a poetic improvisation, perfect for dramatic, comedic and experimental productions...”

Ideal for women's enterprise.

HOW TSIOLKOVSKY FLY TO THE MOON

Art Mystery on the theme of one biography.

The play is a prize-winner of the Voloshin International Drama Competition 2014

Finalist of the Omsk Laboratory of Contemporary Drama 2013

READINGS AND SHOWINGS:

The second festival of contemporary art "Tsiolkovsky" in Kaluga.

Project - “Open History Theater” Moscow.

The play is not about Tsiolkovsky or even about astronautics.

The play is nothing more than a parable.

Persons without a sense of humor and notorious patriots are contraindicated from reading.

WE PLAY HOFFMANN

A comedy on some controversial issues in anthropology.

Characters: 10 (female - 2, male - 8)

An original plot included in one of Hoffmann’s most “seditious” fairy tales – “Little Tsakhes”.

The age-old question: what is truth, lies, truth?

The play makes it possible once again to be convinced that modern reality is not much inferior to the phantosmogorical fiction of the great writer.

I wanted to write a play in the tradition of the aesthetics of Schwartz and Gorin.

FOUR RABINOVITCHES

A comedy on the theme of the exodus, in which all coincidences with any real historical facts are completely coincidental.

Characters – 10. (8 - male. 3 - female)

History, or rather, two stories developing in parallel in two time layers.

The text is on the verge of farce. And, as is clear from the names of the characters, it has something to do with Jewish themes.

WELCOME TO MATTRESENTANNA!

A black comedy with a murder based on the story of the Hungarian writer Istvan Erken “The Tot Family”.

Characters: 5 (3 – male, 2 – female)

Istvan Erken is a Hungarian prose writer and playwright, the founder of the Hungarian theater of the absurd.

The play is not a dramatization and does not literally repeat the plot of the story. But I hope that, to the extent possible, I managed to convey the unique spirit of subtle irony and “black humor” for which this writer is so famous.

MARRY CASANOVA

A mystical adventure comedy with all the attributes typical of this genre: ghosts, scared girls and exciting developments.

Characters – 11. (7 – male. 4 – female)

The text was written like a film script, but for those interested there is an adapted version for the theater.

A funny melodramatic story, which, according to the author’s immodest plan, is designed to try to compete in this genre with the comedic texts of Ludwig, Cooney and Company

THE TALE OF THE WIZARD WHO LIVED ON A CLOUD

A fairy tale-parable for children's and puppet theaters.

The play was written specifically for participation in the creative laboratory "Little Drama", organized by the Moscow Regional Puppet Theater.

The premiere show took place as part of the V International Theater Festival "Puppet Theater - Without Borders" in May 2015.

A romantic fairy tale about the place of beauty and creativity in our everyday lives, told through a story about the love and friendship of fairy-tale characters.

HOW THE KING OF THE UNDERGROUND WAS DEFEATED

Children's play based on Korean fairy tales.

Characters: 11 (7 male, 4 female)

A funny fairy tale, full of folk color, about how the Hero and his three friends - the Strong Man, the Cunning Man and the Shooter went to rescue their brides who had been kidnapped by the king of the underworld.

The play has everything that children love so much: funny characters, unexpected plot twists, the struggle between the forces of good and evil.

The play was commissioned for the international Asian forum “International Contest for Asian Creative Story”

432 HERZ

A monologue that has nothing to do with the physical properties of sounds.

A monoplay on the theme of the mystery of Shakespeare's personality.

The play is a finalist in the international monoplay competition organized by the Library of Arts and Radio Culture.

The presentation of the play took place in June 2016 at the Jerusalem City Library.

THE MYSTERY OF THE SEVEN BRIDGES

Non-historical carnival fantasy with elements of mysticism.

The play was written for the "Historical Drama" competition organized by the Kaliningrad Drama Theater.

In August 1811, the latter was found guilty and executed in Königsberg.

witch of Europe - Barbara Zdunk.

This is perhaps the only reliable historical fact used in this play. Everything else is nothing more than fiction and a coincidence.

NEWS

RESULTS OF THE FESTIVAL!The "Premiere of One Rehearsal" festival has ended in Togliatti. Based on the results of the audience vote, the performance that will be included in the theater’s repertoire was Alexander Serenko’s work based on Mikhail Kheifetz’s play “Saving the Chamber-Junker Pushkin.”

PRESENTATION! On June 19, at the Tolyatti Stagecoach Theater, as part of the theater festival “Premiere of One Rehearsal,” a performance based on the play “Saving the Chamber-Junker Pushkin” took place.

PREMIERE! On June 15, the premiere of the play “Rock and Roll at Sunset” took place at the Saratov New Chamber Theater “Podmostki”.

READING OF PLAYS - WINNERS! June 13 atThe Malyshchitsky Chamber Theater presented the play "Cabaret" Astoria.

PUBLICATION! In the latest issue of the magazine LITERATURE published the play “Don’t Forget to Sign.”

PREMIERE! On April 7, the premiere of the play “Rock-n-roll at Sunset” took place at the Solnechnogorsk Drama Theater “Galatea”.

PREMIERE! On March 22, the premiere of the play “Don’t Forget to Sign” took place at the Yekaterinburg Theater “On Plotinka”.

PREMIERE! On March 3, the premiere of the play “Rock n Roll at Sunset” took place at the Lviv Regional Academic Music and Drama Theater named after Yuri Drohobych. “Evenings with Rock and Roll.”

PREMIERE! On March 1, the premiere of the play “Saving the Chamber-Junker Pushkin” took place at the Youth Theater in Vladivostok.

PUBLICATION! In the next issue of the literary magazine "LITERRATURE" in the "Dramaturgy" section, the play by Israeli playwright Mikhail Kheifets "How Tsiolkovsky Flew to the Moon" was published.

PREMIERE! The premiere of the play based on the play by Mikhail Kheifetz took place at the Crimean Academic Russian Drama Theater named after Gorky

PRESENTATION AND READING OF THE PLAY "How Tsiolkovsky flew to the Moon"

In Omsk on July 17, as part of the City Day celebrations, a reading of Michal Heifetz’s play will be presented

PREMIERE! On March 23, the premiere of the play “Waiting for Him” took place at the Donetsk Academic Regional Drama Theater (Mariupol).

Presentation of the play "Cabaret "Astoria" at the festival!

On March 25 in Feodosia, as part of the FeTeF theater festival, an actor's reading of Mikhail Kheifetz's play "Cabaret Astoria" will take place. Creative laboratory “Caution! Theater!"

RADIO "GRAD PETROV" "LET'S TALK ABOUT THE THEATER" Theater critic Alexey Pasuev reviews three performances staged in theaters in St. Petersburg based on Mikhail Kheifetz's play "Saving the Chamber-Junker Pushkin."

PREMIERE! After an almost two-year break, the Moscow Theater on Perovskaya resumed showing, as they write on the theater’s website, the cult play “Waiting for Him.”

On December 19, in the concert hall of the Jerusalem library, and then in Eilat, as part of the Limmud project, a presentation of the complete author’s version of the play “Saving the Chamber-Junker Pushkin” took place.

more details

PREMIERE! On September 22, the Chelyabinsk State Drama Chamber Theater opened the season with the premiere of the play “Saving the Chamber-Junker Pushkin.”

The play "Rope" staged by the Kyiv Academic Drama and Comedy Theater became a laureate of the International Festival "Melpomene of Tavria" in three categories: Best Performances on the Big Stage, Best Director and Best Actress

PREMIERE! On April 26, 2017, the premiere of the play “Rock-n-roll at sunset” took place at the Voronezh House of Actors.

PREMIERE! On April 22, 2017, the premiere of the play “Rock-n-roll at sunset” took place at the Murmansk Regional Theater

PREMIERE! On March 30, 2017, the premiere of the play “Welcome to Matrasentana!” took place at the “Little” Theater (תיאטרון מלנקי). ("משפחת טוט")