A WOMAN OF ST. PETERSBURG
(A Monodrama in Four Acts)
by VLADIMIR BALASHOV
Russian Translator
Benjamin Sher
[draft -- 1992]
[Translation Copyright 1992 by Benjamin Sher]
Original text first published in TEATR in 1987
Translated under exclusive agreement with the author
DRAMATIS PERSONA
VERA
(or: Verochka)
[Vera Vitalyevna Yendov]
In Act I Vera is 18 years old (1916)
In Act II Vera is 28 years old (1926)
In Act III Vera is 43 years old (1941)
In Act IV Vera is 76 years old (1974)
Place
St. Petersburg, Russia
(Known as Petrograd in Act I and Leningrad in Acts II-IV)
Time: 1916-1974
(We hear a melody played on the grand piano before Act I. It is repeated as a leitmotif between each of the four acts and at the conclusion of the play)
ACT ONE
(1916 — Vera is 18)
(The leitmotif melody is heard on the grand piano)
[Revolutionary activity, represented by democratic forces of the center as well as by Marxists of various persuasions {including the democratic Mensheviks and the fanatical Bolsheviks} is sweeping like wildfire across the moribund Russian Empire. Spurred on by the devastation of World War I, then in full swing, it infiltrates and undermines every institution of Russian society, including the army. Millions of Russians have already died on the German and Austrian fronts. The prospects for an end to the war look bleak. The Tsar, myopic and obstinate, fights blindly on against the inevitable. The February Revolution is less than six months away.-- Translator]
(The large room of a Petersburg apartment. On the left a high window, before which stands a small carved walnut desk. An oil-lamp mounted on jade legs stands on this desk. It is covered by a pale-green silk lampshade. A sofa made of walnut wood. Wallpaper to match the upholstery of the furniture. On the wall above the sofa hang several enamel miniatures in oval form. A fretted walnut pier-glass. A baby grand piano. On the right a tall door with a bronze handle. The door is open throughout the play. An old-fashioned telephone is visible through the doorway. It hangs in the vestibule of an apartment rented by the prosperous young engineer Boris Andreevich Yendovitsk.
Autumn, 1916. Drizzling through open window is followed by grayness and rain. The time is afternoon.
Telephone rings. Entrance door of apartment opens. Vera rushes in to answer the phone. She is carrying her purchases in her hands and wearing a cape. Her umbrella is already folded.
She is a happy newlywed. It is no accident that her name means “faith”. She has not yet become accustomed to being addressed as a wife.
She puts down her purchases. Telephone rings once. Vera rushes to answer it)
VERA
(Picking up receiver hurriedly) Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle! We’ve been disconnected (cranks handle repeatedly)… Darn it! Just missed him. It was Boris! I know it! Probably calling to tell me he won’t be coming home for dinner today. (Picks up receiver, cranks the handle) Mademoiselle, please get me 2-2-6-7… No one is answering? Thanks. (Hangs up) Well, looks like he didn’t call. Or if he did, it wasn’t from the director’s office… (Takes a deep breath. Shows off her purchases) So what do you think?– Barley coffee and four meters of calico. Four meters and not one centimeter more! And at what prices! (Gets undressed, then laughs) The men can’t keep their eyes off me: “Stranger in a veil,” they call me. So I look back (giggles) and smile at them. (Defiant) And why shouldn’t I? For goodness’ sake, even this miserable war can’t make me miserable. (Puts purchases away and stands before a mirror) “Lady in a veil.” (Sticks her tongue out towards her reflection in the mirror, then takes off her cape and “hat with a veil” and puts them away in the vestibule. Returns, inspects herself again in the mirror. Slightly uneasy, she thinks aloud) I haven’t changed that much since I got married. Or have I? … I don’t think I’ll ever want to be a mother. (Leaves the room. Soon returns in a dressing-gown. Assumes a variety of poses before mirror) Knock them dead, Vera! (Freezes before mirror) An ivory statuette! When I was fourteen, I used to walk in the nude for hours before the mirror. (Suddenly. Out of the blue. Resentful) I just can’t believe the horrible stench! (Strokes her temples). Starting tomorrow, I’ll be on my feet all day nursing the wounded and the dying in those stinking military hospitals of ours! (Sighing) I guess I’m destined to become another Florence Nightingale. There are so many of us sick-nurses now…. (pouting) What will happen to Vera? Who will care about me? I’ll just be another pooped-out nurse. (Unwraps her package, puts on a traditional Russian kerchief and a cross and tries on her apron) Darn it! This apron makes me look just like a school-girl. Well, I’d better go remove the ruffles. Boris will be so very pleased!…. But what do I do if I run into Zhenya in the hospital?…. What if he’s been maimed? (muffled cry) Oh my God! It’s been so long since I’ve said a prayer for him. He’s been sent to the front again… Blessed be the Kingdom of Heaven.
(Declaiming in a sing-song style)
I remember the hour and the day we met,
The timid moments of our first stroll,
The fire of a heart whose sun has set,
And, white as a temple, the night’s hall.
(With an aching heart) It’s been so long since I’ve prayed for him…. All through vespers I thought about nothing but him…. I tried to stay till the end (shaking with emotion) but couldn’t…. And here I am thinking about Zhenya again. I wonder why… Oh, yes! (recalling something) I saw this officer being carried on a stretcher. He had no legs. It was on Nevsky Prospekt, and the orderly… (shuts her eyes) What a horror! (opens her eyes) I know! It’s a sin to think of Zhenya… after all, I’m mar… but it’s even more of a sin not to think about him. He’s suffering for us, for the fatherland … I almost forgot! I haven’t looked at a paper in over a week. (Without removing her nurse’s kerchief, she runs backstage to the vestibule and returns with several newspapers in her hands) Oh, my God, what a long list! My God, how many dead! And how many decorated for bravery… Elizabeth, the queen of Romania, has died at the age of 74… Blessed be the Kingdom of Heaven… More lists! And still more lists! What a shame it is to be happy in our day and age…. But how can you be unhappy when you feel happy. Well, I’ve got to go. They’re waiting for me at the hospital. (She removes her kerchief, walks through the room, lights the oil-lamp) How beautifully the jade glows! The light seems to come from deep inside. (Turns lamp off. From somewhere in the vestibule we hear the striking of the clock) The lamp really belongs in Boris’ study. It’s part of the desk set. But who cares? I want it here! (Turns on lamp) Whatever Boris wants, I want. (Self-reproachful) Oh, how he spoils me rotten!… And what kind of a wife am I to him? Just a silly coed… (Leafs through newspapers)
“His Imperial Majesty, acting in response to the loyal and devoted report of State Secretary Kulomzina, Chairman of the Romanoff Committee, concerning the highly successful campaign for donations carried out by this committee responsible for the care and provision of orphans, peasants and service-men recruited from amongst students attending every institution of learning in the Empire, has deigned to communicate the following in the name of the throne: ‘His Majesty is deeply touched by the Christian piety displayed by our young students…’”
(Continuing to read from newspaper) “Learn how to write letters to prisoners-of-war.” [Note: The overwhelming majority of the Russian people were illiterate on the eve of the 1917 Revolution] That’s it! I’ll teach the wounded to read and write. And when I get nauseous from the smell of chlorophyll, I’ll light up a cigarette. (Leafs through newspapers) Thank God the name of Lt. Yevgeny Golovnin hasn’t shown up on any of these casualty lists. (Screams) Zhenya! (catches her breath, relieved) For a moment there I thought… It is Yevgeny all right, but (still catching her breath) … thank God, not Yevgeny Golovnin! (Guilty) So what am I so happy about? Someone is dead, someone I’ve never even met and I’m … (to herself) Go on, girl, pull yourself together! (Reads) “A student working on the staff of the Disenex detachment has expired in the Red Cross field hospital…” I could die, too (crosses herself while collecting her newspapers). When Zhenya went off to war, he was positively crude to Boris. Well, almost! You see, Boris is in the third category of conscription because he works in a munitions plant making artillery shells. (Defensive) The Grand Duke himself has praised him! You should hear what Liza says about him: “… the beginning of a great career. No question about it! He’s going places!”… (Reads again) “Twelve railroad workers executed… for being out on strike.” (Puts newspapers aside). Whew! These newspapers sure know how to put you in a foul mood… What blasted weather! (Despondently. In resignation) I see: So I’m fated to be a sister of mercy! Well, by God!… (Walks up to window. Looks out. Somewhat shaken). It’s Zyzev, the factory-owner, riding off with his Cossacks. (The sound of horse’s hooves as they ride off) Boris keeps telling me that Russia is sick to its very core. (Lies down on the sofa). He doesn’t want Zhenya to write to me. Not that he ever says in so many words… and that’s precisely why I know he doesn’t want me to. Funny, but that’s Boris for you. Meanwhile (voice trembling) more blood, more lice, more gaz and moans at the front. It’s a good thing Tolstoy died before the war. If he were still alive, he’d die a thousand deaths from sheer pity for our men… He was always Zhenya’s idol!… I, on the other hand, was brought up on Nikitina… We both know Pushkin by heart. Especially Yevgeny… (significant pause) I mean Yevgeny Onegin. Here I go talking about him again. (Sighs. Exits room, carrying newspapers in her arms. She returns with a plateful of little toasted sandwiches and takes a bite. From outside we hear the sound of hooves on the gravel below. Vera walks over to window) It’s the Cossacks! (The Cossak leader starts singing “Dontsy-Molodtsky” in his high-pitched voice.) Look at that Ukrainian chief with the forelock! (The other Cossacks join in spiritedly) Nothing can stop them. Not even a downpour. (Doorbell in the vestibule rings. Vera goes out. As she goes out, we hear her shouting “Come on in! Come on in!” over the Cossack singing. The Cossack song fills the street and overflows into the apartment through the window. Gradually, the song dies away as the Cossacks with their pikes move on. The vestibule door slams. Vera returns) What do you know?! The police constable doesn’t think my tea is good enough for him… (Continues eating the little pieces of toast. She shivers) It is cold! (Wraps a shawl around her shoulders). I just can’t wait for Liza’s party tonight! All those splendid guests …! Oh, my God, I haven’t selected the song yet! (Glad to have something to do, she walks over to the grand piano, flips through the sheet music scattered all over it. Looks at one sheet of music, then another) No, that’s too sad! Hmm, this one is a bit whimsical, but I’ll bet Boris will love it. (Begins playing softly, then sings)
By the fireplace you sit and agonize
As the coals burn down to ashes.
Now and then the flames will rise –
And then disappear through the meshes.
You’re sad. What about if not the past,
That brims over with voluptuous love?
Why stare at coals that do not last?
They’ll burn out before you move.
Believe me, love too is such a fire,
Hastening our dreams to consume.
Yet, if fate should quench this pyre,
Cold would rush in, suffering and doom.
Don’t worry! I’ll put some real feeling into it tonight. I’ll have everyone in tears by the time I get through.
(Telephone rings. Vera rushes into hallway, picks up receiver) Yes?… I’m sorry, but Boris is at work. May I ask who is calling?… Yes, go ahead. I can hear you. No, I don’t know you by name, but, if memory serves me right, you’re a student at the Polytech Institute. Right?… “Gayoz,” yes, I’ll write it down. G-a-y-o-z (She jots down the name in the telephone directory hanging from the wall) “The Committee For The Commemoration of the Massacre of Twelve Railroad Workers at Nikolayevsk” invites you to join us for a commemorative rally at the Polytech at 8 p.m. tonight.” (Confused) You consider it proper to direct such an invitation to Boris Yendovitsky? If I may say so, aren’t you being a bit indiscreet? Unless I’m mistaken, isn’t the Polytech a military institute of sorts? … I’m sorry, but your surname doesn’t mean anything to me… (Reluctantly) Yes, I’ll pass it on to him. (Hangs up, cranks handle to indicate to operator that she is through) Boris has only himself to blame. He is always so blunt: “You won’t find the real Petersburg on Nevsky Prospekt,” he’d say to his students, “Go see how the workers sweat and toil on Volkovsky St!” And he would grab my arm and drag me down to see how they live…. But why did I promise this Gayoz to pass on this information to Boris? (Rereads invitation again and again)… He’ll thank me for it later. (Tears page with information from the telephone directory, rips it into little pieces and dumps it in kitchen garbage can. Returns, sits down at the piano, and picks up where she left off)
The golden spring rose before me
And the days that once did glow.
In May I took to nature like a doe
To hear the nightingale warble free.
How could that Gayoz be so trusting?! Such gall! (Telephone rings) Borya! (Rushes to the telephone, picks up receiver) Borya, Borya, my darling Boryenka, is that you?… Hello? Who is it?… Hello, why don’t you say something? Who?… Zhenya? Yevgenyi Golovnin? Is that you, Zhenya?… How wonderful to hear your voice! What a thrill!… I can’t get over it! Are you staying in town, Zhenya, or just passing through?… Till 4 p.m. Why, what’s going on? Calm down, Zhenya! Don’t get so excited! I can hear you! Really, I can! … At what hotel?… But why did you have to go and rent a room in a hotel? (Listens for a long time. Shocked and bewildered). My dear Zhenya, what are you saying? Have you forgotten that I’m married?! But what if Boris were here? What then, Zhenya?… (Playing for time) Besides, I’ve got to think it over, Yevgeny. Don’t you realize, honey, that you are insulting Boris and me. (Pleading in desperation) Please, Lieutenant Golovnin, my dear, dear Zhenya… It’s not you speaking (tears well up in her eyes) Come to your senses, Zhenya! Everyday I’ve looked over the casualty lists in terror, and, thank God (she is wracked with emotion)… I never came across your name. In fact, no more than an hour ago… No, Zhenya, stop it, Zhenya! Listen to me! Zhenya!… This isn’t compassion, I assure you. It’s something else… He works in the munitions plant from 8 in the morning to 1 p.m. and again from 4 p.m. to 7 p.m. … So why did you call? (Raises her voice in anger. Pause) Don’t you dare talk like that to me! (Curious) But why? Why all this vulgarity?! (sobs)… Why do you insist on hurting me?! I never gave you cause … (Angry) Don’t you ever talk like that about me or Boris again!… I mean it, Zhenya! For God’s sake, Zhenya, your high school sweetheart is now a wife!… No, no, I won’t come, so stop it! The 5:40 is leaving from Warsaw Station? So? I don’t want to see you anymore… Will you stop pleading with me, Zhenya, for my sake, will you please stop… (Tears well up in her eyes. Beseechingly) for the sake of the girl you once worshipped… (softly) I won’t come, Zhenya… And, no, I won’t be home. I’m going out to work as an orderly in a field hospital… yes, as a sick-nurse. (Conciliatory) Should I tell Boris that you were in Petrograd? (Listens)… My dear, dear friend, you’ve made this up yourself. Forgive me, but the war has obviously degraded you. How could you even think of…? No, don’t come, Zhenya!… I can get along well enough without Sokolov’s marvelous watercolors… (compassionate) Don’t be silly, Zhenya darling, there’s nothing to be afraid of!… I know, I know, but premonitions are often deceiving…. No, darling, nobody is going to kill you… I just know it, Zhenya! Remember the gypsy woman in Pavlovsk? Remember how she predicted that you would die by drowning? Well, here you are,– fighting on land, instead. And today you’ll be going by train, not by boat. Well, yes, I too am praying for you…. No! No! I’m going out. I’ve already told you… the field hospital. Forgive me, darling, but you’ve killed my tender feelings for you… that part of me that’s yours. Yes, I did once, and there’s no sin in admitting this, yes, yes, I know, but the die is cast. I’m in love with Boris… with all my heart! (Voice rising in desperation) No, Zhenya, I do love him! I love him with every fiber of my being! (She bursts out crying. Through tears) I love him! (defensive) And I’m glad he’s working at the munitions plant. He’s a soldier, too, just like you, or haven’t you grasped this fact yet?! … I don’t care what you think, Zhenya!… No! He never asked for a comfy job behind some machine tool. On the contrary, it’s the Chief Mobilized Section that’s kept him out of the army so far. So stop blaming him!… You don’t have to believe it! And while I’m at it, let me remind you that he’s quite talented, too! Did you know that he’s invented a machine tool for grinding wooden plugs for projectiles? Well, what do you think of that?!…(Flustered) I don’t know which projectiles!… They seem to — oh, how should I know? — I mean, they seem to protect the grooves from rust… I’ve even bought him an engineer’s badge, just in case. He’s constantly wound-up like a machine… No, good-bye, honey! (Tears well up in her eyes) My blessings (trembling voice) g-go with you! And may … all right, my love… May God preserve thee! … God will forgive you. I know He will… Yes, and I shall pray for you… (whispering) No, I won’t. (Voice gently rising) Stop pleading with me, Zhenya, and please don’t get on your knees! May another woman kiss you on my behalf! (Hangs up, cranks handle) It’s Zhenya, as if you didn’t know! He swore that all he wanted was to see me, but by his voice… It’s really not him. It’s the war. It has deformed his soul… Oh, Lord, don’t let him come here! … He will, though, I know he will. I’d better get the coffee ready. How can you deny a man on furlough from hell a cup of coffee? (to herself) Don’t worry, Vera, I’ll make him behave…. He said he was on his way… in a fast cab. Oh Lord, how drunk he was! (Paces up and down in a state of agitation. Closes the window) I better hurry and change my clothes. It doesn’t make sense to … you know, they are so dispirited, so crushed in the trenches… just seeing us, just the sight of our hands, our hair-do’s, one whiff of our perfume… A quick cup of coffee and I’ll send him on his way! Thank God I still have some of those fruit drops … (change of mood) But what if Boris returns? Why didn’t I agree to meet him at his hotel? I could’ve worn my veil, and nobody would’ve… Oh God! It’s too horrible to think of what could have happened then… (The clock in the living room strikes on the hour) I wonder if he looks any different with that mustache of his? Has it turned dark yet? Oh, what whimsy! Boris, oh, my Borya… I almost forgot. I can call him! But first I better go change my clothes… Wait, I can’t very well do both at once! All right, all right, I’ll call Boris first. (Stationing herself next to the telephone, Vera cranks the handle with determination). Mademoiselle, 2-2-6-7, please … Administration? May I speak to Engineer Yondovitsky? He is at the shop? … No, not really, nothing in particular… Oh, it’s you, Mr. Poluzadov!… No, not really, I was just bored… An accident?!… No one injured, I hope… Boris injured?! Just a bruise? Wait a second! What do you mean by “just a bruise”? Oh, I see… So he won’t be coming home for dinner… Well, all right, tell him that … no, never mind, don’t tell him anything. Give my regards to your wife. (Hangs up, cranks handle.) Is fate telling me something? I wonder. (Reaches for the elegant golden cross hanging from her neck. To herself). Don’t worry, Vera! The cross will protect you…. I have to go change… The janitor may see Zhenya and let him in. Officers come and go all the time. Even the great Nadezhdina used to trudge through the snow wearing nothing but fur coat and stockings… (laughs) just to see her French lover. Oh, what strange thoughts creep through my head at a time like this. (Hearing the clatter of hooves, Vera rushes over to the window) Zhenya! And I haven’t even changed my clothes! … I must be out of my mind! If I change my clothes, he’ll assume that I did it deliberately for him. And, you know, he is right. I am changing my clothes for him. (Exits. Returns a moment later in a radiant dress. She buttons up her dress as she enters) He is carrying something in his hand. Maybe flowers.
(The elevator is barely audible) Elevator going up. (We hear the elevator door opening and closing at the top of the stairs). Elevator door closing behind him. (The bell in the vestibule rings. She shouts to Zhenya in counterfeit voice) “She’s not home!” (She covers her mouth with her hand. To audience in natural voice) I won’t open the door. That’s all there’s to it! (Two short rings and one long one) That’s his signal. I know it! Oh, how I remember it! My father used to recognize it instantly… (More rings) Vera, honey, don’t be ridiculous! (She exits into the vestibule only to return immediately). He has no right to torment me like this. (Frantic, repeats last phrase syllable by syllable) … H e h a s n o r i g h t! (A tear rolls down her cheek. She kisses the cross, exits again into the vestibule and returns immediately) Oh, God, what should I do? What? What?! (She conceals the cross in her cleavage, then exits. More rings. In near delirium, Vera rushes back in and falls on the sofa). He is torturing me! I won’t open it!… No, no, I won’t! (The rings become more insistent, then cease altogether) Is it over? Is he really gone? (Silence. We hear the elevator descending. Vera rushes to window) I don’t believe it. He’s gone! He’s getting into the cab… Oh, Lord, how shameful it would have been, how disgraceful, if he had… (She lifts the cross from her cleavage and says a prayer for Zhenya while clasping her cross tightly to her chest) May God bless and keep you!
(The clattering of hooves recedes into the background) At last! He’s gone! (Breathing heavily, Vera collapses on the sofa. Baffled) So what did I get all dressed up for then? (Looks at her reflection in the mirror, adjusts her hair) Oops, I almost forgot– Lisa’s soiree! I don’t have much time to get ready for it… Wait a minute! Didn’t I hear Zhenya dropping off a package? Did he take it back with him? I’ll be right back! (She exits. We hear her opening the door of the room, then going out on the landing. A moment later, she reenters the vestibule, then the room on stage. In one hand she is holding a bouquet of flowers wrapped in paper, in the other magazines, journals and newspapers.) The usual mail… (Putting the mail on the table, she proceeds to unwrap the bouquet of flowers.) What beautiful long stems! Cream-colored roses! Yes, my kind of roses! Oh, Zhenya, how gorgeous!… (She runs up to window) Zhenya! You forgot to leave a note!… Or maybe I dropped it? (Runs out and returns) I don’t see any note on the floor. (She breathes in the fragrance of the roses, then puts them on the table and starts going through the mail) Ogonyok, [stress is on last syllable "yok"] Vyes’ Mir, Boris’s journals, newspapers… What’s this? (She unwraps the small package covered in blue paper. It’s a water-color painting, framed in glass: a pale-yellow portrait of a high society woman) A watercolor by Sokolov. He always was mad about Sokolov. (Turns portrait over) Not one word! Not even a syllable! How could he be so cruel?! (Vera sits down to look at the water-color and roses) I’ve got to do something with these. (Glancing at roses) But how am I going to explain the painting to Boris? (Walks over to the grand piano, plays a few chords absent-mindedly, then closes the piano lid. Shuddering) Thank God I’m still pure and unsullied! (Releases cross from her hand and lets it drop over her dress. The clock strikes in the vestibule) Zhenya will be at the station in an hour. I dread to think… A glass or two of champagne at some bar, and next thing you know he’ll be leaping into bed dead drunk with some slu… Maybe I should’ve shown him a little more kindness? A French woman once told me that this business of (embarrassed) — well, you know what I mean — that this business costs us women so little but gives them so much pleasure. (Paces around room) Oh God, what am I saying?!… No, I won’t go to the station… I’ll hurry to church instead… to pray for him!
(Telephone rings. Vera walks up to the telephone. She picks up the receiver. For a long time she is at a loss to understand) Borya, is that you? I called you earlier, honey. Did you get my message? … Yes, I left it with a certain Yakashvili… This evening you’re invited to a commemorative rally for the railroad workers who were massacred yesterday… 8 p.m. at the Polytech… Aren’t you tired, honey? … (Slightly peevish) I know, honey, but are you sure you want to go?… I know, but I’ve been invited to Liza’s party…. Why not? I’m tired of pacing up and down in this house all day… Just hear me out, darling. There’ll be a poetry recitation, hors d’oeuvre, wine by the barrel, and even a little “fooling around,” if you know what I mean. Oh, I almost forgot, General Kerensky will be there, too… For tea. Lizanka coaxed him into coming. Then, after tea, we’ll be entertained by Vladimir Stepnoy…you know, the famous accordionist. He’s Prince Yusupov’s favorite. It’s so patriotic these days to play our Russian accordion… Come on, Borya, I need to have a little fun before I start working at the field hospital! Don’t you think so?… (pouting) Oh, well, I’ll do what ever you say, Borya! … If you don’t want me to go, honey, I won’t go… Oh, thank you, honey! Then I will be going to Liza’s. Oh, don’t hang up yet, there’s something else, let’s see, uh, uh, oh yes,… the police constable dropped in earlier… Something about a Certificate of Loyalty. Courteous! And why shouldn’t I be courteous?… Yes, he was, but he kept questioning me, just the same…. Are you dropping by for dinner, honey?… A hot-pot… kasha stew… Oh, no!…All right, then. Well, all my love! See you later tonight! If only I could be there to kiss your bruise… It’s not my fault, Boris! You know that! All my love, darling! (Hangs up, cranks handle) Oh, my God, he can see through walls! And they say that men have thick skins… (Looks at the roses and water-color painting) Borya is upset. He wants me to go to the Polytech… (sighs) He says I can go wherever I feel like going, but…. He leaves the most difficult decisions to me. You see, he’s all for emancipation…. Of course, I’m no longer the wild-eyed school girl he once knew… Should I go to the Polytech or not? (Takes out a pack of patience cards, spreads them out on the table and turns on the light) If the cards spell patience, I’ll go. If not, I won’t. I remember once taking the train to see my father in Petrozavodsk…. No one said a word during the whole trip…. King to Queen… During a bridge crossing, soldiers with rifles in their hands boarded the train and forbade us to look through the windows. (Still arranging the patience cards. The cards do not spell out “patience”) Everyone looked so sad… so depressed. Finally, “Patience”! (Abandons cards) Well, if Boris wants to, let him go to the Polytech by himself. I’m going to Liza’s. (Picks up cards, puts them back in leather case. Reconsidering once again) Hmm. Borya will come home won’t find me here. Maybe I should go to the Polytech first and then to Liza’s. What a shame I can’t go to both! I don’t like this tug-of-war. (Walks over to the telephone, picks up receiver) Mademoiselle, 4-7-9-7, please… (Listens) Good evening. May I speak to Elizaveta Orestovna. (Talks as if her nose were congested) Liza, my angel, how are you? Excited?… Helping the cook, huh?… You sound so happy, darling… (Clears throat) Would you be terribly upset, Lizanka, if I told you I couldn’t make it tonight?… I really I wish I could, honey!… Next time! Don’t forget, Liza, don’t forget to invite me next time!… I know, I know, he’s divine, but I’ve already heard him play his accordion at the Folk Music Institute. No, no, it has nothing to do with Boris. Believe me! He’s been invited to a game of bridge at Poluzadovsk. It’s just that I’ve come down with the flu. I’ve been sneezing all day. (Sneezes vigorously for effect) Yes, must’ve been that window I left open last night. (Sneezes again) Did you hear that? And my nose is stopped up, too… I wanted so much to sing, really– I had even selected a song for the occasion. You are not offended, are you? (We hear the music of a wind orchestra drawing near. It is playing a march called “The Slavic Girl’s Farewell”. We can make out the tramping of soldiers’ boots along with the music). You are offended, Liza… What about me? Well, for one thing I’m terribly, terribly envious of you. All my kisses, Liza… (Laughing. Patronizing) No, honey, I couldn’t possibly infect you through the telephone. Please forgive me! (Hangs up. Cranks handle) Well, that’s that! (Walks up to mirror. Playfully self-mocking) Well, Gentlemen, this is one doll you won’t be feasting your eyes on tonight! (Walks up to window. Tone earnest and apprehensive) They are marching off to the front. (Wraps a shawl around her neck and opens window. The music bursts into the room along with the sound of tramping boots) God keep you! God keep you all! (Feverishly makes sign of the cross over the soldiers. Exits in a mad rush and quickly returns with the bouquet of roses left by Zhenya, picks two roses from the bouquet and tosses them to the soldiers. Feels a draft through window) I will get the flu if I don’t close the window! (Shuts the window, walks around the bouquet and the water-color on the table) A little white lie will take care of Boris (Smirks) Be right back. (Brings a broad-mouthed vase filled with water, trims the roses and puts them in the vase) I’ll just tell Boris they are a gift from Zhenya. And, as a matter of fact, they are! Now where should I hang the Sokolov? Hmm. . Hmmm… There! Right between the enamel miniatures! (She lowers the enamel pieces and hangs the water-color painting slightly above them) Ah-ha! Perfect! (Listens intently to the march outside. Curious) Now where is that diary of mine? (Goes to get her gold-fringed diary bound in brown leather with brass clasps) Let’s see… (turning over pages. Stops) Let’s see. Boris says here that the war will go on for another five years. (Sits motionless) Poor creatures, poor things! And poor Zhenya!… What’s this? (Wipes a tear from her cheek) Tears? Why? (Bursts out in a loud and disconsolate sob. To herself)… Enough, enough, Verochka!.. When it gets dark, I’ll put on a black dress and go to the Polytech. So what if Liza does find out– she’ll forgive me. The moon lives by reflected light. (Makes herself comfortable in a corner on the sofa). What lovely roses… what a sad day…
(March continues to sound from far way)
End of ACT I
(The leitmotif melody is played on the old grand piano during intermission)
ACT TWO
(1926 — Vera is 28)
(The leitmotif melody is played on the piano)
[Lenin has been dead for two years. St. Petersburg, the home of the Revolution, becomes Leningrad. Power is now in the hands of Stalin, who, aided by his secret police, the infamous GPU {renamed first the NKVD and later the KGB}, controls every aspect and every institution of Soviet society.
The new society is Marxist more in name than in deed. It is marked by fear, terror and a herd mentality. In this act Vera carries on a dangerous conversation with Gayoz, an old friend of the family from pre-Revolutionary days who is now an important official of the Communist Party. She asks him for a Certificate of Loyalty for Boris. In doing so, she jeopardizes her life and Boris's by telling Gayoz the truth, that is, by complaining about certain forbidden subjects, such as famine, the failure of communal living and the GPU's eavesdropping. Hundreds of thousands of people were arrested and imprisoned for less. Gayoz's "humanity" is evident in the fact that he apparently turned a deaf ear to Vera's "treasonous" accusations against the new state.
The brief flirtation with capitalism (1921-1928) under Lenin's New Economic Policy (NEP) has spawned a new generation of bureaucrats, fat cats, profiteers and racketeers, who contrast so sharply with the Utopian ideals of equality propounded by the fathers of the Revolution.
One of the social innovations of the 1920's was the herding of people, i.e. of total strangers, into communal apartments. This was to be the model of the Communist society of the future. The Utopian ideal which inspired this practice clashed with the self-centered possessiveness of the human animal. Like many others, Boris and Vera were forced to relinquish most of the rooms of their apartment to strangers. Each room is usually occupied by one family. The kitchen and bathroom, etc. are shared. In addition, to make maximum use of the space allotted them, Boris and Vera have partitioned their room into two halves.
Finally, following upon their defeat at the hands of the Reds [the Bolsheviks] in the Russian Civil War (1918-1921), millions of Whites, mostly aristocrats and the cream of Russian society, culture and art emigrated to the West.– Translator]
(Same room, now divided into two halves: the left part is Vera’s, the right Boris’s. On the left, the same sofa and walnut table. As before, Sokolov’s watercolor, surrounded by enamel miniatures, hangs on the wall. An oval frame holds the portrait of Seva, a little boy of around six. We also find the same “Singer” sewing machine as in Act I. A brassiere is clearly visible on the machine. A wardrobe stands perpendicular to the wall and serves as the partition in the room. Boris’s half is more crowded. His part holds bookcases crammed with books, a writing desk with a desk set made of jade, a couch serving as a bed. The grand piano is also in Boris’s half of the room. Its lid is weighed down with books.
Returning from the communal kitchen, Vera slams the door and appears on stage. She is holding a saucepan in her hand. It is morning)
VERA
(Continuing, apparently, to carry on an argument with someone) … Cook in the room? Can you imagine the smoke? (Crosses to her half of the room, puts down the saucepan) Boris? Oh, he’s doing fine. But he won’t talk to anyone except when waiting in line for the toilet or the bath. (She nervously lights up a cigarette and opens the window) This is the only view of the street left us. I’ve become jittery right down to the very tips of my fingernails. (Looks at her hands) Oh, my God, look at these hands! You’d think I was a worker… And Borya is such a nervous wreck that I’m too terrified to say anything in his presence. You’d be, too, if you were out of a job! (The telephone in the corridor rings twice) It’s not for us!… I’ve got to think of something pleasant. I can do it, really… Of course, tomorrow is Sunday, Pushkin’s birthday. (From the back of the corridor we hear a recording of the song “Strange Cities” as performed by Vertinsky). Even the émigrés love Pushkin! But how could you imagine him without Petersburg? (Listening to the end of the song) If only I could doze off now and then… Those damned brassieres! Eight more to go! Liza finagled for herself an easy job at the Hermitage, while I slave away for hours trying to keep up with demand. What for? To satisfy the vulgar appetites of the nouveau riche!… As if I didn’t have enough to do on my my regular job. Thank God this is about to end… this very day. I mean, it could end… yes, today… It all depends on Borya, on how he will respond to Mr. Webber’s offer… Something pleasant while I’m on my break… Please don’t tell anyone, but this morning I was mistaken for a prostitute on my way home from work… I shudder to think….I better wear my kerchief from now on. I got off easy. My neighbors were robbed by some homeless kids. Think of some-thing pleasant… Let’s see! So Borya is once again in trouble with the authorities. He won’t put up with their overbearing “bossiness.”‘ But things aren’t any better over there in their class society, Boris says. Independence in the West is just a mirage… Yes, this drudgery could end today! Today! (A squabble can be heard from the communal kitchen) They’re still at each other’s throats! (Walking up to door. Sarcastically) Pipe down! By God, how about a little brotherly love, Comrades!… Smells like vegetable oil. (Extinguishes cigarette-end, sits down at the sewing-machine and puts finishing touches to a bra lying on the table) Well, what do you think? Right down to Madame’s exact specifications. I just can’t keep up with the demand! Whew! (She sews) How I would love one of those fruit-drops!
(Telephone rings in the corridor) That’s for us. I just know it. (Abandons her sewing, runs into corridor and returns with telephone receiver attached to long extension cord. She shuts the door tightly and speaks softly) “Hello! … how are you, Mister Webber… Boris went fishing… Oh, I don’t think he’s really fishing. (Laughs) He’s probably thinking things over. … The letter of recommendation upset him because it came from Yevgeny Golovnin. Oh, well, I can’t expect you to understand… What are you saying? Oh, of course… at the drop of a hat! Even if it means going far away– to the other side of the moon! But you don’t know Boris… Just to make it through a single day is for us … an act of courage. They must know Boris over there. His articles have been translated into many languages… He himself did the German and English translations. He’s now studying up on Swedish. I don’t want you two to meet at our place… because this is now a communal apartment… You see, we must keep the negotiations secret… (whispering) We can’t make it public till you obtain a visa for him. Of course, provided he says “yes”… Your company is very generous, Mr. Webber. One moment please! (Peeps into corridor) All clear! Yes, yes, Yevgeny Golovnin… He is my old friend… Please do call again, Mr. Webber! But not a word to anyone else in this apartment! They already think that Boris is a spy…. Recently, Mr. Webber, a whole spy ring was caught red-handed and arrested…. Please call, Mr. Webber. (Goes out to corridor, replaces receiver, returns) Walking home from work, I saw a pale moon above me. I don’t really believe in the moon, but I started thinking of Boris, anyway. (She sits down at the sewing machine and continues sewing a bra) What do you know! (Holds up a bra and inspects it) So what do you think?… Not bad! Not bad at all!
(Singing in the corridor) Well, our chorus-singer is up and the conceited peddler is already primping himself for her. They deserve each other. Don’t you think? (She sews) I don’t know… maybe I wasn’t tactful enough with that American. At least, I wasn’t too definite about it. (Sews) Sometimes, you think that the main thing is ahead of you. Time passes and it turns out that what was behind you was in fact the main thing. (Sews) Zhenya is in America. He has two children. (Looks at the watercolor painting on the wall) For goodness’ sake, I just dusted it yesterday! (Gets up and dusts the glass frame) If I had to do it all over again, would I’ve gone to meet him in his hotel room?… I tell myself over and over: “Vera, you must be kidding!” But deep down I feel this fever, this feverish “yes!”… C’est la Vie!
(Singing in the corridor) Lya-lya-lya! Enough to make you want to skip abroad. (Covers her ears with her hands) My God! Just don’t scream, please. That’s all I ask: Don’t scream! Oh, God grant me patience! (The singing ceases) I just crave those fruit-drops!
(Telephone in the corridor rings) For us. (Goes out into corridor. During the brief interval we hear once more the voice of the female chorus-singer. Vera returns with the telephone receiver in her hand. She speaks softly) Hello, Gayoz? Where are you calling from? From Tiflis in Georgia? Unbelievable! I can hear you perfectly. Just as if you were standing next to me. Why haven’t you answered my letter, Gayoz? I’ve been dragging myself to the post office every day… I’m happy, but, I’m sorry, we are living in a communal apartment. You do understand, don’t you? When I raise my voice, people knock on my door…. He went fishing. (From the street comes the sound of a march)… Wait, let me close the window. (We hear the voices of Pioneers, that is, Soviet Boy Scouts, 10-14 years old). Can you hear them? They are chanting: “Pioneer camps are the link between the city and the countryside!” We hear the sound of a band again and then the children: “We’ll each gain five pounds in the country.” (Closes the window. Into the receiver) It’s our little Pioneers! For a moment I thought Poincare’s scarecrow was peeping into our room… What do you care about my voice?… Gayoz, it’s time you got married… In that case, congratulations! What’s her name? … Medea? What a lovely name! One of the loveliest. (Slightly jealous)… My son is in Porkhovo. Sevka. Remember him? At least, there he won’t starve to death! (Peeks into corridor again) All is clear!… Isn’t it amazing? Boris used to go to the Sinyavinsky peat works as a member of the artel. That’s what we lived on. Now I work for both us. The women are getting even for the class feuds of men… Yes, he taught at the university, but he couldn’t stand the endless political rallies and meetings. He used to say that there was so much more to learning than memorizing the words of the “Internationale”…. The faculty won’t come to his defense…. I’m not keeping you, am I? I can imagine how much this call must cost you! Well, in that case, by all means, let Party Headquarters pay for it! (muffled laugh) Now his own Polytech has announced a search to fill a vacancy in his field. So he is rushing about from one government office to another with a resume in one hand and publications in the other. But what he really needs, Gayoz, is… (significant pause) a Certificate of Loyalty. And I don’t know anyone who would give him one. On top of that, they keep needling him because the Grand Duke once shook his hand…. The deadline for submitting applications is just around the corner. If Boris (muffled cry) doesn’t get this certificate soon, he’ll be without a job again… Me? Well, what about me?… My father is dead. I work at The Trocadero Club as a lottery ticket vendor. I work the night shift till five in the morning… Well, you know, they are mostly NEP profiteers or former officers… Oh, by the way, one of them shot himself to death today. Just took out his gun and “bang! bang!”… Come see us! Of course, I don’t think you’ll recognize our city… Lice, filth everywhere. Crime. Beggars hunched in front of Kazan Cathedral pleading for alms. Maybe this Kirof character will restore order… At the factory, Borya is thought of as a reactionary…. I’m not an idealist, but you can’t go on living like this… (Peeks into corridor) All clear!… Yes! Come see us, Gayoz! I’ll tell you everything! Boris’ fate is being decided today… He’s being offered a very lucrative proposal from America! (Peeks again into corridor) I just don’t know what to do! (Sobs. Through tears) He’ll be in agony over this for the rest of his life. He’s doing it out of desperation. He says: “If Russia doesn’t need my brains, maybe someone else will.” You are way up there in the Party, couldn’t you do something for Boris?… I went to consult the Nevsky Sphinxes. They won’t talk! It’s a bitter thing. Borya has nearly lost faith in the Bolsheviks. But Russia needs him! She needs people like Boris. (She is at a loss for words)… So why can’t you do something for him?! (She bursts out crying again) I remember how you needed him when you were a student. Remember how you used to keep us up all night with your calls? And in 1917 he helped you organize the Putilovsky factory workers, isn’t that right? For God’s sake, for creatures like Boris idleness is a death sentence?… I’m not crying. What makes you say that? (Sniffles) I haven’t said too much? Have I? … Where are you calling to? Who? But why to Smolny… Not to the secret po…? Forgive me. I can’t tie up the line any longer. (She exits the room into the corridor, replaces the telephone and returns to the room. Her face is pale). Oh, my God, what have I done? He’ll be calling Smolny this very minute. Then the GPU will arrest Boris and charge him with secret association with an emigree. What have I done? Mr. Webber has a letter from Zhenya in his possession. It’s about Boris… Oh, my God, what a fool I’ve been! What an arrant fool! (She paces around the room, bumping into furniture along the way and sits down at the sewing machine. She resumes her sewing) The hell with these bras! The hell with them! All they do is startle me out of my sleep. (Sews). I don’t want to live without Borya. Let them arrest both of us or none of us! (She abandons her sewing, opens a window, lights up a cigarette) I see a line forming on Liteny Ave.
(Telephone rings in corridor) Who is it? Who’s it for? (Exits, then returns with receiver. Shuts door tightly behind her) Vera speaking… No, Mister Webber, he hasn’t come home yet. (faltering) Please call… no, I can’t say that! You are an intelligent man. You know — don’t you? — they could be listening in… No, no, you don’t understand… So how do you like our weather? Please call later! (Carries telephone back to corridor and returns) The GPU could be eavesdropping. Oh! Don’t think about it, Vera! I’ll wait for Borya (Turns on the radio. Voice of announcer intones softly) “You are listening to the Wilhlem String Quartet.” (Music) Boris is always chastising me for not taking any position on anything in life. A human being, he says, is a set of positions — philosophical, moral or professional. (Closes eyes) Well, Borya, as you can see I’ve just taken my first stand ever. (String Quartet Music. It has a calming effect on Vera, who dozes off only to immediately wake up) I must have dozed off. I don’t have any strength left for anything. I’m too weak to even take my clothes off. (Walks over to mirror) How horribly I’ve wasted away. I could never get a man interested in me again. I’m growing old. I can tell that from the complexion of my skin. (Examines her hands, then rubs them. Turns radio off, begins undressing) Oh, my God, I forgot all about dinner. (Carries saucepan away and returns. Looks apartment over) How empty! (Suddenly sings a high note and holds it as she walks through the apartment. Returns, concludes her singing) That’s how one should sing! The Vakhtangova Workshop production is in town. Liz has promised me complimentary tickets for Turandot… Everything could explode in a thousand and one directions. But I’ve got to finish sewing these brassieres! … Oh, the hell with them! (Paces through the room) There’s little I can do to help now. And all because I had to open my mouth. Borya will kill me, I know it!
(Telephone rings. Vera goes out into corridor, picks up telephone. Listens) She’s probably in Marinka. (Hangs up) I’ve got to remember to fan the flames in the kerosene lamp. And Zhenya is married. With two kids. (Telephone rings) It’s for us. (Exits, returns with telephone. Shuts door) No, Engineer Yendovitsky is not home. Who shall I say is asking for him? (Stunned) Kirov??? Leningrad Party chief Kirov? (still in shock)… All right, Secretary Kirov, I’ll tell him… Yes, how are you, ? Forgive me, I was taken aback there for a moment… Yes, Boris is out fishing. To be frank, Mr. Secretary, we’ll be commemorating a birthday tomorrow…. no, not mine or Boris’s. Pushkin’s… yes, on the sixth of June… No, there’s nothing astonishing about it! All Petersburg will be commemorating Pushkin’s birthday. Or should… There’ll be poetry, music… two roses in a vase, as usual… My parents? Well, my father was an inspector of secondary schools, my mother a music coach…. Yes… about what? … The CILC… The Commission for Improving the Lives of Children on Kazan St? I see… You are saying I should talk to the chairman. But are you sure I’d accept? How did you know I was a lottery vendor? But are you sure, Mr. Secretary, I’ll be able to manage? By the way, who recommended me to you… Oh, I see… Please come to our party, Mr. Secretary… just don’t forget to bring something (Sniffs smell from kitchen) Excuse me, Mr. Secretary, but my soup seems to have boiled over. (Covers receiver with hand) He’s laughing (she listens)… He’ll call you the moment he arrives… See you. (For some reason, she hangs up the receiver delicately) You think he’ll come? (Dashes out to kitchen. Returns) Maybe I sounded too ingratiating on the phone. Hmm. Gayos! So it was Gayoz who made that call to the Secretary. He may be pushy but he is no simpleton. A real Party dynamo. (Crossing herself) And I had such vile thoughts about him. (Looking the room over with the eyes of a stranger) Chaos! Nothing but chaos! I forgot to clean up this mess. (Puts on apron) I’ve got to try to remember Yevgeny Onegin… That’s Gayoz for you. (Starts cleaning up. A diary falls into her hands. She picks it up and moves it elsewhere. She begins reciting the fourth book of Onegin by heart)
[Stanzas I-VI do not exist. Book Four opens with Stanza VII.
VII
The less love we lavish on a woman,
The more easily we thereby please her,
And the more surely we ensnare her
With our seductive nets and toils.
Once it was that cold debauchery
Proclaimed itself an amorous science
Indulging itself in loveless love.
But this self-important entertainment
Is not worthy today of old baboons
Renowned in Grandfather's days:
The fame of Lovelaces has tarnished,
Much like the vogue for high heels
Or for grand, resplendent wigs.
VIII
Isn't hypocrisy dreadfully tedious,
Mouthing something over and over,
Convincing people with might and main
Of what is nothing but a commonplace.
To hear those same objections all day,
To undermine beliefs and attitudes
Already mocked by a twelve-year old.
Not even a pretty twelve-year old!
Who isn't weary from threats galore,
Entreaties, vows and false fears,
Love-notes strewn across folio pages,
Deceptions, gossip, rings, tears,
Chaperoning aunts and mothers,
The grim friendship of husbands, too.
Oh, Pushkin, my alma mater! (Dusting off the jade lamp on the writing desk, she continues to recite from Onegin by heart).
IX
Thus did Yevgeny reflect on his life.
Yet, how he suffered in his first youth,
The plaything of storms and delusions,
Unbridled passions and stray thoughts.
Spoiled by the habits of a good life,
Enchanted by a bauble or trifle,
Disenchanted by another still,
Tormented by a sluggish longing,
By frivolous, shimmering success,
Hearing in both noise and silence
The eternal murmuring of the soul,
He suppressed a yawn with a laugh.
That's how Yevgeny killed eight years,
That's how he squandered his youth.
(Closes down the sewing machine and turns it into a desk. Removing the pile of books piled up on top of the grand piano lid, she plays in passing a waltz on the piano from Tchaikovsky's Yevgeny Onegin. She then resumes her recitation of verses from Pushkin's Onegin. Her reading is inspired.)
X
Raving beauties no longer thrilled him,
He drifted here, there, everywhere:
Rejected-- he'd console himself with a wink;
Betrayed-- he was relieved to have a rest.
He sought these beauties without rapture,
And abandoned them ...
(telephone rings)
(She picks up the receiver) Vera speaking... Yes, Mister Webber. Boris is still not home. And he won't be... He called me to say that he is leaving for Porkhovo to see our son, Seva. Call us, please. No, not tomorrow. Better try day after tomorrow. (Hangs up. Walks up to window) A mushroom shower. (Laughs softly) To laugh today is more than just laughing. It is a gift of fate. (Silence. Seeing Boris's cane with its ivory knob, Vera seizes it and strikes playfully on top of the grand piano that is now free from books. Points to corner of piano lid) No. 2 ball in corner pocket. (Rushes to wardrobe cabinet). The dress from that fashionable Nevsky 12 shop. (Changes clothes. Walks up to mirror) And that's nothing. Wait till you see my French shoes. (Looks for shoes in the bottom drawer of the wardrobe cabinet) Oh, no, somebody must've sold them! (Walks up and down on the tips of her toes before the mirror dressed like a Marquise. Imagines herself to be walking on high heels). I've got to think up something. Liza has a large foot... (Absent-mindedly begins reciting the seventh book from Pushkin's Onegin with an occasional pause)
XIV
In harsh and brutal loneliness
A passion consumes Tatyana's soul.
Her heart speaks louder still
About her Yevgeny far away.
Him she was destined never to see,
Only to hate for slaying Lensky,
Her brother, now clean forgotten.
His fiancee is betrothed to another.
Lensky! -- A poet's memory, vanished,
Swept up to the sky like smoke.
Two hearts still grieve for you:
Perhaps one... Grieve for what?
You aren't a real Petersburg lady without your fashionable shoes!
End of ACT II
(A melody is played on the old grand piano, now out of tune)
ACT THREE
(1941 -- Vera is 43)
(Leitmotif melody is played on the grand piano)
[December, 1941. Six months have elapsed since Hitler's troops have invaded the Soviet Union, bringing it almost to its knees. Three German armies have overrun much of European Russia, the Baltics, the Ukraine, etc. Army North has encircled Leningrad. The famous siege, during which a million men, women and children perished, was further aggravated by a pitiless winter that was one of the coldest on record. But Leningrad would not give in. After holding out stubbornly for 900 days, it was finally liberated by Soviet troops in 1944.-- Translator]
(Vera’s room. Hoarfrost at the corners of the room. Semi-darkness: The windows have been replaced in places by plywood or stuffed with newspapers. A sofa covered with plaid and blankets. Above the sofa hangs as always Sokolov’s watercolor painting. Traces of the oval enamel miniatures are visible beneath the Sokolov watercolor. Vera had exchanged them for rice on the black market to save Boris’s life. A small desk supports a telephone and oil-lamp. A mirror. To the left of the mirror hangs a radio speaker, to the right of the mirror hangs an oval frame containing the wedding picture of Seva, Vera’s son, and Nadya. A small stove stands towards the back of the room. Its bent pipe protrudes through the window onto the street. Two bricks are resting on top of the stove. A clothesline on which hang a number of items stretches from one end of the room to the other. A bucket filled with water is standing before the stove. Alongside is a pile of parquet tiles to light the fire. The wing of the grand piano has collapsed, and the piano is standing on only two legs. The third leg is lying somewhere on the floor. A gas-mask is suspended from the bronze handle of the wide-open door.
From afar we hear the drone of enemy aircraft, muffled explosions and anti-aircraft guns. Silence. Then, an announcer’s voice: “All clear! — All clear!” During the ensuing pause we hear the sound of metronome beats on the radio.
As professor of metallurgy, Boris now has full use of his apartment again.
We hear someone unlocking the entrance door for the longest time. Vera enters, wrapped in a shawl, a threadbare squirrel fur coat and gray felt boots. She enters the room and sits down on a chair, catches her breath, then walks over to the stove, opens its door, removes her mittens and warms her hands. As she does this, she keeps her eye on the telephone)
V E R A
(Aloud) Maybe Borya has called. The walls won’t tell me… The janitor’s son’s belly is bloated. (Reaches for a loaf of bread wrapped in a scarf and carried under her arm) Now where did I put that ration card? (Unbuttoning her coat, she fumbles feverishly with the lining of her skirt belt) The bombing will kill him, I’m afraid. (She uncrumples her ration card). What a mess! The Germans are dropping counterfeit ration cards from the air. We’ll be getting less than the usual till everyone is registered… I can’t believe it, but we’ve a famine on our hands deadlier than 1918. We’re wasting away. I haven’t had a full meal since November… Should I make broth soup (walks up to the bucket) Almost out of water! (Takes several mouthfuls of water) I can only afford water before a meal. (Closes her eyes). Borya was supposed to return yesterday with a permit so I could eat at a soup kitchen. You see, I’ve been taken off the mess-hall… Everything for the children. (Without opening her eyes) The sweet little darlings aren’t growing at all, and they aren’t talking either. When we read them fairy-tales, they look away. They just sit there day-dreaming. Their tiny hands are as thin as threads, and hair grows on their tender faces like on the faces of the old. I want so much to pity them, but pity is a real agony, like hunger. (She walks up to the mirror, listens to the cannonade that has just broken out in the distance.)
(Shots erupt nearby)
Do you hear them? That’s our boys! Our navy! (She looks at herself in the mirror) My God! Look at these breasts! They are a man’s, not a woman’s. (Sarcastically) Knock them dead, Vera! Ugh! (Glances away) Oh, no. I forgot to knock on Liza’s door. We don’t want to be caught lying in bed alone when the end comes, when your face is devoured by… rats. (Listens to the ticking of the metronome on the radio) On my way home I saw a corpse wrapped in a sheet lying next to the mosque. And if you think that’s something, you should see what I saw today on Piskarevsky Ave: Ditches crammed with corpses to the very top. (Walks up to telephone, picks up receiver) It’s still working! For Borya’s sake… Everyday I go to Sestroretsk on the edge of town to see Borya. Every time we part, we say “See you soon!” when we really mean to say: “good-bye!” (She repeats the phrase “See you soon!” several times in different tones) What a marvelous phrase!
(The artillery bombing becomes more furious.)
If only I knew how to express all this! If only I had the words! (Puts loaf of bread wrapped in scarf on top of desk). There’s no strength left in our bodies, but we go on dragging ourselves anyway. From day to day, hour to hour, from second to second… (Feels pain) Oh, no, what a splitting headache! (She whispers in synch with the metronome) I’ve a headache, I’ve a headache, I’ve a headache… Move as little as possible, Vera! — that’s how you’ll survive. (Looking at wedding photo of Seva and Nadya) I wonder how Seva and Nadya are doing…. Didn’t I get some news from them today? I’m beginning to get the days all confused. (To the portrait) We tried to leave Leningrad, honey. We waited and waited for the truck, but nobody came for us. “It’s not in the cards!” Boris said. And, you know, he was sort of thrilled at the prospect… In Kazan the evacuees are getting tender, loving care, while I sit shivering and shaking from the bitter cold. (Walks over to the little stove, picks up a brick. Holds it against her chest, wraps her coat around the brick). The other one is for Borya. (Sits down, smiles. Picture of utter exhaustion!)… “A stone in your bra,” Borya likes to tease me. (Puts on her mittens). Why is the radio off? (Opens her ears) So, looks like I’m going deaf!
(Telephone rings. Vera drags herself to the telephone, picks up receiver) Hello?… Professor Yendovistsky’s apartment (Silence) Prof. Yendovistky’s apartment… (Silence. Replaces telephone receiver with much effort). Why? Why is it that out of all the telephones in the apartment complex two are still working?… (Walks over to the desk. From the vestibule we hear the muffled striking of the clock) Borya is still not here. I guess he is too busy to come home for dinner. (Walks up to the bucket). As if my headache weren’t enough… (Moves away from leaking bucket). Now my bucket has a leak. Before the war there was a fat woman who used to sell gaseous water on the corner. How I loved the fruit juice then! I’d pass by her stand and pick up bottles of gaseous water. I then made all the fruit-juice I wanted: cherry-juice, cranberry-juice, pear-juice… We were so happy then…. My God, I shouldn’t give in to this mental inertia. (Telephone rings. She can’t make up her mind whether to answer the call or not. Finally, she picks up the receiver but without removing the warm brick in her coat). Sergei Sergeevich?… Is that you, Dr. Sergeevich? I thought that was you…(Listens) My God, how I’m grateful to you… Thanks so much! I’ll call her… It’s only right! I can’t lie down … Tomorrow I’ll be escorting children across Lake Ladoga… Yes, two groups… Oh, about one hundred and forty children in all… Yes, I can leave with the kids if I really want to, Doctor. A place has been reserved for me on the truck in advance. But I’m free to do as I please with my place…. Her legs are swollen and she is coughing and vomiting… Well, so what? She’s the head of her apartment block self-defense group. Thanks so much! (Hangs up) Eleven people are lying dead on the staircase. (Picks up receiver, dials a number, waits for a long time). No answer! (Hangs up)
(Telephone rings insistently. Trembling, Vera listens for a long time, removes the brick from her blouse and picks up the receiver with determination) Professor Yendovitsky’s apartment! Speak louder! I can’t hear you!… What, Yuri Yogo-rovich? Oh, yes, it’s you… (Forgets herself in her state of exhaustion. Into the receiver) Hello?… No, I’m not fainting… Now I remember. Yes, I traded Lalique’s enamel paintings for your rice… You really did save us. Without your help, Boris would’ve never pulled through… Condensed milk? A whole can?… What can I trade for it?… Hmm. Yes, Yuri Yogorovich, I still have the watercolor. (Looks up at the Sokolov watercolor). On Maltsevsky Ave they are trading condensed milk for gold, but an authentic Sokolov is worth something, too… No, I must first consult with my husband… Won’t you settle for something else?… We have a desk set made of jade… Oh, the Sokolov (she sighs) and nothing else… and that only for my sake… Boris is supposed to be back any minute now. I’ll expect your call in an hour… (Hangs up) Liza has already bartered off everything she could months ago… (Suddenly) What street do I live on?… I know the name of the street, but how in the world will you recognize it amidst all these ruins?… But we are beating them back!… We are beating them to a pulp! (She shouts) We’re beating them. Moscow is saved! (Listens to the metronome) It keeps me calm. (Walks up to the watercolor) A can of condensed milk… How can I decide on an empty stomach. (Separates the parket tiles. Lights the oven with the tiles). People are dying with their faces leaning over their ovens. I shouldn’t have eaten like a bird all those years? (Unwraps her scarf, takes a little piece of bread)
(Voice of announcer on radio):
“This is Radio Leningrad. You’ll now be hearing music by Tchaikovsky. Here is his Sixth Symphony as performed by the Leningrad Philharmonic.”
One tiny gram at a time. (Puts the piece of bread in her mouth by its edge) Liza devours the whole loaf at one fell swoop. The janitor’s wife devours three-quarters of the loaf and leaves one quarter for the morning. It doesn’t make sense. You’ve got to eat everything at once but slowly, in tiny pieces. (Divides up her ration into tiny pieces) They are almost invisible to the naked eye. (Lights the oil-lamp). When it comes to cellulose, (Tastes the bread) I really am a glutton. (Ironically) So much bread! (She eats the ration piece by piece). They’ve promised us an extra ration… I’ll believe it when I see it! (Listens intently to the radio) Tchaikosvky?!… Oh, my God, what a feast! (She tries to conduct the symphony. She sees her shadow on the wall and folds her hands together to form a dog’s head. She projects this dog’s head onto the wall. She then barks. Says matter-of-factly) My neighbors have already devoured their English Setter. (Finishes the bread)… Seva and Nadya are fine. Their wedding took place just one day before the outbreak of war, on June 21. It was a fairy-tale… Then they were evacuated to Revda… Oh, no! I forgot to call the factory! (Dials the number quickly. Into the receiver) Serge Sergeevich? How is Boris?… I already know what’s going on at Sestroretsk, but thanks anyway… How is Boris?… But you dialed our number and didn’t say a word! I could tell by the way you were breathing… Me? Why are they coming to see me?… Oh, I see (Listens) No, I don’t understand… What do you mean by “direct hit”?… Ear flaps with a Tsarist engineering badge?… In what pill-box?… They didn’t bury him? What do you mean? (Voice rising) What are you talking about?! Ah, yes… (Listens) I know that I’m a strong woman… I’ll be expecting them. (Hangs up, stands leaning for a long time against the wall. Matter-of-factly). I already knew that he was gone yesterday… The music is so loud… My head is about to burst… My head is spinning something awful. (Turns off the radio. Silence. Warms her hands over the little stove) How did I know?… I shouldn’t have called….(Remembering that there was something she was supposed to do, Vera walks over to the telephone and dials a number) She won’t pick up the telephone. I’ll let it ring seven more times. If she doesn’t answer by then… (Beaming with joy) Liza? It’s me, Vera! (Very loud and almost syllable by syllable) My good friend, you’ll be transferred to a hospital for a ten day stay. I didn’t say anything before because I thought that nothing would come of it. Well, you lucked out, Liza! Do you understand?… But I won’t be able to take you there… We are all too weak. When Hitler said “Let them devour each other,” he was talking about us! Do you hear me?… You must lie down. It’s our duty to survive. (Giggling conspiratorially) Out of spite for that Nazi swine. We must survive, Liza, Try to understand, Lizanka, you must survive!… I love you, Liza, I love you so much. I’ll never make it without you… You are worse than a child, Liza… You are forcing me to talk my head off. My tongue is limp… There’ll never be a winter as terrifying as this one. But soon it will be Christmas. You will be going out into the streets along with the rest of us. There’ll be tangerines from Georgia for New Year’s. And, oh, yes, I’ll take out the slice of salted Siberian salmon that I’ve hidden away for just such an occasion. We’ll cook up an amber sterlet fish soup and drink a coniferous liqueur. Don’t forget to take the ration card with you when you go to the hospital… and there is something else… No, no, don’t drink up all the water! Your face will swell up. You know we women must still be attractive to men. He’s back and sends you his greeting. Tomorrow a horse will come to pick you up… be ready! (Hangs up) The palms of my hands are wet. (Takes off mittens and rubs her hands) Poor, unfortunate souls! (Walks up to sofa, falls on her knees next to it. Prays through her tears) Oh, Lord, take pity on us who have done no wrong. We are being devoured by two-legged cannibals. Devoured! Do you hear me? What have they turned us into? Then our flyers will kill their children in turn… What’s happening to the human race? As a child, I used to run to the all-night chapel to pray for a world without war. But we had a war. And another one after that… Now once again we are faced with a war, the most terrifying war of all… You see how I suffer, oh, Lord, don’t you? Save us! Save us!… They’ll be coming from the factory soon… (Gets up from the floor, looks at portrait of Seva and Nadya) And Seva doesn’t know yet. His father is gone and he doesn’t know… Borya is gone! I must be having a nightmare. Yes, I’m sleeping. I’m sleepwalking… Where are my galoshes (Picks up the oil lamp and walks around the room. Through the windows we hear the continued shelling of the city. Vera returns) Where’s Borya? I’ve looked everywhere for him. I’ve knocked on the door to his study and thought I heard his voice. And I did… but it came from my own lips. I understand… I won’t go back in. (Stands still for a minute, picks up the oil-lamp, exits. The bombardment becomes more frequent. Vera returns, holding in her hands a slim book in addition to the oil-lamp) Not even a note, nothing. (Puts the oil lamp on the table. Places the book on the table) Pushkin, a special war edition on brown wrapping paper brought out last week even as the bombs were falling… (leafs through volume) “The Bronze Horseman”… I wonder what line he stopped on? (Rubs her forehead. Aloud to somebody) I’m not afraid. (Suddenly there is silence outside the windows) Why is it so quiet? You’d think we were living under the ground… (Turns on radio)
(Voice of announcer): “Air raid! Air raid!” (The howling of sirens) For the sixth time today. It’s Boris’s turn to be on duty. (Lays down the book. Just then a letter falls from the book) A letter? For me? (We hear the sound of an explosion) It’s a stone’s throw from here to Sestroretsk and the front is not far from… (Remembering the letter that had dropped out of the book) What’s this? A letter from outside… It’s not Sevka’s envelope… (Walks up to the oil-lamp, opens the letter and reads softly to herself):
“Dear Boris and Vera Yendovistky: I hope my letter finds you both in good form. We received unexpected confirmation of your state of health when we heard Boris’s radio address to his colleagues in Great Britain. And in splendid English, I assure you. All of you are heroes of Leningrad and are constantly on our minds… I feel anguish at not being able to send you anything other than this letter for the time being. Soon the authorities will be accepting packages. When this happens, we’ll– that is, me and a certain Yevgeny– will put together a package that will make you swoon with delight.
(The light of rocket flares is visible through the windows)
“During the bombing in Moscow I shared a room with this Yevgeny at the Hotel National. He says that he is from America, but in reality he is a Russian. His name is Yevgeny Golovnin… (Vera has an asthma attack) He’s here to negotiate …”
(Vera) Crossed out by the censor… No, I can still make it out… “the ‘lend-lease’ program. He was overjoyed to learn that we have friends in common….
(Tearing herself away from the letter) Zhenya?!…
“I’m busy with my affairs, Boris. They told me that he took a personal interest in you. He is making plans to have you and Vera transferred to the safety of the Large Land. We hope that the package that we are preparing will reach you in time. Yours. Gayoz.”
(She re-reads portions of the letter) “… personal interest… to have you and Vera transferred to the safety… (Lays letter aside, then listlessly puts on gas-mask) So he kept this letter from me?! Did he turn down the offer? (Only now does she become fully aware of Boris’s death. She screams) Borya!… Borya! (She looks for something she might turn to and notices the brick that has been kept warm for Boris. To the brick) So you didn’t want to be evacuated a second time?! Why, Oh, God, why on earth did you do this to me? Ugh! Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? And this devouring hunger is all because of you! You were against storing food. You shouted: “It’s a crime to hoard food, Vera! Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? How vile!….” (On the verge of crying) Oh no, Borya, don’t listen to me, Boryenka, it’s not me speaking, really… It’s not me. I mean, I’ve fallen so low. You wouldn’t give up the etchings, Boris! So I had to… (She sobs) You warmed my hands, you gave me your brick… Read Baudelaire to me– just the other day! Here it is… hard and cold (Fumbles for the brick on top of the stove) It’s warm. I need boiling water with salt… I can’t live without you… The city is swimming in sewerage and corpses, like Dante’s Hell…. (Looks at the clothesline for a long time)… Why not? I won’t last the war, anyway. (Walks under the clothes-line, back and forth). How horrible!… I don’t want to live… It’s so easy. There‘s the hook. (She stands silently. Then she places a chair with much effort beneath the clothes-line, gets on top of it with great difficulty and then tries to unloose one end of the rope in a perfunctory manner. She fumbles about with the rope for an inexplicably long time. The telephone rings, catching Vera by surprise. She just barely keeps her balance on the chair. As she let lets go of the loose end, the whole clothesline with everything on it falls rustling to the floor. She continues to stand on the chair, incapable for a long time of comprehending why the telephone is ringing and why she is standing on the chair. Suddenly a hope flashes through her mind) I’m delirious, that’s it. Delirium! Borya is alive… They are still looking for him! The bloody cap could have been someone else’s… And the badge?… They have yet to find the body…. Borya isn’t dead. He isn’t dead. (Overjoyed at the sound of the ringing telephone, Vera climbs down from the chair, walks over to the desk and picks up the receiver) Professor Yendovitsky’s apartment… What Yuri Yegorovich?… (She doesn’t understand at first, finally remembers) Two cans? Did you say two?… I’ve hardly touched… With sugar? Give me a minute to think it over. (delirious) I’ve got to talk to Boris about this. (Lays receiver down on the table)… People have turned into wild beasts… (She feels a sudden chill. Shudders. Fully aware of what she is doing, she picks up the receiver and breathes heavily as she talks) Tell me, Yuri Yegorovich– haven’t all these stolen goods of yours crushed your neck yet?… (Hysterically, but softly and syllable by syllable) Well, my husband is a divisional engineer… He has the right to shoot anybody… You filthy profiteer! Bandit! I’d gladly execute you myself!… I know where you live. Yes, I know. You’ll be hauled before the Court. Yes, you swine! (Hangs up) He’ll croak from fear before the night is out! (Laughs. Breathes heavily) I’m all in a sweat. How vile… Everything has become detestable to me. Even the children… What? (Pause) What?! Ugh… Did I really say that? My God, my God… I’ve made it to the door-knob so far. With a little effort, I’ll make it to the ditch swollen with bodies. Ugh! Borya is gone, but Seva is still alive… One of us must live. One of us must survive for the sake of the grandchildren… And for the sake of the others, the hundred and forty kids waiting for… Just yesterday Ninochka said: “Auntie Vera, if I’m gonna die, I wanna die very, very quietly. I don’t want to frighten you, Auntie.”
(Vera screams in a frenzy) My God, my God, if you exist, preserve the children! Save them! Save us, save us, oh, Lord! (Falls on the floor and immediately gets up again. Falls again. Realizes that there is little strength left in her to get up. She lies on the floor motionless) Peace at last. Peace… is this end?… Oh, no, why did I close the door? They’ll think that I went out… The janitor’s wife knows that I am at home… but I am at home. I’m here! Is that the metronome or is it my head that is pounding? I’m no longer alive… I’m shivering all over … (Lies still without moving a single muscle) No, I’ve got to crawl over to the door… and open it… The factory people will be here soon. I’ve got to open the door for them… I’ve two cans of condensed milk!
(A bomb explodes near by) They’ll never get in. The janitor’s wife will come knocking on the door tomorrow morning… Somebody has got to help them by opening the door. They are too weak to break down the door… Liza won’t be here, either. She’ll think that I’ve been evacuated. Then… I’m dead. I’ve been taken off the rolls. (Wraps herself in her coat) I’m freezing… but my words are still alive! (She whispers) Words! Words! Then nothing!…
(The oil-lamp wick quivers and goes out. Complete darkness on stage. A knock on the vestibule door.) My head is pounding. No, they are knocking on my door– bringing me cans of condensed milk…
“Little geese!
“Fuss, fuss, fuss,
“Are you hungry?
“Yes, yes, yes!…”
(Vera starts to laugh. She laughs and laughs and laughs) I want to eat, eat, eat… to sleep, to eat, to sleep, to eat, to sleep… to sleep… to die… to live, to live just another half an hour and I’m saved…
(The knocking on the entrance door reaches its climax, then falls silent) They’ve left… Crawl to the door, Vera! To the ditch… Is that you, Borya, at the door?… Crawl, you wretch! Crawl or else you’re a goner. (Through the window we see a blazing fire) St. Isaac’s is on fire. It seems to be bathed in coconut oil. Children, it’s the abyss! My brain is being eaten away by hunger. Ugh!…
(A fire is visible through the window. In its reflection we see Vera inching her way towards the door, then lying still. She then moves a few more inches towards the door and again comes to a halt. It’s as if she were having spasms. Not far away, a fierce battle is raging. A battle for the dead and the living. Through the window we see pools of fire.)
End of ACT III
(During the interval the leitmotif melody is played on a very old but impeccably tuned grand piano.)
ACT FOUR
(1974 — Vera is 76)
(The leitmotif melody is played on the baby grand)
[Stalin's death in 1953 was followed by a period, or more specifically, several periods of relaxation ("the thaw") of state control and terror under Khrushchev (1953-64). When he was overthrown by Brezhnev in a palace coup in 1964, orthodoxy and regimentation were partially restored. Yet, the forces of "individualism", "bourgeois" consumerism and Western liberalism continued to exercise a powerful influence on the younger generation. Yet, it was not all salutary, including as it did such disruptive phenomena as crime, an obsession with material goods, juvenile delinquency and a contempt for the authority of parents and their values.-- Translator]
(Vera’s room. Late at night. The room may appear rather antiquarian by today’s standards. Same old walnut sofa. An oval desk, on which stand a contemporary-looking telephone and jade lamp with pale-green shade. The telephone and lamp harmonize stylistically with the rest of the furniture. Same mirror and same grand piano.
A transistor radio rests next to the sofa on the floor. Sokolov’s watercolor hangs on printed wallpaper above the sofa. It is under a glass frame.)
(Voice of radio announcer)
“… The Hungarian Party-governmental delegation has been warmly received by the people of Leningrad. The Secretary-General of the Hungarian Socialist-Labor Party, Mr. Janosh Kadar, and other Hungarian comrades spent yesterday acquainting themselves further with the city and its historic places…
(Telephone rings)
“… Our Hungarian friends visited Leningrad’s former defensive positions on the shore of the Syestra River. Here, 38 kilometers away from the city on the Seashore Highway, our guest inspected the Memorial Complex…
(Telephone continues to ring. Vera appears on stage. She is wearing a sleeping gown and slippers)
“… In the evening our guests visited the Hermitage, where they inspected the recent exhibition Treasures From the Tomb of Tutankhamen.
(Vera turns off the transistor radio. The telephone stops ringing)
V E R A
I woke up this morning crying in a cold sweat. “Every man dreams of bread in his sleep,” Mama used to say. But I can’t sleep even when I’m not hungry, as if I were looking over my shoulder. My mother is here, too, alive. I’ve been seeing her recently in my dreams. What’s the point of all this? Before the Revolution they used to sell dream interpretation books… What nonsense! Pure mysticism!… Just the same, I do feel connected to those who are gone from us. I should have died earlier. That way I wouldn’t have had to see yesterday’s… (She weeps) I cry all day long, just cry and cry. (Sobering up) My life has fled…
(Telephone rings again. Continues ringing) Somebody somewhere has business to attend to. But I won’t pick up the phone. Not once.
(The telephone stops ringing) How hard it is without Nadya and Seve… And what about tomorrow, I wonder… (Reaches for her notebook) The District Committee. They can get along without me… It would be a pity if I didn’t show up for the TV broadcast, if only because I’ve sewn myself a new dress. I wish I knew what to say. And then I have to go to the Palace of Weddings. Now that’s a real comedy (pays no attention to the telephone which has resumed ringing). With age you come to know the relativity of one year vis-a-vis life itself… Outside, it’s a miserable autumn day. Then will come winter, spring, summer and again autumn. A full year… In the north they say: I’m so many winters old. Well, I’m 76 winters old. And who needs no. 77? (Walks up to little desk, picks up matches from the desk. Aloud) You’ve smoked yourself to death, Vera! What a vulgar habit! My apologies. I’ve noticed that I’m talking to myself. You know, in that awful year I never talked aloud to myself… I think.
(Sound of elevator) I’ve begun to fear his steps already (walks up to door, listens intently) If only I could stop worrying altogether. We worry for our own sake, then for our children’s sake, and after that for our grandchildren’s sake. And all for what?
(The telephone rings again several times, then falls silent as if from weariness. Vera glances at the telephone without waiting for it to ring again. She walks over to the sofa, on which a sheet covered with a plaid blanket has been spread). A book will work just as well as a sleeping pill. Where is my glass case? (Finds her glass case, opens it, reaches for her glasses, puts them on, picks up the book, turns on her bedside lamp and gets into bed. She reads for a while. She is soon distracted) Look at how that jade lamp glows in the dark! Boris bought this lamp for us in 1916 when we got married… The lamp and the desk set. It’s been a long time since I dusted it. (Gets up) You’ve got to walk around more often, Vera! You don’t want to get arthritis. Do you? As if you don’t already suffer from it, Vera?… (Walks away. She soon appears in the door utterly dumbfounded, as if she has just seen a ghost.) The jade desk set is gone… I better turn on the light. Look, again, Verochka. I feel terror coming over me. Sheer terror! (Exits and returns) Boris’s jade desk set is gone! (Picks up telephone receiver, dials a number, but the receiver falls out of her hand) I thought I might complain… But Liza is the wrong person for this. I need to speak to Nadya or Sevka or Lenya. I better call Nadya. She is in Vilnius tonight, I think. (Locates her small personal telephone directory) Let’s see now. (Leafs through directory) Belorussia, Estonia, Latvia. There! Lithuania! But what if she isn’t in her hotel room. The concert isn’t over yet… (Makes a cross with the fingers of her right hand). She asked me to pray for her. And I haven’t so much as thought about her once today… The jade desk set is gone! It’s Volodya’s doing. He has hidden it someplace. Worse yet, he has sold it off! (Sits down on sofa, remains silent) I can’t, I won’t calm down! Childish pranks, Verochka. That’s all they are. Petty intrigues! And if I can’t calm down? (Touches the back of her head with her hand and forcefully massages her temples) Volodya, where are you? Why has he been ransacking the apartment. And what for?… Just to surprise his latest fling with a bottle of French perfume. Last night he came home drunk and shamelessly started breaking the dishes… He needed money, he said– and where am I to get that kind of money? Nadya left me just enough to live on?… That was Borya’s desk set!… Volodya must have pulled off this stunt in the morning… (Lights cigarette) I guess I’ll have to dig up the entire apartment. Nothing like this has ever happened before… Volodya! Volodya!… Nadya wasn’t lucky. None of us were… Seva is always away on business. The boys have grown up without a father. Teachers aren’t any luckier– their grandchildren don’t turn out any better. (Agitated) I’ve got to find the desk set. You’ll find it, Vera. Calm down and start looking… I better start by dividing up Boris’s study into squares. (Extinguishes cigarette, exits and immediately returns) Oh, God! How unbearable to think that I’ve overlooked something…
(Telephone rings. Vera shudders, calms down and lies down on the sofa. For a long time she refuses to pick up the receiver) It’s him! How should I talk to him? And what if it’s Lenya? No, Lenya wouldn’t be calling at this time. He’s at his dacha in Roshchino… (Gets up. Picks up the receiver resolutely) Hello?… No, it’s me, Vera… How are you, Gayoz darling! What brings you here?… For six months? … So, how is Georgia, how are the kids, how is Medea? Where are you staying?… Why not at our place? Our apartment is half-empty. Nadya is giving concerts in Lithuania and Seva is in Guinea. (Listens) I never had any doubts about it… And why the last one? (Listens) And what’s the title of your book?… Revolutionary Traditions of the Students of the Polytech. That’s a real surprise, Gayoz, but it is definitely indispensable… Even the archives of the Tsar’s secret police?!… In that case, consider Boris’s archives yours… You must be kidding. I’m not that interesting. Nobody is going to read my memoirs! And, besides, it’s too late… (Without transition) Tell me, Gayoz, why don’t you come stay with us?… When did you get into town?… I was visiting our local marble sphinxes at that very time… No, they didn’t say a thing. (Listens) I know, a lot of water has passed under the bridge. Life is nothing but a succession of losses. Do you remember your friend at the Hotel National? Turns out he died way back in ’44. The ship he was on was sunk by a German U-Boat somewhere off the Icelandic coast. I know it smacks of mysticism, but a gypsy woman predicted that he would die at sea. No grave marks his death– or Borya’s, for that matter. First, let me light my cigarette (lights up a cigarette) It’s Volodya. No, he’s not a bad kid. Graduated in biology. Makes good money, but can’t resist any bimbo that winks at him. My cigarette has gone out… No, no need to come over. I already regret telling you all this. I’m not ready to receive you quite yet… Yes, but I’ve my negligee on. No, it’s too late! (Extinguishes cigarette) Today my grandson ran off with desk set, I mean, Boris’s desk set. I’m terrified that he might try next to take the one really priceless thing in our apartment, the Sokolov watercolor…. It’s been hanging over my sofa ever since Zhenya, I mean, Yevgeny Golovnin, left it at my door on his way to the front… Never, I’d never sell it. During the blockade some swine offered me a can of condensed milk for it… Yes, I know about the Pushkin connection. That’s why I’ve already signed the documents. It will revert to the Pushkin Museum when the Black Mother comes for me, and not one moment before. (Listens. As if starting the conversation all over again) Gayoz. I couldn’t tolerate it otherwise. I’d rather curl up and die… He was the only one in the family who objected to my signing the bequest form. “What? Just hand it over to a museum when you could get hard cash?” he said to me then. (Listens) No, I won’t set foot in Boris’ study ever again. I can’t stand to see his desk without the desk set. I’ll just have to resign myself to it. (Listens) And what else can I do? (Listens) How can I not let him in? (Listens)… Where would he sleep, then? Yes, of course, he does have a lot of friends, but I just can’t bring myself to do it, Gayoz… No, please, don’t come!… Fine, fine, but, whatever you do, please don’t come. I’m really sorry that I was so frank with you. I’m so ashamed!… I give you my word. I’ll do as you say. On my honor… all right, if I have to, I’ll call. I’ll invent some pretext. One second, I’ll write it down (jots down number in her telephone book) No need to come! You’ll insult me by coming over… What are you saying? When you think of St. Petersburg, you think of me. (Giggles) And when you think of me, you think of St. Petersburg. (Giggles again) How sweet of you!… Yes, I’m a woman of St. Petersburg to the core, or, should I say, an old woman of Saint… As white as a mouse, and, just an hour ago, I didn’t even want to go on living. No, look, Gayoz, no need to worry. I’ve written down your number in my book. Please repeat it. (Checks against number in notebook) Correct!… Till next time, darling! (Hangs up. The clock in the vestibule strikes melodiously on the hour) He’ll show up any minute now. I’ll lock the door on the chain and latch… Maybe there’s no point in doing all this. I’m so ashamed… But we are both dying. (Exit. The sound of the door chain and latch falling into place. Vera returns. To herself) Get a grip on yourself, Verochka! Why should you be afraid of him? And did Nadya and Seva love him more than his older brother Lenya? To tell the truth, I’m more to blame in this than anyone. Yes, me. There was never a sad moment in his childhood. I protected him from terrifying stories, from the conflicts of life. So one day I discover with amazement that he is… hard and callous. The truth about life never hurt anyone, even a child… I’d better turn on the light at the top of the stairs. (Turns on light switch) Gives you more courage… (Picks up a book and holds it in her hands) The torture of waiting. (Walks up to window) There aren’t too many people left on the street… It’s him! He’s entered the building. (Listens intently. We hear the noise of the ascending elevator. A buzzer sounds in the vestibule. First, one ring, then two rings. Vera walks up to the door of her room. We hear someone trying unsuccessfuly to open the entrance door with a key. Three long rings. Vera wraps herself up in her sleeping gown and continues to listen. Irregular short and long rings. Vera returns to the sofa, picks up her cigarettes from the desk. She tries to light up but is distracted by a new cascade of rings) Now he’ll start pounding on the door. (Waits) I don’t believe it. Is he really afraid of a scandal? (One very long, seemingly interminable ring in the vestibule. Again Vera walks up to door of her room and stops) You just wait! He’ll start his mayhem any minute now. (Waits for a long time. Many rings in a definite pattern) He’ll keep me up all night! I didn’t get to sleep yesterday till morning on account of him. (One long desperate, final ring) Looks like he’s finally given up. (Listens. We hear the sound of the descending elevator) Thank God he didn’t make a racket!… I better turn off the light. Maybe he forgot to look in the window earlier. Let him think that I’m asleep. (Turns off the lamp and stairs light. Pitch darkness on the stage) No, let him see the light. Out of sheer spite. (Turns on the stairs light). While I’m at it, why not turn on the study light, too? (Exits, returns, walks up to window, looks through a crack between the wall and curtain) He’s going out into the street. He’s dead drunk. Now he’s looking through the windows… He’s fumbling for something in his pockets. Now he’s walking to the telephone booth! He’s entering the phone booth.
(Telephone rings. Vera walks up to the telephone, picks up receiver) I’m not “Madame”, Volodya and I’m not asleep. (She pulls the receiver away from her ear. She holds it in that position for a while, then places it again against her ear) I’m warning you, Volodya, if you insist on using foul language, I’ll hang up! Yes, I am at home and, no, I’m not asleep!… First, I want you to answer mine!… Where is Grandpa’s desk set? Did you go off and sell it somewhere?… I’m pleading with you– Don’t shout at me! You’ve already mocked me enough yesterday. Well, did you sell it or not?!… In that case, I want the address of the dealer… Stop acting like a boor and hear me out! Sometimes your grandma makes sense. At least some people think so. (She listens) You may be drunk but you can still understand what I’m saying… Yes, you do! You understand everything!… I’m hanging up… Oh, you don’t have another quarter, huh? Not a penny on you? So what else is new? What did you do with your money? (Listens) That’s horrible! Now look here, Volodya, it’s not honorable to vent your frustrations on someone else, and there is nothing manly about mocking your grandmother on that account… Me, Volodya, me! I won’t let you into the apartment if the apartment means so little to you. At least not tonight. I don’t have the right to admit a man into this apartment who, forgive me, is … a thief. Yes, a thief. And what you’ve taken could never be paid for even with your life! If you want to go around selling off your books, that’s your business, but keep your filthy hands off my watercolor… Don’t you understand, Volodya? It speaks to me about my generation, and the memory of that generation is precious to me (whispers emphatically)… to my soul… I wonder if there are such words in your vocabulary. What’s this all about?… Yes! You’ve insulted not only Grandfather and me, whom all of St. Petersburg once honored. You’ve also insulted your father and mother. And (voice rising) wait a minute, hear me out to the end!– I’ve always dealt with people fairly, with a clear conscience. There were times when I felt justified in exhorting and admonishing. But right now I don’t claim that right. How can I lecture others about this or that when I can’t even help myself? This would be monstrous hypocrisy. So instead I sit here all day. People who need me are calling me night and day, but I won’t pick up the phone…. (Listens) To be frank, Volodya, you’re a sarcastic, intimidating young man… No, I won’t open the door! Not today or tomorrow! You can come back on Saturday when your mother and brother are back. Only in their presence will I let you in. And even then only on one condition– that you return Grandpa’s desk set. I’ve declared war against you! I’m hanging up. (The receiver trembles in her hand. She finally hangs up and removes her hand from the telephone. She calms her trembling hand with her other hand) I didn’t shout at him. I don’t think I did. (Long silence) Where will he sleep?… He has lots of friends. His latest fling wouldn’t let him spend the night at her place. That shows she’s got some smarts. (Whimsical laugh. She walks up to the window curtain) He is standing in the telephone booth. Now he’s taken off his cap. I’m afraid he’ll catch a cold if he doesn’t get out of the draft. No, he is not too drunk to find his way to his friends. Don’t pity him, Verochka! (She weeps) He’s driving you to the grave! (Calming down, she looks through the window again) A passer-by. He hands him something. A coin, maybe? He’s dialing. (Telephone rings. Thinks about it for a moment, then picks up receiver) Hello… yes, it’s true, Volodya, whatever else I may say about you, I’ve got to hand it to you: You’ve always known how to ask for forgiveness, even if not quite right off. So that’s progress of sorts. Let me explain, Volodya, and perhaps this won’t distress you one bit, but this very evening… Listen to me, Volodya! this very evening I found myself saying: yes, I’m afraid of him. That is, of you Volodya. Do you hear me? I’m afraid of you! What I mean is that I’ve come to fear the person you’re becoming. Doesn’t this terrify you? I fear your face, your pranks… But it’s shameful to be afraid… I overcame fear when I worked with abandoned children and I overcame fear again during the war… I learned to have such contempt for fear that men envied me for it. Maybe, I got used to suffering in those days, as people become used to the sight of blood or the dead. Maybe. But there was something else in all this. I mean, it had to do with conquering the fear of death. That says something. Don’t you agree? Do you know, Volodya, what the metronome of life is? (Shouts into receiver) I know you have, but I want you to hear it for the hundred and first time! So listen! You’ve a right to consider me a senile old woman. But I can’t be someone I’m not. I can’t just sit around and play dead. And you want to lower me to that level?!… Before, I was grateful to fate for every minute of my life. I often wept from sheer happiness that I’ve been granted so many years on this earth, that I can still thrill at the sight of my Leningrad! But now I don’t want to live any more, Volodya. Do you hear me?… I… don’t want… to live. Because of you! Isn’t that tragic? (She is wracked by spasms) Until you understand what the past means to me– that it has nothing to do with things or objects but with people whose memories are connected with these things, until you understand what it means for me to believe in myself… until then you can’t cross the threshold of this apart… (Listens) What’s this? Today things are different? The world is filled with lies? Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean you have to put up with it. We are in control of our own lives. We are in charge… Is anyone waiting for the phone?…Volodya, have pity on me! Volodya… You know how much I love you… I remember when you were just a little boy. I remember how I used to walk you to school. Do you remember the flowers you wore on that first day? Do you remember how we went to visit the place where Grandfather died?… And none of that has any meaning for you? And you dare call yourself the son of my son? Think about it, honey! There will always be loopholes to tempt you. Lots of them! But life is more than just giving in to every pleasure… You’ll become a changed man, Volodya… with time. (Listens. She is rooted to the spot) He’s crying… Enough, Volodya, remember that you’re a man!… Now, now, Volodya. That’s better! We are both having a breakdown. I won’t answer the phone again tonight. I’m all pooped out… of course, if you want to make a racket on the stairs and keep everybody up, go ahead. I won’t try to stop you. I may be 76 years old, but I can put up with it, somehow. (Vera hangs up. Suddenly, she feels a sharp pain at the base of the head. She screams, seizes the back of her head with both hands and stands frozen in place. She remains standing thus until the pain subsides.) Looks like I can’t smoke now… What is he doing out there? (mock-indifference) But what do I care? (Walks up to the curtains) He’s getting out of the phone booth. Holding his cap in his hand. Now he’s crossing the street and coming back towards the entrance. Is he thinking of raising a scandal? He’s stopped. He’s looking at the windows. (Speaking about herself) Aren’t you the clever one– turning on the light in the study, too? (Smiling to herself)… He’s started walking. Now he’s looking around. He didn’t expect it, did he? Put on your cap, Volodya, you’ll catch a cold. (Suddenly, in the ringing voice of a child) He’s put on his cap and now he’s turning the corner. (Once again she looks through the crack between wall and curtain, stands for a moment in place and suddenly shouts for joy) “Sound the ‘All clear’”! The air raid is over!” (Paces all over the apartment) “All clear!” (Returns to middle of room) “All clear!” (Falls onto the old armchair, breathes heavily and calms down. Turns the transistor radio on. We hear the sounds of music. She listens) I have to call Gayoz… For some reason or other I feel like getting dressed. (She exits and soon returns in an evening gown and dress shoes. In her hand she is carrying a flagon of expensive perfume. She looks radiantly young again. She sprays the perfume all over herself, then dials a number on the telephone, but it is sometimes before anyone answers at the other end). Gayoz, it’s me, Vera! (Turns off transistor radio) And I thought — God have mercy on my soul — that you were rushing over to save me… Volodya thinks I’m a fossil… just because I worship the past. And what do you think we usually argue about? You guessed it– the blockade… When I tell him that I can still taste hunger on my lips or some such gibberish, he says: “What are you talking about, Granny. Who told your generation to suffer. Look at the French. They turned Paris into an open city, and Paris was saved.”… Why Should this shock you, Gayoz! You can’t expect people today to understand. They weren’t there…. (Listens) Anyway, “Memory triumphs over despair…” Then, I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, Gayoz! (Listens) Wait, one second, Gayoz. (Reaches for notebook) I’ve an appointment at nine at the Smolny Institute with a teaching delegation from Finland. Then, at eleven, I’m scheduled to take a busload of senior citizens to the television studio… Then it’s off to the Palace of Weddings. Two of our young residents are getting married. I’ll be a witness. I’m becoming quite popular in my old age. Almost as popular as a ballet star. Not bad for an ugly old hag… Oh, Gayoz, sweetheart, how horrible– we won’t see other till late tomorrow night… My diary? But why should that interest you? (Listens) Stop begging me, Gayoz. I don’t even know where the diary is… All right, all right, hold on for a moment! (Exits and returns with an old diary, whose brass clasps have become tarnished and rusty with age. Into the receiver) I found it, Gayoz, would you believe it, I found it! (Leafing through diary) I’ll show it to you tomorrow… And, yes, I promise I won’t rip any of the pages out … Gayoz, I’m so happy you’ve come to Leningrad. (Listens, then laughs) Me sing? Are you kidding?… Of course, but that was a long time ago. All right, but you start and I’ll join in. You know, someone has actually written words to this divine melody. (As she listens to Gayoz, Vera starts humming the same theme from Tchaikovsky’s Sixth that we heard in Act III) Really, Gayoz, wouldn’t you rather hear me sing some song for you? Unless, of course, you’d rather go to bed… Well, then listen closely. This was Borya’s favorite song. (Carries the telephone to the grand piano, lays the receiver on top of the lid and, after a brief silence, starts singing)
By the fireplace you sit and agonize
As the coals burn slowly to ashes.
Now and then the flames glow and rise –
I watch them drift up through the meshes.
You’re sad. What about if not the past,
Brimming over with voluptuous love?
Why stare at coals that do not last?
They’ll die out before you move.
Believe me, love too is such a fire,
And our dreams are utterly consumed.
And if love should die on this pyre,
Cold suffering would shake us in our tomb.
The golden spring rose before me
And the days that once did glow.
In May she took to nature like a doe
To hear the nightingales warble free.
I’m ready to give up, to forget the thrill,
The passions that once burned on my breath,
But I can’t forget what’s stronger than death–
I can’t forget the nightingales’ trills….
(She falls to weeping, without finishing the song. She remembers that Gayoz is still listening and picks up the receiver) Forgive me, Gayoz. A woman’s tears are closer to her than her handkerchief. It’s nothing, really, nothing… See you tomorrow, my dearest. (Hangs up receiver and once again slowly turns into a very tired, old woman) Sunday is Teacher’s Day. Nadya will be here and we’ll take Gayoz to some chic, little restaurant. (The telephone rings. Several loud rings) I wonder if it’s Lithuania. (Picks up the receiver. Listens) Volodya? … I am sorry. I was on the phone. You might say that I was flirting with an old friend. (Smiles to herself. Listens) You can’t live without me? (Long silence. Holds back tears) Where are you calling from?… Oh! So she took you in?… When will you come back, honey? On Saturday? All right, then Saturday it will be… It’s been a long time since you wished me good night… You, too. (Hangs up, walks around the room silently for a long time. Walks up to telephone. Very carefully dials a number. Half-whispering) Liza, you aren’t asleep yet? (Louder) Are you reading?… (Loud) Have you called up the old men, yet? Don’t forget to show up on time, Lizanka! I’ve a special favor to ask of you. Could you possibly get me some tickets for the Tutankhamen exhibit?… Yes, three. Gayoz is in town… He is writing a book, his last one, he says… Try hard, please, for my sake… You know, I’ve just now realized what it is that I want to say at the TV studio tomorrow. Even if all of us are fated to die, that’s no reason to given up, to give in. We never gave in to the past… And I’ll finish off with Turgenev. Remember his poems in prose, Gayoz? We shall fight on, damnit! (Pounds on the grand piano) Knock wood! (Intimately) You know, Liza, I have this feeling that I’m just now beginning to live… No, it’s not a third childhood. Really. It’s more than that… I know I’d never trade our life experiences for Faust’s youth. I’m almost happy. No, no! I am happy, pure and simple! And we’ll never be dead, even after we’re gone. That’s how it seems to me. For some reason or other (Listens, laughs) Have you taken your sleeping pill, Liza?… Only half a pill?… Otherwise, you’ll be yawning all through the broadcast tomorrow. Good night, my sweet Liza. (Hangs up, smiles) And why isn’t anyone dancing the mazurka right now? One-two! one-two! one-two! (Vera exits the room, dancing the mazurka with ease. She soon returns in an evening gown. In her hands she is holding Boris’s cane with the ivory knob. She walks past the grand piano as once a long time ago. She transforms the cane into a billiard cue and strikes the lid of the grand piano with it)… Second ball in center hole! (Listening to her own body) Isn’t that something– No more headaches! (Turns off stairs light, then turns on the table lamp and picks up diary) I’m in no mood to read just now. (Puts diary aside. Lies down on sofa. Turns on transistor radio. Organ music. Sits down, looks at Sokolov’s watercolor, wipes the glass pane of the picture with a snow-white handkerchief. She then examines the watercolor closely for the longest time and, finally, goes to bed.) I wonder why I don’t have a headache? (The clock strikes quietly and melodiously in the vestibule. The greenish light of the table lamp illuminates Vera’s face. She is smiling. Total silence. Suddenly, she feels excruciating pain in the back of her head. She sits up but sees nothing around her. She then seizes the back of her head with her hands. In a flash, she understands everything. She tries to get up once more in order to reach the telephone but senses that it’s futile. All she can do now is stretch her trembling hand to the telephone. And she understands even more clearly that she has just enough strength left in her to look around the room for one last time. She looks in the direction of the distant piano, the unattainable telephone, the window and Sokolov’s watercolor. She resolves to live to the very last moment of life, that is, to keep her eyes fixed on the world to the end. And, as if fearing to squander this last opportunity, she lies down gingerly on the sofa and starts concentrating on that which is closest and most accessible to her, that is, the pale-yellow watercolor. She finally realizes that the Black Mother has come for her. Expiring with a sigh, she falls silent, her head thrown back for ever. The telephone rings. After a brief intermission, the telephone starts ringing again. But there is no one to answer the phone. On the radio we hear the coda of a work for organ.)
END
