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
(Known as
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
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
(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
"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
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
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
(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...
(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
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
(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
(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
(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 d