Theater Plays. Valentin Krasnogorov
I dreamed of another woman and different sex. All my life I dreamed of another life. What now? Start all over and live the same life, dreaming of something else?
HUSBAND. So you too dream of another life and different sex?
PROFESSOR. Not of different sex anymore. Once I had it every day. Then every other day. Then once a week. Then once a month. I can’t understand it: as the years go by, I have more and more skill and experience, but for some reason less desire. There is more and more theory and less and less practice. Why is that? And, you know, my work is very hard. Lots of calls. I get very tired.
HUSBAND. So do I.
PROFESSOR. I’m too old for this kind of work. When I was younger the hand of my clock stood at ten or eleven, and now it barely reaches eight. To tell the truth, it stopped at six a long time ago.… I try to remember now and I can’t – when was it?
HUSBAND. When was what?
PROFESSOR. When was the last time I had sex?
HUSBAND. Did you ever have it?
PROFESSOR. Oh yes, lots of it. At lectures and in libraries. At seminars and conferences. But even that was a long, long time ago.
HUSBAND. Don’t give up.
PROFESSOR. Yes, my friend, everything in the world has changed for me now. There are juicy steaks, but no teeth. Beautiful women, but no money. There is a rich past, but no future. There is everything, but there is nothing. Soon I too will not be. (He clutches his chest again and groans.)
HUSBAND. Maybe I should call the sister?
PROFESSOR. (Scared). No! (Pause). People used to believe that a guardian angel watches over us all our life. But at the appointed hour he abandons us, and the angel of death takes his place. What do you think does he look like?
HUSBAND. I don’t know… An old woman dressed in black, holding a scythe… Or a grinning skeleton. What do you think?
PROFESSOR. Sometimes I feel death so very close, but I can’t see it. Maybe, it comes in the guise of an ordinary soldier with a tommy-gun, or a surgeon with a scalpel, or a sister with a syringe…
HUSBAND. (Echoes him.) Yes, a sister with a syringe…
PROFESSOR. The worst thing is that it’s always near. It may knock on the door at any minute. Wave the scythe. Press the trigger. Stick in the needle. (Quietly.) Look, is that her?
HUSBAND. (Frightened). Who? The sister with the syringe?
PROFESSOR. (Whispering). I’m afraid she has already come.
HUSBAND. Where?
PROFESSOR. I don’t know. I always have the feeling she’s somewhere close by, behind my back, watching me.
HUSBAND. (Whispering). Me too.
PROFESSOR. Go see.
HUSBAND. (Looks around the room and checks the exits.) There’s nоbody here.
PROFESSOR. Thank God. (Sighs). We must hurry up and live before she puts her hand on our shoulder. And what are we doing? How are we using the hours we have left? Do you ever wonder: where do all the days go away? And meanwhile she may come at any moment, this witch with her syringe.
HUSBAND. Yes, there’s nowhere to hide from her. I keep thinking about her myself.
PROFESSOR. (His hand on his chest, listens to himself.) I think I’m getting better… (Gets up from the armchair, cautiously takes a few steps and quickly cheers up.) We’ll still get by for a while! Forgive me for this moment of weakness, this attack of fleeting pessimism! There are so many pleasures in the world! A good steak, a glass of red wine, the sun, women, flowers! Life is fine, my friend! Especially if there’s sex in it! By the way, I forgot to ask, who are you and what are you doing here?
HUSBAND. Me? I… uh…
PROFESSOR. It’s not at all important, though. What’s important is that both of us are young and healthy. We must hurry up and live! Let's sing, let's dance! Turn on the music!
A fiery tango starts to play.
Wonderful! Superb! Perfect! Listen to me: I have a splendid idea…
GIRL. (Entering). Let’s have sex.
PROFESSOR. That is just what I was going to say. Would you like to dance, and we can discuss the details.
The PROFESSOR and the GIRL dance.
GIRL. Which details interest you?
PROFESSOR. What, where, when.
GIRL. Sex, here, now.
PROFESSOR. With whom?
GIRL. With you.
The HUSBAND breaks in and starts dancing with the GIRL.
HUSBAND. What were you talking about?
GIRL. The professor was interested in the details of my offer.
HUSBAND. I’m interested in them too.
GIRL. I’m ready to reveal them. (She makes a provocative move.)
HUSBAND. Very impressive details.
GIRL. And the entire offer?
Now the PROFESSOR breaks in and dances with the GIRL. During the subsequent dialogue she passes from one partner to another.
PROFESSOR. Which of us is your offer addressed to?
GIRL. Both of you.
PROFESSOR. Together or one after the other?
GIRL. Do you really think I’m that depraved?
PROFESSOR. So, one after the other?
GIRL. So, together.
HUSBAND. You’re kidding!
GIRL. Not at all. To have sex with two people one after the other is deceit and infidelity. To do it together is honest, interesting and fun.
HUSBAND. I’ll have to think about that.
GIRL. Again? You’re thinking again? (Passing to the Professor.) And what about you?
PROFESSOR. As I understand, you propose a group dance.
GIRL. You think it’s better to do it alone?
HUSBAND. Together, you and me, just the two of us.
GIRL. Two, three, four together – what’s the difference? Just not to be alone, never be alone…
HUSBAND. But think about this: while one lady is being entertained by two men at once here, maybe another woman somewhere is left all alone.
GIRL. So call her here!
HUSBAND. (Perplexed.) Whom?
GIRL. The woman, so we can all be lonely together.
HUSBAND. I was speaking hypothetically; I didn’t mean anyone in particular.
GIRL. Never mind. Go and find her. Cherchez la femme!
The HUSBAND and the PROFESSOR exit. The WIFE enters.
WIFE. Let’s have sex.
GIRL. OK.
Pause.
WIFE. But who is there to do it with?
GIRL. Don’t you know?
WIFE. No.
GIRL. So why did you say, “Let’s have sex”?
WIFE. I thought you might know.
GIRL. If I knew, I wouldn’t be sitting here alone.
WIFE. Did you offer yourself to anybody?
GIRL. To everybody.
WIFE. And?
GIRL. No result.
WIFE. Maybe they were afraid you would ask for money?
GIRL. No, I explained I was ready to do it for free.
WIFE.