Александр Молчанов - KillerFoulkner

SHE. All right. I said «Hi» from you. ( Looks at his watch ) I’ll just take a shower too and then let’s go have dinner.

HE. Do we have time? The presentation’s at eight.

SHE. I checked on Google Maps, there’s a good restaurant nearby. On Mala Strana. Three minutes walk.

HE. Good.

She goes into the shower. He takes a sit at the laptop.

He gets up, eyes closed. He picks up some sports clothes, which have been spread out on the table, and puts them on. He leaves. She opens her eyes, looks at the door, checking — making sure he’s gone. Gets up, turns on the laptop. Goes into the shower. Turns on the water. Comes out with a toothbrush in her mouth. Goes to the laptop. Looks at the screen. Leaves for the shower again. Comes back out a few seconds later without the brush. Sits down at the laptop. Logs into Skype. Puts on the headphones.

SHE. What the hell? Why can’t I get hold of you? We’ve been here for two days. When did you arrive? Well? What else d’you have to do? Your only business is being with me. You don’t have any other business and you shouldn’t have any other business. You know, if I needed someone to ignore me, I’d start flirting with the guy I already have. At least he’s always there. No, that’s not all. I’m angry and I’m going to punish you. You’re cruel. No, it’s not a joke. Where are you now? Oh, yeah. Very good. Look at my window. I said look at my window.

She takes off her headphones, gets up, walks to the window, pulls back the curtains. Looks out the window. Looks back to the bed. Returns to the laptop. Puts the headphones on. Looks back at the window.

She takes the laptop and goes to the bed. She lies down with her feet towards the window.

Spreads her legs.

Places one hand on her breast, and the second between her legs.

She begins to breathe heavily and intermittently.

She puts her feet together, gets out of bed, goes to the window and draws the curtain. Returns the laptop on the table.

Closes the laptop. Gets up, goes into the shower. Turns the water on. The room door opens. He comes in.

HE. I only did a warm-up today. You can’t just start doing power execises straight away, you’ll tear your ligaments. Can you imagine, there was nobody in the work-out room. Finns are lazy bastards, they’re no comparison to the Germans. Remember in Mainz on the waterfront? Everybody was running, running, running everywhere. Well, the young ones were running, and the old ones were drinking. There were only old men and women in the cafes. On the other hand, though, why not drink? You get a regular pension. And the Finns, generally, they’re all drinking. Old and young. Literball’s their national sport. They get drunk and start singing Heavy Metal. They’ve got the best Heavy Metal in Europe. Remember those ’peppers’ painted on Mannerheim yesterday? How old were they? Fifteen, perhaps? ( Goes to the window and looks out .) Well, looking at this low sky, I start understanding why the Finns love Heavy Metal so much. ( Walks away from the window .) No, this is no New Orleans…

He lies down on the bed on top of the blankets.

HE. Listen, I had a thought about creativity. We always go for the reader. We always try to entertain him when he’s bored, make him happy when he wants a laugh. The reader is God! But in fact, he should be like a sparring partner for an author. Art’s a duel. And, like in martial arts, there are different techniques. For example, in Boxing you get blows: to the body, to the head. And you have to endure them. Whoever’s better able to withstand the shocks, that’s the one who wins. In Kung Fu kick you need to block to defend yourself from the blows. In Aikido, you need to use the power of enemy’s attack to damage him in return. And then there’s Russian fighting. There are none of these tricks, blocks, no deviations. There are just hits, right through the enemy’s attack. He strikes you and you strike back to meet him, knocking through his blow. D’you understand? It’s not as spectacular as Kung Fu, there’s no dancing, no grace. Leo Tolstoy. «War and Peace»: there’s no beauty of style, no detective story intrigue. It just hits the spot. The reader’s like — «Well, come on, entertain me,» and you go to him and he punches you in the face. Done. Knockout.

She gets out of the shower in a robe.

SHE. We’re wasting time.

He gets out of bed and rushes to the shower. Turns the water on. She goes to the window, pulls back the curtain. Looks at the street. Goes to the bed. She sits down on it. She looks out the window.

He runs out of the shower naked and climbs into bed.

He gets out from under the blanket and goes back into the shower. Turns on water.

She takes off her robe and puts it on the bed headboard. Gets under the blanket. He comes out of the shower again, wiping himself with a towel.

HE. With soap. I swear.

He throws a towel on the bed headboard. Looks back at the window.

He throws the blanket over the headboard. Thus, the blanket, the bathrobe and the towel completely block the audience’s view of what’s happening on the bed.

He and she make love. It lasts about a minute. Then he pulls the towel off the headboard, covers himself with it, and goes into the shower. The sound of running water. He returns. She takes the robe and goes into the shower. The sound of running water. She returns in a bathrobe. Falls. Both lie on the bed.

HE. It’s cold, by the way.

He pulls the blanket off headboard and covers himself.