Александр Молчанов - KillerFoulkner

She throws the blanket off. He looks at her. Then he covers her with the blanket again.

HE. It’s the way you say it. I don’t want it. And if I did try and make love to you, you’d just lie with your eyes open, looking at the ceiling and thinking that all men are animals.

SHE. Not all of them.

HE. You know, it’s boring.

SHE. I have to do my make-up. Move over, give me some light.

She sits up on the bed, picks up her makeup and begins to put it on.

HE. You see, we’ve lived together for eleven years. We need to mix things up, diversify our sex life, somehow.

SHE. What d’you want? I can dress up as a nurse. Or d’you mean you want to tie me up and spank me? Is that what you mean?

HE. No.

SHE. Then what?

HE. I don’t know. Maybe you want something?

SHE. I’m happy with everything.

HE. You’re happy that we don’t make love for weeks?

SHE. Women have times when they don’t want anything at all.

HE. But there are times when you do want it?

SHE. Sometimes. But then, my friend, I’m afraid, you’re not quite up to it.

HE. Like when?

SHE. Like last spring. Remember how you turned me down?

HE. That was once. You know I need to work in the mornings. I spend all night psyching myself up for work in the morning. And then there you were… so of course, I couldn’t just switch from work to you. I love making love to you, just not in the morning.

SHE. That’s when I like it best.

HE. Well, alright, then, let’s do it the mornings. I’ll get up beforehand to work.

SHE. That’s hard to believe.

HE. You’ll see.

SHE. You could be working now.

HE. Am I allowed?

SHE. Yes, what’s the problem? Have a seat, the laptop’s free.

HE. D’you think it’s that easy — you get a free minute, you just sit down and start scribbling?

SHE. Is it not?

HE. You’re not always ready to make love. I’m not always ready to write.

SHE. It’s not the same thing.

HE. It is the same thing. Creativity — it’s sex.

SHE. You just said creativity’s a fight.

HE. It’s the same thing. Eros and Thanatos.

SHE. So you’re not going to write today?

HE. We’re on tour now. My job now is meeting my readers.

SHE. How’s your Faulkner doing?

HE. Almost finished. Just need to edit it. The file’s on the desktop.

SHE. Can I read it?

HE. Please.

She gets up, goes to the laptop and opens it.

SHE. What’s the name of the file?

HE. It’s the only one on the desktop there. It’s called «Faulkner.»

She clicks on the keyboard.

He gets up, goes to the notebook, looks over her shoulder.

She returns to the bed and continues to do makeup.

SHE. Don’t make fun of me.

HE. What d’you mean?

SHE. You haven’t written anything yet.

HE. I have!

SHE. It’s an empty file. You didn’t write anything. Not a word.

HE. For a moment I believed that I had. That I’d finished my column. And if you believed in its existence too, it would have appeared there. A sophisticated, witty, stylish column. Seven and a half thousand top-drawer characters.

SHE. You’re delusional.

HE. I’m serious. All reality has been created by our minds. And if you believed in that my column was there — it would have appeared there.

SHE. So it’s my fault?

HE. Of course it is.

SHE. So I’ve been created by your mind, along the entire world around you. So that means its your fault.

HE. No, that’s not how it works. It’s not as imprecise as that. You know, the whole world is made up of tiny particles.

SHE. Yeah, of atoms. We studied it at school.

HE. Yep, and atoms are composed of protons, neutrons, electrons, and all that other crap. Scientists conducted an experiment. They directed the flow of electrons through a narrow slit on a screen. And it turned out that, if you’ve been watching them, they behaved the same as particles which were uniformly distributed over the entire screen. And if you don’t watch them, then they behave like waves, spreading across the screen like strips. Like waves. You know what that means?

SHE. I hate it when you do this.

HE. When I do what?

SHE. When you make me enter into a dialogue with you about something I don’t understand. Finish the fascinating story by yourself, please. And preferably without the checklist to see that I’m listening.

HE. This means that particles, in the absence of an observer, behave like waves. It was only with the appearance of an observer that they become particles. For example, this table. D’you think that it’s composed of particles, huh?

SHE. Were you not listening to me?

HE. It’s a simple question.

SHE. Yes, it’s composed of particles. I’m running out of mascara. Remind me to go to the «Stockman» on the Aleksanterinkatu.

HE. But it’s only like that when you look at it. As soon as you turn away all the particles — bam! They turn into waves.

SHE. I don’t think so.

HE. Why?

SHE. Okay, so we leave the room.

HE. Okay.

SHE. The laptop stays on the table.

HE. So?

SHE. So the particles of the table turn into waves, or whatever you were going on about.

HE. It wasn’t my idea! This is quantum physics.

SHE. Okay, okay, anyway, the table turns into waves. Well, in that case, the laptop should fall through the table and onto the floor. But when we come back it’s still just on the table.

HE. God, God. The particles in the laptop also turn into waves. It’s all — just information. Our minds organize this information, turning it into objects. Into what we call objects. Into what we used to call objects. And therefore art — it’s not a mirror, it doesn’t reflect the real world. It creates the real world. Artworks transmit, from generation to generation, how to manage the information around us. Art is a guide for the human use of the universe. If all works of art suddenly disappeared, humanity would have to start all over again, we’d have to create the universe anew. Separate light from darkness, and so on. If we didn’t learn from children’s fairy tales that the sun rises in the east, then it can go up from anywhere, even out of a cup of milk.