Александр Молчанов - KillerFoulkner

Pause.

HE. Well, you don’t want to talk about art, let’s not talk about art. Let’s talk about astrology. It’s patently clear that the position of the stars cannot influence the destiny of man. However, for thousands of years lots of very smart people were involved with astrology. Why?

SHE. Maybe they weren’t so smart?

HE. No. Because the connection between the positions of the stars and the fate of human beings really does exist. It’s just the relationship works in the opposite direction. It’s the fate of people that affects the position of the stars.

Pause.

HE. And the Chinese Book of Changes? How do coins know what’ll happen in the future? They don’t know shit. The Book of Changes isn’t an indicator, it’s a switch. When the coins fall into a certain order, it’s at that time that they create a certain future.

Pause.

HE. Or the past. Perhaps, Troy didn’t exist, and it only appeared after Homer wrote the «Iliad.» And it means that I can write a column about the fictional Faulkner. For example, I can say that Faulkner was a vampire. Or an alien. Or that he’s the composite alias of a group of authors led by Sherwood Anderson.

SHE. Interesting.

HE. Maybe Faulkner was a woman?

SHE. A black woman.

HE. A voodoo sorceress. When I was at college I read an article where it said that the novel «The Sound and the Fury» was written from the point of view of a mentally disabled teenager. If you’d read the novel, you would have realized that that’s very funny. Because in fact there are four parts and only the first part’s written from Benji’s point of view. Which means, therefore, that whoever wrote the article only read —

SHE. What time is it?

HE. What?

SHE. What time is it?

He looks at his mobile phone.

HE. Three minutes past ten.

SHE. We missed breakfast because of your Faulkner.

HE. There’s a buffet till lunch time at «Frezer». We’ll stop by the «Stockman» for your mascara while we’re down there.

SHE. That’ll be expensive.

HE. I’m hungry.

SHE. Have a coffee and a sandwich in the bar. Cheaper than a restaurant.

He leaves. She puts her makeup on and sits at the laptop. She puts on her headphones. She sings into Skype.

SHE. Did you like it? D’you want more? Then don’t make me angry.

He comes back.

SHE. When shall we meet? Today, maybe? In the evening. He has an eight o’clock meeting with his readers. I’ll say I feel ill and stay in the room. Good. Agreed. I love it when you’re like that. Obedient.

She takes off the headphones. He slams the door — as if he’s just walked in — and comes up to her.

SHE. Where’s my coffee?

HE. I forgot.

SHE. What d’you mean? You forgot to buy coffee?

HE. I forgot to ask: what sandwich d’you want?

SHE. Ham if they have it. Or cheese. Just don’t get the fish if it looks bad.

HE. Okay. Who were you talking to? Your mom?

SHE. Huh? Yeah, to my Mom. She says hi. Listen, I don’t feel well today. I’ll probably just stay in the room this evening.

HE. Of course. No problem.

He leaves.

SHE. You’re early today. Germans drove you away?

HE. I’ve escaped.

SHE. Helen wouldn’t like it.

HE. Are you alone?

SHE. Uh. Yep.

HE. Where have you been?

SHE. Here.

HE. And where is he?

SHE. Who?

HE. Your Skype guy.

SHE. Who?

HE. I heard you talking to him.

SHE. When?

HE. In Helsinki. You agreed to see him I was meeting the readers. Did you see him?

SHE. You’re delusional.

HE. I heard it. With my own ears. You told him you’d tell me that you didn’t feel well. I didn’t know what to do. And now here you are again saying you don’t feel good.

SHE. I feel sick.

HE. And I knew right away — you’re here with him.

SHE. There’s nobody here.

HE. He’s already gone?

SHE. There was nobody here.

HE. I checked your Skype contacts. I think he’s under the name «mother.» Let’s try it, shall we?

SHE. Go ahead.

HE. Let’s call your mother.

SHE. She’s sleeping right now. Two hours’ time difference.

HE. I bet I can find something.

SHE. Why don’t you look under the bed?

HE. No. It’s pathetic and it’s vulgar.

He sits down next to her on the bed.

HE. The whole thing, the whole situation’s vulgar. The man, the woman and her lover. Such a literary situation. At least this means there’s something unconventional about us at last.

SHE. I want a divorce.

HE. Let’s talk about our problems.

SHE. I want a divorce.

HE. What don’t you get from being with me? What d’you miss?

SHE. I want a divorce.

HE. I give you my love, my attention, care, my free time, we travel around the world, I surround you with interesting people.

SHE. Maybe I need something else?

HE. So it’s a woman?

SHE. Who?

HE. If you’d cheated on me with a woman, I’d understand it.

SHE. I’m not a lesbian. So now you’re fantasising about it?

HE. It’s perfectly normal. I’m trying to be tolerant.

SHE. Such a male fantasy: a hot lesbian couple. Both usually ugly, they both usually look like men.

HE. Am I right about this? Are you having an affair with another woman?

SHE. You’re wrong.

HE. Then who is he? Is he is a writer?

SHE. No.

HE. Does he work in finance?

SHE. Something like that, yes.

HE. Of course he does. Money conquers all.

SHE. He doesn’t pay me.

HE. That would make you a prostitute.

SHE. He doesn’t pay me.

HE. Tell me about him.

SHE. He’s tall. Strong. Short hair. Speaks six languages. Smart. He has an apartment in New York. He knows Obama. And he’s totally in love with me.

HE. Incredible.

SHE. I want to divorce you and live with him.