Мария Старожицкая - Навіщо. What For

Laurel

— Amazing! Give me time and I’ll leave my mark on the the Kremlin...

Slon

— Back home, we always go to a barbeque on Independence Day.

Laurel

— Is that like going to pick up girls, Slon?

Slon

— No, it’s like a a kind of picnic.

Veles

— We call that a it ‘shashlyk’, Slon. Shash-lyk. Is that where you fry your turkeys?

Slon

— No, we do that on Thanksgiving Day.

Laurel

— What sort of holiday is that?

Slon

— Well, you help the poor, or whoever needs help, and they’re thankful to you for that.

Laurel

— I get it! Volunteer’s Day!

Everybody laughs.

Slon

— We also have this competition on Independence Day where everyone tries to eat as many hotdogs as they can.

Laurel

— I could eat three dozen right about now… Veles, let’s go see if we can catch some pigeons for our holiday meal. Elf tried some yesterday, he said they were better than chicken…

Veles

— OK, let’s go. Don’t forget your helmet. There’s a lot more than pigeons flying around there because of the holiday. You know, I was just thinking, I’ve never celebrated Independence Day before, didn’t see the point…

The Poet

— This is what I’ll record for the history books: ‘Fighters of the Volunteer Battalion plan to eat a bird that symbolizes peace during their special military assignment on Ukrainian Independence Day.’

Veles (to the Poet)

— Oh, by any chance, do you…

The Poet turns around. His bullet proof vest says, “I have no cigarettes.” And underneath that, it says, “I mean it.”

Everybody laughs. Encouraged, the poet continues to play the crowd and reads a poem he’s just written. Everybody listens.

The Poet

— Cigarettes are over. Smoking makes a life shorter and anticipates the death. If I were you, I would give up this bad habit... Strilka, better give that smokers some vitamins...

Strilka

— All vitamins have been already eaten up. They are locusts, not volunteers

Veles

— Ears are bloating..Oh, tell us a poem, huh?

The Poet

— For bloated ears to wither?

Laurel

— Just read, the Poet. I saw you have been painiting something in your book all morning..

The Poet

— I drew from nature..Well.. Listen then.

“When it comes time to rest,

fighters go into schools.

they go into classrooms, shift desks,

lay down their sleeping bags near blackboards,

lay down their guns on teacher’s desks,

and smile when they see Grade 8 Physics,

as if it was an old friend they met by chance.

and then wrinkle their foreheads in concentration,

for the task is too complicated.

where is that schoolgirl with her excellent knowledge

that will give a hint?—

she’s sitting in the basement

without light, food or a phone,

frantically raising money for

a plastic prosthetic hand

for one who teased her in class and fought,

and now has lost his own hand in battle.

or maybe she is just sitting in the kitchen

and keeps dialing

a subscriber who’s already in heaven,

but it hasn’t been reported yet,

because when it comes to arithmetic, our government

is scoring a failing grade

so who is next? and who is absent?

is there any good reason why

the place is empty?!

these are their universities,

this is the school of life and death,

a peculiar concept of the fragility of happiness

that you won’t find in manuals.

and whoever returns with an A,

will be different from all those who remain,

for he’s seen so much

there isn’t a desk big enough to scratch that story on.

Veles claps his hands. Laurel is smiling.

Laurel

— Well, actually, I was flipping through a Math book, not a Physics book, and it was grade three not grade eight…

The Poet smiles a conspiratorial smile, reaches into a pocket inside the bullet proof vest, pulls out a small flask, unscrews the cap, which turns into a shot glass, and pours for everyone.

The Poet

— Well, here’s to our independence. We got it without spilling a drop of blood 23 years ago. Now we’re paying the price.

Everyone is nodding, getting more serious and drinking.

The Poet

— You know, when they were withdrawing us from Afghanistan,

I told the guys, this is the end of the sovok [pejorative slang for Soviet],

Ukraine’s going to be independent.

And they all said, well, how is that possible,

it can only happen if there’s bloodshed,

who needs that. We didn’t want blood back then.

And managed without it.

But it caught up to us now…

Scene 3

Another school in Ilovais’k where Russian soldiers are located.

Martynov (picks up a Russian Literature textbook from the floor)

— You wanna say that the banderovtsi taught Pushkin?

Chervonets

— Sure. And Lermontov.

Martynov (begins reciting)

— Two days we were in a firing.

What is a sense in such unaffair?

We did waited the third day.

Everywhere the speeches became audible:

It is time to reach a case-shot!

And here the night shade has fallen

In the field of the terrible fight… [2] Translated by © John Templeton

— We’ll also start at night. We’ll feed them with their independence… their damn holiday!.. They’ll crawl like warms if survive. We’ll cover them with fireworks. How do you like it, the fireworks?

Chervonets

— Sure thing! Our folks would blast the whole thing till the early morning, the car would scream, dogs would bark... Well, it was like that before. Now everyone is used to another reality…

Martynov

— Well, at least got used to it. Today ears will be plugged (checks whether the grenade launcher is loaded). Since you feel hurt, buddy, you complain, and yet we have only a skirmish. For you, brother, I arrived here from Blagoveshchensk to offer my life and you’re complaining that you’re either hungry or not well enough armed.

Chervonets

— We wanted it like the Crimea—chpok!—and we’re in Russia, and have all of those wages, pensions.

Martynov

— If Ukraine was about to pay, would you celebrate its independence, ha? You’re a slave, Chervonets, a true slave. That’s because you’re not a Cossack. Here I am—a nobleman from mother’s side and a Don Cossack from father’s. Blood is a powerful thing! You know what the present means for me? The Black Day! I saw the Great State to fall. After the breakup of the Soviet Union I served in Central Asia and saw with my own eyes how much blood was spilled on the peripheries of Russia. Our forefathers brought the Caucasus, they brought Siberia. To save them from decay! We’ll save the Donbas and Ukraine! I do not fight here for your money, Chervonets! I've been fighting against the West, for them Russia is a thorn in the side.

Chervonets

— No objections, man! But tell me why the Crimean folks pig out in peace while we’re starving here between the bullets? They would rob tourists like boobs, while I was grubbing. I wasn’t just a miner, though, I was a dispatcher. Nonetheless, I worked like a dog!