Текст книги "A play for 10 people. Drama. Comedy. Understand a man"

Автор книги: Nikolay Lakutin

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Nikolay Lakutin
A play for 10 people. Drama. Comedy. Understand a man

Attention! ALL COPYRIGHTS TO THE PLAY ARE PROTECTED BY THE LAWS OF RUSSIA, INTERNATIONAL LEGISLATION, AND BELONG TO THE AUTHOR. ITS PUBLICATION AND REPUBLICATION, REPRODUCTION, PUBLIC PERFORMANCE, TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, MAKING CHANGES TO THE TEXT OF THE PLAY WHEN STAGED WITHOUT THE WRITTEN PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR IS PROHIBITED. THE PRODUCTION OF THE PLAY IS POSSIBLE ONLY AFTER THE CONCLUSION OF A DIRECT CONTRACT BETWEEN THE AUTHOR AND THE THEATER.

Drama, comedy in two acts. Duration 1 hour 40 minutes.

ACTORS

Oleg is an abandoned husband.

Taisiya is Oleg's wife.

Vovka is the son of Taisiya and Oleg. About 13 years old

Demyan is Oleg's friend.

Ira is a friend of Demyan.

Alyona is a friend of Demyan.

Oksana is a mother with many children.

Seryozha is Oksana's son (up to 10 years old).

Alika is Oksana's daughter (up to 10 years old).

Dashenka is Oksana's daughter (up to 10 years old).

Act One

Scene 1

House. Room. Not to say that the order. Oleg is sitting on a stool in the middle of the room. He is somewhat confused and discouraged. He looks drooping. He shuffles a crumpled man's shirt in his hand.

From behind the scenes, another man's shirt, thrown by a woman's hand, flies onto the stage, then another.

Taisiya (shouting nervously from behind the scenes). You're sitting like an idol even now! There is no need to help with things to a woman who devoted her best years to you. The whole closet is full of shirts, try, get to the dresses. Why are you sitting there? Why are you silent? Nothing to say? That's it! I've had to manage you all my life! Oleg-Oleg, Oleg-Oleg, Oleg-Oleg! Do this, bring that, fix it here, fix it there! You've never been able to make your own decisions! Well, admit it already, finally, you've never been a man!

Taisiya throws a few more shirts of Oleg from behind the scenes, enters the room with a suitcase, wipes the sweat from her face, looks accusingly at her husband. Taisiya looks very impressive, she is really gorgeous. And the figure and the appearance and the attire. Everything is on the highest level, which can not be said about her husband. Oleg is simple, he is a hard worker and it can be read literally in everything.

Oleg (trying to speak calmly, affectionately and tenderly, with warmth). Taisiya, dear, maybe you're still…

Taisiya (interrupting nervously). OOOH! Look, the voice has cut through! I'm not your darling anymore! That's it! Forget me, loser.

Taisiya turns to the other side and calls her son.

Taisiya (shouts to her son). Vova! Well, where are you there? Hurry up, the car is already waiting downstairs.

Taisiya turns to her husband.

Taisiya (with hatred). As you understand, I'm taking my son, I'll file for alimony, be ready. I'm going to Misha. It should have been a long time ago! Here he is a man! And you're a rag! Now sit here alone and think about who you are and what you are! Good luck at the factory, loser!

Taisiya casts a haughty glance at her husband, takes the last things and leaves with a sense of dignity.

Vovka's son hurriedly enters the room with a backpack full of things and several bags also filled with things. He doesn't know how to behave. He is sincerely sorry that everything turned out this way, he loves his father, just like his father.

Oleg (cautiously, with trepidation, with warmth, to his son). Son, can you come with me?

Vovka (guiltily, with sadness). Dad, I'm sorry. I don't want this, but…

Oleg (cautiously, with trepidation, with warmth, to my son). Yes, yes, I understand… Taisiya

's cry from behind the scenes (nervously). Vova, son, we are just waiting for you, quickly down!

Vovka throws the bags and rushes to hug his father, the father throws the shirt he was fiddling with on the floor, gets up from the stool, hugs his son. They embrace with warmth and genuine feelings of father and son.

Vovka (guiltily, with sadness, with a tear). I love you, Father, I love you, don't think…

Oleg (carefully, with trepidation, with warmth, to my son). I know, son. I understand everything. And I love you… I really love…

hugging.

Oleg (cautiously, with trepidation, with warmth, to his son). Okay…

Vovka reluctantly lets go of his father, takes his bags and backpack, hurriedly leaves the apartment.

Oleg accompanies his son with a sad, courageous look, he remains alone. It's holding up. Attached. Slowly picks up his shirts from the floor, puts them insensibly somewhere in one place. Comes to the forefront.

Oleg (with warmth, barely restraining dignity and honor, to the viewer). Loser… The wife is right. Luck has never been my middle name. I have not achieved any outstanding heights in my life. I didn't get a good education, I didn't make any discoveries. I have not created something great, for so many years of working at the factory, I have not even climbed the career ladder one step. And it is quite obvious that I will not rise any more. I work and work. I am an ordinary replaceable cog of a huge social system. I am worn out – I will simply be replaced and forgotten. Therefore… Arguing with my wife is difficult. Yes… I'm a loser, that's right. But how do I differ, in essence, from most people? We all somehow work somewhere, we try to provide for our families. And those who strive for this – somehow manage to do it. I have a beautiful wife… was. Son, what kind of guy, huh? Well… You saw. A very good boy. I tried not to spoil him too much, but not to pinch him too much. We go hiking and fishing with him. For mushrooms and berries. He knows a lot of things. At least make a fire, at least dig a dugout. The guy will not be lost, I am calm for him. And here is Taisiya… She somehow stayed at home for the most part, but she was always disappearing with her friends…, and with friends of Lee… But I have never reproached her for this. I provide, she keeps the family hearth. But… something is our family hearth somehow… not very well preserved. Things happen. Life is rarely smooth and predictable. I tried to do everything for the family, but… I didn't try hard enough to know.

Oleg leaves in silent reverie, lifting his legs heavily…

ZTM.

Scene 2

The same house. Room. There is no one. Several kitchen attributes have been added to the table. The lid of the pan is on the table, the pan is open. A faceted glass filled to half with a transparent liquid.

Demyan enters the room. Self-confident, a look filled with strength and a certain degree of indifference. Dressed decently. He enters, looks around the room, is a little surprised, knocks on the door, even though he is already inside.

Demyan (loudly, calmly). Eh! The owners! Why isn't the door locked? Is anyone alive?

A sleepy Oleg enters the room. Tousled hair, T-shirt, family underpants, slightly hunched still sleepy gait.

Demyan sees Oleg.

Demyan (to Oleg, cheerfully). Hello, old man. Why are you so rumpled? Why isn't the door locked? Where is your zhinka? To the neighbor, did she come out?

Oleg approaches Demyan, shakes his hand, he shakes back.

Oleg (in a drooping voice). Hello, Demyan. Well no… Not to the neighbor.

Demyan (to Oleg, cheerfully, with a hitch and humor). What? To the neighbor?

Oleg (in a drooping voice). … in a way.

Demyan's face changes, his joking disappears.

Demyan (to Oleg, seriously). What do you mean? I didn't understand.

Oleg (in a drooping voice). Taisiya left me. And she took her son. She left yesterday.

Demyan is in shock, trying to comprehend and understand how to behave.

Oleg exhales heavily, rubs his face awake, tries to smooth his hair on his head, goes to the sofa, finds his pants there, pulls them on, sits down, invites a friend with a gesture.

Oleg (with a slightly uplifted voice). Come on in, buddy, what are you standing for?

Demyan slowly approaches the table, looks into the pot.

Oleg, looking at his friend, explains.

Oleg (with a slightly uplifted voice). Yes, I boiled potatoes yesterday, but I couldn't eat something. It doesn't go down my throat.

Demyan shakes his head understandingly, looks at his friend, tragically takes a half-empty glass in his hand, exhales sharply and with a bold movement, with all male solidarity, in order to share the grief, drinks the contents of the glass. But immediately the shower blows out what he drank, spits out.

Demyan (indignantly, with incomprehension). What is this?

Oleg (calmly, but lost). Water…

Demyan (indignantly, with incomprehension). Water? What the hell? Your wife left you, and you drink water?

Oleg (calmly, but lost). Vodka doesn't go down your throat either. I've been thinking about her, but even the smell itself is disgusting. So… I drank some water, didn't eat anything, and went to bed last night.

Demyan puts the glass on the table, takes the situation into his own hands.

Demyan (busily). So! Clear.

Demyan takes off his outerwear – a jacket. He throws her on the sofa, next to Oleg. He rubs his hands, goes to the kitchen.

Oleg is sitting helplessly on the sofa, just watching his friend with his eyes.

Demyan brings a plate with sausage slicing from the kitchen. Cheese brings, cuts right here on the table. He brings two small glasses and cognac.

He pours a little bit, raises his glass, hands the second one to a friend.

Oleg doubts, he doesn't really want to.

Demyan (insistently). Come on, come on! I'm not going to get you drunk, but for the expansion of the joints, twenty drops are needed now.

Demyan still hands a glass to Oleg.

Demyan (insistently). Without clinking glasses. Come on!

Demyan quickly drains the glass. Oleg repeats. Proceed to the snack.

Demyan (chewing sausage, talking at this time). I didn't find any bread there. Is it over, or is it still lying somewhere?

Oleg (calmly, but lost). No… that's not the point. Taisiya tried very hard to follow the figure. And bread makes you fat, so we can say that there is no bread in our house. So only, sometimes yeast-free.

Demyan (leaning on the cheese). Are you a friend? How can you live without bread?

Oleg (calmly, but lost). I do not know, I eat bread at work, and my son is at school. Normally, we almost didn't feel discomfort.

Demyan (taking aim at the sausage again). Well, how about the weekend?

Oleg (calmly, but lost). My wife didn't like to cook. We ordered mostly. When we eat sushi, when we order food. Manti, kebabs. Instead of bread, lavash was bought as a last resort. Shawarma, different pies with fish and liver. Sweet Taisiya did not order, puked the figure. We supported her in this.

Demyan (cutting the cheese). More precisely, they groveled.

Oleg (calmly, but lost). Maybe so…

Demyan (putting aside cheese and knife, hands on hips). You know, old man, I was silent, I didn't get into your business, but I'll tell you now. I've never liked your Taisiya. I'm sorry, of course, but I couldn't tell you about it while you were together. I'm talking now. She just pushed you around. Both you and Vovka. You have a good kid, but what kind of lesson does he get in life? That the wife is the boss in the house, not even that the owner, but the dictator! He will find the same wife for himself later! Let's do this. Everything that is not being done is for the best.

Oleg (calmly, but lost). Only if the last one!

Demyan (wielding a bottle and glasses). Certainly. After all, drunks are not the ones who drink! These are the ones who can't stop after the second one. We can. Right?

Oleg (calmly, but lost). That's right… they

deal with the second portion of twenty drops.

Demyan closes the bottle, puts it under the table.

Demyan (busily). Let's do this. Today, and maybe tomorrow you will definitely be up to nothing. I know how you've always treated your wife. The breakup will be painful for you. But… Fortunately, you have a friend like me. Let's try to smooth out the corners. Let's do this. Today, sleep, TV, house cleaning and shower. Surely, after yesterday, Mamai passed in your closets?

Oleg (calmly, but lost). Still how passed.

Demyan (busily). Well. You sort it all out, sort it out in a new way. If necessary, I will help, wipe the shelves, scatter, whatever you say…

Oleg (calmly, but lost). No, no, thanks. I'll figure it out. I'd rather be alone for now, alone with myself, with my thoughts. That's just such monotonous work will be very useful.

Demyan (busily). Well, welcome. Then do all these things today, and tomorrow I'll look in on you in the evening, after work. Do not put away sports things far away, from tomorrow we will start jogging with you. A couple of laps around our skyscrapers, to the fruit and back. For now, I think that's enough, but then we'll get better – we'll increase the distance. Okay?

Oleg (calmly, but lost). I can't say that I'm really eager to run, but… It looks like you're right, I think I really need it right now. We need to do something to occupy ourselves somehow. Otherwise I'll go crazy.

Demyan (busily). Then it's a deal!

They shake hands.

Demyan (busily). So after work, we'll have dinner, an hour will settle down and… come on, I'm at your place at eight o'clock. Is it okay?

Oleg (calmly, but lost). Just right.

Demyan (busily). Well, that's it then…

Demyan gets up, wipes his hands on a napkin, takes his jacket, puts it on, goes to the exit.

Demyan (turns around, looks sternly seriously at his friend). Oleg, how are you? Is everything okay? Can I leave you alone?

Oleg (trying to hold on). Yes, my friend, thank you. Tomorrow at eight. Thanks for stopping by.

Demyan nods, after seriously examining the room and Oleg for the last time, and leaves.

ZTM

Scene 3

House. Room. The room is in order. It is clear that the master's hand had a place to be here. Everything is in place, but somehow in a different way.

Oleg and Demyan are returning from a run. Both are somewhat out of breath, still partially at a running pace, in tracksuits, everything is as it should be.

Demyan comes in second, closes the door behind him and immediately sits down on the floor with his back to the door. Trying to catch his breath.

Oleg, at a barely noticeable running pace, makes a couple more circles around the table.

Oleg (relatively cheerfully). Demyan, what are you doing? You can't change the pace abruptly right after a run like that. Don't you know? First, we take a step, then we can sit down. But not immediately.

Oleg takes a step, but continues to walk around the table.

Oleg (relatively cheerfully). Come on, come on, get up, walk a little…

Demyan begins to walk with his feet, but his ass is still on the floor, and his back, as before, holds the door.

Demyan (wearily). Walking on the spot. Will that do?

Oleg (relatively cheerfully). This is you "sitting" on the spot, and not walking on the spot turns out. But… At least so.

The men stop their move. Both are located on the sofa. Oleg sits down first, Demyan crawls on all fours there on the sofa second.

Demyan (climbing onto the sofa and settling down there). I'm going to die. That's the truth, the truth says – the road to hell is paved with good intentions!

Oleg hugs his friend with one hand.

Oleg (with warmth). Thank you, my friend. If it weren't for you, I would probably still be sitting and looking at a pot of potatoes, and mourning Taisiya's departure. Of course, I'm still not completely gone yet, but still somehow it even seems to work out… for some reason. Although I didn't really hope for it. It's all thanks to you.

Demyan (in a blissful voice). Go on, go on…

Oleg (with warmth and irony). Oh, what a wonderful friend I have! Always support, always give a helping hand! Always in a difficult moment will be there and pull you out of any scrape! My faithful support! My compass! My core and life vector!

Demyan (in a blissful voice, savoring). Ooooooooo of daaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Demyan sits down on the sofa in a normal way, he is no longer dying of fatigue, he is already in shape.

Demyan (busily). Well, I've had enough laurels and praises for today. Tell me, what are your plans for the rest of your life?

Oleg (with warmth, removing his hand from his friend). Who knows, my friend. What plans – to live! But you know… we assume, but God disposes. Who would have known that this is how it would all come out…

Demyan (interrupts). Well, okay, okay, don't go into these sad philosophical thoughts. Aren't we still alive today?

Oleg (with warmth). Alive…

Demyan (cheerfully). So, since we are given this day– we must do something! We must not live this day in vain! We must justify our existence today! To do something good, something kind! Something useful! Something needed by people, something pleasing to the world! Here, for example…

Both are mysteriously thinking.

Demyan (very seriously and mysteriously). Let's eat something, otherwise my world, my inner world, is really asking for something to be thrown into it. Jogging, fresh air… They did their job, and then, after work, I didn't really lean on dinner to make it easier to run.

Oleg (kindly, with a smile). I agree, I myself only ate scrambled eggs after work "hastily" and hit the road.

Demyan (with faint hope). Listen, and… you probably have nothing but yesterday's potatoes, don't you?

Oleg is thinking.

Oleg (thoughtfully). Well… Let's take a look. You can always cook something up if you don't have your hands out… on the spot, in general!

Demyan (cheerfully). Precisely! And you and I are growing our hands from the right place. Let's go roll up a culinary work of art from an axe… the

men cheerfully get up and head to the kitchen, but they are stopped by a knock on the door.

Oleg and Demyan exchange glances.

Oleg (thoughtfully, doubtfully). Did the wife and son come back?

Demyan stands with a strange expression on his face. It's hard to decipher his thoughts. He is silent, evasively shrugs his shoulders.

Oleg walks quickly to the door, opens it, a girl enters the room. Not too young, but pretty, in a body. She has a package in her hand. The girl smiles, he waves affably to Demyan, looks at Oleg with greedy eyes, holds out his hand to him like a man.

Ira (joyfully, sincerely). Ira!

Oleg stands at a loss, looking at Ira and at his friend.

Demyan (prompting Oleg delicately). Well… probably, according to the rules of good form, you need to at least extend your hand to the girl, and also introduce yourself …

Oleg remembers where he is and what he is, assesses the situation adequately, extends his hand to Ira and introduces himself in response.

Oleg (confused, with a lot of questions on his face). Oleg!

Ira (joyfully, sincerely, positively, with pressure). Oleg? Very pleasant. Short and concise. (With irony, and a kind cunning, looking at Demyan) Not like Demyan! You'll break your tongue while you say it. I'm not really strong in Old Slavonic, of course, someone may like it. But here's the name Oleg, I like it much more than Demyan, honestly!

Demyan (to Ira, deliberately sternly). So! Conversations in the stand!

Ira (playfully, to Demyan). Oh, come on, Comrade Foreman! It's all empty.

Ira passes to the table in a masterly manner, lays out a bag of lard and a loaf of bread on it.

Ira (positively). Look at the lard I brought you! Home-salted, yesterday only the godfather from the village sent.

Ira inhales the aromas, savors.

Ira (positively, complacently). And the smell, what, eh?

Ira turns to Oleg, takes a loaf of bread in her hand again, shows it to Oleg, luring and enticing.

Ira (positively, complacently, to Oleg). Bread!

Oleg (to Demyan, looking at him, through Ira). Passed with the guts, right?

Demyan looks at Ira with some discomfort, letting her understand with gestures so that she does not set him up. Ira takes it all jokingly, dismisses Demyan and joyfully, solemnly takes out a bottle of vodka from the same package. Elevates it above the head and shows it to men.

Ira (positively, complacently, solemnly). Everything will grind, everything will grind. Life goes on. So what? For a little, for acquaintance?

Oleg (seriously, not too disposed to everything that is happening). I won't drink. Sorry. The beginning of the working week, and in general I'm not really…

Ira (confidently). Neither will we. What's there to drink? So, let's take a sip just a little bit, purely symbolically. For appetite! And?

Ira looks at the men, smiles. He looks straight at Demyan, removing the grin from his face.

Ira (to Demyan, deliberately strict). Well, what are you standing for? Get the stacks, the knife, the tablet. Now we will arrange everything here!

Demyan (to a friend, as if asking permission). Olegych? What about salsa? It would be possible, don't you think? Am I going to the kitchen? Or are you yourself? Or how?

Oleg is silent, trying to understand what is happening in his apartment. But with all this, very willingly looks at the fat.

Ira (takes the initiative). Oh, everything is clear. I'll figure it out myself. Is the kitchen there? (Ira points towards the kitchen, asking Oleg).