“Ivan Davydov”: RUSSIAN WARSHIP–Act 2
это пьеса одного современного русского писателя, скажем так, не последнего десятка. второе действие. перевод черновой и ознакомительный
ACT 2
It’s still dark. Then, a slight buzzing is heard. There is a light from a mechanical torch operated by pressing its handle. Its light gets brighter and dimmer alternately.
LANA crawls from under a blanket.
ARTYOM’S VOICE: Don’t buzz. Take an electric one.
LANA: Gotta save the battery.
ARTYOM’S VOICE: You’d better save me. Let me sleep.
LANA puts the mechanical torch down and turns the regular one on. It hangs from the ceiling. She picks up a water bottle, wets her handkerchief and wipes her face and hands. Then she retreats to the furthest corner of the basement, separated with a sheet of plywood, some planks, pieces of concrete and bricks. ARTYOM stands up, holding on to the wall. His right leg is in a splint made of two slats and bandages. LANA steps from behind the partition, and ARTYOM clumsily hops there, supporting himself with a crutch and a stick.
LANA: Shall I help you?
ARTYOM: How, by holding it?
LANA: Some sense of humor you have, comrade captain.
ARTYOM: It fits our life.
He walks behind the partition. LANA inspects the remaining food. She makes some sandwiches. ARTYOM reappears, hops to their bedding and makes himself comfortable beside LANA.
LANA: About five days more worth. If we save.
ARTYOM wets a cloth and wipes his face.
ARTYOM: If we still breathe, the air comes from somewhere. Gotta search.
LANA: We’ve searched already.
ARTYOM: We’ll search more.
LANA: We will—
She hands sandwiches and water to ARTYOM.
ARTYOM: Two for me and one for you. Unfair that.
LANA: I’ve got to stay in shape.
ARTYOM: Your shape is swell—
LANA: Don’t even start.
ARTYOM: You don’t even like me at all, do you?
LANA: Leave me be.
ARTYOM: It’s a perversion. A young man and a young woman live together, sleep together and— nothing. How do you bear it?
LANA: Easy. I’m surprised that you want that. Does your leg hurt much?
ARTYOM: It does. But I can live with it. And those shots help.
LANA: But you don’t sleep well, tossing and groaning all the time. You wake up a lot.
ARTYOM: Yeah, I grown— or groan, what’s the right word?
LANA: What do I know, you have the IQ of a genius. Let’s say, you moan.
ARTYOM: I moan. And you know why?
LANA: You were a womanizer or what?
ARTYOM: Why the past tense? I’m still alive, you know. Not a womanizer, no, but— I like it. No, I’m really a steady one. I had only two girlfriends. But it was serious, with real relations. I never had anyone else while I was with both. But I liked the process itself very much. Lana, I’m serious. Just think that we’ll simply die here. Wouldn’t it be a pity that you’d had your chance to enjoy a man and you never used it—
LANA: It’s all right, I’ll survive it.
ARTYOM: When the food runs out, what then? We’ll have to eat each other. If you’re a stranger, it’d be easier for me to cut you up and eat. But if we become related, I won’t be able to do it. It’s unimaginable, to eat your beloved. I’ll cut off pieces of myself to feed you.
LANA: Are you so selfless?
ARTYOM: Of course. When we parted ways with my first one— No, we didn’t, why mince words, she left me. She said, forgive me but you have those assignments, they don’t pay you millions and, God forbid, if they would or kill you— And I need some stability. Some material security. So— I told her, wait, I still may be left for training with the general staff, I may still be the future minister of defense! I spend a whole week persuading her. And then I learned that all that was just crap, she just had someone else. With no stability there, some bare-assed fitness coach.
LANA: It all depends on the ass.
ARTYOM: I asked her, why did you lie to me? Presenting yourself as a gold-digger and practical bitch— And she said, I did it intentionally, so that you hated me and stopped loving me. I’m really not a gold-digger, I just fall in love easily. So I fell in love. After that. I wanted to punish her, of course. Or him. Or both. My friends suggested it. But I didn’t. Everyone has a right to one’s own life. What could I do if she fell in love? It’s unpleasant, even hurtful but you can’t force her to fall in love with yourself again, can you? What are you looking at?
LANA: Marveling at your IQ. The military may be real smart when they don’t fight wars.
ARTYOM: So, you like me after all, don’t you? What’s the matter then?
LANA: I never liked inevitability and the sense of doom. Ever since my childhood.
ARTYOM: I don’t get it. Help me get up, please, I’ll have a little walk. If I stiffen, the muscles may atrophy. (LANA helps him, and ARTYOM limps around the basement. LANA walks side by side with him, ready to support him if need be.) What inevitability, what are you talking about?
LANA: My dad died when I was little. So, I didn’t understand it, how come, why is that? Other people live but my dad died. It drove me crazy. My mom used to console me, Lannie, yes, it’s a terrible grief but your dad was very ill. For a long time, and then he just— It was inevitable. So I hated that inevitability! When you can’t do a thing, when nothing depends on you. Take a ship, for instance.
ARTYOM: A Russian warship?
LANA: Not necessarily. Let’s have the Titanic. She sped up, but there was an iceberg up ahead. And she can’t stop. The terrible force, inertia. And she can’t turn aside. All she can do is crash into it and sink. The war is also like a ship. It sails but not across waters, it sails across blood. Bad for everyone, and no-one can stop it. Until it crashes and sinks. There’s much sense of doom in life. Not only in life, though. I wanted to learn how to write books, so I took a writing course, and they told us there, beware of the doomed plots when it is clear from the first line what happens next.
They come back to their bedding and sit on it again.
ARTYOM: I got all this, apart from one thing only. What were you talking about?
LANA: If I wrote a book about two people, a man and a woman, stuck in a basement, everyone would expect that they fall in love with each other. It’s a doomed plot.
ARTYOM: But I like it.
LANA: So do I, strange as it may seem. Come to me, you Russian warship.
They hug, and this is the moment when something explodes near the building. Everything shakes around them, the electric torch falls from the ceiling and goes out. It’s dark. LANA switches on another torch. One partition crumbled, and LANA approaches it, pointing the beam of light there. She peeks in, then pulls out a cable.
ARTYOM: Is it electric?
LANA: No, it’s internet.
ARTYOM: I don’t think it works, must be broken down in all places.
LANA: It was an underground feed to this house.
ARTYOM: Even if it’s whole, it must be turned off. There’s the whole system there, with all those providers and services—
LANA: Miracles happen. I have connectors here, let’s try it—
LANA finds a penknife in a crate, a connector, then she cuts the internet cable and inserts the end into it, fixes it, and inserts it into the router. Then she plugs the router into the transformer, and green LED lights start blinking on the box. Lana turns her laptop on. The screen picture is beamed onto the TV monitor.
ARTYOM: I say— Look for some news.
LANA finds a news channel. An ANCHORWOMAN reads the news headlines[1].
ANCHORWOMAN (taped): Step by step. The Mariupol suburbs are fully controlled by our military forces. However, there is still some fighting with the nationalists in the downtown area— Profession: the reporter. Foreign journalists in the Donbass area speak out and show, and this is their professional heroism on the backdrop of the colossal pressure from the West— Broken and frightened. Driven by the people militia, Ukrainian nationalists run and hide, leaving their Nazi symbols and extremist literature behind— Our medics conduct some most complicated operations in field hospitals of the Kyiv sector— The advancement of Russian science is the focus of Vladimir Putin’s attention— The Russophobic intoxication and the open banditry. The unprecedented level of aggression. Sergey Lavrov’s opinion: there should be a pretext, and they’ll always find sanctions to it— A sweater should help. Plus 15 degrees Centigrade at home can be endured. German authorities’ suggestions are far from optimistic— It’s difficult but doable. In Russia, the third stage of the ‘Midday Break’ project— (ARTYOM’s portrait is onscreen.) For his heroic deed, Artyom Gromov is awarded with the title of The Hero of Russia, posthumously.
LANA looks over at ARTYOM. He raises himself. There someone in army major’s uniform onscreen now.
MAJOR. I’ve always known Artyom as a courageous and selfless warrior. We fought side by side with him, we were friends, and I— I’m sorry, I’m nervous— I saw myself how Artyom carried several women and children from the basement of a burning and bombed-out house, who were locked there by Ukrainian Nazis. Of course, we also— We led everyone out, but he decided to check for possible strays. And here was the strike from the Azov battalion. The house was completely blown from the face of the earth, and we unfortunately couldn’t find Artyom, his heroically dead body is still somewhere in the liberated ground, unfound.
ANCHOR: Near Voronezh, in the hero’s birthplace, the monument to him will be erected.
The canned music. LANA switches the TV off. She doesn’t say anything.
ARTYOM: It’s a good story.
LANA: À la guerre comme à la guerre. The Ukrainians also tell barefaced lies— And that guy, the friend of yours, he—
ARTYOM: He’s not my friend, I saw him for the first time in my life! Wait. (He fumbles in the blankets and finds his phone.) How smart we are— we turned the TV on, but we could also call by wi-fi! (He dials a number.) Mom?
His mother’s face is onscreen.
MOTHER: Who’s that?
ARTYOM: Mom, what’s up, it’s me, Artyom!
MOTHER: Sweet Lord— how come— but you— Are you alive?
ARTYOM: Yes, sure I am!
MOTHER: Where are you?
ARTYOM: I’m here in the basement, but I’ll get out of it, don’t you be afraid!
MOTHER: But how— Jesus— But I knew, Artie, I knew you would be alive! (She weeps.)
ARTYOM: Don’t cry, mom, it’s all fine!
MOTHER: And they told me— They saw you— Artie, they gave me money. I didn’t want to take it, I don’t need their money but you know, Ollie—
ARTYOM: You did the right thing, mom, it’s all right! Don’t worry, they won’t take it back!
MOTHER: Who knows them, they might. They could tell me they gave me the money for hero’s death but as soon as he’s alive—
ARTYOM: I’m telling you, mom, they won’t! I won’t let them!
MOTHER: I just can’t believe it’s— Artyom, is it really you?
ARTYOM: What are you saying, mom? Why should I play tricks like that?
MOTHER: You wouldn’t but our TV plays them all day long. Maybe they dressed someone looking like you as you? You, young man, if you’re not Artyom, should be ashamed of yourself—
ARTYOM: Mommy Ommy!
MOTHER: You! Oh that’s you all right! No one else ever called me that! My God, Artie— when are you going to come back home?
ARTYOM: Soon, mom! You won’t believe it, I’ve found me a bride here! (He gestures to LANA and she approaches.) Here, look how beautiful she is. Her name is Lana.
MOTHER: Is she one of ours? A Russian?
ARTYOM: What do you care?
MOTHER: Who knows them, they might forbid marrying Ukrainian women after the war. Watch out, Artie, the Ukes are all crafty!
LANA: I’m not crafty, and I’m not a Uke. Although Ukrainian women really—
MOTHER: Oh, I almost forgot, Artie, Putin called me! Right on my telephone at home, first they called me and said the president would be calling me, so I didn’t believe them at first, but then I hear the voice, and it’s familiar! I say, Vladimir Vladimirovich, is it really you? And he laughed, all very kindly, and said, Yes, it’s me. I sympathize with your loss, he said. And then it really started, they all called and called. They even came from the TV, saying, tell us a couple of words about your sadness, but I drove them away, I said, what words do you need, I don’t have any words for you!
The onscreen image flickers.
ARTYOM: Mom, we’ll talk more later, the connection is kinda bad here, and I still need— What you should do, you call all ours, tell them I’m alive. I love you, I kiss you, Mommy Ommy, I’ll be back soon, don’t cry! Please don’t cry! That’s all, bye! (A pause. ARTYOM wipes his eyes, LANA does the same.) So— we have a connection so far. (He dials another number.) Yurik? Yes, it’s me, turn the camera on.
YURIK is onscreen. He’s army captain, like ARTYOM.
YURIK: For fuck’s sake!
ARTYOM: Don’t swear, I have a girl with me here.
YURIK: What g— Are you really alive? No, but how? (Looking around.) Listen, we have our bigwigs coming now, I’ll call you later— The line’s unsecure— (Aside.) Comrade general, I just— There’s Artyom Gromov there who died heroically. Only he didn’t die, he— Yes, sir, comrade general, of course— (He hands the phone to the general.)
GENERAL (with only half of his face visible): Have you made a fake? A provocation?
ARTYOM: No, sir, comrade general, ask Yurik there he knows me through and through. It’s me!
GENERAL: This means you’re alive, no?
ARTYOM: Fortunately yes, sir. Buried alive.
GENERAL: I see. Yet it looks silly. That is, it’s good that you’re alive but— You’re our posthumous hero, they showed you on all TV channels. They want to name a street after you. Well, I’m glad you’re alive but maybe— Could we announce it a little later?
ARTYOM: Meaning?
GENERAL: Look, it turns out now that— The president personally commiserated with your mother. But it’ll turn out that our information was false, and we misguided not only the whole country but the president himself. It’s awkward, see?
ARTYOM: So, what should I do now, hide that I’m alive? Or should I die for real?
GENERAL: Don’t be such a hotshot, will you? We’ll think of something, and you in the meantime— Send us your coordinates, an address where you are or something— (Listens to someone off screen.) They say, they see you by your geotag. So sit tight there. Over and out.
ARTYOM smiles. LANA switches all devices off.
ARTYOM: Why?
LANA: Got to save the juice. Are you glad?
ARTYOM: Why should I cry? And we don’t need to save anything anymore now, soon they’ll dig us out. Don’t be afraid, I’ll tell them that you’re one of ours, and—
LANA: That I’m your bride?
ARTYOM: Do you think I pulled your leg? Now I’ll tell you everything. I wanted to do that afterwards but— In short, I’ve fallen in love with you. Deadly. And that’s a fact. A ship, like you say, can’t just stop.
LANA rummages in her knapsack, pulls out a hand grenade, and pulls out a safety-pin ring. Then she hands the ring to ARTYOM.
LANA: Let’s do it like they do it in the movies. Propose. With the ring.
ARTYOM: Are you insane? Do you hold it firm?
LANA: So far, yes. And if they catch me— I’m criminally prosecuted, Artie, for the anti-Russian propaganda. I’m on their wanted list. For speaking the truth. So, if they catch me, I’m in for a very long sentence. I don’t want it.
ARTYOM: But why? Is it about the war?
LANA: It is. The war they declared on me. I had to leave a year ago. But they caught up with me here, as you can see.
ARTYOM: So are you going to blow yourself up?
LANA: But how beautiful it is. A bride and a groom go directly to Heaven. Like the president promised.
ARTYOM: Suicides don’t get to Heaven.
LANA: There’s no Heaven, Russian warship. There’s only hell, and it’s here. Do you really think they’d dig you out to save? I wouldn’t be so sure of that. If they reported it to Putin that you died heroically, you must die heroically.
ARTYOM: Oh come on, it’s bullshit— Though— Damn, one could expect anything from them—
LANA: So you’ve thought twice about that proposal?
ARTYOM: No. (He takes the ring and lowers himself on one knee, thrusting his wounded leg out.) Lana Zakharova, will you marry me?
LANA: Yes, Artyom Gromov, I’ve fallen in love with you, too, and I will marry you.
ARTYOM: That didn’t sound serious enough.
LANA: It was. I’m serious. Fallen in love with you. Unfortunately. This damned sense of doom.
She takes the ring and puts it back into the safety pin.
ARTYOM: Well? May I kiss the bride now? (They kiss. There are thuds from outside.) They’ve started digging us out. Somehow they found us rather quickly— Could your guys intercept my phone calls?
LANA: What ‘my guys’, Artyom? And who are those ‘your guys’? The only ‘our guys’ here are us.
ARTYOM: Looks like it.
LANA goes behind the partition and emerges with the pistol and the submachine gun. She lies down in a firing position behind the fallen pillar. ARTYOM thinks a little and lies down beside her, with the pistol in his hand. The thuds are now louder. LANA reaches out for the torchlight and switches it off. A piece of concrete falls out of the side wall, and something flies into the hole. An explosion.
It’s all dark and silent. Suddenly, the TV monitor comes to life, and we see the SECOND ANCHORWOMAN.
SECOND ANCHORWOMAN. For over a week, two our heroes, a man and a girl, had been holding forth in a basement of an apartment house. Desperate to get rid of them, Russian fascists destroyed them and all civilian residents they were defending, with pinpoint blasting. Damn this bloody war and let those who rob the best sons and daughters of our motherland of their live, forever burn in hell!
The image gets distorted and flaky. The FIRST ANCHORWOMAN appears.
ANCHORWOMAN: In a basement of one apartment house, the body of Artyom Gromov, the Hero of Russia who died while saving civilian residents, was recovered. It turned out he had been repelling attacks of enemy combatants defending those who were trying to save themselves from Ukrainian Nazis together with him. Desperate to get rid of the Russian warrior, the brutal Nazis blew up the basement with all the people in it. Gromov’s comrades swore to revenge his death hundredfold.
THE END
[1] Taken from the Time news show, March 28, 2022.
