MARIANNA
You’re crazy.
KUZNETSOFF
And the four of us will go to some racy little spot.
MARIANNA
You’re absolutely unbelievable. One might think you’ve known me and my girl friend for a hundred years. I should never have had that liqueur. When I’m so tired, I have no business drinking liqueurs. And I am terribly tired.... These shooting sessions....And my part is the most demanding one in the whole film. The part of a Communist woman. Abominably difficult part. Have you been in Berlin long?
KUZNETSOFF
About two hours.
MARIANNA
And imagine, today I had to repeat the same scene eighteen—yes, eighteen times. Of course it wasn’t my fault. It was because of Pia Mora. Of course she’s very famous, but, between you and me, if she is playing the lead, it’s only because ... well, in a nutshell, it’s because she’s making it with Moser. I watched her seethe when she saw I was better than her....
KUZNETSOFF
(to Taubendorf, over his shoulder)
Kolya, tomorrow we’re all going out to have a good time. Okay?
TAUBENDORF
Whatever you say, Alyosha. I’m always ready.
KUZNETSOFF
Then it’s settled. And now—
MARIANNA
Baron, could you find my handbag for me? I left it somewhere by the phone.
TAUBENDORF
At your service.
KUZNETSOFF
And now I want to tell you something. I like you a lot, especially your legs.
TAUBENDORF
(returning with the handbag)
Here you are.
MARIANNA
Thank you, my dear Baron. I’d better go. The atmosphere is getting too romantic....The dim lighting and all...
KUZNETSOFF
(getting up)
Romance is the spice of life. Let’s go. You have to show me the way to the Pension Braun.
FYODOR FYODOROVICH
Where’s your hat, Mr. Kuznetsoff?
KUZNETSOFF
Never use one. Oh-oh—the boss is snoring. I won’t disturb him. Good-by, Fyodor Fyodorovich—that’s right, isn’t it? Kolya, how much do I owe you?
TAUBENDORF
A mark and a half. Including gratuities. See you tomorrow, Marianna dear. See you tomorrow, Alyosha. Eight-thirty.
KUZNETSOFF
Don’t bungle things, sweetheart. I said eight.
(Kuznetsoff and Marianna leave.)
FYODOR FYODOROVICH
(lifting the edge of the window blind and looking out)
Amazing thing, legs.
TAUBENDORF
(yawning)
Oh-hoh. Doesn’t look good. I guess no one is going to come.
Come on, let’s have a game of twenty-one.
FYODOR FYODOROVICH
Oh well—why not.
(They sit down at the same table where Kuznetsoff and Marianna were sitting and start playing. Oshivenski is sleeping. It is rather dark.)
CURTAIN
ACT TWO
A room. On the left a window giving on the courtyard. Door in rear wall, opening on a corridor. In the left comer, a green-colored settee with a green egg-shaped cushion. Next to it, a small table with a round lamp. By the right wall, behind a green screen, a bed: the only part of it visible to the spectator is one of the metal knobs at its foot. In the center, a round table with a lace doily. Near it, in an armchair, sits Olga Pavlovna Kuznetsoff, embroidering a silk chemise. She is wearing a very simple, not quite fashionable dark dress: it is more ample and longer than the current style. Her face is young and soft; there is something girlish about her gentle features and smooth hairdo. The room is an ordinary room in an ordinary Berlin boardinghouse, with aspirations to bourgeois comforts: a pseudo-Persian carpet; two mirrors, one in the door of a paunchy wardrobe against the right wall, the other an oval one on the back wall. In all of this there is a kind of unpleasant puffy rotundity—in the armchairs, the green lampshade, the outline of the folding screen, as if the room had developed in concentric circles, frozen motionless over there in the form of a pouf, over here in that of an enormous plate stuck to the peony design of the wallpaper and giving birth to several smaller ones all over the back wall. The window is ajar—it is a bright, spring afternoon. A very badly played violin is audible outside. Olga Pavlovna, busy with her embroidery, listens now and then and smiles. The violin gives one last whine, sobs and falls silent. A pause. Then, beyond the door, Kuznetsoff’s voice inquires, “Wo ist mein3 Frau?” and the maid’s irritable voice replies, “Da—nächste Tür.”
OLGA PAVLOVNA
(drops everything, runs to the door, opens it)
Alyosha, I’m in here. Come here.
KUZNETSOFF
(enters, with his raincoat over his arm)
Hello. What do you think you’re doing sitting in someone else’s room?
OLGA PAVLOVNA
Marianna doesn’t mind. And they’re doing my room—I got up late. Put down your coat.
KUZNETSOFF
And where did she go?
OLGA PAVLOVNA
I really don’t know. Off somewhere. I don’t know. Alyosha, it’s already been four days, but I simply can’t get used to the idea that you’re in Berlin, and come to visit me—
KUZNETSOFF
(walking to and fro, picking up a framed photograph from a side table)
It’s hot in here and it reeks of perfume. Who is this character?
OLGA PAVLOVNA
—that I no longer have to wait for your letters, wonder where you are and whether or not you’re alive....
KUZNETSOFF
Her husband, is it?
OLGA PAVLOVNA
Yes, I think so. I don’t know him. Sit somewhere. You can’t imagine how enormous Russia seems to me when you disappear into it. (laughs)
KUZNETSOFF
Nonsense. Actually I only stopped by for a moment. I still have loads of things to do.
OLGA PAVLOVNA
Oh, sit down for a little while. Please....
KUZNETSOFF
I’ll drop by to see you again later. And I’ll take a nap.
OLGA PAVLOVNA
Can’t you stay ten minutes? I have something to tell you. Something very amusing. But I’m a little embarrassed because I didn’t tell you as soon as you arrived....
KUZNETSOFF
What is it?
OLGA PAVLOVNA
Last Monday about nine o’clock—the same day you arrived—I was walking home and saw you ride by in a taxi with a suitcase. So I knew you were in Berlin, and didn’t know my address. I was terribly happy you’d arrived, but at the same time it was torture for me. I rushed over to the street where I used to live, and the concierge there told me you’d just stopped by and that he didn’t know where to direct you. I’ve changed addresses so many times since....It was all very stupid. Then I went home, forgot a package in the tram on the way, and began waiting. I knew you’d find me right away through Taubendorf. Still, it was very hard waiting. You only came after ten—
KUZNETSOFF
Listen, Olya—
OLGA PAVLOVNA
And left immediately. And you’ve only been to see me once since and then only for a moment.
KUZNETSOFF
Listen, Olya: when I decided it was best we didn’t live together, you agreed with me, and said you weren’t in love with me anymore either. But when you talk like you’re talking now, I begin to think—no, let me finish—I begin to think you wouldn’t mind reviving that love. It would bother me a lot if it turned out that, in spite of our decision, you still feel differently about me than I do about you.
OLGA PAVLOVNA
I can’t talk about it today. Let’s not. I thought I’d make you laugh with the story about the package.
KUZNETSOFF
No, I want to clear this up....
OLGA PAVLOVNA
It’s just that kind of day today.... Anyway,
there are lots of things you are incapable of understanding. Imagine, say, the sound of a bad violin outside the window—just a moment ago, say, just before you came—actually it didn’t happen, since even if I’d heard such a sound I wouldn’t have cared....Don’t look at me that way. I’m telling you I wouldn’t have cared. I don’t love you. There was no violin.
KUZNETSOFF
I don’t understand what you’re talking about.
OLGA PAVLOVNA
No, you cannot understand.
KUZNETSOFF
(getting up)
You know, I’d better get going....
OLGA PAVLOVNA
Two years ago, when we lived here in Berlin together, there was some silly, silly song, some dance tune, that boys whistled in the street and organ-grinders played. If you heard that song now you wouldn’t even recognize it....
KUZNETSOFF
This is very irritating.
OLGA PAVLOVNA
Stop it. I can’t stand it when you get angry like that. Your eyes turn yellow. It’s just that I’m nervous today. Don’t. You ... you’re satisfied with your hotel?
KUZNETSOFF
You know, you ought to remarry.
OLGA PAVLOVNA
Sure, sure, I will. I’ll do everything you want. Listen, would you like me to swear that I don’t love you? I don’t! Do you hear me?
KUZNETSOFF
Yes, I hear you. Still, I’m unhappy that we had to have this conversation. Right now I simply don’t have the time to put my soul to work. And conversations like this put one’s soul to work. I’ll tell you something: I absolutely can’t bear the idea of someone thinking about me with love, with longing, with concern. It distracts me.
OLGA PAVLOVNA
You’re right, Alyosha, you’re right. I don’t want to distract you. There, it’s all over.... In fact, there wasn’t anything in the first place. You know, I have the feeling Taubendorf is courting me a little, (laughs) I like him a lot. I mean it, I really do.
KUZNETSOFF
I’m not quite satisfied with him. He’s a little obtuse. With all his romanticism he lives in a dream world. Well, I must be off.
OLGA PAVLOVNA
Alyosha, do you ever think about what you ... what they ... well, about the danger?
KUZNETSOFF
Only my Aunt Nellie and the Man in the Moon think.
(walks toward the door)
OLGA PAVLOVNA
(calling after him)
Put on your coat. It’s chilly out.
(After Kuznetsoff leaves, Olga Pavlovna remains standing by the table, running her finger along the pattern of the doily. Then she walks around the room: it is evident that she is holding back tears. Hearing footsteps outside the door, she sits down as before and picks up her embroidery. Without knocking, Marianna enters. She is very smartly dressed.)
MARIANNA
(breathlessly)
I ran into your husband outside. How old is he? (glances fleetingly at the embroidery) That certainly is pretty. How old is he?
OLGA PAVLOVNA
Thirty-two. Why do you ask?
MARIANNA
(takes off her coat and hat, and tosses her hair. She is blonde, with the aid of peroxide.)
I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. The traffic outside is atrocious, one car on top of another, the policeman is performing all kinds of ballet gestures, the pedestrians are waiting for him to stop the traffic, and your husband, cool as a cucumber, goes and crosses! In a straight line. The cars honk at him, the policeman freezes in amazement in a Nizhinsky pose—no reaction, he goes straight across. And yet he looks so peaceable....
What’s this part going to be—openwork or lace?
OLGA PAVLOVNA
Lace.
MARIANNA
I’m so happy there was no shooting today. I’m sick and tired of Moser. He just won’t stop pestering me. Someone else might have taken advantage of it to make a career. But I can’t. I don’t know if you can understand what I mean, dear, but for me art is everything. Art is sacred. Somebody like Pia Mora, who sleeps around, can go for rides with Moser. But I can’t. Nothing in life interests me except art. Nothing. How exhausted I get, though! I’ve got the most demanding part—the whole film hangs on me. I can imagine what bliss it will be to see it all on the screen afterwards. Good heavens, what’s the matter with you, sweetie, what’s wrong? Olga Pavlovna! Why are you crying? What happened, Olga Pavlovna?
OLGA PAVLOVNA
Don’t pay any attention to me.... It’s nothing.... It’ll go away in a minute....
(She cries, wiping her eyes with her fingers like a child.)
MARIANNA
What is it, what’s the matter? Is something wrong? Come, tell me, darling.
OLGA PAVLOVNA
Give me a hankie.
MARIANNA
It’s not quite clean. I’ll get you another one.
OLGA PAVLOVNA
Never mind.... There, it’s over....I just didn’t sleep well last night.
MARIANNA
You want me to run out and get some valerian drops? Oh, wait, I have some here.
OLGA PAVLOVNA
It’s all right. Thanks, Marianna Sergeyevna. Really, it’s all right. It’s all over.
MARIANNA
Oh, you’re crying again. What a shame. Here, drink this. Slowly. Now sit quietly. Let’s chat about something.
OLGA PAVLOVNA
Let’s chat about something, (blows her nose and laughs)
MARIANNA
Oh. I’ve been wanting to ask you for a long time. What exactly does Alexey Matveyevich do?
OLGA PAVLOVNA
I don’t know exactly, (laughs) Your hankie is all soaked, look. He’s involved in various commercial dealings.
MARIANNA
I hope you don’t mind my asking—I believe that, in spite of everything, you’re still friends—but there’s something I did want to ask you.... He isn’t a Bolshevik, is he?
OLGA PAVLOVNA
Do you hate Bolsheviks a lot, Marianna Sergeyevna?
MARIANNA
I despise them. Art is above politics.... But they debase art. They burn down marvelous Russian country houses. Olga Pavlovna, don’t tell me your husband...
OLGA PAVLOVNA
His personal life does not concern me. I don’t want to know anything.
MARIANNA
(quickly)
And he never-never says anything to you?
OLGA PAVLOVNA
Never.
MARIANNA
Aha. (short pause) And I have very strong suspicions. Imagine, Oshivenski says he saw Alexey Matveyevich day before yesterday sitting in a café with a notorious agent from the Soviet Mission. Engaged in a very friendly conversation. Oshivenski and his wife are absolutely scandalized.
OLGA PAVLOVNA
I was just expecting them today. I don’t particularly like that lady and I don’t know why she keeps visiting me. But he’s a sweet old man, and I’m very sorry for him.
MARIANNA
Still, it’s an awful thing if it’s true.
OLGA PAVLOVNA
I think your film is about Bolsheviks, isn’t it?
MARIANNA
Oh, it’s a wonderful film! Of course it’s still too early to talk about the plot because—you know—it’s being shot in bits and pieces. I’m fully familiar only with my own part. But basically the screenplay has to do with the Russian Revolution. And of course there’s a love story mixed in. Absolutely fascinating, I think, very spannend. The male lead is Harry Joy. He’s a darling.
(a knock at the door. Kuznetsoff enters.)
KUZNETSOFF
You’re still in this room, Olya....
MARIANNA
Oh, Alexey Matveyevich, I’m glad to have her—
OLGA PAVLOVNA
You’re back so soon!
KUZNETSOFF
Yes. (to Marianna) And you must teach me how to dance, Ma’am.
Man From the USSR & Other Plays Page 5