The old women’s apartment. In the kitchen on the tablethere is an open packet of medicine, unwashed dishes. Luara is speaking on the telephone.
Luara—That’s what I’m trying to tell you!!! How can you just sit there??? No, I understand perfectly. So what kind of report am I supposed to fill out then for this kind of question? In three days? How can that be? All right—I’m writing it down, yes. Personal identification. I can’t find her passport, oh my, what kind of document then? It could be dementia? Yes, yes, oh Lord. Dentures? What are you talking about dentures for! Excuse, please, yes, I am writing—outer clothing, underwear, her circle of acquaintances, this is a very old person, all the photographs were taken years ago. Yes, I understand.
Luara—Where did you come from?
Vika—What’s the problem?
Luara—What time did you leave the house?
Vika—I come home and right away it starts—the interrogation.
Luara—Did you see Nura this morning?
Luara—Is this your cup?
Vika—As I understood it, nothing her is mine.
Luara—did you drink coffee from this cup?
Luara—That means she didn’t eat or drink anything this morning.
Vika—Oh now you’re following every move everyone makes?
Luara—Where could she have gone?
Vika—One move to the right or left and we shoot?
Luara—Don’t pretend to be dumber than you are.
Vika—By the way, is there anything to eat?
Luara—She didn’t even sleep in her bed.
Vika—And how did you figure that out?
Luara—What happened here yesterday?
Vika—Nothing. She went looking for your hula-hoop.
Vika—She said something like she was going to look at "Children’s World" today.
Luara—What then, did she leave in the night?
Vika—Listen, how should I know—why are you so worked up?
Luara—Tell me, is there any part of you that is human?
Vika—You yourself said I’m mutant.
Luara—I even called emergency rooms.
Vika—And what did they say?
Luara—Nothing there—and the police say they only do reports after three days.
Vika—what kind of reports?
Luara—Missing person reports.
Vika—Maybe could we stop with all the drama.
Luara—Of course, you wouldn’t understand, but her mind...
Vika—Her mind is fine.
Luara—What time is it?
Luara—Its all ready completely dark. Go and look there in the room, on the piano, is there an envelope with money it?
Vika goes out.
Luara—Did you look everywhere?
Luara—Yes. There’s only her keys.
Luara automatically places the cups in the sink, opens the cupboard below the sink and looks in; she takes the ripped sheets of paper out of the garbage.
Luara—Her mind is fine? She wasn’t herself yesterday. She ripped up all her writing. What is this the early sings of Alzheimer’s?
Vika sits down and smokes a cigarette.
Luara—Could you at least open the window, I can hardly breath in here.
Vika opens the window. Large gusts blow snowflakes into the kitchen. Luara takes the stained, torn pages and reads.
Luara—"On the eve of my death, I am speaking of this. Farewell, please try to comfort your mother, for whom I hold the sincerest feelings of sympathy and love. Your loving father, Leo Tolstoy."
Vika puts out the cigarette, trying to hide her tears, blowing her nose.
The doorbell rings.
Luara—Thank God. Go, open the door.
Vika runs to the door. Luara takes a cup and drops a few drops of sedative into it.
Luara—ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen.
Rurik appears in the kitchen with Vika behind him.
Rurik—It was so cold at the cemetery! Just freezing! All that wet heavy clay falling onto the coffin in the grave clunk clunk clunk crows circling in the sky caw caw caw and then a thought seized me! Not even a thought, but an entire concept laid itself out, it spread itself out by the means of a characteristically symbiotic game—the signifier and the signified. And here’s the idea—the understanding, the universal rejection of objects with which one can connect a supposedly realistic world-view and empiricism—based on pure independent symbolic images.
Rurik—Oh but Mama, listen, I’m serious. I even wrote my idea down while I was walking
He pulls an envelope covered with writing from his pocket and reads.
Rurik—The concept rests on the assumption of empirical or preferential consideration of objects, which provide for the demonstration of absurd events…
Luara—Where did you get that envelope?
Rurik—What do you mean?
Luara—Where did you get it?
Rurik—Nura gave it to me—to help out a little.
Rurik—What’s the deal?
Luara—When did she give you that envelope?
Rurik—Yesterday evening and today I went to the funeral.
Luara—How much money was in there?
Rurik—Algebraic thought, operates, as a rule, by a simple methodology.
Vika—Are you even listening? Grandma’s asking you something!
Rurik—What is going on? Are you all on drugs?
Vika—How much money???
Vika—That means she doesn’t have any money.
Luara—Or if she does, just kopecks.
Rurik—What are you chattering about?
Rurik—Where’d she go?
Luara—Stop asking stupid questions.
Rurik—By the way, how old is she?
Luara—She’s three years older than me.
Rurik---And how old are you?
Luara—What does that have to do with anything?
Rurik—At that age…have you looked at her will yet? There’s the apartment, I mean…
The doorbell rings.
Vika—You are a rare piece of shit. (She runs to open the door)
Vika and Brusha enter the kitchen.
Luara--Wonderful. The only thing missing here was our sorrowful dark knight.
Brusha—Good evening. I just came for a minute.
Luara—And he’s come just in time.
Rurik—He who’s come?
Rurik—What do you mean he? What’s this he’s come?
Brusha—Has something happened?
Brusha—what’s happened to her?
Vika—She left and she hasn’t come back yet.
Brusha—When did she leave?
Luara—During the night.
Vika—You talked to her, did she say anything to you…
Rurik—You see, I was amazed that a girl could actually draw that well—such a good eye, well, well….how stupid! Stupid. It’s all clear now! Ah youth..
Brusha (looks at he torn writing) What’s this?
Vika—Last night. Right after you left.
Rurik—I don’t get it. Are you sleeping together?
Luara—Is that the only thing that bothers you right now?
Rurik—Come on Mom, not so rough.
Luara—That’s it! I’ve had enough. Before you leave put Nura’s envelope on the table!
Rurik—You want to read my writing?
Luara—I want to return Nura her money! An envelope with your chicken scratch all over it doesn’t interest me at all!
Rurik—Since when do you care about other peoples’ money in other people’s pockets? That’s not very cultured—it’s beneath you, really! The deceased wouldn’t like it!
Luara—Shut your mouth!
Rurik—And here’s the practical application of my theory! I’ve always said that money ruins people. Now that the old hen is raking in the big bucks she can’t even spring to bury her own sister! Three thousand isn’t going to be enough for a funeral. Listen to me, I’m an expert on funerals!
Luara—Listen, you expert!!!
Vika—Put the money down right now!
Rurik--How dare you talk to your father like that, puissant!
Luara—Don’t you shout at her that way!
Rurik—I can speak with my own daughter anyway I please.
Luara—Get out of here!
Rurik—It’s all your noxious influence…
Luara—As soon as Nura comes back you’re going to put that money right in her hand and say thank you, you understand?
Rurik arrogantly stamps out and the door slams.
Vika begins laughing hysterically---eventually her laughter turns into sobs.
Luara begins to drop the medicine drops into a cup.
Luara—Ten, eleven, twelve, drink this. (She hands Vika the cup) Drink it!
Vika (taking large gulps) God that’s bitter! Why so much?
Brusha—Drink the water!
Luara (to Brusha) Shut the window. There are already snowdrifts in here.
Brusha closes the window.
Brusha—What’s the date?
Luara—The twenty-ninth, why?
Brusha—That means yesterday was the twenty-eighth of October?
Luara—That would be logical, yes.
Brusha—(He looks at the torn sheets of paper) These can still be fixed. I’ve already typed out the first part.
Luara—Show it to me.
Brusha—Later, I need to go!
Brusha—Snow. Wind, cold, the last decision! Of course, of course the twenty-eighth, one fall night!
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