Aleksandr Vampilov: The Major Plays

Alma Law

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2013
• Print ISBN: 9783718655854
• eBook ISBN: 9781134360451
• Topic: Media & Performing Arts
• Subtopic: Theatre

First Published in 1996. The Russian Theatre Archive makes available in English the best avant-garde plays from the pre-Revolutionary period to the present day. It features monographs on major playwrights and theatre directors, introductions to previously unknown works, and studies of the main artistic groups and periods. Plays are presented in performing edition translations, including (where appropriate) musical scores, and instructions for music and dance. Whenever possible the translated texts will be accompanied by videotapes of performances of plays in the original language.

Duck Hunting

A Drama in Three Acts

6. Duck Hunting. Scene from the 1976 production at the Theatre of Russian Drama, Riga, directed by Arkady Kats.

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Cast of Characters

ZILOV, VIKTOR Aleksandrovich (Vitya) — An engineer.

GALINA (Galya) — Zilov’s wife, a teacher.

SAYAPIN, Tolya (Tolechka) — Zilov’s co-worker.

KUZAKOV, Nikolai (Kolya) — Friend of Zilov and Sayapin.

KUSHAK, Vadim Andreich — Zilov and Sayapin’s boss.

ROZHKOVA, Irina Nikolaevna (Ira) — A student.

VERA (Verochka) — A salesgirl.

VALERIYA — Sayapin’s wife.

DIMA — A waiter.

THE BOY — Vitya.

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ACT ONE

(The play is set in a provincial town in present-day Russia. It is the beginning of the duck hunting season).

A city apartment in a new housing development. The door to the entry hall, a door to the kitchen, a door to another room. One window. Ordinary furniture. On the window sill is a large plush cat with a ribbon around its neck. The room is in disarray.

In the foreground is a couch on which ZILOV is sleeping. Beside it is a small table with a telephone on it.

Through the window can be seen the top floor and roof of another apartment building opposite. Above the roof is a narrow band of gray sky. A rainy day.

The telephone rings. ZILOV doesn’t wake up immediately, and when he does it is with difficulty. He lets the telephone ring several times after he is awake. Then he frees his hand from under the blanket and reluctantly picks up the receiver.

ZILOV. Hello? (A short pause. A puzzled frown. It is apparent the person on the other end has hung up). Strange. . . (ZILOV hangs up, turns on his side, then on his hack. After a moment he throws off the blanket. He is amazed to discover that he has been sleeping in his socks. He sits up and puts his hand to his forehead. Very carefully he touches his jaw. He grimaces with pain. For a time he sits looking at a single point in space, remembering. Getting up, he turns, quickly goes to the window, and opens it. He gestures in annoyance. He is extremely unhappy that it is raining. He goes to the kitchen and returns with a bottle of beer and a glass. He stands near the window drinking. Still holding the bottle, he begins exercising. He makes several movements, but then stops this activity as inappropriate to his mood. The telephone rings. He goes to it and picks up the receiver). Well?. . . Are you going to talk or not. (The same trick: the person hangs up). Stupid jokes. . . (He hangs up and finishes the beer. He picks up the receiver and dials a number). Hi, Dima. Congratulations, old man, you were right!. . . Yes, about the weather dammit! A whole year we’ve been waiting and now look! It’s raining buckets! (In bewilderment) Who’s talking? Zilov, of course. Don’t you recognize me?. . . Died? Who, me? No, I’m alive—more or less. . . Really? (He laughs). No, I’m alive. That’s all I need, to die right before the hunting season!. . . Not go? You think I’ve gone crazy? Wait a minute, maybe you don’t want to go with me, is that it?. . . Then what’s the matter?. . . Last night, you mean? (He sighs) The big row—that I remember. . . Why did I start it? I’m wondering myself, why? The devil knows why!. . . (With annoyance) Don’t remind me. . . No, I don’t remember the end. Why, Dima? Something happened?. . . I swear I don’t remember. The police weren’t there, were they?. . . Only friends? Thank God!. . . Offended? What’s the matter, can’t they take a joke? Well, the hell with them. They’ll get over it, right?. . . I think so, too. Okay, now where do we stand? When are we leaving?. . . Wait? But when did it start?. . . Last night?. . . Really?. . . I don’t remember. (He feels his jaw). Say, Dima! Was there a fight last night?. . . No? Strange. . . Someone let me have it. On the jaw. With a fist, I think. You didn’t see, did you? Well, never mind. . . Oh, no, nothing serious. A perfectly civilized blow. (A knock at the door) Dima! What if it keeps raining all week?. . . Of course I’m not worried. . . I see. . . I’m at home. All set to go. I’ll wait for your call. . . I’ll wait. . . (He hangs up. A knock at the door). Come in! (A solemn-faced BOY about twelve years old appears in the doorway carrying a large, cheap evergreen wreath with big paper flowers and a long, black ribbon on it).

ZILOV. (Cheerily) Hi!

THE BOY. Hello. Are you Zilov?

ZILOV. That’s me.

THE BOY. (He leans the wreath against the table). For you.

ZILOV. Me?. . . What for? (THE BOY is silent). Listen, kid. You must have made a mistake. . .

THE BOY. Aren’t you Zilov?

ZILOV. So?. . .

THE BOY. Then it’s for you.

ZILOV. (Not immediately) Who sent you?. . . Here, sit down.

THE BOY. I have to go.

ZILOV. Sit. (THE BOY sits down. ZILOV looks over the wreath. He picks it up, stretches out the ribbon, and reads aloud the inscription). “To the unforgettable Viktor Aleksandrovich Zilov, prematurely sacrificed on the altar of labor, from his inconsolable friends”. . . (ZILOV is silent. The he laughs, but not for long and not particularly cheerfully). Do you get it?. . . Viktor Aleksandrovich Zilov. That’s me. . . And see, I’m alive and well. . . How do you like that? (THE BOY is silent). Where are they? Downstairs?

THE BOY. No, they left.

ZILOV. (Not immediately) So, they played their little joke and left. . .

THE BOY. I’m going.

ZILOV. Run along. . . No, wait. Tell me. . . What do you think of such jokes?. . . (THE BOY is silent). To send a friend something like this when he has a hangover, and in such weather, besides. Isn’t that a lousy trick?. . . Should friends do a think like that? What do you think?

THE BOY. I don’t know. They asked me. I brought it. . . (A short pause)

ZILOV. And you’re a fine one. Delivering funeral wreaths to living people. At your age I wouldn’t have taken on something like that.

THE BOY. I didn’t know you were alive.

ZILOV. And if you’d known, would you have brought it?

THE BOY. No.

ZILOV. Thanks for that, anyway. (A short pause)

THE BOY. I’m going.

ZILOV. Wait a minute. What did they say?

THE BOY. They said, fifth floor, apartment 20. . . They said, knock, ask for Zilov, and give it to him. That’s all.

ZILOV. See, how easy. And how funny. . . (He hangs the wreath around his neck). Isn’t it funny? (He goes to the mirror, and with exaggerated gestures, combs his hair). Why aren’t you laughing?. . . You probably don’t have a sense of humor. (He turns toward THE BOY and lifts up his own right arm with the left, as a referee does to a winning athlete). Vitya Zilov! U-S-S-R. First Place. . . (He lowers his arm). Not very funny, right? (He throws down the wreath and sits on the couch so that he is facing the window). Maybe you and I just don’t appreciate a joke. (Pause) You have to go?

THE BOY. Yes. . . I have to do my homework. . .

ZILOV. Yes. . . Homework is a serious business. . . What’s your name?

THE BOY. (Not immediately) Vitya.

ZILOV. Really? So you’re a Vitya too. . . Doesn’t that seem strange to you?

THE BOY. I don’t know. (A short pause)

ZILOV. Well, okay, Vitya, run along. Do ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title page
• Copyright page
• Contents
• List of Plates
• Introduction to the series
• Introduction
• FAREWELL IN JUNE
• THE ELDER SON
• PROVINCIAL ANECDOTES: An Incident with a Paginator Twenty Minutes with an Angel
• DUCK HUNTING
• LAST SUMMER IN CHULIMSK