Bliss

Fraser Grace

• Publisher: Methuen Drama
• Year: 2021
• Print ISBN: 9781350257092
• eBook ISBN: 9781350257115
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama
• Index: Literature

The water's here, just like us, but soon it'll be flowing past fresh flowers and new grass, and all the way out to the sea.

Based on a short story by the brilliant but often overlooked Russian writer Andrey Platonov (1899-1951), Bliss is the tragi-comic tale of a young couple trying to build a life against the odds in the aftermath of the Russian civil war.

As ex-soldier Nikita struggles to overcome what we now might recognise as PTSD, the play opens up into a colourful and strangely heart-warming kaleidoscope of stories, song, laughter and magic, as the survivors of years of devastating war and political revolution all strive to comprehend how society can recover from catastrophe, how real love has both passionate and practical faces, and how the future is only built by those who manage to survive their past.

This boisterous play is published in Methuen Drama's Lost Plays series, celebrating new plays that had productions postponed due to the Covid-19 outbreak and the global shutdown of theatre spaces.

Part One

One

Nikita is waiting in the street, late afternoon. He wears a greatcoat, but looks gaunt, his hair long and lank. A young woman approaches – Lyuba – poorly dressed, and even more gaunt than Nikita. Her shoes are tied up with string, and she carries a pile of books.

When Lyuba sees Nikita, she stops short.

Lyuba You.

Pause.

Nikita (prompting) Nikita.

Lyuba Nikita, of course.

NikitaYou are Lyuba.

LyubaI know.

Pause.

Lyuba How long have you been . . . (waiting)?

When did you get back, Nikita?

NikitaYesterday. Today.

Lyuba Today. Now you’re here, in our street.

NikitaI had to register with the Commissariat, for the reserve. I kept walking.

He looks up at the house.

I came to this house before.

Courting the schoolteacher.

Lyuba ?

NikitaThere was furniture. A wardrobe, cups, a piano . . .

LyubaYou courted my mother?

Beat.

NikitaDad courted her. I was fourteen.

Lyuba Of course. Old Mikhail with his oiled hair.

And the young one, Nikita Firsov.

NikitaNo point coming back after that. ‘They have nice things – what would we talk about?’

That was . . . (a long time ago).

Good day, comrade.

He makes to exit.

Lyuba Mother passed two winters ago. I tried to keep the piano, but I had to feed the stove.

NikitaI’m sorry for your trouble, Lyuba.

She nods acknowledgement.

NikitaI don’t miss the piano.

Smiles. Pause.

Lyuba Your father, is he . . .? Are you . . .

NikitaYes, both of us. Alive.

Lyuba Good. You came home to someone.

Beat.

NikitaI didn’t even know it was over. ‘Go back to whatever godforsaken places you come from.’ We had a smoke, said goodbyes. I started walking.

Now I am here, speaking to you.

Lyuba You walked all the way?

How did you know where to go?

NikitaI followed the river.

Lyuba It’s miles!

NikitaI kept to the river.

Lyuba You must have walked for weeks!

Beat.

You smell very badly, Nikita.

Pause.

NikitaWhat sort of life do you have, Lyuba? Have you a place place, in the new world? A job . . .?

LyubaI’m a student. (The books.) Medicine.

NikitaAh. Pity.

Lyuba ?

NikitaNo doctors needed now. Too late for the dead, the living are healed.

Beat.

Lyuba Are you?

Nikitaputs on his cap.

NikitaIt’s good to see you’re alive, Lyuba. Good to know not all the ghosts in the street are enemies.

Again, he makes to exit. She makes a decision.

Lyuba Come in, Nikita. Now you’re here.

See the house again.

Beat. She exits. He waits, takes his hat off again, sniffs himself, follows, the action continues as smoothly as possible, into . . .

Two

Lights up on Lyuba’s house.

A bed, a very tatty piano stool and downstage – a wood-burning stove. Somewhere a clock. Lyuba puts her books down on the bed, takes pins from her hair.

Lyuba How are you at lighting stoves? I use the small one now; that burns with a few sticks.

He sets about it. She feels the cold, and watches him.

Lyuba The cold’s like some guest you can’t get rid of.

The furniture came in useful that way. So much has gone!

There’s still the clock; that doesn’t work.

You need a knack with a stove like that.

NikitaWe fixed a lot of things in the war. Roofs, fences –

The unit I was with, we built a whole bridge for a village in the Altai region.

The Whites fought for the old things. We knew it’s the future that counts.

(The stove.) You’re right, it’s tricky.

Lyuba Do you have food in your pockets, Nikita?

Nikita hasn’t any food.

Lyuba My friend Zhenya comes round in the evenings. She brings food from home, so I can think. Her father commands the division.

It’s nice to be talked to, to study.

I suppose she’s not coming.

Her eyes fall again on his pockets.

Lyuba No use thinking of food. I have to lie down. When I sleep for a while the pains pass over. That’s usually how I manage.

Will you stay, for a while, while I sleep?

You can keep the place warm, keep the stove lit, I can rest.

Would you do that for me, Nikita?

Beat.

NikitaYes.

I’ll sit here, in the chair. Guard duty.

Lyuba Mikhail won’t miss you, will he, your father?

Nik...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Author’s note
• Acknowledgements
• Contents
• Bliss
• Characters
• Prologue
• Part One
• Part Two
• Methuen Drama Contemporary Dramatists
• eCopyright