Daniel Charms, 31 Plays, #31.7

The Old Woman - VII

I walked out onto the street. I made it to the streetcar successfully, changing hands ever so often.

I got into the streetcar at the first door of the last car, and waved to the ticket lady to get her to come over and take money for my ticket and luggage. I didn't want to hand over my only money - the thirty rubles bill - via the whole car and couldn't leave the suitcase unattended and go up to her myself. She eventually came over to me and said she had no change. I had no other alternative but to get off at the next stop.

I stood angrily, waiting for the next streetcar. My stomach hurt and my legs were shaking.

Suddenly I saw the same pretty young lady I met earlier today: she crossed the street looking in the other direction.

I grabbed hold of the suitcase and rushed after her. I didn't know her name so I couldn't call to her. The suitcase was an awful impediment; I held it in front of me with my both hands, pushing it with my knees and stomach. The pretty young lady walked quite fast and I didn't think I would catch up with her. I was covered with sweat and completely exhausted, when the pretty young lady turned into a side street. When I reached the corner, she was nowhere in sight.

"The hell with you, old woman!" I hissed, dropping the suitcase onto the pavement.

The sleeves of my coat were soaked in sweat. I sat down on the suitcase, took out my handkerchief to wipe off my neck and face. Two boys stopped in front of me and started staring at me. I managed to recompose myself and was intensely looking at a nearby building entrance as if I was waiting for someone. The boys whispered at each other pointing at me with their fingers. I was furious. If I could only strike them with tetanus!

And just because of those blasted little boys, I stand up, pick up my suitcase, walk into the nearby building and look inside.

"How strange," I say loudly, pick up my suitcase and drag it off to the streetcar stop.

I got to the train station at five to seven. I buy a round trip to Fox's Nose and get into the train.

There are two other people beside me: one of them looks like a worker; he is tired, sleeping with his hat down over his eyes. The other, a young man dressed in the stile of a country dandy: he wears a pink sweater under his coat, and curly hair comes out from under his hat. He smokes a cigarette through a bright green plastic cigarette holder.

I put down the suitcase between the benches and sit down. Sharp cramps in my stomach make me squeeze my fists hard so as not to scream from the pain.

I see two policemen on the platform, dragging some guy to the police station. He walks with his hands behind his back; his head lying on his chest.

The train is moving. I look at my watch: ten after seven.

Oh, how ecstatic I will be when dumping this old woman into the swamps! Too bad I didn't take a stick with me; I'll have to push her out the suitcase with my bare hands.

The dandy in pink sweater is staring at me obnoxiously. I turn my back to him and look out of the window.

There is a terrible skirmish in my stomach; but I clench my teeth, squeeze my fists and tense up my legs.

We pass Lanskaya and New Village. There is the gold tip of the Buddhist pagoda and there is the sea.

Suddenly, I jump up forgetting everything around me, and rush to the bathroom taking small steps. A powerful wave of nausea is swinging and spinning my consciousness...

The train slows down. We approach Lahta. I sit tight, afraid I'll get kicked out of the bathroom at the stop.

"Please move along! Please move along!"

The train moves off and I close my eyes with pleasure. Oh, sometimes these minutes are just as pleasant as when in love! My powers are weakened, and I know a terrible decline will follow.

The train stops again, at Olgino. This torture again! But this time around, the pain is a false alarm. My forehead is drenched in cold sweat and chills fly around my heart. I stand up for some time leaning my head against the wall. The train moves off again and the movement is alleviating my pain.

I gather all my powers and leave the bathroom walking unsteadily.

There is no one in the car. The worker and the country dandy in the pink sweater must've got off at Lahta or Olgino. I slowly approach the window by my seat. Suddenly, I stop and look inside dumbfounded. The suitcase is nowhere in sight. I must've walked to the wrong window. I jump to the next window. No suitcase. I jump back and forth, and run the whole car both directions, look under the benches, but can't find the suitcase anywhere.

Of course, how can I be wrong? Certainly, whilst I've been in the bathroom, my suitcase has been stolen. I could have foreseen this!

I sit on the bench with my eyes wide open, and for some odd reason I remember how the enamel cracked on the hot frying pan, back at Sakerdon Michailovich's place.

"What's happened to me?" I ask myself. "Who is ever going to believe I didn't kill the old woman? I'll be seized today, right here or in the city, on the train station - just like that man who was walking on the platform with his head lowered."

I go out to the corridor at the end of the carriage. The train is approaching Fox' Nose. Now it stops. But the steps of my carriage don't reach the ground so I have to jump down, and walk over to the waiting room. There is half an hour until the next train back to the city.

I walk to a forest nearby. There are juniper bushes here; once I am behind them, no one will be able to see me. I walk towards the bushes.

I see a large green caterpillar crawling over the ground. I kneel down and touch it with my fingers. It twists, shrinks violently several times, pleating itself in one direction, and in the other.

I look around me. There is no one that can see me. Light shivers run down my spine.

I lower my head and whisper softly:

"In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, now and hereafter and for ever more. Amen..."

....................................................................................................

On this note, I end my writing in the belief that it has dragged on quite enough already.

Daniel Charms, 31 Plays, #31.6

The Old Woman - VI

I was walking down Nevskiy, deep in my thoughts. I should go to the super and tell him everything. And after I deal with the old woman, I shall wait in the bakery a whole day until I meet that pretty young lady again. I still owe her 48 kopecks. I had an excellent excuse to look for her. The vodka I drank was still working on me, and everything around me looked very very good.

On Fontanka I went over to a stall and bought myself a big mug of kvass. The kvass wasn't good, it was sour, and so I continued my trip with an unpleasant taste in my mouth.

On the corner of Liteynaya some drunk bumped into me and pushed me to one side. It's good that I don't have a revolver: I would have killed him on the spot.

I walked the rest of the way with my face disfigured by anger. Or so it seemed, as almost everyone I passed turned to look at me.

I walked into the super's office. There was a short dirty crooked bow legged blonde sitting at a desk, putting lipstick on whilst looking into a mirror.

"Where is the super?" I asked.

The blonde remained silent and kept applying her lipstick.

"Where is the super?" I asked again roughly.

"He'll be back tomorrow," said the short dirty crooked bow legged blonde.

I went back onto the street. A handicapped man was walking on the opposite side. He had a prosthetic leg that was hitting the pavement loudly; so was his walking stick. Six boys were running after him, imitating his walk.

I turned into my building and started walking up the stairs. I stopped on the second floor struck by an unpleasant thought: the old woman must've started to decompose. I forgot to close the widows and it's known fact that cadavers decompose faster in a room with the windows open. Stupidity! And that blasted super will be back only tomorrow! I stood hesitating for a few minutes, and then continued walking up the stairs.

Next to my apartment door I stopped again. Maybe I should go back to the bakery instead and wait for the pretty young lady to turn up. I would beg her to let me stay with her for a couple of nights. Suddenly I remembered that she already has bought bread today; obviously she won't come back the same day. It wouldn't work anyway.

I opened the door and walked into the corridor. There was a light at the end of it and Marya Vasilievna, holding a rug in one hand was rubbing another rug against it. Seeing me, she yelled:

"Shome old man was ashking for you!"

"What old man?" I asked.

"I don't know," replied Marya Vasilievna.

"When did he come?" I asked.

"I don't know," said Marya Vasilievna.

"Did you talk to the old man?" I asked Marya Vasilievna.

"Yesh, I did," replied Marya Vasilievna.

"How is it possible that you don't know when he came?" I said.

"About two hoursh ago," said Marya Vasilievna.

"What did this old man look like?" I asked.

"I don't know that eijer," said Marya Vasilievna and went off into the kitchen.

I walked towards my room.

"What if," I thought, "The old woman disappeared? I'll walk into my room and there will be no old woman. My God! Is it possible that there are no miracles left in this world?"

I unlocked the door and slowly opened it. Maybe I was a little sensitive, but I thought I could detect the sickly sweet smell of a decomposing body. I looked through the slightly open door and froze for a second: the old woman was crawling towards me on all fours.

I screamed and slammed the door, turned the key in the lock and jumped onto the opposite wall.

Marya Vasilievna appeared in the corridor.

"Are you talking to me?" she asked.

My body trembled so badly that I couldn't possibly answer her, so I only shook my head in reply. Marya Vasilievna came closer.

"You jusht talked to shomebody," she said.

I shook my head again.

"Crajy," said Marya Vasilievna and went back to the kitchen, turning few times to look at me.

"I cannot just stand here. I cannot just stand here," I said to myself. This sentence formed itself somewhere inside my head. I kept on repeating it until it reached my consciousness.

"Yes, I cannot just stand here," I said to myself, but yet I was rooted to the spot as if paralyzed. Something terrible had happened, but there was something more terrible that has to be done, more terrible than what has just happened. My thoughts were like a whirlwind twirling around and around, and all I saw was the malicious gaze of the dead old woman as she slowly crawled towards me on all fours.

I'll run into the room and crush that old woman's scull; that's what I'll do! I searched with my eyes and was happy to discover a croquet mallet that's been lying for no reason in a corner of the corridor for the past few years. I'll grab the mallet, burst into the room and bang!

My body was shivering still. I stood there petrified, my shoulders raised, my insides cold as ice. My thoughts jumped from the beginning to the end and back again, conquering new areas and I stood and listened to my thoughts and I felt as if I was a mere witness and not their master.

"Those stiffs", my thoughts explained to me, "are bad people. Calling them stiffs is not quite right, because they aren't in the least stiff. They have to be watched at all times. Ask any morgue watchman. Why do you think he has his job? The only reason is to make sure that the dead aren't running away. Some really bizarre things happened. One cadaver, while the watchman was taking a shower, crawled out of the morgue, into a disinfecting room where he feasted on a pile of linen. Naturally, the disinfecting workers gave him a good beating, but nevertheless had to pay for the damages with their own money. Another corpse crawled into a maternity ward and scared everyone to such a degree that one of the women in labor suffered a premature birth, prompting the corpse to grab the ejected baby and begin devouring it. But when one brave nurse struck the corpse on the back, he bit her leg and she died soon after because her blood was infected with his poison. Yes, stiffs are nasty alright and you should always watch out for them."

"Wait a minute!" I said to myself. "You're talking nonsense. The dead are always stiff."

"Oh really?" my thoughts were telling me, "then you go into your room where, according to you, there is a stiff corpse."

Uncertainty was growing inside me.

"No problem!" I said to my thoughts firmly.

"Go on then!" my thoughts said to me mockingly.

The mocking tone finally infuriated me. I grabbed the croquet mallet and rushed towards the door.

"Wait!" yelled my thoughts. But it was too late, as I already opened the door. The old woman was lying on the threshold, her face buried in the floor.

I raised the mallet over my head and was ready to attack. But the old woman wasn't moving.

My shivering seizure has passed and my thoughts were clear and firm. Once more, I was their commander. "First of all: close the door!" I ordered myself.

I removed the key from the outer keyhole and inserted it from the inside. I did this with my left hand whilst holding the mallet with my right and watching fiercely the old woman. I locked the door, carefully stepped over the old woman's body and moved to the center of the room.

"Now you will pay," I said.

I suddenly had a plan that to my recollection is commonly used by killers in crime stories and newspaper articles; I'll simply shove the old woman in a suitcase, carry her out of the city and dump her in the swamps. I even knew the perfect spot.

I had a suitcase that I kept under the sofa. I pulled it out and opened it. There were a few things inside it: several books, an old hat, some old torn linen. I dumped everything on the sofa.

The entrance door slammed with a loud bang, and I was under the impression that I caught a slight movement with the corner of my eye.

I jumped up immediately and grabbed the croquet mallet.

Daniel Charms, 31 Plays, #31.5

The Old Woman - V

I was walking down Nevskiy, deep in my thoughts. I should go to the super and tell him everything. And after I deal with the old woman, I shall wait in the bakery a whole day until I meet that pretty young lady again. I still owe her 48 kopecks. I had an excellent excuse to look for her. The vodka I drank was still working on me, and everything around me looked very very good.

On Fontanka I went over to a stall and bought myself a big mug of kvass. The kvass wasn't good, it was sour, and so I continued my trip with an unpleasant taste in my mouth.

On the corner of Liteynaya some drunk bumped into me and pushed me to one side. It's good that I don't have a revolver: I would have killed him on the spot.

I walked the rest of the way with my face disfigured by anger. Or so it seemed, as almost everyone I passed turned to look at me.

I walked into the super's office. There was a short dirty crooked bow legged blonde sitting at a desk, putting lipstick on whilst looking into a mirror.

"Where is the super?" I asked.

The blonde remained silent and kept applying her lipstick.

"Where is the super?" I asked again roughly.

"He'll be back tomorrow," said the short dirty crooked bow legged blonde.

I went back onto the street. A handicapped man was walking on the opposite side. He had a prosthetic leg that was hitting the pavement loudly; so was his walking stick. Six boys were running after him, imitating his walk.

I turned into my building and started walking up the stairs. I stopped on the second floor struck by an unpleasant thought: the old woman must've started to decompose. I forgot to close the widows and it's known fact that cadavers decompose faster in a room with the windows open. Stupidity! And that blasted super will be back only tomorrow! I stood hesitating for a few minutes, and then continued walking up the stairs.

Next to my apartment door I stopped again. Maybe I should go back to the bakery instead and wait for the pretty young lady to turn up. I would beg her to let me stay with her for a couple of nights. Suddenly I remembered that she already has bought bread today; obviously she won't come back the same day. It wouldn't work anyway.

I opened the door and walked into the corridor. There was a light at the end of it and Marya Vasilievna, holding a rug in one hand was rubbing another rug against it. Seeing me, she yelled:

"Shome old man was ashking for you!"

"What old man?" I asked.

"I don't know," replied Marya Vasilievna.

"When did he come?" I asked.

"I don't know," said Marya Vasilievna.

"Did you talk to the old man?" I asked Marya Vasilievna.

"Yesh, I did," replied Marya Vasilievna.

"How is it possible that you don't know when he came?" I said.

"About two hoursh ago," said Marya Vasilievna.

"What did this old man look like?" I asked.

"I don't know that eijer," said Marya Vasilievna and went off into the kitchen.

I walked towards my room.

"What if," I thought, "The old woman disappeared? I'll walk into my room and there will be no old woman. My God! Is it possible that there are no miracles left in this world?"

I unlocked the door and slowly opened it. Maybe I was a little sensitive, but I thought I could detect the sickly sweet smell of a decomposing body. I looked through the slightly open door and froze for a second: the old woman was crawling towards me on all fours.

I screamed and slammed the door, turned the key in the lock and jumped onto the opposite wall.

Marya Vasilievna appeared in the corridor.

"Are you talking to me?" she asked.

My body trembled so badly that I couldn't possibly answer her, so I only shook my head in reply. Marya Vasilievna came closer.

"You jusht talked to shomebody," she said.

I shook my head again.

"Crajy," said Marya Vasilievna and went back to the kitchen, turning few times to look at me.

"I cannot just stand here. I cannot just stand here," I said to myself. This sentence formed itself somewhere inside my head. I kept on repeating it until it reached my consciousness.

"Yes, I cannot just stand here," I said to myself, but yet I was rooted to the spot as if paralyzed. Something terrible had happened, but there was something more terrible that has to be done, more terrible than what has just happened. My thoughts were like a whirlwind twirling around and around, and all I saw was the malicious gaze of the dead old woman as she slowly crawled towards me on all fours.

I'll run into the room and crush that old woman's scull; that's what I'll do! I searched with my eyes and was happy to discover a croquet mallet that's been lying for no reason in a corner of the corridor for the past few years. I'll grab the mallet, burst into the room and bang!

My body was shivering still. I stood there petrified, my shoulders raised, my insides cold as ice. My thoughts jumped from the beginning to the end and back again, conquering new areas and I stood and listened to my thoughts and I felt as if I was a mere witness and not their master.

"Those stiffs", my thoughts explained to me, "are bad people. Calling them stiffs is not quite right, because they aren't in the least stiff. They have to be watched at all times. Ask any morgue watchman. Why do you think he has his job? The only reason is to make sure that the dead aren't running away. Some really bizarre things happened. One cadaver, while the watchman was taking a shower, crawled out of the morgue, into a disinfecting room where he feasted on a pile of linen. Naturally, the disinfecting workers gave him a good beating, but nevertheless had to pay for the damages with their own money. Another corpse crawled into a maternity ward and scared everyone to such a degree that one of the women in labor suffered a premature birth, prompting the corpse to grab the ejected baby and begin devouring it. But when one brave nurse struck the corpse on the back, he bit her leg and she died soon after because her blood was infected with his poison. Yes, stiffs are nasty alright and you should always watch out for them."

"Wait a minute!" I said to myself. "You're talking nonsense. The dead are always stiff."

"Oh really?" my thoughts were telling me, "then you go into your room where, according to you, there is a stiff corpse."

Uncertainty was growing inside me.

"No problem!" I said to my thoughts firmly.

"Go on then!" my thoughts said to me mockingly.

The mocking tone finally infuriated me. I grabbed the croquet mallet and rushed towards the door.

"Wait!" yelled my thoughts. But it was too late, as I already opened the door. The old woman was lying on the threshold, her face buried in the floor.

I raised the mallet over my head and was ready to attack. But the old woman wasn't moving.

My shivering seizure has passed and my thoughts were clear and firm. Once more, I was their commander. "First of all: close the door!" I ordered myself.

I removed the key from the outer keyhole and inserted it from the inside. I did this with my left hand whilst holding the mallet with my right and watching fiercely the old woman. I locked the door, carefully stepped over the old woman's body and moved to the center of the room.

"Now you will pay," I said.

I suddenly had a plan that to my recollection is commonly used by killers in crime stories and newspaper articles; I'll simply shove the old woman in a suitcase, carry her out of the city and dump her in the swamps. I even knew the perfect spot.

I had a suitcase that I kept under the sofa. I pulled it out and opened it. There were a few things inside it: several books, an old hat, some old torn linen. I dumped everything on the sofa.

The entrance door slammed with a loud bang, and I was under the impression that I caught a slight movement with the corner of my eye.

I jumped up immediately and grabbed the croquet mallet.

Daniel Charms, 31 Plays, #31.4

The Old Woman - IV

Sakerdon Michailovich opened the door himself. He was wearing a robe over his naked body, Russian boots with the tongues cut off, and a fur hat with earflaps lifted and tied on the back.

"Glad to see you" said Sakerdon Michailovich when he saw me.

"I hope I'm not disturbing?" I asked.

"No, no, no" said Sakerdon Michailovich. "I wasn't doing anything; I was just lying on the floor."

"As you see," I said to Sakerdon Michailovich, "I brought vodka and some food. Let's have a drink, if you don't mind."

"Sounds good," said Sakerdon Michailovich. "Come in."

We walked inside his room. I opened up the bottle of vodka whilst Sakerdon Michailovich put two glasses on the table and a plate of cooked meat.

"I brought some sausages," I said. "How are we going to eat them: raw or cooked?"

"We'll cook them," said Sakerdon Michailovich, "and in the meantime we'll drink vodka and eat the cooked meat. It's left over from a soup, excellent meat!"

Sakerdon Michailovich put a frying pan on the stove, and we started drinking the vodka.

"Vodka is an extremely healthy product," said Sakerdon Michailovich filling the glasses. "Mechnikov wrote that vodka is healthier than bread, and that bread is only straw rotting in our stomachs."

"To our health!" I said, toasting with Sakerdon Michailovich.

We drank and ate the cold meat.

"Tasty," said Sakerdon Michailovich.

Suddenly something made a sharp crackling noise.

"What was that?" I asked.

We sat quietly and listened. Suddenly, there was another crackling noise. Sakerdon Michailovich jumped off his chair, ran to the window and ripped down the curtains.

"What are you doing?" I screamed.

But Sakerdon Michailovich, without answering, rushed to the stove, grabbed the frying pan with the curtain and put it down on the floor.

"The hell with it!" said Sakerdon Michailovich. "I forgot to fill it with water, the pan was enameled, and now the enamel has cracked."

"Ah, all clear now." I said nodding my head.

We sat down at the table again.

"The hell with them," said Sakerdon Michailovich, "we'll eat the sausages raw."

"I am really hungry," I said.

"Eat then," said Sakerdon Michailovich moving the sausages closer to me.

"Last time I ate was yesterday, in the basement. I haven't had a thing since." I said.

"Yes, yes, yes," said Sakerdon Michailovich.

"I was writing the whole time," I said.

"Hell!" screamed Sakerdon Michailovich exaggeratedly. "It is rather pleasant to be in the company of a genius."

"You bet!" I said.

"Surely you must have written a lot?" asked Sakerdon Michailovich.

"Yes," I said, "it took a lot of paper."

"To the modern genius," said Sakerdon Michailovich, raising his glass.

We drank. Sakerdon Michailovich ate the cooked meat, and I ate the sausages. After eating four, I lit up my pipe and said:

"You know, I came here to escape persuasion."

"Who was pursuing you?" asked Sakerdon Michailovich.

"A lady," I said.

Instead of asking further questions, Sakerdon Michailovich poured a shot of vodka, so I continued:

"I met her in the bakery and fell in love right away."

"Is she beautiful?" asked Sakerdon Michailovich.

"Yes," I said, "to me."

We drank and I continued:

"She agreed to come to my house and drink vodka. We went to a store but I had to run away."

"Were you short of money?" asked Sakerdon Michailovich.

"No, I had enough money," I said. "I just remembered that I couldn't let her into my room."

"Was there another lady in your room?" asked Sakerdon Michailovich.

"You can say that: there is another lady in my room," I said, smiling. "Therefore I cannot let anyone in."

"Why not get married? Then you could invite me for dinner," said Sakerdon Michailovich.

"No," I said giggling. "I cannot marry that lady."

"Well, than marry the one from the bakery," said Sakerdon Michailovich.

"Why are you so eager to see me married?" I said.

"Why not?" said Sakerdon Michailovich filling up the glasses. "To your achievements!"

We had another shot. It appeared that vodka started having an effect on us. Sakerdon Michailovich took the fur hat with earflaps off and threw it on the bed. I stood up and walked around the room feeling dizzy.

"What can you say about dead people?" I asked Sakerdon Michailovich.

"Nothing good," said Sakerdon Michailovich. "I am afraid of them."

"Yes, and I despise them." I said. "If I'd see a dead man that isn't my relative, I'd definitely kick him with my foot."

"It's not nice to kick dead people," said Sakerdon Michailovich.

"Still, I would kick him right in the face, with my boot. I despise dead people and children."

"I can agree with that, children are awful," agreed Sakerdon Michailovich.

"So what do you think, which is worse: dead people or children?" I asked.

"I think children; they bother more. While dead people are not interfering with our lives," said Sakerdon Michailovich.

"Interfere!" I screamed and immediately went quiet.

Sakerdon Michailovich looked at me carefully.

"Would you like some more vodka?" he asked.

"No," I said, and then added: "No thank you, I think I had enough."

I went back the table and sat down. We were silent for some time.

"I'd like to ask you," I say eventually. "Do believe in God?"

A big vertical wrinkle suddenly appears on Sakerdon Michailovich's forehead, and he says:

"There are a few things that I consider impolite. It's impolite to ask a man for fifty rubles when you've just seen him stash two hundred in his pocket. It's up to him to lend you the money or not; the most successful way to refuse is to lie and say there is no money. However, you've just seen this someone has money, thus you limited his freedom to simply refuse you. You took away his right of choice, and that's just indecent. It is impolite and tactless. And asking a man: 'Do you believe in God?' it is also impolite and tactless."

"Come on," I said, "The two have nothing in common."

"I wasn't comparing," said Sakerdon Michailovich.

"Well, all right," I said, "Let's leave it to that. Please, I apologize for asking you such an impolite and tactless question."

"No problem," said Sakerdon Michailovich. "I just didn't want to answer you."

"I wouldn't have answered either," I said, "but only for a different reason."

"And what would that be?" asked Sakerdon Michailovich inertly.

"Well, you see," I said, "I think there is no such thing as believers or non-believers. I think there are people who want to believe and people who don't."

"Does it mean that those who don't want to believe already believe in something?" said Sakerdon Michailovich. "And those who want to believe initially believe in nothing?"

"You can say it that way," I said. "I don't really know."

"Believe or not believe in what? God?" asked Sakerdon Michailovich.

"No," I said, "Immortality."

"Then why did you ask me if I believe in God?"

"Simply because it sounds silly: 'Do you believe in Immortality?'" I said and stood up.

"Are you leaving?" asked Sakerdon Michailovich.

"Yes," I said, "it's about time."

"What about the vodka?" said Sakerdon Michailovich. "All is left is just enough for another shot."

"Well, let's drink it then," I said.

We finished the vodka and ate the leftover cooked meat.

"Now I really have to go," I said.

"Good bye," said Sakerdon Michailovich walking me to the door. "Thank you for the refreshments."

"Thank you," I said. "Take care."

I left.

Left alone, Sakerdon Michailovich cleaned the table, threw the empty bottle behind a cupboard, put his fur hat with earflaps on, and sat down on the floor by the window. His hands weren't visible because he was holding them behind his back. His bony legs were sticking out from under the raised robe and he was wearing Russian boots with the tongues cut off.

Daniel Charms, 31 Plays, #31.2

The Old Woman - II

I can see perfectly drawn squares close to my eyes. A pain in my shoulder and right hip forces me to change position. I lay face down, and now it takes a lot more effort to get back on my knees. All my members are numb and stiff. I look around and see myself in my room, standing on my knees in the center of the floor. Consciousness and memory are slowly coming back to me. I look around again and see that there is someone sitting in the armchair next to the window. There isn't much light in the room, since now it must be the middle of a white night. I am staring intensely. Good God! Is it possible that the old woman is still sitting in my armchair? I stretch my neck and look. Certainly, it's the old woman alright; her head down on her chest. She must’ve fallen asleep.

I get up and approach her, limping. The old woman's head lies on her chest; her hands hang down over the sides of the armchair. I have a strong desire to grab her and kick her out the door.

"Listen," I say. "You are in my room. I have to work. You'd better go."

The old woman doesn't move. I bend down and look at her face. Her mouth is half open and I see her dentures have fallen off, now sticking out of her mouth. I suddenly realize: the old woman is dead.

I am severely annoyed. Why did she have to die in my room? I hate dead people. And now, this nuisance: I have to deal with this cadaver, off to the super, the landlord, to explain why this dead old woman happens to be in my room. I look at her with hatred. But maybe she's not dead? I touch her forehead. It is cold. Her hand is cold too. What should I do?

I light up my pipe and sit down on the sofa. I feel a blinding rage growing inside of me.

"Bitch!" I say out loud.

The dead old woman sits in my armchair like an empty sack. Her dentures are sticking out her mouth. She reminds me of a dead horse.

"What a disgusting image," I say, but feel uncomfortable about covering her with a newspaper... who knows what might happen under there?

I hear movement on the other side of the wall: it must be my neighbor getting up, the steam-engine driver. That's great; what if he'll find out about the dead old woman in my room? I listen carefully to my neighbor's steps. Why is he so slow? It's half five already! He should've been gone long ago. My God, he is going to have tea? I can hear the noise coming from his stove. I wish this blasted engine driver would leave!

I drag my legs to the sofa and lie down. Eight minutes pass by, but the neighbor's tea isn't ready yet and his stove is still whistling. I close my eyes and doze off.

I dream that my neighbor and I leave together, and I slam the door behind me, and the French lock closes automatically. I don't have my key and I cannot get back in my room. I should ring the doorbell but it would wake up the others; this isn't good. I stand on the stairwell landing, thinking what to do. Suddenly I discover that I have no hands. I cock my head on one side and see that instead of a hand, I have a kitchen knife sticking out of my sleeve. On the other side, I see a fork.

"Look at that," I say to Sakerdon Michailovich, who is sitting on a folding chair. "Do you see?" I say, "What kind of hands do I have?"

But Sakerdon Michailovich seats silent, and I see that this Sakerdon Michailovich is not real, but he's made of clay.

At this, I wake up and realize that I am in my room, lying on the sofa, and I know that next to the window, there is a dead old woman sitting in my armchair.

I turn my head quickly in her direction. There is no old woman. I look at the empty armchair and am filled with joyful relief. This was a dream after all. But when did it begin? Has the old woman ever been in my room? Maybe that too was a dream? Yesterday, I came back home to shut off the electric stove. But maybe that was a dream too. Anyway, it's a great relief that I don't have a dead old woman in my room. This means that I don't have to go into the trouble of explaining everything to the super.

Nevertheless, how long was I asleep for? I looked at my watch: nine thirty, must be in the morning, of course.

Good God! The dreams one can have when asleep!

I put my feet down and was about to stand up, when I suddenly saw the dead old woman lying on the floor, behind the table, by the armchair. She was lying on her back - face up, and her dentures must have jumped out of her mouth and bit into one of her nostrils. Her arms were twisted under her body, therefore not visible; her skirt was lifted exposing her scrawny legs covered with dirty white woolly stockings.

"Bitch!" I screamed running to the old woman, and kicked her in the chin with my boot.

Her dentures flied off into a corner. I wanted to kick her one more time, but was afraid of leaving any marks - it will certainly put me under suspicion for killing her.

I walked away from the old woman, sat down on the sofa and lit up my pipe. I spent about twenty minutes this way. It was clear to me that the police would investigate this and those muddle-heads will surely accuse me of murder. The situation was pretty serious - on top of that, what did I do: I kicked her in the chin with my boot.

I approached the old woman again and bent down to study her face. There was a small dark spot on her chin. No, it's not enough of a mark. Who knows what has happened? Maybe she hit herself whilst still alive? I relax a little and start to walk back and forth around the room, smoking my pipe, thinking over my situation.

I walk around my room and begin feeling hungry. I start shaking from hunger. I go and search again in the drawer where I keep provisions, but find nothing but a piece of sugar.

I take out my wallet and count my money. Eleven rubles. Enough to buy myself some ham and bread, and I will even have some left for tobacco.

I fix my tie which has gone askew overnight, take my watch, put on my coat, go out into the corridor, carefully lock the door, put the key into my pocket, and walk out onto the street. First of all I should eat; my thoughts will clear, and then, I shall make my mind up about what to do with this carcass.

Daniel Charms, 31 Plays, #30

(ph: Stan Wayman)

Pakin and Rakukin

- Hey, you, cut out that sniftering! - said Pakin to Rakukin.

Rakukin wrinkled up his nose and gave Pakin a dirty look.

- What are you staring at? Seen enough yet? - asked Pakin.

Rakukin chewed at his lips and, indignant in his revolving chair, looked the other way. Pakin drummed his fingers on his knee and said: - What a fool! I'd like to smack him with a stick in the head.

Rakukin stood up wanting to leave the room, but Pakin quickly jumped up, chased after Rakukin and said:

- Wait! Where do you think you're rushing off to? Sit down, I have something to show you.

Rakukin stopped and looked mistrusting at Pakin. - What, don't you believe me? - asked Pakin.

- I believe you - said Rakukin.

- Then sit down here, in this armchair - said Pakin.

And so Rakukin went back and sat down again in his revolving armchair.

- So then - said Pakin - what are you sitting in that chair for, like a fool?

Rakukin moved his legs about and began to blink his eyes rapidly.

- Don't blink - said Pakin.

Rakukin stopped blinking and stooped down, drawing his head back, in to his shoulders.

- Sit straight - said Pakin.

Rakukin, still stooping, stuck out his belly and stretched out his neck. - Uhh - said Pakin - I wish I can smack you in the face right now!

Rakukin hiccupped, puffed out his cheeks, and then slowly, blew the air in his cheeks through his nostrils.

- Now, you, stop that sniftering! - said Pakin to Rakukin.

Rakukin stretched out his neck even further and began to blink his eyes rapidly.

Pakin said: - Rakukin, if you don't stop that blinking immediately, I'll give you a good kick in the chest.

Rakukin, so as not to blink, crossed his jaws, stretched out his neck still further, and threw his head back.

- Yuck, what a disgusting sight you are - said Pakin. - A face like a chicken's, a blue neck, it's just revolting.

At this, Rakukin's head fell back further and further and, finally, all strength lost, it collapsed on to his back.

- What the hell! - cried Pakin - What sort of a devil's treachery is that?

Looking at Rakukin from Pakin's position, Rakukin looked like he didn't have a head at all. Rakukin's Adam's apple was sticking up in the air. At first glance, one might well think that it was his nose.

- Hey, Rakukin! - said Pakin.

Rakukin was silent.

- Rakukin! - repeated Pakin.

Rakukin remained silent and continued to sit motionless.

- So - said Pakin - Rakukin's dead.

Pakin crossed himself and left the room on tip-toe.

About fourteen minutes later a little trail of a soul climbed out of Rakukin's body and threw a malicious look at the place where Pakin had just been sitting. Then suddenly, the tall figure of the angel of death came out from behind the dresser and, holding Rakukin's soul by the hand, led it away somewhere, straight through houses and walls.

Rakukin's soul was trying to keep up with the angel of death, constantly glancing back maliciously. But then, the angel of death stepped up the pace and Rakukin's soul, stumbling and jumping, disappeared after the first corner.

Daniel Charms, 31 Plays, #29

The beginning of a very good summer day

Right after the rooster crowed, Timofey jumped out of his window on to the roof and frightened all the passer-by's. Peasant Hariton stopped, picked up a stone, and threw it at Timofey. Timofey suddenly disappeared. What an acrobat! - cried the human tribe, and a certain Zubov ran into a wall smashing his head. Ohhhhhh! - exclaimed a woman with an abscess. But Komarov gave this woman a swift left-right and the woman ran off howling into a passageway. Fetelushin was passing by, laughing. Komarov walked up to him and said: "Hey, you, lard!" and hit Fetelushin in the stomach. Fetelushin leaned against a wall and started to hiccup. Romashin spat out of his window from above, aiming at Fetelushin. Not far from there, there was a woman with a big nose beating up her child with a washing basin. And a young, chubby mother was rubbing her little girl's face against a brick wall. And a small dog with a broken leg was lying sprawled on the pavement. A little boy was eating something rather revolting right from a spittoon. By the grocery store, there was a long line of people waiting for sugar. Women were arguing loudly pushing each other with their bags. Peasant Hariton, after getting drunk with methylated spirit, was standing in front of the women with his pants undone and uttering bad language.

This was the beginning of a very good summer day.

Daniel Charms, 31 Plays, #27

Fedia Davidovich

Fedia was getting ready to steal some butter and finally the right moment came when his wife bent over to cut off her toenail and in one quick movement he took all the butter from the butter dish and shoved it in his mouth. But when he closed the butter dish, he clinked the dish with the lid. His wife instantly stood up, and seeing the empty butter dish she pointed at it with the scissors and said with a strict voice:

- There is no butter left in the butter dish. Where is it?

Fedia looked amazed, stretched out his neck, and peeked at the butter dish.

- The butter is in your mouth, - said the wife pointing at him with the scissors.

Fedia shook his head negatively.

- Aha, - said the wife. - You can't say a word and you're shaking your head because your mouth is full of butter.

Fedia opened his eyes wide and waved his hands like he was saying: "What are you talking about, I don't know what are you talking about!". But the wife said:

- You are lying. Open you mouth.

- Hmm, - said Fedia.

- Open your mouth, - repeated his wife.

Fedia spread his fingers and mooed, like he was saying: "Oh yes, I almost forgot, I'll be right back", - and he stood up, trying to leave the room.

- Don't move! - screamed his wife.

But Fedia quickly disappeared. His wife rushed after him, but stopped at the door because she was naked, and couldn't have stepped into the corridor because she could have bumped into the other tenants of the apartment.

- He is gone, - said the wife, and sat on the sofa. - Hell!

Fedia, after walking down the corridor for a while, reached the door with a sign that said: "Entrance prohibited", opened it and walked into a room. The room was narrow and long, with a window covered with dirty paper. On the right, next to the wall, there was a dirty broken bed, and right next to the window, a table made of wooden board: with one end of the board leaning on the night table and the other on the back of a chair. There was a double shelf on the wall, with something unidentifiable on it. There was nothing else in the room except a pale man sitting on the bed, wearing a long, brown, ripped frock-coat, black pants with freshly washed feet sticking out of the bottom. The sitting man wasn't sleeping but was looking intensely at the man who just entered.

Fedia bowed, shuffled his feet, and after taking the butter out of his mouth, showed it to the sitting man.

- One and a half, - said the owner of the room without changing his pose.

- It's too little, - said Fedia.

- It's enough, - said the owner of the room.

- Well, alright then, - said Fedia and took the butter off his finger and put it on the shelf.

- Come back tomorrow morning for the money - said the man.

- Oh come on, - screamed Fedia. - I need the money now. And it is only one and a half rubbles...

- Get out, - said the man dryly, and Fedia leaved the roomed on his tiptoes, carefully closing the door after himself.

Daniel Charms, 31 Plays, #26

Historical episode
to V.N.Petov

Once, Ivan Ivanovich Susanin (that particular historical figure, that gave his life to the tsar and ended up as a leading character in one of Glinka's operas) walked into a tavern, sat at the table, and ordered himself an entrecote.

While the tavern owner was frying the entrecote, Ivan Ivanovich was chewing on his beard lost in his thoughts.

About 35 stakes of time have passed, when the owner brought Ivan Ivanovich his entrecote on a round wooden board. Ivan Ivanovich was hungry and according to the time tradition, he grabbed the entrecote with his bare hands and started eating it. But in his tremendous rush to satisfy his hunger, Ivan Ivanovich forgot to take his beard out of his mouth and ate his entrecote together with a piece of the beard.

At that exact time the trouble started to happen: in less than fifteen stakes of time Ivan Ivanovich started to feel acute pains in the stomach. Ivan Ivanovich jumped off his chair and ran out into the courtyard. The owner started yelling after Ivan Ivanovich: "Your beard is all shredded", - but Ivan Ivanovich, ignoring everything and everyone, ran out.

At this, vassal Kovshegub, who was sitting in the corner of the tavern drinking suslo, fist-pounded on the table and screamed: "Who was that?" And the owner, constantly bowing, replied: "That was our patriot Ivan Ivanovich Susanin". - "Oh really!" - said vassal, finishing his suslo.

"Would you like some fish?" - asked the owner. "You and your fish should go to hell!" - screamed the vassal and threw a ladle at the tavern owner. The ladle whistled near the owner's head, flew right out of the window, and knocked Ivan Ivanovich in the teeth, who's body at that moment reminded one of a condors'. Ivan Ivanovich grabbed his cheek and fell on a side.

Suddenly, Karp rushed out through the right of the barn, and, jumping over a pig lying in a trough, ran toward the gates. The owner came out of the tavern. "What are you screaming about?" - he asked Karp. But Karp ran away without answering the owner.

The owner went into the courtyard and saw Susanin lying still on the ground. The owner came closer and looked him in the face. Susanin was looking back at the owner with a fixed stare. "So, are you alive?" - asked the owner.

"Alive, but so afraid that I am going to get kicked by someone else", - said Susanin. "No, - said the owner - don't be afraid. Vassal Kovshegub was the one that almost killed you, but he's already left". "Thank God, - said Susanin while getting off the ground. - Although I am very brave, I don't like to take chances. So I lied on the ground and waited for what's next. If something should happen, I would crawl on my belly all the way to Eldirina. Look how swollen my cheek is! My God! Half of my beard is gone!" - "That's the way it was before", said the owner. "What do you mean, before?" - screamed patriot Susanin - "So, according to you, I was walking around with my beard shredded?" "Yes, this is exactly what I am saying". "I'll show you now, you myapha!" - said Ivan Susanin. The owner closed his eyes and hit Susanin in the ear as hard as he could. Patriot Susanin fell on the floor and stood still. "Get that, you myapha!" - said the owner and went back into tavern.

Several stakes of time Susanin lay on the ground and listened, and not hearing anything suspicious, carefully lift up his head and looked around. The courtyard was empty, not counting the pig, which already fell out of the trough and was sitting in a muddy puddle. Ivan Susanin, while looking around, approached the gates. Luckily, the gates were opened, and patriot Susanin winding on the ground like a worm, crawled towards Eldirina.

This is an episode in the life of a historical figure, that gave his life to the tsar and ended up as a leading character in one of Glinka's operas.

Daniel Charms, 31 Plays, #25

The Hunters

Six men went hunting, but only four came back home... Uh-huh...

Two didn't come back home... Uh-huh...

Oknov, Kozlov, Struchkov and Motilkov successfully came back home, but Shirokov and Kablukov died while hunting.

Oknov was upset about this for a whole day and didn't speak to anyone. Kozlov was following Oknov everywhere and annoyed Oknov with all sorts of questions, which made him rather furious.

Kozlov: Would you like a cigarette?
Oknov: No.

Kozlov: Would you like me to get you anything?
Oknov: No.

Kozlov: Would you like me to tell you something funny?
Oknov: No.

Kozlov: Would you like a drink at least? I have tea with cognac right here.
Oknov: Although I already hit you in the head with this rock, I will rip your leg off as well.

Struchkov and Motilkov: What are you doing? What are you doing?

Kozlov: Help me get up.

Motilkov: Don't worry, the wound will heal.

Kozlov: And where is Oknov?

Oknov (While ripping Kozlov's leg off): I am right here, not too far!

Kozlov: Oh my God! Help me!

Struchkov and Motilkov: It looks like he ripped his leg off!

Oknov: Ripped it off and threw it right there!

Struchkov: This is rather vicious!

Oknov: Whaaaat?

Struchkov: ...cious...

Oknov: Whaaaat?

Struchkov: N...n...n...nothing.

Kozlov: How am I going to walk home now?

Motilkov: Don't worry, we'll attach a little wooden something.

Struchkov: Can you stand on one leg?

Kozlov: Sure, but I don't feel very comfortable.

Struchkov: It's alright, we'll support you.

Oknov: Let me go to him!

Struchkov: No, no, no...You better leave.

Oknov: No, I said let me go!... Let me... This... This is just what I wanted to do.

Struchkov and Motilkov: This is terrifying!

Oknov: Ha-ha-ha!

Motilkov: Where is Kozlov?

Struchkov: He crawled into the bushes.

Motilkov: Kozlov, are you in there?

Kozlov: Shhhhh!...

Motilkov: Look how he's changed!

Struchkov: What should we do with him?

Motilkov: It is nothing we can do. I think we should just strangle him. Kozlov! Hey Kozlov? Can you hear me?

Kozlov: I can, but very badly.

Motilkov: You shouldn't worry, dear. We'll strangle you right away. Just wait a second!.. Just... Just... Like this...

Struchkov: A little bit more here! Like this! That's right! And a little bit more... Now, all done!

Motilkov: All done!

Oknov: God bless!

Daniel Charms, 31 Plays, #24

(Warren Ellis/Ivan Rodriguez)

Sleep teases a man

Markov takes off his boots, sighs, and lies down on the sofa.

He wants to sleep, but as soon as he closes his eyes, sleep leaves him. Markov opens his eyes and reaches for a book, but sleep conquers him again, and halfway to the book he lies down and closes his eyes again. But as soon as he closes his eyes, sleep leaves him again, and his consciousness gets so clear that he was able to solve algebra equations with two unknowns.

Markov's suffering went on, and he didn't know what to do: sleep or stay awake? Finally, tormented, hating himself and his room, Markov puts his coat and hat on, takes his walking stick, and goes out onto the street. Fresh air gets Markov happy and relaxed, and he feels like going back to his room.

Right after he enters the room, he feels pleasantly tired and sleepy. But as soon as he lies on the sofa and closes his eyes, - sleep momentarily evaporates.

Fuelled with fury, Markov jumps off the sofa, and without his hat and coat, runs toward Tavricheskiy Garden.

Daniel Charms, 31 Plays, #23

Mausov killed Catov

Comrade Catov danced around Comrade Mausov.

Comrade Mausov watched Comrade Catov.

Comrade Catov moved his hands insultingly, and twisted his legs disgustingly.

Comrade Mausov frowned.

Comrade Mausov screamed and rushed into Comrade Catov.

Comrade Catov tried to run away but stumbled and got caught by Comrade Mausov.

Comrade Mausov hit Comrade Catov on the head with his fist.

Comrade Catov screamed and fell on all fours.

Comrade Mausov kicked Comrade Catov in the belly with his foot, and hit him in the head one more time.

Comrade Catov lied flat on the floor and died.

Mausov killed Catov.

Daniel Charms, 31 Plays, #22

What Is Sold In Stores These Days

Koratigin went to Tikakeev's but Tikakeev was not home.

At the time, Tikakeev was in a store buying sugar, meat and cucumbers.

Koratigin stood at Tikakeev's door for a while and was about to leave a note, when suddenly saw Tikakeev carrying a plastic bag.

Koratigin sees Tikakeev and yells at him: - I've been waiting for you for a whole hour!

- This can't be true, - says Tikakeev, - I left my house not more than twenty five minutes ago.

- Well, I don't know how could that happen, - said Koratigin,- I've been standing here for an hour.

- Stop lying! - said Tikakeev. - It's rather shameful to lie.

- My lord! - said Koratigin. - Would you please be more careful choosing your words.

- I think... - Tikakeev starts saying, but is interrupted by Koratigin.

- Well if you think... - he says, but Koratigin is interrupted by Tikakeev who says:

- Let me tell you what you really are!

These words infuriates Koratigin so much that he closes one of his nostrils with his finger and blows his nose through the other one right at Tikakeev.

Then, Tikakeev takes out of his bag the biggest cucumber and hits Koratigin in the head.

Koratigin grabs himself by the head, falls down and dies.

That big of a cucumber is sold in stores these days!

Daniel Charms, 31 Plays, #21

Thook!

Summer, table. There is a door on the right. There is a painting on the table. There is a horse in the painting holding a gypsy in its teeth. Olga Petrovna is chopping wood. Every time she hits, her pince-nez is slipping of her nose. Evdokim Osipovich is seating in a chair, smoking.

Olga Petrovna (hits the log with an axe, however, the log doesn't split).

Evdokim Osipovich: Thook!

Olga Petrovna (Putting her pince-nez back on, hits the log again).

Evdokim Osipovich: Thook!

Olga Petrovna (Putting her pince-nez back on, hits the log again).

Evdokim Osipovich: Thook!

Olga Petrovna (Putting her pince-nez back on, hits the log again).

Evdokim Osipovich: Thook!

Olga Petrovna (Putting her pince-nez back on): Evdokim Osipovich! I beg you: don't say "thook" anymore.

Evdokim Osipovich: Alright, alright.

Olga Petrovna (hits the log with the axe)

Evdokim Osipovich: Thook!

Olga Petrovna (Putting her pince-nez back on): Evdokim Osipovich! You've promised not to say "thook" anymore!

Evdokim Osipovich: Alright, alright, Olga Petrovna. I promise not to.

Olga Petrovna (hits the log with the axe)

Evdokim Osipovich: Thook!

Olga Petrovna (Putting her pince-nez back on): This is ridiculous! An adult, elderly man, would not do a simple favor!

Evdokim Osipovich: Olga Petrovna! You can continue whatever you were doing without worry. I will not interrupt again.

Olga Petrovna: I beg you, please, let me at least chop this log!

Evdokim Osipovich: Of course, of course, keep on chopping.

Olga Petrovna (hits the log with the axe)

Evdokim Osipovich: Thook!

Olga Petrovna drops the axe, opens up her mouth, but can not say a single word. Evdokim Osipovich gets off the chair, looks at Olga Petrovna from head to toes and leaves slowly. Olga Petrovna stands still with her mouth open and looks at Evdokim Osipovich leaving.

Curtains slowly descend.

Daniel Charms, 31 Plays, #20

The play that failed

Petrakov-Gorbunov enters the scene. He's trying to say something. He starts hiccupping. He starts vomiting. He leaves.

Pritikin enters the scene. Pritikin: Dear Petrakov-Gorbunov was going to sa... (He vomits, and runs away.)

Makarov enters the scene. Makarov: Erg... (He vomits, and runs away.)

Serpuhov enters the scene. Serpuhov: Before I forget... (He vomits, and runs away.)

Kurova enters the scene. Kurova: I would be... (She vomits, and runs away.)

A little girl enters the scene, faces audience: Papa wanted to tell everybody that the theater will close. We are all vomiting!

Curtains.

Daniel Charms, 31 Plays, #19

Meeting

Once there was a man that went to work but on his way he met another man who just bought a Polish baguette and was on his way to nowhere.

This is actually it.

Daniel Charms, 31 Plays, #17

(Boris Kulikov)

Makarov and Petersen
No. 3

Makarov: This book here is about our desires and how to fulfill them. Read this book and you will understand the whole fuss about desire. You will also understand how easy it is to fulfill someone else's desire and how hard it is to fulfill your own.

Petersen: You talk way too serious. You sound like an Indian leader.

Makarov: This book deserves to be spoken of with eminence. I take my hat off when I think about this book.

Petersen: Do you wash your hands right before you touch it?

Makarov: Yes, the hands must be washed.

Petersen: Do you think feet must be washed too?

Makarov: This is not funny but rude.

Petersen: So what is this book called?

Makarov: This book has a mysterious name...

Petersen: He-he-he!

Makarov: This book is called MALGIL.

(Petersen disappears)

Makarov: Oh my God! What is this? Petersen!

Petersen's voice: What happened? Makarov! Where am I?

Makarov: Where are you? I don't see you!

Petersen's voice: And where are you? I don't see you either!.. What are these spheres?

Makarov: What shall I do? Petersen, do you hear me?

Petersen's voice: I hear you! But what happened? And what are these spheres?

Makarov: Can you move?

Petersen's voice: Makarov! Do you see these spheres?

Makarov: What spheres?

Petersen's voice: Let me go!.. Let me go!.. Makarov!..

(Silence. Makarov stands terrified, than grabs the book and opens it).

Makarov (reads): "...Gradually, the man losses his shape and becomes a sphere. After he becomes a sphere, man losses all of his desires."

Curtains.

Daniel Charms, 31 Plays, #15

Four illustrations on how a new idea dumbfounds a man that was not ready for it

I
The Writer: I am a writer!
The Reader: And I think you are crap!
(The Writer stands there for a few minutes shocked by this new idea, falls dead. He is carried away.)

II
The Painter: I am a painter!
The Worker: And I think you are crap!
(The Painter went pale as a canvas, and shaking like a little leaf, suddenly dies. He is carried away.)

III
The Composer: I am a composer!
Ivan Rublev: And I think you are crap!
(The composer, breathing heavily, dies. He is carried away.)

IV
The Chemist: I am a chemist!
The Physicist: And I think you are crap!
(The Chemist didn't say another word and falls heavily on the floor.)

Daniel Charms, 31 Plays, #14

The Young Man who shocked the Watchman

- Look at yourself, - says the Watchman looking at a fly. If I cover it with carpenter glue I suppose it would never fly again. Isn't this amazing? Simply because of carpenter glue!

- Hey, you, satyr! - a Young Man with yellow gloves calls at the Watchman.

The Watchman realizes instantly that someone was talking to him, but keeps on looking at the fly.

- I am talking to you, you animal!

The Watchman squashes the fly with his finger, and not turning his head, says: - What the hell are you screaming for, you son of a bitch? I can clearly hear you. There is no need to scream!

The Young Man brushes off his pants with his gloves, and asks with a quiet voice: - Listen old man, how do I get to the sky?

The Watchman looks at the Young Man, squinting one of his eyes, than the other, than scratching his little beard looks at the Young Man one more time and says: - What are you standing there for? Go on, move along now.

- I am sorry, - says the Young Man, - but this is an emergency. I even have a room waiting for me there.

- All right, - said Watchman, - show me the ticket.

- I don't have a ticket; they said that I would be allowed in without a ticket,- said the Young Man while looking at the Watchman's face.

- Look at you... - said the Watchman.

- So? - asked the Young Man. - Will you let me in?

- Alright, alright, - said the Watchman - Go.

- But how do I go? Where? - asked the Young Man. - I don't know the way.

- Where do you want to go? - asked Watchman, looking at him seriously.

The Young Man cupping his palms around his mouth whispers: - To the sky!

The Watchman leans forward, moves his right leg for stability, carefully looks at the Young Man and asks with a rigid voice: - What the hell? Are you playing with me?

The Young Man smiles, lifts up a hand covered in a yellow glove, waves it over his head and suddenly disappears.

The Watchman sniffs the air. The air smells of burned feathers.

- Look at you! - says the Watchman, opens up his jacket, scratches his tummy, spits right in the spot where the Young Man stood only a minute before, and slowly goes back into his post.

Daniel Charms, 31 Plays, #13

(Maurits Cornelis Escher)

The Mathematician and Andrey Semenovich

The Mathematician (pulling a sphere out of his head):
I pulled a sphere out of my head.
I pulled a sphere out of my head.
I pulled a sphere out of my head.
I pulled a sphere out of my head.

Andrey Semenovich:
Put it back in.
Put it back in.
Put it back in.
Put it back in.

The Mathematician:
No, I won't.
No, I won't.
No, I won't.
No, I won't.

Andrey Semenovich:
So don't.
So don't.
So don't.

The Mathematician:
So I won't.
So I won't.
So I won't.

Andrey Semenovich:
Whatever.
Whatever.
Whatever.

The Mathematician:
So I won.
So I won.
So I won.

Andrey Semenovich: You won, so relax.

The Mathematician:
No, I won't relax.
No, I won't relax.
No, I won't relax.

Andrey Semenovich: Although you are mathematician, to be honest, you are not very smart.

The Mathematician:
No, I am very smart and know a lot!
No, I am very smart and know a lot!
No, I am very smart and know a lot!

Andrey Semenovich: You know a lot, only it is not worth anything.

The Mathematician:
No, it's worth a lot.
No, it's worth a lot.
No, it's worth a lot.

Andrey Semenovich: I'm tired with this silliness.

The Mathematician:
No, you're not.
No, you're not.
No, you're not.

(Andrey Semenovich waves his hand with sadness and leaves. The Mathematician waits for minute and then goes after Andrey Semenovich.)

Curtains.