Nikolay Lakutin - My four women from a dream”. Play on 7, 6, 5, 4 or 3 people

ATTENTION! ALL COPYRIGHTS TO THE PLAY ARE PROTECTED BY THE LAWS OF RUSSIA AND INTERNATIONAL LAW, AND BELONG TO THE AUTHOR. IT IS FORBIDDEN ITS PUBLICATION AND REPUBLICATION, REPRODUCTION, PUBLIC PERFORMANCE, TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, CHANGES IN THE TEXT OF THE PLAY IN THE FORMULATION WITHOUT THE WRITTEN PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR. THE PRODUCTION OF THE PLAY IS POSSIBLE ONLY AFTER A DIRECT CONTRACT IS CONCLUDED BETWEEN THE AUTHOR AND THE THEATER.

Big Comedy for 2.5 hours in two acts.

ACTOR

YAROSLAV – the main character, the seeker of the one and only;

AIDA – 1-I'm a girl from a dream;

VIORICA – 2-I'm a girl from a dream;

GELLA-the 3rd girl from a dream;

DROID – 4-I'm a girl from a dream;

NINA – a girl – a maid;

DIMON is a colleague of Yaroslav, a friend.

Five female roles can be played by 5,4,3,2 or one actress.

The time of year when actions take place is warm winter.

The front door was locked, and the thin wire from the bell was wrapped around the door in a tangle.

A hanger, a bed, shelves littered with junk, a nightstand with things, a table with a bunch of Newspapers, a book and a phone, a TV. Mess (in the corners of some piles of things, on the table a pile of barely fit on it dishes).

Twilight.

Yaroslav enters the room. He looks haggard.

He throws the heavy bag on the floor and takes off his jacket. He sits down on the bed and idly pulls off his shoes. One of them does not want to be removed. The shoelace is tied at the knot, not untied.

YAROSLAV (nervously): Well, where are the sticks? A knot or something?

Looks at the Shoe, tries to untie it. It doesn't work.

YAROSLAV (humbly): Exactly.

He gets out of bed, pulls off his jacket, trousers, and remains in his underpants, drunk t-shirt, socks, and one Shoe.

He goes into the kitchen, scratching his leg. He returns with a bag of milk, which he drinks straight from the throat, and takes the remote control from the TV. It tries to turn it on, but it doesn't work.

YAROSLAV (nervously): Well, where are the sticks? Are the batteries dead?

Puts a carton of milk, opens the lid of the remote, fiddles with the batteries there, tries to turn on the TV – it does not work.

YAROSLAV (humbly): Exactly.

Puts the remote control aside, goes to the front of the stage, with milk, drinks, scratches his belly, drops a bag of milk on the way. Fortunately, it is not complete, but something still spills over the stage.

Yaroslav looks at all this good with a certain amount of indifference and self-irony.

YAROSLAV: I have a Good day today. Here is recognized, feel – my day.

He goes to the kitchen and comes back with a rag. Wipes the spilled milk, picks up the milk bag, tries to finish what is left in it, and there is almost nothing left.

There is a loud knock on the door, which scares Yaroslav, and he spills the remaining drops on the t-shirt from the package.

YAROSLAV (nervously): Well, where are the sticks?

He shakes off his shirt.

Music is playing loudly (only the introduction of Pa' mi casa – Bebe, or something like that)

He goes and opens the door. Dimon bursts into the room.

DIMON: Healthy, Yaroslav batkovich.

YAROSLAV: hi, Dimon.

Greets the handle, the guest takes off his jacket on the go, takes off his shoes.

DIMON: Listen, old man, when will you fix the bell on the door? It's no business, no business, to beat on the door with your fingers, I've already broken all the cauldrons.

Shows Yaroslav the Kazanka river.

YAROSLAV: Yes, I'll fix it somehow. Once. What are you doing without warning? It's a bit of a mess…

DIMON: Yes, I had a fight with my wife. And you are alone, you can always find a dry friendly heart to shelter.

YAROSLAV: Well, Yes. What are the passions in the family?

DIMON: Imagine, I come home from work early today, and there…

YAROSLAV: Lover?

DIMON: if only… Dinner is not prepared! Well, what is it? A man came home from work, but there is nothing to eat at home.

YAROSLAV: Natasha always did a good job with you. Maybe she was busy, didn't have the opportunity?

DIMON: Why are you protecting her? I should have found an opportunity. I had a bite of cheburek on the way, while I was coming to you, so I let go a little…

YAROSLAV: Yes, I feel the fat of the tenth overcook (disperses the air with his hand near his face). Why didn't you take it for me?

DIMON (guiltily): I didn't think of something, I'm sorry. In my thoughts, I could see that I was wandering. I'll go and get you one.

Dimon minces to the door, but Yaroslav stops him.

YAROSLAV: no need, I have already intercepted so little at home.

A friend notices that Yaroslav is standing in one Shoe.

DIMON (intricately): Listen, what is this outfit you have?

Points to the Shoe.

YAROSLAV: it Doesn't untie, you bastard!

DIMON (exquisitely): Ahhh… Are you going to walk like this now?

YAROSLAV: So I will. No, I'll untie it some day, of course, or cut the cord, but then, I don't want to do it now. Let's go and sit down.

Pass on the sofa, sit down.

DIMON (exquisitely): Well, when?

YAROSLAV: when What?

DIMON: When can I see a young lady in this house?

YAROSLAV: Oh, I don't know, Dimon. The question is certainly interesting, but I don't have an answer to it yet.

DIMON: Let me introduce you to Natasha's friend? She's been divorced for a long time, which means she won't miss another fool like that. Will love you as the most-the most… At least you will think so, as we all do.

YAROSLAV: Yes not… thank you of course, but as something need to this… in General, you can solve such issues yourself.

DIMON: Ooooh, well, how much did you do? What a mess you've made. A woman's hand, my friend, is needed in this house!

YAROSLAV: I Don't want to talk about it.

DIMON: Okay.

Pause.

YAROSLAV: Dimon…?

DIMON: Aya?

YAROSLAV: I think you're a cretin.

DIMON: A very interesting discovery.

YAROSLAV: No, I think I understand everything!

DIMON: What are you talking about?

YAROSLAV: Why didn't your wife have time to cook anything?

DIMON: Well?

YAROSLAV: your birthday is tomorrow, you fool! Here's Natasha and ran around looking for a gift, and you let all the dogs down on her.

DIMON (scratching his head): Damn, it looks like you're right. I'd forgotten all about it. By the way, come back tomorrow, we'll sit and celebrate.

YAROSLAV (unconvincingly): No, I have business there, in General, there is. If I can get away… But it is unlikely.

DIMON: Kapets, it was inconvenient. (Guiltily) I'll go smooth out the corners.

Dimon gets ready, dresses, shoes.

DIMON: Come on, this… tomorrow evening, if that (indicates with a gesture the invitation to the acceptance of alcohol).

Yaroslav shrugs his shoulders.

Dimon leaves.

Yaroslav wipes the floor clean, takes away a rag and a milk carton. He takes off his t-shirt and unties the shoelace, while exuding growls and incomprehensible vocabulary. He takes off his other foot, picks up a book from the table, reads for a while, puts the book down, and goes to bed with a blanket over his head.

ZTM.

Plays quiet lyrical music (Maxim Timoshenko "Traces", or something similar).

The room becomes light.

Yaroslav is asleep. Light air step slowly is Aida. Loose garments do not constrain her movements, on the contrary, they give her elegance and a special tenderness.

Aida walks across the room, trembling, holding her hand to her chest, looking around the room. Whirls. Her eyes appear sleeping Yaroslav. She clasps both hands to her chest, looks at the man with a tender look, and sits down next to him on the bed.

Yaroslav feels some excess pressure on the bed. The hand begins to feel the place of the supposed changes. His hand meets the contours of the body of Aida, who calmly observes what is happening.

The music stops.

Yaroslav realizes that he is not alone on the bed. He opens his eyes, jumps up with a wild yell, and falls off the bed at the other end.

YAROSLAV (in a whining voice): Well, where are the sticks? I think I broke a rib.

He holds his side, stands up, and does not look at the girl, thinking that he is imagining it.

AIDA (gently): Don't worry, it's just a small bruise.

Yaroslav slowly turns around at the voice. Cautiously looks at the girl, disperses the air with his hand, in front of his face, driving away the remnants of sleep. Shaking his head doesn't help. He crawls onto the bed and slowly creeps on his knees to the other side, where Aida is sitting. He raises his hand and starts poking her cheek with his finger.

JAROSLAV (trembling with fear voice): Yeah well eelke-where Palki. How is that even possible? Girl, are you alive? I mean, it doesn't seem like it to me? I mean, where, how?

Yaroslav sits down on the bed in complete confusion.

AIDA (affectionately): Hello, my good.

YAROSLAV (cautiously, nodding his head): …St.

AIDA (gently): no, Yaroslav, I am not alive…

YAROSLAV (screaming hysterically, jumping up on the bed): What? No? I'm dead, right?

AIDA (gently): Yarik, calm down, please. You're not dead, I'm not dead either, but you're dreaming about me now. You are sleeping.

Yaroslav narrows his eyes in disbelief. He creeps up to Aida and again pokes her in the cheek with his finger.

AIDA (gently): This is not a very pleasant feeling…

Yaroslav pulls back.

YAROSLAV: AND how can I make sure that we are really in a dream right now?

AIDA (gently): If people knew how to be aware of themselves in a dream, and what they can do here, they would not come back voluntarily.

YAROSLAV: Why?

AIDA (gently): you will Find out… But it's too early. My visit to you is not related to this question.

YAROSLAV: which ONE? Who are you anyway?

AIDA (gently): My name is Aida. I…

YAROSLAV: a Figment of my imagination?

AIDA (gently): Perhaps it is easier for me to agree than to explain what I really am, because this will inevitably lead to questions about who you are.

Yaroslav listens carefully, but does not understand very well. Straining his ears and eyes. Waiting for something, shaking his head.

YAROSLAV: Listen, what's your name?..

AIDA (gently): Aida.

YAROSLAV: Yes, here I am… as something apparently with dream… I can't figure out what's going on.

AIDA (gently): we have a little time, I will tell you. We have several of your favorite women. I am Aida – your first projection of the desired diva image. I have been living with you for a long time, but not in your head, but in your soul, so it is not possible to recognize me by logical conclusions. After all, love is not the mind, and even, in all conscience, not the heart. Love comes from the patrimony of the soul. And not only love for a woman or a man, for children or for the Motherland… Love for everything comes from one huge, vast area, which is impossible to touch and determine by eye.

YAROSLAV: and the love of money?

AIDA (gently): and the love of money is not even self-love, it is fear. Fear of losing what you have and not getting what you crave. Fear is my own brother, it is beautiful in its own way, and it lives just in the zone of mental hindrance, but this is not about it. I know you're longing for a man who's been looking for you for a long time, and I'll tell you a secret – he'll find you soon.

YAROSLAV: We are now talking about a betrothed, do I understand correctly?