Fragile! (NHB Modern Plays)

by Tena Štivičić

  Pause. MILA has by now realised this extended metaphor will not give her the answer.

  When I woke up I was in Zagreb. A new man. Quite literally, a new man.

  He kisses her.

  MILA (slightly sulky). You should be a poet.

  ERIK. Turned on?

  MILA. I just want to understand you.

  ERIK. Now, where is the fun in that?

  MILA. Not everything is about fun.

  ERIK. You know, my lovely, talking is generally overrated.

  MILA. Is that so?

  ERIK. Yes. Getting rid of excess clothing on the other hand –

  He goes to take her coat off.

  MILA. You better enjoy this while you can. Michi wants me to strip in the club. You might have to pay for the pleasure in the future.

  ERIK. Michi’s got a good nose.

  MILA. He’s offering good money.

  ERIK. Will you do it?

  MILA. Are you joking?

  ERIK. Come on . . . Look at you . . .

  MILA. I’m serious.

  ERIK. You do that way too often. Just turn serious with no warning and no justification –

  MILA (cutting him off). It’s one thing to do this for your – our – pleasure. Quite another to do it for money for the pleasure of drunken customers of a seedy bar.

  ERIK. Well, that’s a matter of perspective.

  MILA. It’s a matter of drawing a line.

  ERIK looks at her. A look of superiority. So much so that he can’t be bothered to further explain. He smiles.

  ERIK. Not many women can walk in naked, offering sex and end up turning it into a moral debate.

  MILA is on the verge of starting a row. ERIK strokes her gently.

  Don’t you think you have a responsibility to share this beauty with the world?

  The frown begins to thaw. She indicates the screens.

  MILA. Don’t you have the responsibility to share that piece of news with the world?

  ERIK. Actually, the world will be a nicer place without that piece. For another few minutes.

  He kisses her.

  MILA smiles. She gives in. She starts kissing him back. As they kiss, the lights fade. Only the monitors still gleam in the darkness. MARTA appears in the shot. She speaks incoherently, through tears into the camera. There is a long line of refugees behind her, walking silently, carrying plastic bags.

  Scene Four

  MILA and MARKO’s flat.

  As cosy as a furnished, rented flat in Deptford can get. ERIK is slouched on a sofa. Music coming from a CD player.

  MILA is lying on the floor in her coat, humming to the song and obviously enjoying the floor.

  MARKO comes in annoyed. He has a bruise on his face.

  MARKO. Jao, bre, stišajte muziku. [Hey, turn the music down!] (He goes to turn down the music.) For fuck’s sake, you are both wasted. Look at the state of you. Can’t you keep it down?

  ERIK. Sorry, grandpa.

  MARKO. Where’ve you been, one of those clubs where your shoes stick to the floor?

  ERIK. You always assume the worst of us.

  MARKO. Well, actually you, but I see that she is adjusting rapidly.

  ERIK. As is your English. Is it that I inspire you?

  MILA. He practises. Every day. Hours.

  MARKO. Mila, diž’ se. [Mila, get up.]

  ERIK. Do you?

  MILA. He does. Because when he masters the language, everything else is ‘a piece of pie’!

  MILA and MARKO smile, obviously a private joke.

  ERIK. That’s great. Self-confidence is half the job.

  MARKO tries to pick her up from the floor but she makes no effort to help, instead letting him pull her a few feet. She notices a bruise on his face.

  MARKO. Okay, suit yourself.

  MILA. Hey, what happened to your face?

  ERIK. Been up to something naughty on your own?

  MARKO. I bet in your world that means masturbating to an inflatable doll.

  ERIK. No, that would be a very dull Tuesday night.

  MARKO lights a joint. MILA sits up.

  MILA. What happened?

  MARKO. Not-so-dull Thursday night at the club.

  MILA. This happened at Michi’s?

  MARKO. Yeah. That Russian guy, Roman, brought a couple of girls. Under-aged, I’m sure. They all got terribly drunk . . . At some point Roman started to suck their toes.

  MILA. Oh.

  MARKO. What is it with women here? Why do they wear sandals in the middle of winter? Don’t they make boots in this country? Their feet were all frozen and veined and, how do you say – smežuran?

  MILA. Shrivelled.

  MARKO shudders.

  But the bruise . . . ?

  MARKO. You know how pushy they can be with familiarity. The Russian insisted I join them, wanted me to drink brandy out of the girl’s collar bone . . .

  ERIK giggles.

  And I wouldn’t and you know, there was a bit of shoving . . .

  MILA (worried). But you’re okay?

  MARKO nods.

  ERIK. I thought with your dad being a big-shot commie, you’d be used to that kind of lewd behaviour.

  MARKO. What would you know about that?

  ERIK. Well, you know, Eastern Europe, mafia and politics go hand in hand –

  MARKO. What, five minutes in Bosnia and you’re an expert on Eastern Europe?

  MILA. All right! Man.

  MARKO. Anyway, even Michi was upset. He said, this is no place for such primitivism.

  MILA. Michi said that?

  MARKO. Yes, he said we have to sit down and rethink our policy.

  ERIK. Who is ‘we’?

  MILA. We is Marko and Michi. Marko has become a pet at Michi’s you see.

  MILA slowly drops back to the floor.

  ERIK. Does Michi know something we don’t?

  MARKO. I’m not a pet. He just wants a team.

  MILA. For what?

  MARKO. To make Michi’s a legend. A home away from home or something.

  MILA. Right. Such an altruist, our Michi.

  ERIK. I don’t think it’s a bad idea at all. You boys should listen to your good old Michi. Somebody else will beat you to it – selling the sense of home, I mean.

  MARKO observes MILA, irritated.

  MARKO. I wish she would pick herself up off the floor.

  ERIK. I think she looks sexy.

  MARKO. She looks pathetic.

  ERIK. Marko, my man, you really ought to try taking that condom off your brain.

  MARKO. Thank you. I’ll just pop to the bathroom.

  ERIK. I gotta go.

  MILA. No, you can’t leave now.

  ERIK. It’s six o’clock in the morning, you should go to bed.

  MILA (whining). I have to go to work.

  ERIK. Call in sick.

  MILA. Ah, I can’t.

  ERIK bends down to kiss MILA. He slips the little metal dose into her hand.

  ERIK. A jump-start. I’ll miss you, gorgeous.

  MILA. See you tomorrow?

  ERIK. Sure. Marko, I hope to see you real soon. Maybe we could go toe-sucking around town.

  MARKO. I’ll be counting minutes.

  ERIK exits.

  MILA. You are rude.

  MARKO. Does that man have a nerve you can hit at all?

  MILA. Oh, yes.

  MARKO. Actually, I don’t want to know.

  MARKO tries to pick her up off the floor and move her to the sofa. As he does, he notices she is not wearing anything under her coat.

  Oh, for fuck – you’re naked!

  MILA (teasing). So I am.

  MARKO looks at MILA with indignation.

  Oh, give me a break. Like you wouldn’t like a naked girl to walk into your office and –

  MARKO. Office? You went like that to his newsroom?

  MILA. Yes. Is there a problem?

  MARKO. Yes. What are you doing?

  MILA. Having fun. We had a great time.

  MARKO.
I bet he did. The question is – did you? Did you have a great time on the tube going there?

  MILA. Marko, you don’t get it. Not everyone is the same as you.

  MARKO. No, but you are.

  They are both silent. He drops the subject and in a more friendly voice:

  How the audition go?

  MILA. I tripped up.

  MARKO. You’ll wake up one day and see your feet through your nose.

  MILA. That’s funny. Ever tried working as a comedian?

  MARKO. You should be practising and not waste time with that nut.

  MILA. I tripped up. It happens. Nothing to do with . . . anything. It was a shit musical anyway. I don’t want to be in shit musicals. I want to be in good musicals. With great music and with a story and with a fucking message I can relate to.

  MARKO. Right. Which is what musicals are known for.

  MILA (like Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca). Well – I was misinformed.

  They laugh.

  Seriously. You know, you probably don’t cos you’re a boy and you’re . . . cool but sometimes, there are these songs, really great songs with a great orchestra and . . . Shit musicals in shit theatres are not exactly what I dreamt of. (Pause. MILA gets up.) I have to get dressed. Make me a cup of coffee? Turkish? (Exiting.) You know, this would be an altogether better country if they knew the smell of Turkish coffee in the morning.

  MARKO stays on the sofa.

  MARKO. Why him?

  MILA (off). Because I’d rather live in Hoxton than Deptford.

  MARKO (giving up). Right.

  MILA comes back buttoning a nurse’s uniform.

  (Sarcastically.) What, another show for Erik?

  MILA. Very funny. (Pausing to think.) Shit, I never thought of that.

  MARKO rolls his eyes. She smiles.

  So easy to get you worked up.

  Silence.

  Because he’s Scandinavian, they’re reliable.

  MARKO. Is that what they are?

  MILA. Yes, reliable and safe. Like those – remember the Scandinavian UN soldiers. They never stepped on the grass in parks. Never smoked in non-smoking areas.

  MARKO. But then they beat up a prostitute.

  MILA (cornered). Why do you try to make him into a villain?

  MARKO. He is a fucked-up cokehead and you’re making him sound like a retirement fund.

  MILA. It’s a phase. He just needs to be saved . . . a little. How ’bout that coffee?

  MARKO. You are putting your money on the wrong horse, ‘gorgeous’. He isn’t more typical for Scandinavian than you are for Croatia. That’s why we all leave, because we don’t fit in. How long do you think you could go round visiting your boyfriends naked before you get ostracised in Zagreb?

  MILA. Exactly!

  MARKO. And how long do you think he could do it in that little village in Norway?

  MILA. I don’t underst –

  MARKO. And with the shit he went through, he could end up pulling your heart out in his sleep.

  MILA. No, actually, that sounds more like your heritage.

  Beat.

  MARKO. I’m going to bed. (Exiting.) You know, the kind of person you pretend to be, you should have Michi wrapped around your little finger.

  MILA (to herself). And you are typical.

  MILA gets up, looks at herself in the mirror; does a few dance moves.

  He would love this.

  Scene Five

  MICHI’s bar.

  ERIK and GAYLE are sitting at the table. ERIK is staring into his glass. MARKO is behind the counter, washing up.

  GAYLE (uncomfortably). It’s a lovely place. A bit dark. But has character, I suppose. (Pause.) And there’s live music in the evenings. I really should come and see one night. Is it . . . Eastern European . . . music?

  ERIK (sarcastically). You mean, do they sing in the Eastern European language?

  GAYLE. Okay, fair enough. Look. I realise, it’s a shock. Which is why I thought it might be good that I made the initial approach.

  ERIK. I thought you just wanted information. Like . . . to help with refugees.

  GAYLE. Yes. Well, I couldn’t very well tell you over the phone.

  ERIK. I thought she was dead.

  GAYLE. Yes. She’s not.

  ERIK. She is in London.

  GAYLE. Yes. And I have a strong impression she’s come here to look for you.

  ERIK. But . . . I thought she was dead.

  GAYLE. Yes, you’ve said so.

  ERIK. They stuck a grenade into her mouth. (Pause.) Pushed her to the floor, poured beer on her, pulled her hair and shoved a hand grenade into her mouth.

  GAYLE. Yes. From what I’ve managed to gather, that was not the grenade that actually exploded. There was another one that caused the explosion. Not that one. Which is how she survived. Which is how you survived.

  ERIK. How do you know about that?

  GAYLE. I’ve done my homework.

  ERIK. Yeah, but – I – thought – she – died.

  GAYLE. I – under – stand.

  ERIK. Sorry.

  MICHI (as he enters, talking on the phone). No, Roman, now is the time, friend. The map of Europe is about to change. We must saddle that horse. My friend, your face in Michi’s always bring sun to my sky. I am looking forward.

  He puts the phone down. He observes ERIK and GAYLE. He looks at MARKO as if to ask ‘What’s going on there?’ MARKO shrugs. MICHI sits at the bar, lights a cigar, motions for a drink, takes out his Blackberry and begins calculating. Occasionally he glances at MARKO, who is watching GAYLE.

  GAYLE. The owner, I assume?

  ERIK. Yes. A sweetheart.

  ERIK feels trapped. And breathless.

  GAYLE. Look. I don’t know how you’ve dealt with what happened to you. You seem fine, although your lifestyle would suggest that maybe you’re compensating for something and –

  ERIK. And what exactly do you know about my lifestyle?

  GAYLE. You’ve got quite a reputation for . . .

  ERIK. Yes?

  GAYLE. Some would say ‘living life to the full’.

  ERIK. I see. And you would say . . .

  GAYLE. I didn’t come here to judge you. My concern is not with you.

  ERIK. That is very thoughtful.

  GAYLE. And because of that I’ve persuaded her not to surprise you and let me come and . . . ease the shock.

  ERIK. Smart.

  GAYLE. But, she is ready to see you. Tomorrow even.

  ERIK looks at GAYLE; there’s a touch of panic there, but he does his best to conceal it.

  ERIK. You’re not giving me much time.

  GAYLE. She seems to think you’d be thrilled to learn about her.

  ERIK is silent, obviously thinking intently.

  ERIK. Of course I’m thrilled. She’s alive. I feel like I’m suddenly in a soap, but I’m thrilled.

  GAYLE (shocked by his comment). This is not a humorous situation, you have no idea –

  ERIK. I know, I know, I know . . . Don’t start freaking out. I’m just buying time, obviously. You work with people, you should know a few basic patterns.

  GAYLE (uncomfortably). Yes. Well –

  ERIK. It’s like a ghost coming to visit.

  GAYLE. She’s no ghost. She’s a young woman. And she hasn’t come to visit.

  ERIK. . . . Uh . . . is she . . . normal?

  GAYLE. Normal . . . That’s a very tricky word.

  ERIK. I would think she’d want to go home.

  GAYLE. Yes. I don’t think her home is the happiest of places on this planet.

  ERIK. But London is?

  GAYLE. It’s where you are.

  ERIK. So, you’re just gonna dump her on me?

  GAYLE. I wasn’t aware you would look at it that way.

  ERIK. No, I mean, I thought she’d be in some sort of a system now, or something. It’s really stuffy in here, isn’t it? I wish (He shouts out.) you aired this place once in a while.

  MICHI (not looking at him). Too
much air is very bad. You can go crazy thinking.

  GAYLE. There is a whole procedure for asylum seekers –

  ERIK. Will she get it?

  GAYLE. Oh, she’ll get it. She’s had more human rights violated than all the rest of my clients put together. But she’s not allowed to work in the meantime, and in order to get affordable accommodation she ought to stay in the hostel. And that can be . . . depressing. It’s kind of . . . no man’s land.

  ERIK is silent. GAYLE is uncomfortable. He’s not a man with whom silence is a comfortable option.

  Um . . .

  ERIK. I need a breath of fresh air. I’ll be right back. Have another drink.

  ERIK leaves. GAYLE is left wondering. She observes MARKO but then looks away and tries to appear at ease. MICHI points to a glass with his head and then points to GAYLE. MICHI tends to give orders using body language rather than words. MARKO smiles – he has already begun mixing a fresh drink. He goes over to GAYLE’s table.

  MARKO. Another one?

  GAYLE. I don’t know really –

  MARKO. On the scale of one to ten, I say eight – he comes back.

  GAYLE. You think?

  MARKO. Unless you’re carrying his child. In that case, he’ll be on the plane to Baghdad by now.

  GAYLE. You know him well?

  MARKO. Reasonably. (Puts her drink on the table.) He is dating my flatmate.

  GAYLE (astonished). Oh.

  MARKO. Hope I didn’t spoil it.

  GAYLE. Oh . . . no. No. I’m not . . . This is really a business meeting, nothing more.

  MARKO. Oh, yes, we’re a popular destination for ‘business meetings’.

  GAYLE giggles.

  I’m Marko.

  GAYLE. Gayle. Nice to meet you.

  MARKO. Pleasure, Gayle, enjoy your drink.

  GAYLE. Oh, I think, maybe, a Diet Coke –

  MARKO. Miss Gayle. Off the top of your head, does this look like establishment that has Diet Coke?

  She blushes.

  On the house.

  GAYLE. Thank you, that’s very kind.

  GAYLE leans a little to catch MICHI’s eye and thank him as well. MARKO stops her and whispers.

  MARKO. In East Europe, it’s very rude to thank a man for buying a woman a drink. They think you’re mocking them.

  GAYLE leans back, instinctively taking the advice and looking somewhat confused.