MARKO. Meeting with friends now and not next Thursday.
GAYLE. Riding a bike, not the tube.
MARKO. How easy it is to have a conversation with somebody on the tram or the bus. But hey, you’re likely to see them again at some point.
GAYLE. Not like here.
MARKO. No. God forbid eye contact.
GAYLE. It’s the fear, I think. Your eyelids are like blinds. They hide your frailty. Look up and you’re a victim.
Pause. They look at each other. She breaks eye contact.
And this – (Pointing to drinks and snacks.) you rob a bank?
MARKO. I work three hundred hours a day at that bar!
GAYLE. Aha. Somehow I doubt this is your normal diet.
MARKO. Actually I enjoy a little caviar in the morning.
GAYLE. Come on, ’fess up.
MARKO. What, you don’t believe me? (Puts on an ‘Ali G’ voice.) Is it because I is a Serb?
GAYLE squints at him. MILA walks in.
MILA. Oh . . . sorry. Interrupting.
GAYLE pulls back. MARKO is annoyed.
(To MARKO.) Well, I’m sorry, you should have your picnics in your bedroom.
MARKO. My room can fit a picnic or us. But not both.
MILA (to GAYLE). Hi, I’m Mila.
GAYLE. Gayle, nice to meet you.
MILA. Don’t mind me. I’ve just popped in to change. Ooh, salmon.
She bends down and quickly puts together a sandwich.
You don’t mind, do you? Very impressive . . .
MARKO. Mila, get lost.
MILA. Where d’you get the money for this?
GAYLE looks at MARKO inquisitively. MILA realises she said something wrong.
Sorry. Don’t mind me. I’m on a total high. Mnme, mnmni, mnmno . . .
She goes out to change. MARKO shrugs.
GAYLE (carefully). Was there a woman?
MARKO. Ever? There were three! Okay, two.
GAYLE smiles but she’s not playing along.
(Admitting it.) Mates were supposed to come visit from Belgrade. But they cancelled.
GAYLE. Classy mates.
MARKO. Yeah. I was going to impress them. But if I can, I’d rather impress you . . .
GAYLE smiles. MILA comes back in wearing her nurse’s uniform.
. . . If she ever leaves.
MILA. I’m going, man!
GAYLE. You’re a nurse.
MILA. Um . . . more of a babysitter really. For one-hundred-kilo-stone babies.
GAYLE doesn’t understand.
I look after old people. In a home. Shit pay, they treat me like shit and there’s a lot of actual shit involved. I’m a really good person.
GAYLE. But, Marko said you had a part in a play.
MILA. Oh, yeah. I’m playing a Russian hooker. Going against the cliché. It’s actually really exciting.
GAYLE. That’s great.
MILA. Yeah. You know, it’s small, but it’s, you know, an English crew which is important. You know, it’s not like a Christmas show down at the Croatian community centre.
MARKO. You don’t even know where that is.
MILA. Exactly. I keep telling him – integrate and rule!
They smile to each other, inadvertently making GAYLE feel like an outsider.
Anyway, I’m off. Not enough hours in the day here, have you noticed? I practise on the bus, people think I’m crazy. You’re pretty. (To MARKO.) She’s pretty.
She takes a sip of his wine. MARKO pushes her off. There is a real intimacy about them.
Bye.
She runs out.
MARKO. Mila.
GAYLE. And you are not . . .
MARKO. No.
GAYLE. Because . . .
MARKO. No ‘because’. Just no.
GAYLE. She’s going out with Erik?
MARKO. She’s even got a wedding in mind.
GAYLE. Are you serious?
MARKO. Well . . . I don’t know. On a bad day. Then she thinks she wants to settle down.
GAYLE. With him.
MARKO. Yeah, of all people. But there are days she’s working and she’s happy, so –
GAYLE. You don’t like him.
MARKO. I . . . think . . . he is a destroyer.
GAYLE. Do you think there’s compassion in him?
MARKO. Compassion? He fools around with war reports like they were video games.
GAYLE. And you don’t think there’s something behind that front?
MARKO. There’s plenty, I’m sure. But I’m not sure if it’s better or worse.
GAYLE is consumed with worry.
So, this help that you wanted from him . . . did you get it?
GAYLE. Um . . . yeah . . . He has so much experience with the war zones . . . particularly Balkans . . . You know he spent a better part of two years there . . .
MARKO. Right. So he . . . ?
GAYLE. Helps me . . . understand . . .
MARKO. I suppose he’s got some stories to tell . . .
GAYLE gives him a trapped glance.
GAYLE. Yeah.
It seems like GAYLE is going to confide in MARKO. A split second and she decides against it.
MARKO. What?
GAYLE. I thought you were going to start impressing me . . .
MARKO. Oh, how could I forget! On your mark . . . Ready –
GAYLE (laughing). Go!
*
TIASHA is sitting in her hostel room putting together her map. Now it has another route on it, ERIK’s course.
TIASHA. You know, between us two, we more or less went around whole world. And where we didn’t go, we can go together. Or maybe, we have enough of world.
*
It’s late at night in MILA and MARKO’s flat. MARKO is sitting, drinking the rest of the wine from the bottle. Music coming from the stereo. MILA appears in the room quietly. She watches him. He turns. He doesn’t try to pretend.
MILA. You okay?
Pause.
They’re not coming.
MARKO shakes his head.
Visa?
MARKO. Turned down after all. They didn’t serve the army.
MILA. I’m sorry.
MARKO. I really wanted to see them. I was really . . .
MILA (Pauses). I’m sure it would have been shit, though.
MARKO. Oh, yeah, for sure.
MILA. They would have made a mess of our place, maybe even get arrested –
MARKO. Probably charged with drug possession –
MILA. And embarrass you in front of the lovely foreign girlfriend.
MARKO. Piss off.
MILA. She . . . ? (Motioning towards MARKO’s room.)
MARKO. Asleep.
MILA. Good?
MARKO. Lovely.
MILA (teasing). Aren’t you afraid she’s using you? Examining you for trauma?
MARKO. She’s an artist, social work is just . . .
MILA. Well, that’s reassuring. So what does she do, read them bedtime stories?
MARKO. Fuck if I know – takes them to Asda, shows them where to buy platanas, teaches them not to try to talk to the answering machines, you know, the important stuff.
MILA laughs.
I’ll rot in hell. She’s great.
MILA. How about open-mike night?
MARKO (turning weary). I got nervous, my English was shit, nothing was funny. Nobody laughed. It was painful.
MILA. But you’re getting so good.
MARKO (pointing to the food and drink). Pathetic, ha? What a stupid, stupid, thing to do. Buy expensive food to – what – imitate success? They don’t even like salmon.
MILA. I do. It blows up in your face but we’ll eat like royalty the next few days. Cos, you went out on a spree! How could you afford –
MARKO. It’s a crap life here, Mila.
MILA sits next to him.
MILA. Marko . . .
MARKO. It is. We’re not welcome here. They were going to be here for a week. One week. And they would spend here in one week
what they’ve been saving up for months. But they can’t come here and spend money on overpriced entertainment and lousy food because they didn’t serve the army.
MILA. That’s not us. We are here.
MARKO. Nobody’s happy with us being here. I mean, are we happy?
MILA. We’re happy.
MARKO. Are we happier than home?
MILA. You’re not thinking of going back, are you?
MARKO. I left saying, screw you! To come back with my tail between my legs . . . Now there’s a formula for alcoholism. Besides, they just burnt down a mosque in Belgrade. Don’t feel like rushing back.
MILA (takes his face into her hands). Marko, gledaj me. [Look at me.] We’ll be all right. We said – ‘No Mood’. The Mood sneaks in when we are off guard and shoots apathy in our butts.
MARKO smiles.
We have fought it off before and we will do it again.
Pause.
We’ll be okay. We have a plan. We will be okay.
An intense moment. For a brief second it looks as though they might kiss but they don’t.
Beat.
MARKO. I better go check on the foreign girlfriend.
He gets up and goes to his room.
*
MILA is rehearsing her part. She is sitting on a barstool again, this time wearing skimpy clothes – white, high-heeled boots, a very short skirt, a tight top – her costume. She has pointed a table lamp at herself to imitate a spotlight. She is holding a script. She is singing a Russian song, ‘Ochi Chorneje’. She stops, coughs, does some voice exercises. She mutters the other characters’ lines quietly. She sings and speaks in a Russian accent. Her voice is seductive and her moves sexy.
MILA. ‘I know now, I understand that what’s important about our work – whether we act on the stage or write – isn’t fame, it isn’t glory, it’s none of those things I used to dream of, it’s simply the capacity to endure.’
She starts humming the melody to the song. Whilst sitting on the stool she begins to dance, like a beginning of a strip act. She stops. She frowns, unhappy with what she did. She thinks about it then.
‘Do you remember? Everything was so clear and warm, life was so joyous, so innocent – and such feelings we had, like delicate, exquisite flowers. Do you remember?’
She smiles as if she found the right code.
Scene Eight
Snapshots.
ERIK appears. MILA is still on her chair, using moments between lines to choreograph her scene. She’s excited and positive.
MILA. You are right. It is all going well. It’s ups and downs here, isn’t it? It takes time.
ERIK. Yes. Yes, of course.
MILA. Sometimes nothing’s right and I panic. But you know I’m not like that. We need space, both of us. Because we like freedom, even when we’re together. That doesn’t mean we’re not together.
ERIK. Yes. Yes, of course. Don’t be silly. It’s all right.
*
TIASHA appears in a separate space. ERIK is caught between them.
TIASHA. Not Norway then? I don’t like the cold but on the other hand, look, I would like to live here.
She produces a magazine photograph of a Norwegian landscape.
ERIK. Tiasha, let’s slow down for a moment. There are things to consider.
TIASHA. Of course, I know. I’m just saying. So that you know. I think I like Norway.
ERIK (irritably). Norway is out of the question!
TIASHA. Okay. (Pause.) Why?
ERIK. All my friends are married with children. Children they made having soundless sex. They have dinners and discuss double glazing . . . They would hardly understand me. Me and you – not a fucking chance.
TIASHA (quietly). All right.
*
MILA. We’ll always be unpredictable and open-minded. That’s what we are like. And even if we were a more normal couple and had more stability. That doesn’t mean we’re becoming dull . . .
ERIK. You’re way ahead of me.
MILA. In fact, I am. That’s why I’m saying this. Because I’m thinking ahead.
ERIK. Life is about moments, Mila. It’s a mistake to think you can stretch them into a constant.
MILA produces a sound of excitement and exasperation, as if to say ‘You’re impossible’. She kisses ERIK quickly and runs off.
*
TIASHA. Then London?
ERIK. We’ll see.
TIASHA. I don’t think I like London. You do, don’t you?
ERIK (irritably). I don’t know, Tiasha. Not as much as I used to . . .
TIASHA (withdrawing). Oh. Yes. No.
ERIK. I mean, we’ll talk about it. I have to go now.
TIASHA. Can I come?
ERIK. No! No, it’s . . . I can’t take you along.
TIASHA. Okay.
ERIK leaves.
I don’t like it here. Airplanes and sirens all the time. Sounds the same like the war.
*
GAYLE is looking at TIASHA’s map on the wall. There are two trajectories marked in different colours. One is TIASHA’s and the other is ERIK’s. TIASHA leaves.
GAYLE. See. I bet this would win the bloody Turner Prize in a second. Of course, it should be a bit more interactive. Maybe if you press a particular country and a video of a massacre pops out. (Pause.) You know how people spend years saving money to go travelling.
She gives a little bitter laugh.
I shouldn’t be showing you this. I shouldn’t be telling you this. It’s so highly unprofessional of me. But you listen. And you look me in the eyes. You know, she looked at my boxes and she said, there is nothing nice at the bottom of any box. I suppose she was right. She says, he still has the same heart and that’s all that matters. (She puts her finger on Belgrade.) Will you take me to Belgrade one time? Be-o-grad. White city. Beautiful.
Music.
Darkness.
Sound of wind.
Scene Nine
MICHI’s bar.
MILA is sitting on a barstool singing a heavy, sad song. MARKO and ERIK are sitting having drinks. Gloom, all around.
MICHI (entering). Oho! What’s with her? Change of policy? I could do with more of that. Good, Mila, good. Depressing but can be used.
She doesn’t pay attention.
So! Where is all the paparazzi?
MARKO. Hey, Michi, leave her. She had a tough night.
ERIK puts the same music on the stereo.
ERIK (to MILA). Come here. (He takes her to dance.)
MILA (to ERIK). You haven’t said much.
ERIK. I think there’s no reason to get worked up.
MARKO (to MICHI). It didn’t go so well.
MICHI. What? Why?
MILA. I didn’t stick to the plan, that’s why. The plan was – have faith, work hard and triumph. No shortcuts, no digressions.
MICHI. I don’t understand.
MILA. The plan was musicals. Ever since I was eight years old, that was the plan.
MICHI. Yes, yes, ‘story of my life’ not so interesting right now.
MILA hides her face in ERIK’s chest. ERIK starts dancing playfully, wanting to turn the situation into a joke.
MARKO. She had a part of a Russian prostitute.
MICHI. Yes?
MARKO. Which is in itself terribly rewarding.
MICHI. Why?
MARKO. Well, you know, it’s a stereotype.
MICHI. Of what?
MARKO. Of a Russian prostitute. It’s always the same.
MICHI has lost him.
Doesn’t matter. (To MILA.) I thought it was supposed to be a proper part, with lines and all.
MILA. It was.
MARKO. But then . . .
MILA. Lines got cut, day by day.
MARKO. Right, but there was a monologue . . .
MILA. Yesterday there was a monologue. It was taken from Chekhov, man! Not that they’d be fit to clean Chekhov’s boots! So, today, the wanker –
MARKO. The director.
MILA. –
decided to cut the whole monologue out. And I was left with no lines.
MICHI. No talking?
ERIK. Arguably, Russian hookers are not really famous for talking.
MICHI agrees and MILA looks at ERIK, genuinely surprised at his comment. MILA wants to break away from ERIK, but he insists on continuing to dance, won’t let her go.
MILA. Let go of me.
He laughs but is still holding on to her. MARKO approaches as MILA breaks off and he stands in between them. He is not confrontational, but there is something paternal about his behavior.
MARKO. Hey, lay off.
ERIK comes close to starting a physical fight.
Erik, man, what’s with you?
ERIK gives up. Again, his superiority.
ERIK. Yeah.
ERIK stays dancing on his own with a glass in his hand. MILA goes over to the bar and lights a cigarette.
MARKO. Hey, don’t.
MILA. What? I’ll grow another head in a while with the stuff we eat here, but I’m not gonna smoke? (To MICHI.) The wanker wanted moaning. My acting task was to moan.
MICHI. Let’s hear.
MILA (dismissing his proposal). Visceral. He wanted visceral. I swear, if anybody so much as mentions ‘visceral’ to me ever again, as if they had any idea what it was. He wanted me to be a ‘geyser of visceral eastern sexual charge’.
MICHI (laughs). A geyser? I like him. You want we go say ‘Hello’?
MILA. No, I don’t, why would I want – Oh, no. No, no, no. We are not going to say ‘Hello’. We are staying completely out if it.
MICHI (laughs). Relax. I am joking. What do you think, Michi is Italian mafia? I want to lighten this up a little, but seems devil took away the joke.
ERIK. It would be quite fun to see the Oxford Ginger ‘ra-ther’ open his doors to Michi.
MILA (reprehending). Come on.
ERIK. Lighten up. It’s not the end of the world.
MARKO. You’re drunk.
MILA. All the time, all the time I felt like they keep expecting me to do something unpredictable and wild, preferably sexual. Like I was some kind of an exotic eastern specimen, that’s, you know, got a trauma but shags like an animal. That’s what turns men on. So depressing.
ERIK. So dramatic, dear. You took your clothes off, so what?
MICHI (suddenly turning serious). Hang on. Who took what where?
ERIK. She did. She lost the lines and the clothes.
MICHI. You strip? For real?
Fragile! (NHB Modern Plays) Page 5
