Навіщо. What For - Марія Старожицька
Veles
— OK, let’s go. Don’t forget your helmet. There’s a lot more than pigeons flying around there because of the holiday. You know, I was just thinking, I’ve never celebrated Independence Day before, didn’t see the point…
The Poet
— This is what I’ll record for the history books: ‘Fighters of the Volunteer Battalion plan to eat a bird that symbolizes peace during their special military assignment on Ukrainian Independence Day.’
Veles (to the Poet)
— Oh, by any chance, do you…
The Poet turns around. His bullet proof vest says, “I have no cigarettes.” And underneath that, it says, “I mean it.”
Everybody laughs. Encouraged, the poet continues to play the crowd and reads a poem he’s just written. Everybody listens.
The Poet
— Cigarettes are over. Smoking makes a life shorter and anticipates the death. If I were you, I would give up this bad habit... Strilka, better give that smokers some vitamins...
Strilka
— All vitamins have been already eaten up. They are locusts, not volunteers
Veles
— Ears are bloating..Oh, tell us a poem, huh?
The Poet
— For bloated ears to wither?
Laurel
— Just read, the Poet. I saw you have been painiting something in your book all morning..
The Poet
— I drew from nature..Well.. Listen then.
“When it comes time to rest,
fighters go into schools.
they go into classrooms, shift desks,
lay down their sleeping bags near blackboards,
lay down their guns on teacher’s desks,
and smile when they see Grade 8 Physics,
as if it was an old friend they met by chance.
and then wrinkle their foreheads in concentration,
for the task is too complicated.
where is that schoolgirl with her excellent knowledge
that will give a hint?—
she’s sitting in the basement
without light, food or a phone,
frantically raising money for
a plastic prosthetic hand
for one who teased her in class and fought,
and now has lost his own hand in battle.
or maybe she is just sitting in the kitchen
and keeps dialing
a subscriber who’s already in heaven,
but it hasn’t been reported yet,
because when it comes to arithmetic, our government
is scoring a failing grade
so who is next? and who is absent?
is there any good reason why
the place is empty?!
these are their universities,
this is the school of life and death,
a peculiar concept of the fragility of happiness
that you won’t find in manuals.
and whoever returns with an A,
will be different from all those who remain,
for he’s seen so much
there isn’t a desk big enough to scratch that story on.
Veles claps his hands. Laurel is smiling.
Laurel
— Well, actually, I was flipping through a Math book, not a Physics book, and it was grade three not grade eight…
The Poet smiles a conspiratorial smile, reaches into a pocket inside the bullet proof vest, pulls out a small flask, unscrews the cap, which turns into a shot glass, and pours for everyone.
The Poet
— Well, here’s to our independence. We got it without spilling a drop of blood 23 years ago. Now we’re paying the price.
Everyone is nodding, getting more serious and drinking.
The Poet
— You know, when they were withdrawing us from Afghanistan,
I told the guys, this is the end of the sovok [pejorative slang for Soviet],
Ukraine’s going to be independent.
And they all said, well, how is that possible,
it can only happen if there’s bloodshed,
who needs that. We didn’t want blood back then.
And managed without it.
But it caught up to us now…
Scene 3
Another school in Ilovais’k where Russian soldiers are located.
Martynov (picks up a Russian Literature textbook from the floor)
— You wanna say that the banderovtsi taught Pushkin?
Chervonets
— Sure. And Lermontov.
Martynov (begins reciting)
— Two days we were in a firing.
What is a sense in such unaffair?
We
