top of page

The Invalid for Life

VICTOR LIAPIN

The Invalid for Life

 

Translated by Ivan Lyapin

 

«You should just love these people. And love endures everything”.

 

 

Contact the author at:

Email: snybegemota@yandex.ru

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/victor.liapin

Site: http://lit.lib.ru/editors/l/ljapin_w_w/

THE CHARACTERS:

 

Sidor Konyagin, the owner of the house

Alevtina Konyagina, his wife.

Larisa Bubentsova, social worker.

 

A country-house on the outskirts. A cow is bellowing in the yard, goats are bleating, pigs and hens are running. Larisa Bubentsova (quite pretty woman at the age of thirty … er… five) has just taken up a position as a social worker and now she’s delivering disability benefits to nonambulant people. A blooming man of fifty opens the door on her knocking. He’s a leather blood-stained apron on. He’s just stuck a pig.

 

BUBENTSOVA. Does Sidor Konyagin reside here?

KONYAGIN. Here, here. Come in, darling.

… I’ll be back in a minute!..  What’s the matter, excuse me?

BUBENTSOVA. I’ve brought a disability benefit for him.

KONYAGIN. But where is Mikhail Borisovich?

BUBENTSOVA. Mikhail Borisovich was dismissed… A case was built against him… 

KONYAGIN. (flinging up his hands) … You don’t say?! … So, he was at a fault!... Heh, a good man he was.

… Alevtina!.. Alevtina!.. Bring the sack for the government here!.. I’m sorry, can I dignify you by the name of…

BUBENTSOVA. Larisa Igorevna, junior specialist.

KONYAGIN. Very good!.. Lovely!.. Will you partake of the food with us? Countrylike, so to say?

    Alevtina!.. What’s taking you so long?!..

 

Alevtina, with an effort, brings in a ponderous sack.

  

KONYAGIN. (He takes the sack from his wife) …Lay the table. Chop-chop! (To Bubentsova) …Here it is.

BUBENTSOVA. What?

KONYAGIN. Fresh pork, chicken, tomatoes, all kinds of greenery, young potatoes… Horseradish.

BUBENTSOVA. …What horseradish? Where is Sidor Konyagin? …Wait. So are you Konyagin?

KONYAGIN. …Thus, I am, to some extent…

BUBENTSOVA. But… how? … But how can it be?

Here it’s written – the invalid. No forearms, no right leg to the very… to the very ribs… Cranial trauma with implications for excitatory system and supporting-motor apparatus. Pneumonia, glaucoma. There is a photo attached here. Is it you on it?

KONYAGIN. …Me. Pasha Ziggelman took it, a local photographer. All in all, I don’t like this nation, don’t know why… But I loved him with all my soul. When he took that photo – he just took my fancy. Wanna - he said - me take out your eye in addition? Professional, creep. 

BUBENTSOVA. Are you serious…? Do you know what comes next? You… you’re just deceiving your state.

KONYAGIN. Do not touch my home state. You’re a new person here, while I, may be said, have laid down all my health for it.

Alevtina! Bring the documents here! There is even an honorary certificate from Nikita Khrushchev’s brother-in-law himself.  

       Stay out! I’m too old to be caught with chaff! I’ve got all necessary certificates! (Alevtina willingly gives the documents to him) Right, Alevtina. Here it is. This is the contusion. This is the trauma. This is the leg. Forearms, head, you see. Look, look at it. Everything’s marked.

BUBENTSOVA. …But here is your forearms…

KONYAGIN. …But on paper?

BUBENTSOVA. It’s just some nonsense!... For such things, I don’t know, you must be on trial!... Children are starving in this country, teachers, doctors, civil cervants…

ALEVTINA. So we are!

… Don’t frighten!... We’re not so easily scared! It’s not 1937 now.

KONYAGIN. Don’t barge in, Alevtina! Larisa Igorevna is a young specialist, junior, she’ll catch up with it. Will you? (He moves the sack closer to Bubentsova)

BUBENTSOVA. …Whaat??? I’ll write it up. I’ll go to ministry. Let me out of here right now!

KONYAGIN. (Stands in the doorway) …You won’t go.

   …You, European randy!! Damn Kuomintang’s muckcraker!

… Say – what do you need?

BUBENTSOVA. What I need… I need the invalid!... Real. Not on paper. With no forearms and legs…

KONYAGIN. So, invalid!... Alevtina!... Bring the ax!... Bring the ax, fool!...  

ALEVTINA. …What’s with you, Sidor?...

KONYAGIN. Bring the ax, fool, before I do away with you.

 

Alevtina runs away.

 

BUBENTSOVA. … Wh-wh-what?... What you gonna do?

KONYAGIN. Anon!... You’ll see!... You don’t understand. She’s not our guest. She’s challenge for me. She’s challenge for you, for all our life. There’s no truth in our state. Pen pushers messed everything up. What have we come to! Even in stamps they don’t believe.

 

  Alevtina comes back with the ax. 

 

BUBENTSOVA. (Sobbing) …Mummy…

 

Konyagin grabs the ax and brandishes it in front of Bubentsova’s nose.

 

KONYAGIN. Hack!!!... Hack, I say!!!... (He thrusts the ax into the table)

BUBENTSOVA. …Whaat???...

KONYAGIN. …Hack, you, pen pusher!... Hack as it’s written!... To the elbow!...

    Alka!!!... Prepare the rags!... You’ll be wrapping the stumps!...

ALEVTINA. (Howling)   Ooh, you my breadwinner!...  What are you leaving me for?... What a rogue has come in our house?... I’d poke out her rotten eyes!... Oh dear Sidorushka! My darling!!!...

 

Konyagin foists the ax into Bubentsova’s hands.

 

KONYAGIN. Hold the ax or I’ll hack you myself…

 

Bubentsova, blinking, holds the ax.

    

KONYAGIN. …Hack!!!...

ALEVTINA. (Sobbing) …Murderer!!!...

 

 Bubentsova faints away. Konyagin and Alevtina look at each other.

 

KONYAGIN. Go bring salmiac. Make it stiffer.

   

    Alevtina comes up to Bubentsova and brings the salmiac to her nose. She comes to her senses. Alevtina strokes her hair.

 

ALEVTINA. … What are you, sweetheart?... What a thing to do!...

… Here, eat some pelmeni. We’ve got nice, home ones…

 

Shoving a fork with pelmeni in her mouth.                                               

 

ALEVTINA. Have you got babies?

BUBENTSOVA. (Weeping) … Two…

ALEVTINA. … And salary’s not so high, I’m afraid. Buy meat on the market?

BUBENTSOVA. … Uh-huh…

ALEVTINA. While here are fresh, home. We’ll have stuck the heifer by this fall… I’ll set the best pieces aside for you. And our tomatoes are known throughout the neighborhood. Sweet!...

     … Here, check it out. Sweet?... (Pushing a tomato in her mouth)

BUBENTSOVA. …Sweet….

ALEVTINA. Do you like it?... I’ll fetch more, right from the bush.

… You don’t be shy, drop in if anything. Just for no reason, like friends – when passing, come in. Have a cup of tea or milk…

KONYAGIN. … The sack is too heavy… You’ve no chance to carry it… I’ll take it right to your house… Don’t worry about this. With these hands. (Shows his powerful arms, catches himself and hides his arms) … Hrmph… Sorry…

ALEVTINA. Do you wanna some strawberry brandy?... You’re shaking all over.

BUBENTSOVA. … I don’t drink… (Alevtina pours a pony brandy into her mouth, almost by force)     

ALEVTINA. Me too. Fine girl. I like you so much. When I saw you I just thought – “we’ll become friends”.

 … So, what’s to do if our state has got so much of rotten people?... There’s nothing to do. They’ll mend…

KONYAGIN. Where should I sign, Larisa Igorevna? What bills do you have?... We’ll find the change, don’t worry.

                                                   

 Bubentsova limply pull out the list and the money.

 

KONYAGIN. That’s a dear…  That’s we met…

… You have a nice job, Larisa Igorevna. Close to people, to their expectancy. Holy cause, in a manner of speaking.                                                   

    … Your address, be so kind… I’ll bring the sack when it’s dark and cool… And I’ll add some horseradish!... Horseradish, you know, is so nice for salt pickling! …

 

 He shows her the door.

                                                  

KONYAGIN. Oh, yeah! I nearly forgot… Larisa Igorevna!... Let me speak with you friendly, cousinly. People say, large families are entitled to new benefits. Our benefactress, please, don’t forget about us!...

BUBENTSOVA.  … Have you got many children?...

ALEVTINA. We’ll churn them out!... On paper – as many as you like!

KONYAGIN. (Tenderly fasten eyes on Bubentsova). Sure. Why not, …for us, invalids?... Today we start. Consider it done.       

    

 

THE END

bottom of page