Translated from the French by Joyce Nettles
A surrealistic and deeply ironic look at a family of refugees, that returns to a place reminiscent of the former Yugoslavia. Two young brothers-in-law insult each other across a road as they exchange news a new baby born to one man’s sister. Refugees return to the land they were chased off of by a super patriotic Soldier.
A Father and Mother return to their old burnt-out home and begin to look for the body of their missing Son, so that they can bury him, mourn and carry on. One Son seeks recognition by the Mother, who seems obsessed with locating the other Son. Their old neighbors have secrets, and a new young neighborhood is selling bones. The Father has no recourse but to begin to dig up the old stinking well, the backyard, the forest, and finally the actual burial site. But, as the bones are dug up and placed on the kitchen table, the one and only Son brings home ghost guests to reclaim those bones.
We realize that the land is populated by both the living and the dead. And, so, we travel the same absurd and sad journey with the parents, who finally find their lost Son’s bones. In a seemingly obscure sub-plot we follow the plight of a young woman, who in the final scene we understand is the sister (young mother) from the very first scene.
VIBKO and STANKO. The two men are hidden on either side of a kind of no man’s land
VIBKO (shouting) Stanko! (A beat.) Stanko, you son of a bitch! Can you hear me? (A beat.) Answer me, you bastard. I know you can hear me. (A beat.) Answer me, for God’s sake, I can’t stay here all day. Can you hear me or not?
STANKO (shouting) Yes.
VIBKO Are you still alive, you son of a bitch?
STANKO Yes.
VIBKO So they haven’t blown your brains out yet?
STANKO No.
VIBKO You old bugger! You’re not long for this life, you old bastard! Soon they’ll be cutting you up into little bits, you and the other shits like you. Do you hear?
STANKO Yes.
VIBKO You hear me, but you don’t say anything?
STANKO I say you’re a shit yourself and an old dog, and one day they’ll make you swallow your own tongue.
VIBKO Was it you that shot at me yesterday?
STANKO Yes.
VIBKO And you knew it was me?
STANKO Yes.
VIBKO You knew it was me, and you still shot at me?
STANKO Yes. And next time I’ll put a bullet in your head, that’s for sure.
VIBKO You little shit! Have you got anything to eat over there? There’s a real stink coming from your direction… Soon you’ll be eating your own shit, you and your other bastard friends. You know, when the wind comes from your direction, it smells of shit. Have you started eating shit already? Stanko, can you hear me?
STANKO Yes.
VIBKO I asked you a question.
STANKO Go fuck yourself!
VIBKO Tell me, shit face, has my sister had the baby?
STANKO Yes.
VIBKO When?
STANKO Last night.
VIBKO Is she all right?
STANKO Yes. And it’s a boy, you schmuck.
VIBKO (giving a sincere smile, despite himself) A boy!
STANKO Yes. And they’re going to name it after you, even though you’re a fucking waster.
VIBKO Oh, no.
STANKO Oh, yes they are! They’re going to call him Vibko because everybody thinks you’re dead. So he’ll be little Vibko, so the family can always remember big Vibko, the shit who died.
VIBKO I don’t give a toss what they do.
STANKO Fine by me. Go fuck yourself.
VIBKO Is my sister still in hospital?
STANKO No, she had the baby at home.
VIBKO Right, listen to me, you stupid jerk….I’m going to send you over a little parcel. There’s some sugar and some powdered milk. Give it to Ida. Right?
STANKO They don’t need your sugar or your milk. So you can stuff yourself with them.
VIBKO Listen here, shitface… Just do what I say, OK? I’m the head of the family! I’ll push the parcel into the middle… OK? And because you stink of shit, I’ve put in a packet of Marlborough for you. Just for you, you son of a bitch. While you’re smoking them, you can remember that one of these fine days I’m going to put a bullet in your head. OK?
STANKO Push it over then.
With the help of a stick, Vibko pushes the parcel into the middle of the road. With another stick used like a hook, Stanko pulls it to his side.
VIBKO Got it?
STANKO Yes.
VIBKO Give it to my sister, all right?
STANKO (lighting a cigarette) Yes.
VIBKO And tell me if there’s anything she needs.
STANKO (he exhales with pleasure) They don’t need anything. They’ve got everything they want.
VIBKO You little shit.
STANKO Shit yourself.
Some moments of silence. Then, we hear the sound of someone playing a harmonica on one of the sides of the road.
A surrealistic and deeply ironic look at a family of refugees, that returns to a place reminiscent of the former Yugoslavia. Two young brothers-in-law insult each other across a road as they exchange news a new baby born to one man’s sister. Refugees return to the land they were chased off of by a super patriotic Soldier. A Father and Mother return to their old burnt-out home and begin to look for the body of their missing Son, so that they can bury him, mourn and carry on. One Son seeks recognition by the Mother, who seems obsessed with locating the other Son. Their old neighbors have secrets, and a new young neighborhood is selling bones. The Father has no recourse but to begin to dig up the old stinking well, the backyard, the forest, and finally the actual burial site. But, as the bones are dug up and placed on the kitchen table, the one and only Son brings home ghost guests to reclaim those bones. We realize that the land is populated by both the living and the dead. And, so, we travel the same absurd and sad journey with the parents, who finally find their lost Son’s bones. In a seemingly obscure sub-plot we follow the plight of a young woman, who in the final scene we understand is the sister (young mother) from the very first scene.
(THEATRE WITHOUT BORDERS)
Productions in France :
Others productions :
National Theater Craiova, Romania, 2005, directed by Serban Puiu
Martin E. Segal Theater Center – New York, United States 2006, directed by Ian Morgan
Amalia Theater– Thessalonique, Greece, 2007, directed by Ersi Vasilikioti
Romanian
English (translation Joyce Nettles)
Greek (translation Ersi Vassilikioti)
Japanese (translation Hiroko Kawaguchi)
Bulgarian (translation Ognan Stamboliev)
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