Don't Noah Believe. Theatre play

“DON’T NOAH BELIEVE"

or “Legs-Head”

Auto-fictional play about Old Testament sin

Rudyuk Evgeniya

“When you made it a body without organs, then you freed it from all its automatic reactions and returned it to true freedom.”

Antonen Arto, «Put an End to God's Judgment»

Characters:
Surgeon
Zhenya
Head
Left leg
Right leg

The light hits the face with an overwhelming twenty thousand lumens from the large surgeon room lamp. Zhenya lies on the cold metal table, covered with a disposable oilcloth: is she unconscious or sleeping soundly? From the bright light, Zhenya wakes up.

The Surgeon enters the room. He hums a song while setting up a high screen - the partition separates the upper and lower halves of Zhenya's torso.

Surgeon. I'm lying… I'm lying flat on the surgery table…

Zhenya rises on her hands, looking around in fright.

Zhenya. Where am I? What is this place?

In response, the Surgeon only whistles the tune of the same song, going through surgical instruments.

Zhenya tries to get up, slide off the table, but her body does not obey. She is nervous, forcibly pulling her legs off the table with her hands - to no avail. She groans in frustration.

Zhenya. God, what is happening here, I don't understand... (noticing the instruments in the Surgeon’s hands) Don't! Don't do that, please.

The surgeon continues to whistle a tune. Zhenya sniffs the air.

Zhenya. Who are you? Is it just me, or do you smell like alcohol? (into the corridor) Hey, someone! Help, I don't know what I'm doing here! And then the doctor is drunk!.. Hey!

Silence.

Surgeon. This is the surgical room, it always smells of alcohol here.

The surgeon sprays alcohol spray on Zhenya. At this moment, the left leg separates from the rest of the body and rises above the screen.

Zhenya. Oh…
Left leg(shivers). Brrr, it's cold. It's chilly, wet, and unpleasant.
Zhenya. He-elp me…

The Surgeon sprays the spray on Zhenya's face.

Following the Left leg, the Head detaches and stands up. It looks around in fear.

Zhenya is in shock.

Head. In Russian language, there are many expressions dedicated to legs. For example, "get up on the wrong leg" or "stand firmly on one's legs." Who would know which leg is exactly the one-to-one day stand on it and stand confidently on those two? Or here, listen: "To turn everything upside down." This often happens —especially with those who do not stand firmly on their legs.

Zhenya(crying).Hey, anyone! I want to get out of here!
Head. Upside-down world... Is it easier to stand on someone else's legs than on your own? Especially on tried-and-true ones. If legs were passed from parents to children as an inheritance?
Left leg. I am terrified.
Surgeon (to Zhenya). Calm down, please. Don't scream as if the world's end has come. It's just antiseptic treatment.

The surgeon continues to spray. The head sneezes.

Zhenya looks at the Surgeon with surprise.

The right leg also tries to stand up too, but it is firmly held by the Surgeon. The left one helps it, pulls it - nothing works. The left leg sighs helplessly.

Right leg (sobbing). Noah was a righteous and blameless man in his generation.
Zhenya (to the Surgeon). You know, this is some kind of nonsense. If the end of the world had come, it would already be too late to scream. Therefore, I will, I must scream, call, and even squeal like an uncut pig — aren't you about to cut me?
Surgeon. Your right. I am here to help you get out. I would like to get out myself, but no one helped me.
Head. Relations with legs are very important. Our connection with legs reflects our relations with the world in general.

The surgeon takes out the ultrasound device, applies gel to the sensor. The surgeon's hands are trembling. He touches the sensor to the Right leg — it giggles nervously, squirms.

The left leg moves in thrash dance in sync with the Surgeon’s movements.

Left leg. Brrr. We seem to have gotten into trouble.
Zhenya. This is some kind of absurdity. This cannot be. My body parts cannot detach from my body, I must be dreaming. (to the Left leg) Hey, you, back quickly, to your place!

But she does not obey her and continues to dance.

The sound of boiling water is heard. Zhenya notices that here, in the surgeon room, there is a pot of water on the stove.

Zhenya (breathing heavily). Okay, I need to calm down. This all just seems to me, just seems. In the modern world, no one, no one sterilizes surgical instruments in boiling water.
The Surgeon. Don't worry that much. The procedure is performed under ultrasound guidance to more accurately determine the puncture site.
Zhenya. That doesn't really bother me right now. What bothers me is how to get out of here. (looking closely at the Surgeon) And, you know, you have such cloudy eyes, doctor, like glass. That can't be true! It doesn't happen! You don't exist. And in general, this only happens in horror movies where drunk doctors operate on patients.

Zhenya tries to get up again, but nothing comes of it. The left leg even sympathetically kicks the right one, trying to lift it.

Left leg. Well, come on, get up! Time to use the legs. (to the Head) Help, you fool!

He shakes his head violently from side to side.

Left leg. Help, I say to you! Otherwise, I'll, u-u!

The left leg threateningly swings at the Head.

The head obediently hangs on the Right leg, trying to pull it down.

Right leg (tearfully). Noah walked with God.
Left leg. Stop whining! Stop whining, we're all walking there! Get up! (To the head) Useless you…

The head jumps down onto the floor.

Zhenya (confused). I…I can't pull myself together. It's not working. I don't understand why. I close my eyes - and everything remains the same. Doctor, what's your name? It's like I've seen you somewhere before, but I don't recognize you.
Surgeon. You will recognize me again, don't worry.

The surgeon winks at Zhenya.

Zhenya. Very funny. Tell me, at least to whom I should write a complaint if I survive?
The Surgeon. Better to write on yourself. Or to the Lord God, whom you've already mentioned in vain here.

The surgeon steps away from the surgical table. He retrieves medical instruments from a pot of boiling water, including a knife and syringes. He turns off the stove, but the sound of boiling does not disappear.

Suddenly Zhenya notices her veins on her legs: blood bubbles and boils in them. She becomes frightened.

Zhenya (realizing with horror). Doctor, something's wrong with my legs... There's something wrong with them!
Surgeon. You see, you need my help.
Head. “I lie on the surgical table in layers,” states a famous song by an unknown author. It was often sung in the 2000s at summer camps during my childhood. And then we fantasized about something elevated — the romantic death of a noble hero, like Pushkin, killed in a duel. And how strange it is today to find in his place not the set sun of Russian poetry, but an extra person, a drunkard, and a bandit, of which there aren't actually so few around.
Right leg. Noah begot three sons: Shem, Ham, and Japheth. But the earth was corrupt before God, and the earth was filled with violence.
Head. My parents often held feasts, inviting their friends. The table was laden with food: back then, my father loved to cook. The frozen eyes of the parents and the sharp smell of alcohol that hit a child's nose: they would pick us up during the feast. In these moments, my father and mother seemed strange to me. I tried to hide in another room or slip outside, walk until nightfall — just not to see them. Just to avoid those unwanted kisses, hugs that aroused a feeling of disgust in me.

The surgeon brings the knife to the Right Leg and makes an incision. Blood flows out of it and spreads, filling the entire room.

Left leg (panicking). I feel like I’ve become smaller. Something happened. I am diminishing! I’m scared. We are all becoming smaller!

The Head lunges at the Surgeon and bites him on the arm. The Surgeon braces himself, trying to shake off the tightly gripping Head.

Surgeon (to Zhenya). Oh! Are you alright?

The left leg also jumps off the surgical table and thrashes at the window, trying to break outside.

Left leg. We need to get out. We will not stay here any longer.
Zhenya. Do you really want to know how I feel? Or are you just doing your job? (to Head) Yuck, stop it, quickly! (To left leg) You too!

The left leg glances at Zhenya, calms down.

Surgeon. These are just veins. You have a non-working valve in your leg. We will seal it, and the bleeding will stop immediately.

The left leg drags the Head away from the Surgeon.

Blood spilled on the floor gathers in separate sections, forming pools-bruises.

Zhenya. It's too late to run from here now anyway. Just imagine, I run and immediately fall: I slip on all these puddles of my own blood. Or I fall from weakness. It would be awkward, wouldn't it? Let's better change the subject — you... Do you know why I'm here?
Surgeon. You couldn't not end up here.
Zhenya (snorting). Something like that. It's my fate, passed down from my father.

While Surgeon and Zhenya are talking, Head and Left Leg go to the window again. Now they act together: Leg slides her fingers under the sashes, and Head presses the handle with her teeth.

Surgeon. How is it with the great poet — your dad of the most hardened rules?
Head. I'm not a fan of Pushkin. And Russian literature in general: it took away my parents, if you think about it. My father used to work at a school. He had tissue necrosis on his left leg at that time. He didn't even have time to react, they lived in a village, five hours from the city. A rural school, small. No hospitals nearby, no doctors either. He just had a piece of flesh fall off his leg, out of nowhere - that's how he told it.
Surgeon. It's good that medicine has advanced greatly since then. And you're not there, you're here!
Zhenya. Is he doing well? Not particularly, because he has been struggling all his life. As for me, yes, I'm a bit luckier. But that's not certain either: this isn't my first time here. So, your medicine can't do anything, doctor.

The Head and Left Leg, tired, abandon their activity.

Left leg. I feel nothing, no strength. Bad, I feel very bad.

Taking a breath, Head begins to wander around the surgeon room, examining the pools of blood. The left leg attempts to climb up onto the table.

Zhenya. Will your valves start working soon, doctor? Otherwise, the Great Flood has already happened, and I'm still lying here.
Surgeon. The valves are not mine, but yours. You're being too confrontational, I'm just trying to help you, sincerely.

The Head sighs at the sight of the Left Leg's futile attempts and decides to help - stands up as a support. Zhenya and the Surgeon observe them.

Zhenya. And I don't bite anymore, if you noticed. And not me, but my head: it is now strong and independent.
Surgeon. Next step - anesthesia. Soon you'll be free.

The left leg climbs onto the Head, then jumps onto the table and immediately, bending over, falls asleep.

The head joyfully splashes in the bloody lakes, like a child.

A huge lamp hanging from the ceiling turns into the sun. The sun is burning more intensely. Head, Left Leg, Surgeon, and Zhenya are covered in sweat.

In some places, the blood lakes on the floor dry up and petrify, turning into volcanic islands. The head checks them with teeth - grimaces at their hardness.

Zhenya. I am lying flat on the surgical table.

Head gestures to the islands for the Left Leg, trying to drag her off the table to get her attention. But she just sleeps peacefully. Then the Head sits on one of the newly formed islands.

Head. Some time ago he was fired from the store. He told me almost immediately as soon as I arrived to visit them. He even came out to meet me in the yard. In general, he never calls me. And doesn't write messages, to ask, for example, how I am doing. Only if he needs money or some help - to visit government services or something like that.

The surgeon draws the anesthetic solution into the syringe.

Surgeon. Now there will be an injection. The solution surrounds the vein, numbs it, and protects the surrounding tissues from thermal exposure.
Zhenya. Well, go ahead. (indifferently humming) Two gunshot wounds in the young body...

The surgeon gives the first injection.

Right leg screams - because of this, Left wakes up, jumps up, rushes around the table, not knowing how to help Right.

Left leg. What? Where? How?
Right leg (through the pain). And God blessed Noah and his sons and said to them: be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth.
Left leg (noticing the islands). Land, I see land! But... I feel lonely, very lonely. And it hurts so much that there's no one around, no one nearby. And I... I am not needed by anyone. Not interesting, not loved, there's no need for me, no external necessity, no justification for me to exist in this world - to be!
Head. By the way, he usually doesn't return monetary debts, apparently, I owe him, as they say, for a lifetime: for the fact that he gave birth to me, raised me... And I don't ask for it back - I don't care either. Now he doesn't ask for anything at all, some strange pride has awakened in him. He doesn't want to owe me anything, or anyone in the family. He says he's tired of being our father and tired of being a husband.

The surgeon injects the right leg with a syringe several times in a row.

From every prick on the frozen islands, grass grows - as if from fertilizers planted in the ground.

The head smells the grassy thickets on the islands. With her strong inhalations, a breeze rises - the grass rustles.

Right leg. Noah began to cultivate the land and planted a vineyard.
Left leg. What to do, what to do? Why am I here? Why am I needed if I can't, if I could save him?

From the wind, wind ripples spread across the smooth surface of the lakes. Fish begin to splash in the bloody water.

The head carelessly catches fish with its teeth in the lakes.

Head. Lately, he forbids me from looking at his legs. Sometimes I see them, and they are such a color that it seems like they are, you know, dead. A kind of purple-black look, sometimes with red sores. He must not drink, because it affects circulation, meaning, blood doesn't reach where it should. And also, because he sits a lot at the table when he drinks, but he needs to move. And he eats just as much. When a person consumes a lot of alcohol, the feeling of satiation is generally dulled - you can eat very, very much without noticing. And he can't, that's extra weight, pressure on the veins. He mustn't.

The water in the lakes is gradually rising — this is evident by the degree of submersion of the Head. Head looks at itself worriedly, releasing the fish from its teeth.

Head. If we start scolding him too much, he says that he has lived “for us” too much, and now he wants to live “for himself.” For us — meaning for his children and wife, it turns out. He often states that he gave us an education, fulfilled his obligations to us, and now he can do whatever he wants. That is, drink. At some point, mom fell out of this equation — probably after the divorce. I don't know if he still loves her, or if he is even capable of loving anymore. It doesn't sound like an excuse from him. Or even, rather, like an accusation of his ruined life. But who is to blame for this? All of us? Including me, it turns out. He says that he was always a bad father to us, and I try to convince him that it's not true, not always, at least. However, I can hardly remember why.
Zhenya (humming). Life was meaningless, was such a life. (to the Surgeon) Doctor, by the way, I can see that you are swaying. You are drunk, you can barely stand on your legs. And yet you denied it.
Surgeon. And there is no truth in the legs at all.
Zhenya. Witty, of course.

A drop of blood falls on Zhenya from above — one, another. A bloody rain begins.

The water in the lakes keeps rising — Head nearly chokes, rushing to the shore. She shakes off the droplets like a wet dog.

Zhenya. What… What is happening? Something with the ceiling?

Zhenya and Surgeon lift their heads up.

The ceiling is indeed all cracked — more and more: blood is dripping from the cracks.

Zhenya (worriedly). Could something go wrong, doctor? Just tell me honestly. For the first time, no jokes, tell me the truth: can I... We may not get out of here?
Surgeon. You don't need to worry about anything. This will all be over soon. We will complete the operation, and everything will be as before, just different.
Right leg. And he drank wine, and got drunk...
Left leg. There! That's exactly what I'm feeling right now: disgusting intoxication. (To the right leg) Aren't you tired of this biblical hurdy-gurdy yet? Get up, we're about to drown!
Right leg. ...and lay naked in his tent.

The left leg kicks the Right one, but slips in place. The Right leg does not react.

The head restlessly flies around the islands: the water begins to inundate the land.

Head. My biggest nightmare is that he will one day become disabled. I will have to go home - to a place I stopped considering my home long ago. And sacrifice my young life on the altar of someone else's egoism. Why someone else's? My father's. Why a sacrifice? Because "honor your parents." I will be forced to take care of him. Because leaving him without help in such a state is inhumane. Because I am his child, and I must, otherwise I am a moral freak: in his eyes, in my own eyes, and to everyone around. Because otherwise everything will fall on my mother like the breastplate of a drowned woman. She won't be able to leave him alone in that state - of course, better to sink all together! After all, he is her husband, old, sick, unhappy. Although he is an ex, he is the father of her children. If he has gangrene or some other complication, she will stay with him.
Zhenya (helplessly). Leaving just the pain... Such is life... (To the Surgeon) Doctor, when exactly? Will all this end? I'm lying here, unable to move. And something is happening around, something abnormal, clearly. I don't remember how I ended up here. I didn't take any tests, didn't plan this surgery. And this is not a dream, I pinched myself many times already.
Surgeon. We are waiting for the anesthesia to take effect. You should not feel anything when I perform the operation.

The dripping from the ceiling stops. The head rises, gazing off into the distance — at Zhenya and the other body parts.

The surgeon wipes drop of rain from the table and Zhenya.

Head. Sometimes I think: what if I haven't done something I could have to help him? Take him to church, pray together? They say sometimes people can be saved like that — through fervent faith. If only I had it... Maybe scare him by saying I'll throw him out on the street? Formally, I can, they live in my apartment. But that's cruel... I can also say a kind word, cry, say how much I miss him — reach his heart... Or solve everything at once, by force: call a private sobering-up station and place him in a clinic? It seems that this is illegal, but such organizations definitely exist in Russia. And once I even told him that it would be better if he took his own life than live like this.

The sun-lamp gradually dims.

The head lies down and falls asleep alone on the island.

Zhenya. By the way, if you find it, cut me some more conscience. I won't need it anymore.
Head (yawning, through sleep). Essentially, what difference does it make to him: to die quickly, by his own will, or like this, little by little every day, when he torments all of us, his loved ones? The first option is even better, there's a sense that you're in control of something in your life, and the harm to loved ones is less. I then felt ashamed, terribly ashamed for these words and for my thoughts. But I probably dream that he would have a heart attack or a stroke — something incompatible with life. And so that there is no one around, because then no one will have to carry this burden — a disabled person in the family. Once my friend said that the day her alcoholic father died was the first when she and her mom smiled.

The sun-lamp finally goes out.

Left leg (whispering). I don't feel anything! I'm scared. And it's very dark.

Mountains arise on the islands — these are veins that swell and show through the earth's crust. The head wakes up, gets scared, bounces off them — in one direction, then another.

The veins on the Right leg gather into clusters, forming constellations. Pressing together, they light up one by one, in turn, like during roll call, and then they all blink together, like a Christmas garland.

The head squints at this sight, blinks.

Surgeon. A little mosquito is going to bite you now, but you won't feel anything.
Zhenya. We're not in kindergarten, doctor?.. You speak as if we...

The head looks around: it recognizes nothing around.

Head. I don't feel anything anymore. Quite a long time. Not feeling anything — it's even better, safer, I guess. But then I somehow found out that I don't want anything. Absolutely nothing, you understand? A young girl, in the prime of life, and truly, I no longer need anything in life. Yet, I have so many ideas, plans. (embarrassed) I even have a dream, but no will to fulfill it, to strive for something — none. I don't want to do anything, everything seems pointless, like some kind of flailing. Instead, I want to drink something, especially in the evening. Champagne, for example, for the mood — Friday mood, New Year's, or some other, just to drink. Then there was a fascination with cocktails, then more — and so every day. And if I didn't drink, then my mood is shot: it's like there's no celebration in life. And in the morning, there's a strength decline again, because I have to do something, move my paws — and the circle is closed.
Surgeon. I say it like this, about a little mosquito, because you're acting like a child. Is it not scary now?
Zhenya (confused). Now? It seems not...

The surgeon waves his hands in the air like a magician over a screen.

The head begins to slowly waltz, taking the Left leg along.

The left leg doesn't like it at all, it tries to sneak away — as a result, it dances very awkwardly. The head laughs at it.

Left leg. I am very angry. Angry that I got all of this, all these torments. I did not deserve them. We did not deserve them! I am angry! I feel disappointment! And helplessness that nothing can be changed.
Head. This helplessness, I have nowhere to put it. I can no longer look at him now. His face has blurred and swollen. He started to look like his mother, my namesake, grandmother Zhenya — which means I look like him too. And I am becoming more like him as I age. Can you imagine what it's like not to want, not to be able to look at your own father? He has neglected his self-care, has lost his teeth. He's given up on himself. And recently his nose began bleeding — constantly, without stopping. This scared all of us. But he won't go to the doctor, he won't go to the hospital. I don’t know why — it’s some sort of act of willful suicide. Maybe he doesn't want to die alone among strangers. Or he is ashamed that someone else might see him like this, besides us. Or he doesn't want to be in a clear state of mind — maybe it would be too painful, to die sober, seeing his reality as it is? And what about us? Should we respect his decision?

The surgeon stops moving his hands.

Surgeon. So, we inserted the catheter through the puncture. A thin fiber optic is going through the catheter.
Zhenya. Fiber optic — is this for connecting to my body?
Surgeon (laughs). Sort of - for transmitting light. There is light in your body now. And we are on the same wavelength. Or on familiar terms.
Zhenya. And from the ceiling, it seems, it has stopped dripping. That's good.
Head. There's an expression: “Barely escaped with my life.” This is when you want to run away, but you can't. There are things in life that you simply can't run away from. And no matter where you go or fly, they always stay with you, pressing on you with their existence. In general, I stopped drinking, forbade myself in one evening. That's it — no more, not at all! It's known where this leads. As soon as I want something like that, I immediately do the opposite — absolutely do not drink if I'm sad or lonely. And there's always the feeling of an impending stone, which is about to fall from above and crush me, like my father.
Left leg (enthusiastically). The light — it is so beautiful. The light inside me. It makes me feel like this… I feel warm, I feel at peace.
Right leg. And Ham, the father of Canaan, saw the nakedness of his father, and went outside to tell his two brothers.
Head. For some reason, mom is not home. Where is she? I don't know. I'm about six years old or so. I sneak around the twilight apartment, past the parents' bedroom. I behave quietly, very quietly, because father is sleeping. He snores very loudly — people who have been drinking often snore like that. And I sneak and I am afraid to peek inside. For some reason, I imagine that he fell asleep naked. And under no circumstances should I see him like that: mom won't like it. And neither will he if he finds out. And I'm scared, I will definitely be punished for this. So I shouldn't be here. I sneak into my room and keep this secret from everyone, and it stays with me to this day.
Surgeon. The fiber optic is to seal the valve. It advances forward, along the vein, and soon it will be in place. Ahead are a couple more stages, and that's it. The operation is performed strictly according to protocol. This means that everything will be all right. Remember? I'm here to help you get out.
Zhenya. It seems like you're telling the truth for the first time. I believe you, doctor. But you still haven't mentioned your name.

The left leg finally breaks free from the dance. Sits on the edge of the surgical table — tries to catch its breath. The head continues to waltz with an imaginary partner.

Head. No one ever called what was happening drunkenness or alcohol dependence. These words seemed to have a spell on them, a magical taboo — as if by not speaking them aloud, like the true name of the Old Testament God, no terrible punishment would come. Then the father will not become a doomed man, our family will not fall apart, and the children will not suffer — neither up to the first, nor up to the seventh generation, carrying this burden of impotence with them into adult life.
Right leg. Sim and Iafet took the garment, laid it upon their shoulders, went backward, and covered the nakedness of their father. Their faces were turned backward, and they did not see their father's nakedness.
Head (still dancing). My father, when he left school, worked at an orphanage as a teacher for ten years. When they moved to Moscow, he couldn’t find a job, couldn’t keep up with the times – and the place either. It was I who insisted on the move, since the healthcare here is better, and they are already not young – so they agreed. Is there my fault in what happened to him afterward? I feel that this failure was eating him from the inside. He was chased by a feeling of his own inadequacy – like oversized luggage in a postal shipment, forgotten in another city. He left it there, but the parcel caught up with him nonetheless – it reached him at the new address. He looked for a position for a long time, went to interviews. I helped him write a resume, we even responded to ads together. But nobody hired him. And as it turned out, there are no orphanages in Moscow: I later learned that this is specially designed, so as not to give orphans metropolitan housing. My father became despondent from the failures, slowly began drinking again, and my mother started to “nag” him for doing it with her money.
Surgeon. I will now turn on the laser device. It may be a bit uncomfortable, but it will pass quickly.
Zhenya. Good. I'll try to close my eyes and think of something nice so I don't notice.

The surgeon actually clicks on some buttons — the whirring of a working machine is heard.

Left leg. I... I feel warm and calm. I'm in safe hands.

The left leg stretches and falls asleep again, curled up into a ball.

The mountains on the islands begin to move, forming ravines between them. Have you ever noticed that after unsuccessful operations, people have deep indentations on their legs — where their veins used to be? Well, the ravines on the islands appear just like that, riddled with sorrow.

Head (whispering, so as not to wake the Left leg). And then father got a job as a salesman in a store, and there, you know, the crowd is corresponding. So, he started drinking even more. And he's a man over fifty, sick — who needs such workers? This was told to him by all of Moscow life — the capital of crazy money, but by no means a city of weak-willed losers from the Far East. Probably earlier, when he worked with children, he felt important and needed: there he helped them with homework, picked them up from school, taught them cooking, mending clothes — in short, prepared them for adult life. He is very domestic in general, he just lost interest in everything now. And when he left for Moscow, all these meanings in his life were gone.

The surgeon stops, wipes sweat from his forehead.

Surgeon (to Zhenya). Hey, are you still here? We're almost done.

But Zhenya is silent.

Veins from Zhenya's Left and Right legs spread in different directions. They extend their branches, from the body to the table, and beyond. Finally, they reach the islands with mountains and grow there, in the hollows — like young trees blooming.

Right leg. Noah awoke from his wine and knew what his younger son had done unto him, and said: Cursed be Canaan; a servant of servants shall he be unto his brethren.

The head joyfully darts between the trees — like a monkey in the jungle. And it shouts, spouting one word at a time.

Head. Senseless! Words! And! Not! Needed! Senseless! Was! You! Lying! On! The! Surgical! Table! Layered!

Zhenya wakes up. Tries to say something, but nothing comes out.

Zhenya. A-a-d-d.
Surgeon. What did you say?
Left leg (enthusiastically). I feel like something new, unprecedented is happening. I'm all different, new, different! And my life is now different!
Surgeon. The laser beam heats the inner surface of the vein wall, causing damage to it. But that's okay, it's for the best.
Zhenya. A-a-d-d.
Head. Mom looks at my father and says, “Monster, where have you put my husband?”. He listens and smirks in response; he doesn’t care. I see it all. And I think that he is no longer quite human, as it were. He has lost interest in us, his family. And he has no desires — ordinary, human ones, like going on vacation or buying new jeans. Here, for example, the Garden of Eden — there a person commits sin and gains free will, but here with us, on earth, everything is upside down. And so, Mom asks me to help her with him. She writes to me that she is really looking forward to my visit. I make excuses that I will only be at their place for one day, passing through, and I don’t have time to deal with all this. After all, only she can help herself, and I cannot take responsibility for their life and their decisions — they are adults... I often have the thought that in our relationship, the child is her, Mom, not me. She has always been so helpless, always counted on having someone strong beside her to lean on. Perhaps at one time he justified these expectations. But now he is broken, and I am supposed to fulfill this function?
Zhenya. A-e-r. T-r-e-r-e? O-u-u-y?
Surgeon (worrying about Zhenya). Please wait a little longer. The gluing will happen very soon. And the spliced vein will dissolve and disappear over time.

The Left leg twirls in ecstasy.

Left leg. It's as if I'm overflowing with warmth! It's inside me!
Right leg. Then he said: blessed be the Lord God of Shem; Canaan will be a slave to him.
Head. One morning he comes out, barely standing on his legs: this time he's not drunk. He's just dizzy. And he dictates the PIN code of his card: "Zhenya, remember: seven, nine, three, two. There's money to bury me." I don't know how to react. I quip: why is he planning to die, when it's such a fine morning? He silently leaves: his nose is bleeding again.

Clusters form on the trees, buds bloom. They unfold, and birds fly out from them. The room fills with heavenly chirping.

The Head and the Left Leg are enchanted by what they see.

Right leg. May God enlarge Japheth, and let him dwell in the tents of Shem; And Canaan shall be his servant.
Zhenya. A-e-r. T-r-e-r-e? O-u-u-y?

The Head and the Left Leg come closer to Zhenya, examining her.

Left leg. Something about its condition bothers me. Is everything okay with it at all?
Head. Mom and I are talking about what to do if it happens. She will have to do it herself, because I won't be able to come so quickly from another country.
Left leg (pushing the Head). Just shut up! I'm asking seriously, and you both, with the Right, as if conspired! (nodding at the Surgeon) Maybe we should ask this one?

The head sighs, with a movement of the eyelids shows agreement.

Left leg. Hey, comrade Surgeon! Do we have resurrection coming up soon according to the plan? Or are we still stuck at the Great Flood, it seems.
Surgeon. Now it's done, now the blood begins to flow into the healthy deep veins. And your treated vein will gradually turn into connective tissue.
Zhenya. A-a-a-d-d-y. E-r-u-a-r? O-v-v-e-l. L-o-u-u-a. I.
Right leg. And Noah lived after the flood for three hundred fifty years.
Left leg. Okay, that's it, I've had enough!

The left leg is trying to pull Zhenya off the surgical table, tugging her by the arm - nothing comes of it.

Surgeon. Now we will extract the optical fiber — there will be a slight pulling sensation.

The surgeon pulls the fiber optic cable towards himself, extracting it from the Right leg and wrapping it around his hand. The constellations on the Right Leg dim — gradually, one by one.

The left leg jumps onto the table.

Along with this, the birds fall silent, hiding in the trees. The trees wither, descend, disappearing underground. The venous branches also return back into the body of Zhenya.

Head. It seems the question of moving father to another place has been resolved. My mother no longer insists on anything. Previously she wanted me to help them separate — well, of course, I, who else? But now mother doesn't want unnecessary movements. We are just frozen and waiting. She prefers to complain to me again and again at any opportunity, what a torment it is to live under the same roof with an alcoholic. I advise her time and again: she must find a rented apartment either for herself or for him. We can't do anything else.

The left leg knocks Zhenya down.

The head fearfully bounces from side to side to avoid hindering the “assembly” process. Grabbing Zhenya with its teeth, it drags her to a safe place.

Zhenya. O-v-v-e-l. O-u-u-a. I. A-a-a-d-d-y. E-r-u-a-r?
Head. She doesn't know what to do when it happens. She needs an action plan — who to call? It's necessary to call an ambulance to officially record the fact of non-violent death. And the corpse will definitely need to be cremated because we can't afford a place in the capital's cemetery. That's what I advise her — I'm not shy to say anything anymore, right? What would be better: if she finds him dead in the next room, or if she has to go all the way to the other side of Moscow to deal with his body?

The surgeon collects all parts of Zhenya's body and places them on the table one by one.

The last venous star fades away, and it becomes completely dark.

The lamp-bright sun is scorching again. Only islands and bloody lakes remain—and they too are drying up.

The surgeon applies a medical bandage to the Right leg. The Head and the Left leg, standing nearby, watch the proceedings.

Left leg. Not a very pleasant feeling, to be honest.
Surgeon. We will now apply compression stockings to the puncture site. You will need to wear them for several days.
Zhenya. A-a-p-k. U-u-b-l. U-u-a-p-k-a-a.
Left leg. And it seems it didn’t help. But at least the right one shut up with its moralizing, who is whose son and who has lived how long.
Head. A morning event at school, where my father is a young man with red mustache, and I am a blonde girl with blue ribbons. Daddy with a folder, daddy with a folder at the microphone: he is the main one here, he is leading this celebration. He is in a business suit, and I am in my mother's arms. I look around: in awe of how many well-dressed strangers are around me, and searching for my father, because he must be here! We came here for him! Finally, I see him. And I shout: “D-a-a-ddy!”. Father, not paying attention, continues to lead the program. And I shout again: “Daddy!”. Mom is embarrassed, moves away from the crowd, persuades me: "Quiet, darling!". I am only one year old, I understand nothing. But everyone turns to look at me, and I like it, I love attention! So, I shout again. “Da-a-ddy!”. Father finally gives in: he can't suppress joyful laughter: of course, he recognized my voice. “Da-a-ddy!”. Mom hurriedly takes me away from the celebration, and my journey into life is just beginning. And his journey into fatherhood too. “Da-a-a-ddy!”.

The surgeon pulls a tight stocking over the right leg. The left leg groans with displeasure.

Left leg. It's kind of tight...
Zhenya. O-v-v-e-l. O-u-u-a. I. D-y-a-a-d.
Right leg. And all the days of Noah were nine hundred and fifty years, and he died.
Left leg. I'll get you, o-o-o!

The Left Leg rushes towards the Right. The Head blocks its path, calming down.

Head. Wait, wait, I'll handle this myself (to Left). According to one interpretation, Noah was not much of a righteous man. Some thought he was only righteous in his own generation, as he lacked the virtues of other biblical patriarchs. What do you say to that?
Right leg (like a chewed-up record). Here is the genealogy of Shem after the flood of Noah's sons Ham, and Japheth's sons were born to them, children of Japheth: Gomer, Ashkenaz, Sons of Gomer...
Head. But here's wrong!
Left leg. Wrong, incorrect, that's it!

The Head and the Left Leg tease the Right Leg.

Right leg. Elisha, Farsis, Kittim, Magog, Madai, Dodanim, Iavana, Firas, Rifat and Fogarma. Sons...
Head. But he lived quite a normal life, more than some saints. Also, the Old Testament is interpreted in such a way that Noah did not try hard enough to save the rest of humanity: he barely rebuked his contemporaries for their sins and threatened them with the impending retribution — the Great Flood. Incidentally, some condemn Noah for the well-known episode where he drank wine to the point of unconsciousness and fell asleep naked, leading his son astray — saying it's unbecoming behavior. By the way, according to one version, the younger son was condemned to eternal slavery for raping his drunken father, Noah.
Surgeon. Well, it's all over now. You can slowly get up.

The surgeon removes the screen. The right leg in a stocking rise, looks at itself with surprise, bends down, flexes. It does this with difficulty.

The right leg joyously flings itself towards the other body parts. They gather together, embrace.

Right leg. My dear ones, I... I am with you!
Left leg. And now, it seems, it helped. Now I truly feel relief, and that I am not alone!
Zhenya. O-v-v-e-l. O-u-u-a. I.

Body parts become alert. They gather around Zhenya, leaning over.

Left leg. And what to do? It doesn't lift. Hey, doctor, do something!

But the Surgeon only begins to clean the surgeon room - one by one the bodies of water and the former solid ground disappear.

Right leg. There is, it seems, this... idea.

The right leg takes its place, settling next to Zhenya. The left leg examines her with surprise.

Left leg (indignantly). Hey, what about freedom, brotherhood, equality?!
Head. Violence can be understood differently, you know? It's enough to do something against a father's will — for example, to force him to receive treatment or live a different life, not the one he wants. Can salvation itself be coercive? Against the will of the person themselves?
Zhenya. A-a-d-a-a-d-a. O-v-v-e-l. O-u-u-a.

The left leg follows the example of its sister.

Left leg. Okay, if there's no other way…

The last to join Zhenya is Head.

Collected Zhenya stands up from the table, examines herself entirely. The sun has turned into a lamp, the ceiling has cleared of cracks, and the floor of stains. Again, the surgeon room, and it is clean.

Zhenya, not believing her eyes, rushes to hug the Surgeon.

Zhenya. Dad, I love you.

The Surgeon lies down on the table, in Zhenya's place. Zhenya's body parts disassemble again, surrounding the Surgeon.

THE END

Amsterdam, 2025