gets up, wipes his hands on a napkin, takes his jacket, puts it on, goes to the exit.
Demyan (turns around, looks sternly seriously at his friend). Oleg, how are you? Is everything okay? Can I leave you alone?
Oleg (trying to hold on). Yes, my friend, thank you. Tomorrow at eight. Thanks for stopping by.
Demyan nods, after seriously examining the room and Oleg for the last time, and leaves.
ZTM
Scene 3
House. Room. The room is in order. It is clear that the master's hand had a place to be here. Everything is in place, but somehow in a different way.
Oleg and Demyan are returning from a run. Both are somewhat out of breath, still partially at a running pace, in tracksuits, everything is as it should be.
Demyan comes in second, closes the door behind him and immediately sits down on the floor with his back to the door. Trying to catch his breath.
Oleg, at a barely noticeable running pace, makes a couple more circles around the table.
Oleg (relatively cheerfully). Demyan, what are you doing? You can't change the pace abruptly right after a run like that. Don't you know? First, we take a step, then we can sit down. But not immediately.
Oleg takes a step, but continues to walk around the table.
Oleg (relatively cheerfully). Come on, come on, get up, walk a little…
Demyan begins to walk with his feet, but his ass is still on the floor, and his back, as before, holds the door.
Demyan (wearily). Walking on the spot. Will that do?
Oleg (relatively cheerfully). This is you "sitting" on the spot, and not walking on the spot turns out. But… At least so.
The men stop their move. Both are located on the sofa. Oleg sits down first, Demyan crawls on all fours there on the sofa second.
Demyan (climbing onto the sofa and settling down there). I'm going to die. That's the truth, the truth says – the road to hell is paved with good intentions!
Oleg hugs his friend with one hand.
Oleg (with warmth). Thank you, my friend. If it weren't for you, I would probably still be sitting and looking at a pot of potatoes, and mourning Taisiya's departure. Of course, I'm still not completely gone yet, but still somehow it even seems to work out… for some reason. Although I didn't really hope for it. It's all thanks to you.
Demyan (in a blissful voice). Go on, go on…
Oleg (with warmth and irony). Oh, what a wonderful friend I have! Always support, always give a helping hand! Always in a difficult moment will be there and pull you out of any scrape! My faithful support! My compass! My core and life vector!
Demyan (in a blissful voice, savoring). Ooooooooo of daaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
Demyan sits down on the sofa in a normal way, he is no longer dying of fatigue, he is already in shape.
Demyan (busily). Well, I've had enough laurels and praises for today. Tell me, what are your plans for the rest of your life?
Oleg (with warmth, removing his hand from his friend). Who knows, my friend. What plans – to live! But you know… we assume, but God disposes. Who would have known that this is how it would all come out…
Demyan (interrupts). Well, okay, okay, don't go into these sad philosophical thoughts. Aren't we still alive today?
Oleg (with warmth). Alive…
Demyan (cheerfully). So, since we are given this day– we must do something! We must not live this day in vain! We must justify our existence today! To do something good, something kind! Something useful! Something needed by people, something pleasing to the world! Here, for example…
Both are mysteriously thinking.
Demyan (very seriously and mysteriously). Let's eat something, otherwise my world, my inner world, is really asking for something to be thrown into it. Jogging, fresh air… They did their job, and then, after work, I didn't really lean on dinner to make it easier to run.
Oleg (kindly, with a smile). I agree, I myself only ate scrambled eggs after work "hastily" and hit the road.
Demyan (with faint hope). Listen, and… you probably have nothing but yesterday's potatoes, don't you?
Oleg is thinking.
Oleg (thoughtfully). Well… Let's take a look. You can always cook something up if you don't have your hands out… on the spot, in general!
Demyan (cheerfully). Precisely! And you and I are growing our hands from the right place. Let's go roll up a culinary work of art from an axe… the
men cheerfully get up and head to the kitchen, but they are stopped by a knock on the door.
Oleg and Demyan exchange glances.
Oleg (thoughtfully, doubtfully). Did the wife and son come back?
Demyan stands with a strange expression on his face. It's hard to decipher his thoughts. He is silent, evasively shrugs his shoulders.
Oleg walks quickly to the door, opens it, a girl enters the room. Not too young, but pretty, in a body. She has a package in her hand. The girl smiles, he waves affably to Demyan, looks at Oleg with greedy eyes, holds out his hand to him like a man.
Ira (joyfully, sincerely). Ira!
Oleg stands at a loss, looking at Ira and at his friend.
Demyan (prompting Oleg delicately). Well… probably, according to the rules of good form, you need to at least extend your hand to the girl, and also introduce yourself …
Oleg remembers where he is and what he is, assesses the situation adequately, extends his hand to Ira and introduces himself in response.
Oleg (confused, with a lot of questions on his face). Oleg!
Ira (joyfully, sincerely, positively, with pressure). Oleg? Very pleasant. Short and concise. (With irony, and a kind cunning, looking at Demyan) Not like Demyan! You'll break your tongue while you say it. I'm not really strong in Old Slavonic, of course, someone may like it. But here's the name Oleg, I like it much more than Demyan, honestly!
Demyan (to Ira, deliberately sternly). So! Conversations in the stand!
Ira (playfully, to Demyan). Oh, come on, Comrade Foreman! It's all empty.
Ira passes to the table in a masterly manner, lays out a bag of lard and a loaf of bread on it.
Ira (positively). Look at the lard I brought you! Home-salted, yesterday only the godfather from the village sent.
Ira inhales the aromas, savors.
Ira (positively, complacently). And the smell, what, eh?
Ira turns to Oleg, takes a loaf of bread in her hand again, shows it to Oleg, luring and enticing.
Ira (positively, complacently, to Oleg). Bread!
