p>Chupped blockheads
Fedor Laburchenko
Fedor Mashina
Translated by Natalia Grigorieva
Editor and proofreader Maria Beloglazova
© Fedor Laburchenko, 2024
© Fedor Mashina, 2024
ISBN 978-5-0062-7499-0
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
Episode 1
Scene 1
Maria was sitting at the work table in the poorly-lit utility room of her laboratory. A heap of piled-up experiment results and an open bottle of brandy presented to her by someone seemed to cry out that all her work was moving to hell.
Upon entering the room unexpectedly, Fyodor noticed that his partner had not yet consumed a drop of alcohol. So, not all was lost.
FYODOR: Maria Vladimirovna, don’t you think you’ve finished your working day a bit early today?
MARIA: Stop it, I have nothing finished yet. Can’t you see I’m having a little creative crisis here?
Fyodor sharply pushed a chair towards Maria’s desk and sat down opposite the girl, trying to look into her eyes. But in vain. Maria sat with her shoulders slouched, her eyes seemed to poke holes in the neck of the bottle, her stare was blank and tired.
FYODOR: I repeat it for the five thousandth time, Masha, people are not pigs, it’s not your fault that this man died. Do you think someone could have done something like that if he had any hope of recovery? I tell you NO! He was a goner! Not a ghost of a chance. This is the only truth you need to take in, and that’s all. Clear?
Slowly, Maria turned her gaze away from the bottle and smoothly shifted it to Fyodor, who felt a bit sweaty after his emotional speech, as the shiny drops on his forehead confirmed.
Maria thought things were worse than she had expected. A moment ago, Fyodor tried to cheer her up, though usually it was she who brought him to his senses before even the most trifling test. And now he was yelling at her, a respected microbiologist, as if she was a snotty first-year student. Masha had a wild desire to have a drink. Her hand reached out to the precious vessel of brandy, but Fyodor grabbed the bottle and returned it back to the table.
FYODOR (calmly this time): Masha, get yourself together now. Let’s make a deal. As soon as all is over, you and I will have a drink. Together. Together. If you like, we’ll call the whole department to join us! But now we have to work. You’ve put a lot of effort into this project. You must reach the end. Mom wouldn’t forgive you…
MASHA (a little offended): Don’t mention mom…
FYODOR: Well, why not? We do all this in memory of her. You and I know for sure she watches us from there! (Fyodor pointed upward.) And she rejoices at your success, at every new step.
MARIA (sharply hits the table with her fist): What can you understand, Fedya? You are as safe as in God’s pocket. Do you know what I felt leaving my mom alone with her parkinsonism, with her alcoholic son and starting out in search of a magic elixir? Five years have passed since she went there, to heaven. Five years, Fyodor! And we still have no elixir! Isn’t it too long? You’ll never understand it, Fedenka, what it means: to have no forces to return to your parents’ house and look into your brother’s eyes. Yes, I can’t look my alcoholic brother in the eyes, because he will say: “Sorry my little sister, you are late!” Because, although he drank like a fish, he was beside her… And I left them alone, Fedya! I left them alone but nothing came of it. Nothing…
Fyodor was silent. He listened to Mary’s revelations with his head bent.
MARIA (calming down): Fyodor, understand me, I believe in God, and for me the death of this poor man is a sin on my conscience. No matter what you say, I will always think of it this way. No, I can’t work here anymore. I’ll file for leave tomorrow.
FYODOR (scared): Don’t even think about it, Maria! What about all the things we have already done? No one can finish what you started. You know this perfectly well. No, Maria, I won’t let you do that.
MARIA: I need a reset. The death of this patient must be a sign … I need to stay away from this place for a while.
FYODOR: What’s the problem? Take a vacation. Have a rest. And return to us. I’ll talk to the boss myself!
MARIA: No, no. I won’t stop thinking about it on vacation. And I need to clear my mind. To be alone with myself, to pray. To accept some truths. That’s all, Fyodor, it’s settled.
Maria grabbed the bottle. Fyodor thought she would take a sip, but instead the girl took a cap from her robe pocket, screwed it onto the neck of the container, and put it in a drawer.
Fyodor looked at his partner. His eyes seemed to be slightly wet with tears.
Scene 2
Three logs, cut unevenly and scattered among the old maple thickets, were the favorite place of village men who escaped their homes and shared two liters of fragrant moonshine with five of them. Nikolai, a former well-known chess champion from the Tula region, was part of this gallant company. Unfortunately, Kolya had to pack up his sports career, so he unpacked a different direction that was far from intellectual.
MITYAY (drinking buddy No. 1): Have you heard about Alekseich, our chairman? Guess what he said to the head of the region recently? He said there were no men in the village. He will recruit migrants to work on the collective farm. Just fancy what we’ll have in the village?
KOLYA: What will we have?
SERGEYICH (drinking buddy No. 2, imitating Nikolai): What will we have, what will we have… That’s what we will have: we will be pushed to one side in our native village. No, guys, we need to show these migrants who’s boss here.
KOLYA (smirks): And you, Sergeich, compete with them to see who drinks more. So you’ll show who’s boss here. Truth be told, fellas, don’t dump on Alekseich. Of course, he’s dodger, but he’s not to blame here at all.
MITAYA: Why is that?
KOLYA: Just because he has no choice. Who will he put to drive the combine? Who will he trust to drive the seeder? Not to mention the milking machine. Who will work for him in the end? Maybe you, misery boozers?
CHUPA (drinking buddy No. 3, the most awe-inspiring and the oldest one): Mind your tongue, snotnose! If you are so smart, why don’t you go to work on Alekseich’s collective farm?
KOLYA: You asked and answered, Chupa. I’m smart – that’s why I don’t go there. I’m a person engaged in intellectual work: by definition, I cannot use muscles in my work.
MITYAY (contentiously): Yes, yes, we are in the know! Highty-tighty, you’re almost Kasparov, a genius chess player!
KOLYA: Why chess only? Take it up a notch! I am the smartest strategist ever. Whatever I do, I triumph!
CHUPA: Yes, and there we have it: in words you are buying a yacht from Abramovich but at actuals you are sitting with us, pouring this cheap pig sweat into
