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Etext by Dagny
Suggested by a story by Il'f and Petrov
CHARACTERS:
The editor, a person of middle age
The writer, somewhat younger
THE SCENE:
The editor's office. Moscow in the 1930s.
The offices of the magazine Adventure. It is small, shabby, and decorated only with a large, smiling portrait of Chairman Stalin at his most beneficent. There is a samovar. The window looks out on the Kremlin. Everything is cozy, the editor is a most pompous person, easily agitated and probably not very competent. He is looking over some manuscripts which he throws down in disgust.
Editor
Nobody can write these days, but every scribbler in Moscow is
writing. And I have to read it!
(There is a timid knock at the door.)
Editor
Come in, come in.
(The writer enters. He is a man in his twenties, intellectual and
timid.)
Writer
Excuse me, Comrade Editor. I—
Editor
Well, what do you want? I'm sorry, but I rejected your novel.
Perhaps with work, but—
Writer
But I—
Editor
What do you want from me? I can't publish something like that. And
I— I don't give writing lessons.
Writer
But—
Editor
But what? Can't you see I'm busy. Get out!
Writer
But, you sent for me.
Editor
Forgive me, Constantine Demitrovich, forgive me. I thought it was
one of those scribblers who constantly keep sending me manuscripts. I
have never had the pleasure of meeting you before. Please, please. A
distinguished writer such as yourself, you must never think— Sit
down, sit down. Will you have tea or Vodka?
Writer
Vodka, if you don't mind.
Editor
Champagne for you, Constantine Demitrovich—if I could get any.
But, Vodka it is. (pours drinks) Skol! (they both swill down their
drinks) Another? (pours more drinks) Skol!
Writer
Good Vodka. But, if I may ask?
Editor
Of course, of course, to business, eh? Comrade writer, you must
understand that we have simply run out of fresh interesting material
to print in our magazine.
Writer
Comrade editor, I—
Editor
Exactly, Comrade writer, exactly. Adventure magazine is the
leading publication for Soviet youth. We maintain the highest
standards here. But the trash we've been receiving lately— So, we
call on you.
Writer
Comrade editor,—
Editor
You're perfectly right. Our literature is too didactic. We need
something—
Writer
Original.
Editor
Gripping.
Writer
From the life of the people.
Editor
In short, a Soviet Robinson Crusoe.
Writer
Robinson Crusoe?
Editor
Comrade writer, you have a bad habit of repeating everything I
say, not to mention interrupting.
Writer
Comrade editor—
Editor
Do you think you can manage it?
Writer
I—
Editor
Of course you can do it. You are a Stalin Prize winner.
Writer
I—
Editor
Don't pretend you're suffering from writer's cramp. When the Party
calls you must respond.
Writer
I—
Editor
Please stop interrupting.
Writer (furious)
I CAN DO IT!
Editor
Well, why didn't you say so, Comrade? You beat around the bush so
much. This may be the most difficult, significant book that you have
ever written.
Writer
It seems to me that plagiarizing Robinson Crusoe ought to be easy.
Editor
But not just any Robinson Crusoe.
Writer
Robinson Crusoe is Robinson Crusoe.
Editor
It must be a Soviet Robinson Crusoe.
Writer
All right, all right. What do you expect, a Rumanian Robinson
Crusoe?
Editor
Ha, ah. A Rumanian Robinson Crusoe! I'll drink to that. Skol! You
writers must have your little jokes.
Writer
Here it is. A Soviet youth is shipwrecked. A wave washes him
ashore on a desert island. He finds himself alone, defenseless—face
to face with the hostile powers of nature.
Editor
I like it. I like it.
Writer
He is beset with dangers, wild animals, snakes, the monsoon.
Editor
Good, good.
Writer
But the Soviet Robinson Crusoe overcomes every insuperable
obstacle.
Editor (excitedly)
Form studying the thoughts of Comrade Stalin and the teachings of
the Party.
Writer (gulping)
Right, right, Comrade editor. Three years later, he is found by a
Soviet expedition, bursting with life and health. He has built himself
a hut, bred rabbits, and taught a parrot to wake him up with the
words: "Attention, attention! Off with your blanket, time for early
morning exercises."
Editor
This is great stuff. No wonder you won the Stalin Prize. That bit
about the rabbits is a stroke of genius. But, you know, I'm not quite
clear about your theme.
Writer
Man's struggle with nature.
Editor
That's true, of course, but I don't see anything particularly
Soviet about that.
Writer (in some desperation)
What about the parrot? He takes the place of radio propaganda
broadcasts. Radio Moscow, so to speak.
Editor
The parrot is brilliant. Brilliant. But, where is the sense of
Soviet Community Life.
Writer (incredulously)
On an uninhabited island?
Editor
And the local trade union committee?
Writer
What?
Editor
The guiding light of the trade unions is the heart of Soviet
policy! I have no literary pretensions myself, but in your place,
Comrade writer, I would insinuate the idea of a local trade union
committee.
Writer
Insinuate—insinuate, but the whole idea of the book is based on
the idea of isolation.
Editor
Don't be so literal. There's got to be a way to do it. We are
paying you for your ingenuity and imagination.
Writer
All right, all right. Why didn't I see that before? There must be
two survivors of the shipwreck. Robinson Crusoe and the president of
the local trade union committee.
Writer
And two full time trade union workers.
Writer
Help!
Editor
And one female activist in charge of collecting membership dues.
Writer
How can she collect membership dues when they don't have any
money?
Editor
Maybe they use wampum or something. Anyway, she can collect
Robinson Crusoe's dues.
Writer
The president can collect Robinson Crusoe's dues.
Editor
That's where you're wrong, Comrade writer. The president can't be
allowed to occupy himself with such trifles. He must devote himself to
serious work, guiding and leading.
Writer
Well, better have her, then. Maybe it's not a bad idea. A little
love interest. She can marry Robinson Crusoe or the president. That's
it! They fight over her.
Editor
Absolutely not! Adventure is a wholesome magazine designed for
young readers. No cheap bourgeois romance or unhealthy eroticism. Just
let her collect membership dues and keep them in her safe.
Writer
Please, Comrade editor, there cannot be a safe on an uninhabited
island.
Editor
Why not?
Writer
Why not?
Editor
Why not?
Writer (livid)
Because it's ridiculous, that's why not.
Editor (icily)
A safe is absolutely essential.
Writer
For God's sake, why?
Editor (as to a child)
So no one will steal the membership dues.
Writer
But, who will steal the funds?
Editor
What about Robinson Crusoe, the president of the committee, the
two workers, or the saboteurs?
Writer (dangerously)
The saboteurs?
Editor (complacently)
Certainly. The anti-party faction. The wreckers. The Kulaks. The
remnants of the old aristocracy.
Writer
But—
Editor
I don't want to inhibit your creativity. These are just
suggestions—
Writer
Of course.
Editor
The Party encourages the highest standards of literary merit. But,
the first thing, lad, is to depict the masses. The broad stratum of
Soviet workers. You can't leave that out.
Writer
BUT THE ISLAND IS UNINHABITED!
Editor
Why does it have to be uninhabited? Don't confuse everything.
There's this big island—or better yet, a subcontinent, and on it
there takes place this series of gripping and original adventures.
Right from Robinson Crusoe, of course. The trade union is not well
organized, and the female activist discovers a series of
discrepancies. The president is stealing the dues. And the broad
masses come to her aid. There's your story, young man!
Writer
What about Robinson Crusoe?
Editor
Get rid of him. He's ruining the whole story.
Writer
But—
Editor
And that shipwreck is quite unnecessary. Let's do it without the
shipwreck.
Writer
Can we have a murder?
Editor
A murder?
Writer
Yes.
Editor
Whose?
Writer (pouncing on him and choking him to death gleefully)
Yours! It will add suspense. You see, the saboteur, or make that
the Kulak murders the president of the local committee. How's that for
a surprise ending.
(The writer releases the limp body of the editor. He picks up his
hat and goes towards the door. Suddenly the editor sits up and
whistles.)
Editor
Great, great, Comrade! But, realism, realism. Socialist realism.
This is petty bourgeois fantasy and romanticism. No, no. In real life,
in Soviet life, the NKVD comes and arrests the writer for bourgeois
deviationism.
(Stalin smiles as the curtain falls.)
CURTAIN