The Idol

Name: The Idol
Rating: 5 (3 reviews)
Author: Вадим Иванович Кучеренко

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Вадим Иванович Кучеренко

Жанр

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Год написания книги

1995

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Anna. It’s not your business!

Tomov. Anna, would you remind me: was there any information about a pigsty in that newspaper classified?

Anna. I think no.

Tomov. Then don’t waste your time – it’s not your variant.

Anna. Why do think so?

Tomov. Where are you going to breed your pigs? Right in the house?

Anna. Vasil, just listen!

Vasil. What’s that, my sweat heart?

Anna. Oleg is laughing at us again.

Vasil. God damn him!

Tomov. Vasil, listen, here is a funny story! Allochka, you too. Once a photo reporter visited a young farmer at his place. Everything goes well: welcome dinner, photo session and stuff like that. On the next day, the farmer looks through the newspaper and sees a photo: he is embracing a pig. And there is a slug on the bottom: “Petka, the boar on the left, Vasil Korobko on the right”.

Vasil. Hey, you, go to hell!

Alla. Are you serious?

Tomov. I told you this is an anecdote.

Alla. No, I mean are you serious that those guys are really going to change mountains for pigs?

Tomov. I am not kidding. Vasil, I saw you yesterday reading a book. What was the title?

Vasil. Yesterday? Oh, yes! It was «Breeding of Sows at the Arctic Circle”.

Tomov. He is an expert, I told you! Are you also keen on these grunting creatures?

Alla. Are you crazy? I don’t care about this pig’s life!

Anna. What did you say!

Alla. What’s the matter?

Anna. Aren’t you a Muslim?

Alla. Oh, my God!

Anna. The Muslims can’t stand pigs. The Koran forbids them. It says that pig is a dirty animal.

Alla. Such a prejudice!

Anna. And what do you know about them?

Alla. About pigs? Actually, I haven’t thought of them…

Anna. In your opinion pigs are just dirt, stench and scream?

Alla. No, it’s also lard and meat.

Anna. By the way, a pig is a very smart animal!

Alla. Smart?

Anna. And noble. There are even poems devoted to pigs.

Alla. I would never think!

Anna. And not bad poems, I tell you. Nobody would write such poems about you, Oleg.

Tomov. You shot me dead, Anna!

Anna. Here you go!

Tomov. I promise you: when I get my own apartment I will buy a little piglet with a pinky snout.

Anna. Are you going to keep it at your balcony?

Tomov. No way! On the rug at the corridor.

Anna. Vasil, did you hear that? What fun!

Vasil. Don’t feel hurt, my girl! He is a good guy.

Anna. I am okay.

Vasil. Well, you said, fifteen hundreds square meters?

Anna. Yes, fifteen. Facing the mountains…

Victor Mancev is sitting on a bench in front of the camp building. Cyril Sumyatov comes out.

Sumyatov. Wouldn’t you mind?

Mancev. No, take a seat. Have you come out to smoke?

Sumyatov. To breath with fresh air.

Mancev. Anyway, help yourself. (Offers him a pack of cigarettes).

Sumyatov. I prefer pipe. (Shows his pipe).