/home/server5/dogendocs/pars_docs/tw_refs/317/316060/316060.doc The ilkhom theatretashkent uzbekistanecstasy WITH THE POMEGRANATEBY MARK WEIL AND DMITRY TIKHOMIROVENGLISH-RUSSIAN TEXTFOR SUBTITLESPAKHTAKORSKAYA STREET, BUILDING 5700011, TASHKENT, UZBEKISTANTEL: +998 71 1440403E-MAIL: ilkhom@ilkhom.comwww.ilkhom.comVer. Monday, April 09, 2012 ENGLISH RUSSIAN Mark Weil, Dmitriy Tikhomirov ^ Zeal with the pomegranate Stories of a forgotten time and the paintings of Aleksandr Nikolaev (Usto Mumin)Featuring Music by Artem Kim, choreography by David Russive, and stage design by Babur Ismailov. ^ The action takes place the summer of 1916 through October of 1917 in Tashkent.The Epilogue – many years laterDespite the usage of documentary materials and a series of works by Aleksandr Nikolaev, the authors request that there be no parallels or direct analogies drawn to either the painters’ real biography or the biographies of other historical figures present in the story.^ List of Characters:Aleksandr Vasilevich Nezhdanov, the painter. His second name, a pseudonym, is – Usto.Valerian Petrovich Byaltsev, The ColonelSergey Vladimirovich Zhvyaginsev, the Colonel’s adjutant Vasiliy Skoroukhin: Lance corporal, batman to the Colonel.Alisher: 1stbocha (dancer) Salakhutdin: 2ndbochaMakhmud: 3rdbocha. Karim: 4thbocha.Nodira: girl- bochaTakhir: a former bocha and owner of the Choi-Khona (Uzbek Tea-house). He maintains a group of bochas. Wife of Colonel Byaltsev: Elena Vladimirovna Byaltsev ^ A Woman from the Old City (Muslim part of town) Ecstasy: a ritual performed with the purpose of bringing one’s self to a state of mystical ecstasy, a divine state of being. Sufis (loud and quiet) attempted to reach that state through breathing exercises, production of noise, movement, as well as smoking of particular hallucinogenic grasses. Once plunged into the desired state of being, they’d yell-sing emotional poetic phrases. The thoughts that appeared deep inside them excited them and excited their emotions, opening up doors to the subconscious and resulting in revelations. Спектакль «Радение с гранатом» создавался по воле случая в год: ^ 140 летия Нового Ташкента – рубежа времени, вдохнувшего в многовековую летопись города новую историю, превратившего Ташкент в столицу и почти трёхмиллионный мегаполис.^ 110 летия Александра Николаева (Усто Мумина) – легендарного художника, вдохновившего нас на создание спектакля.100 летия Рахима Кариева – подлинного деятеля искусств - первого, не смотря на свой преклоный возраст и сопротивление советской системы образца 1970гг, поддержавшего рождение театра «Ильхом».^ 30 летия «Ильхома», культового театра уже не одного поколения зрителей. Родившегося и обретшего своё место в мире, возможно благодаря перечисленным выше событиям... Марк Вайль, Дмитрий Тихомиров^ Радение с гранатом*Фантазия на темы исчезнувшего времении живописи художника Александра Николаева (Усто Мумина).Музыка Артёма Кима Хореография Дэвида Руссива Сценография Бабура Исмаилова.Действие происходит с мая 1916 г. по октябрь 1917 г. в Ташкенте.Эпилог - много лет спустя.Несмотря на зримое присутствие работ Александра Николаева, ставших главным источником нашего вдохновения, неоднократное использование в тексте документального материала, авторы просят не проводить прямые аналогии с биографией художника и другими, реально жившими в его время, людьми. Даты целого ряда событий сознательно изменены в пространстве художественного вымысла.^ Действующие лица:Нежданов Александр Васильевич, художник. Второе его имя – псевдоним: Усто Бяльцев Валерьян Петрович, полковникЗвягинцев Сергей Владимирович, адъютант полковникаВасилий Скороухин, денщик Бяльцева.Алишер, ^ 1 бачаСалахутдин, 2 бачаМахмуд, 3 бачаКарим, 4 бачаНодира, девочка-бачаТахир, чайханщик, бывший танцор. Содержит группу бачей.Жена полковника - Бяльцева Елена ВладимировнаЖенщины в паранджах из Старого города (мусульманской части Ташкента),солдаты Российского гарнизона в Туркестане.* Радение – радость, объясняет слово словарь Даля. Состояние экстаза, приближающего человека к божественному состоянию, - так чувствовали суть радения суфии. Они стремились к нему всеми возможными для них путями. Погружаясь в состояние радения, суфии выкрикивали и пропевали эмоциональные поэтические фразы, приближаясь к подсознательному, приближаясь к откровениям. PrologueNezhdanov. (Alone, half-turned to the audience, not addressing anyone in particular. He speaks softly.). The story of my life has not been captured in memoirs or the pages of diaries. I destroyed all my writings back in 1920, right after I had my first share of troubles with the government. I never wrote again, I realized that my writings could be used against me. People were prosecuted in my time for loving the people and the things that I loved. If you want to know me – then look at my paintings, if there is still any left. There are many mysteries there. Even for my own self. I am not sure if things have turned for the better after I passed. The visible world may change, but not everyone can reach love and eternity. Almost never. I will speak of that which I can remember, and of that which needs telling. For the very first and the very last time. 1.May 1916.The scene with the Parandja (Burqa or the Muslim veil). Nezhdanov, Alisher.Late evening. Nezhdanov is holding a camera. Alisher is also in the room. We see several silent figures applying body oils and essences to his skin. They then clothe him in gowns with beautifully crafted details, as if they are preparing him not for a Bazm, a public dance, but for a ritual. Although could this long-gone dance not be perceived as a ritual, when it so potently affects the secret feelings and desires of the participators of the night zeal under the starry skies of Turkistan? ^ Alisher: Have you ever tried on a real Parandja? Nezhdanov: No, never.Alisher: Try it on. This one is authentic, made of horsehair. It’s easy to breathe in and the sun does not hurt your eyes as much during the daytime. Nezhdanov: Parandja… Is it true that it was brought to Tashkent from Paris?Alisher: I don’t know. Is Paris – a city? ^ Nezhdanov Nods. Alisher: What do they have there…?Nezhdanov: The Eiffel Tower and café chantant.Alisher: What is that? Nezhdanov: It’s similar to what Choi-Khona is here. Alisher: Paris is a funny name for a city.Nezhdanov: It’s not any funnier than Tashkent. They are both built out of stone. Paris is made out of white stone, and Tashkent is made out of clay… ^ Alisher: Yes, my parents were told that in Tashkent, homes are made from the ground.Nezhdanov: The beautiful city of Venice is built on the Pine trees brought from Russia. St. Petersburg was built on a swamp… That’s why you often feel so gloomy being there. Beauty is full of mysteries. ^ Alisher: Are you from St. Petersburg?Nezhdanov: Not exactly... Here, the sun is always shining… I like that… Alisher: Parandja has saved me many times. You can use it to pick something up from the market. You just become invisible. May 1916.Do you know how many men wear parandja and sneak into the Ichkar (women’s side of the house) or come to the Bazm at the Teahouse? Nezhdanov: I want to disappear and be invisible... Tea-house in SebzarNezhdanov puts on the Parandja.Alisher: Nah, I don’t think you can pull it off. I can tell you are not from around here. Nezhdanov: Aren’t you Russian too? Otherwise how would you speak it so well... I was able to distinguish you almost immediately. Alisher: Almost immediately is not immediately. I do not know who I am... I vaguely remember my parent’s faces; I think they must have been Russian. They say they came with a caravan... But I was born here...Nezhdanov: Where are your parents now?Alisher: You are a strange Russian… you always ask questions. What are you doing in Tashkent anyway? Why do you come to our Teahouse? Nezhdanov: I serve in the Turkistan’s army.^ Alisher: Why aren’t you wearing a uniform?Nezhdanov: I am an artist. I paint.Alisher: What kinds of things do you paint?Nezhdanov: Well, for example, I paint soldiers and Generals during their military marches. ^ Alisher: Is that all?Nezhdanov: Sometimes I can also paint nature or people. Alisher: Islam forbids you to paint people...Nezhdanov: What about painting their souls, their dreams?Alisher: I don’t know… You are strange…Nezhdanov: There is something else; I’ve been looking for somebody. He showed me Tashkent the first day that I was here, and then he disappeared.^ Alisher: Are you looking for him here? Nezhdanov: I am looking for him everywhere.Alisher: I have to go now. You know… you really should pay me for watching me get dressed.Nezhdanov: How much?Alisher. Ask Takhir… he owns this place. (exits)Nezhdanov (alone). God, if you have ascended him to heaven alive, like the prophet Iliya – give me a sign. But if you do not bring him back, I will not be able to find a way out of this labyrinth of windowless clay walls over which I can only see branches of trees. The branches that hang like fishing rods and fish... – me… I want to disappear and be invisible. ^ 2.The barracks of Turkietanian military region.The first letter of Byaltsev (B) to his wife Elena (Е).Byaltsev imagines his wife sitting at the piano and teaching their son Mitya how to hit high notes. The music suddenly turns into “May” by P. Tschaykovsky.Byaltsev. My dear Elena... After two weeks on the road, I finally reached the far end of our empire. How wide is the wingspread of the Russian two-headed eagle. It seems as though soon we will cover half of the world. The first week in Tashkent went by covered in errands. I am slowly adjusting to the way of things here. Russia has been in Turkistan for half a century now and still nobody speaks Russian. And apparently my knowledge of the Uzbek language is not enough. The local community is preparing for the celebration of the 50th anniversary of the New Tashkent. We are starting to put together making a gallery from the local collection of Duke Constantine and the paintings sent to us from Moscow’s Tretyakovskaya gallery about the Turkistan March...Naturally, artist Verechyagin will be most prominently featured. We want to put the paintings up right here, in the fortress, and create open access to any visitor as a sign of trust and correlation between the two cities. The Old Muslim town and the New Tashkent built by Russians… I’ll be waiting for your arrival. Kiss little Mitya for me. No, I take that back. You pour enough affection on him as it is. Tell him that his Father loves him and firmly shake his hand for me.***The Colonel and his adjutant Sergey Zhvyaginsev are walking alongside the inner wall of the fortress. The soldiers in white uniforms, prompted by a subtle hint from an unseen Nezhdanov (the exbibition’s organizer), one by one take out golden baguettes of various sizes. Sergey explains the concept behind the exhibition as he walks. Everyone seems a little distracted, their thoughts far from what is happening. When the baguettes are put up against the wall, paintings appear within them.In the first scene, it is possible to simply project the paintings onto the wall. In the following scenes however, the main characters in the paintings of A. Nikolaev (Usto Mumin) will come to life inside the landscape of each particular scene. Some sort of action will occur inside a painting, a dance or a pantomime, the actors will install various images.Zhvyaginsev. The first part will be dedicated to the new Tashkent, the plan of the city, which essentially copies the construction of the streets in St. Petersburg.The soldiers come out with the baguettes: they look for the best spots to place the paintings, putting the paintings up against various parts of the wall. Inside the baguettes are: photographs of the alley square, a lady who is taking a walk, colonial military mansions, family portraits, an Uzbek family inside a photo-studio.Colonel. Well, it seems as though the city locals have learned to appreciate the novelty of a photo-studio and started going there.Sergei. Yes, photography has become quite popular here.^ Inside the baguette appears an image of Byaltsev’s wife - Elena.Еlena. Have you seen Mitya’s photograph, the one that I gave to you when you left, or were you too busy as usual?Byaltsev. Yes, yes I saw it.Еlena. That is Mitya playing the part of an angel at our country house play. Ilya Alekseevich Mamontov took that picture – our country house neighbor. Little Mitya was very popular in that play... Many noted his talent and a potential for a stage actor in him… Byaltsev. Don’t you ruin that boy? I do not like it when boys play the parts of angels. Girls are much more appropriate to having curls on their heads. Еlena. Serving in the army is ruining you, Valeryan, you are becoming much too rough. Little Mitya is a young and gentle creature – the pure essence of a little angel. He was in high demand for those plays...Byaltsev. Did you remember to take a picture of the electric streetcar that was recently put to work in Tashkent?Sergei. No.^ A soldier puts the baguette up to the wall: a streetcar appears coming down the street...Byaltsev. If only you knew, Elena, how hard the Russian engineers have to work to overcome the ancientness of these lands and to awake the slumbering East, where a-five-time-a-day prayer interrupts the most important work... Russians pray much less, and work much more than the locals, who it seems, do not need anything besides their peace and centuries worth of traditions. Rail tracks are the least of what has been brought here... Еlena. Is it true that the spring over there is like an early fall – a time of poisonous scorpions with their bites most lethal at the time… And is it true that they nest inside the clay walls that surround the entire Tashkent?Byaltsev. Who is scaring you so much? Not the good helper Ilya Alekseevich – our country house neighbor?^ Еlena. You are becoming much too caustic. What irritates you about Ilya Alekseevich so? Byaltsev. I’m sorry. Vasiliy Vasilyevich Vereshyagin – a rare, rare master… Look at all those details! What any other local has left such greatness in their paintings?^ Sergei. Well, the locals have once built this greatness. Byaltsev. Have once built! Now it has all crumbled... Now, there is nothing even remotely similar left. Moves on to the next painting.Sergey. “The warrior from Kokand”Byaltsev. Look at him... how robust he is. Look at his shoulders, his eyes, his gaze. He looks as if he is ready to jump and cut your throat at any moment. ^ Sergei. Yes, he is incredible...Byaltsev. Incredible? He is an enemy! He may be standing alone, but you can imagine what having an army of these warriors cost our victory. Half a century later, everyone still thinks that there was no war and no victims. Everyone thinks that Russians have always been here...^ At the third painting.Sergei. «The Day of Success» (the painting shows Turkistanian warriors holding up trophies: heads cut off the Russian soldiers, which they hold by their hairs).Byaltsev. Yeah…(they silently walk to the fourth painting)Sergei. «The Day of Failure» (the painting shows Russian soldiers looking at the pile of Turkistanian warriors’ bodies they’ve stabbed).Byaltsev. What cruelty. Is it really necessary to remind everyone of the spilled blood? I mean true historic experts know that it was not the blood, the stealth or the destruction that was the goal of our arrival. Our goal was to strengthen the borders of the Russian empire. We had to get there before the British who were coming through Afghanistan to the south of the Russian border. Elena. Valeryan, take care of yourself. You know that you’ve got to be careful. Your predecessor rushed with the introduction of official papers in the Russian language and single-handedly caused agitation among the local population. You can’t do everything; you can’t water all the deserts at once...Byaltsev. Lena... If only you knew how much I need you here. I will start to lose my sanity if I do not leave the barracks soon. Why do I even need to rent a house if it does not have the warmth of your and Mitya’s presence?Amazing girl^ Next to the painting “ Bocha”.Amazing girl – her face open and her gaze gentle. It is amazing that the artist was able to get her to pose with an open and so charming face. What a charming face it is...absolutely charming.Sergei. That is not a girl – it is a boy... a young man. Men dance here, they are called bochas.... Like in the Beijing opera...Byaltsev. This is - a boy? This is Vereshyagin’s painting?- Yes, it is.Byaltsev. I don’t quite see what the artist found so interesting in this subject.^ Sergey Zhvyaginsev helplessly looks over at Nezhdanov who is standing in the shade.Nezhdanov (calmly). This painting, a painting by Vasiliy Vereshyagin, is from the life of a local society of the last century. It is made with perfection of a master. The light coming from the open door is very successfully created. It was obtained by Tretyakov and displayed in his gallery.Byaltsev. Well, let Mr. Tretyakov admire this sin of Sodom. But I must ask that it be excluded from my exhibition.^ Sergey. It was chosen by specialists. Byaltsev. It was paid for by the military department and therefore I get to make the final decision. Sergey. Please allow me to introduce you the official painter, assigned to the Turkistanian military region: Nezhdanov Aleksandr Vasilevich.Byaltsev. Nice to meet you. Are you the successor of Vereshyagin?Nezhdanov. I am more of a graphite user … I paint what I see…^ The painting is replaced by a landscape.Byaltsev. A painter in the army – is rather unusual – discipline seems to not be your strong point. Byaltsev. And what do you paint? Your paintings are here too, isn’t that right? Byaltsev. Vereshyagin’s paintings of enemies were much more masculine. It would be a pity to shoot at this one. What about the current life of the army, Mr. army-artist? ^ A Graphite: Naked soldiers are bathing their horses in the river (here we could devise and stylize Nikolaev’s series of paintings «sketches of soldiers lives in the barracks», which was destroyed back in the 20’s ). Half-unclothed soldiers that looks like Vasiliy Skoroukhin, wringing out soldier’s undergarments. There are a lot of undergarments – from the entire barrack. The soldiers wring out a pile of boiled undergarments, energetically and joyfully slapping it against the wooden tub and each other, playing and hanging white sheets. Zvyaginsev «Look at yourself! Byaltsev Is that all that you’ve managed to paint using the military money during your service, Mr. Vereshyagin?Nezhdanov. I am – Aleksandr Nezhdanov.Byaltsev. I am sorry Mr. Nezhdanov.Nezhdanov. No, that is not all.Byaltsev. It is fascinating the Turkistanian sun effects on you, artists. Nezhdanov. May I have your permission to leave the service?Byaltsev. Why? Have I offended you?Nezhdanov. No. I have finally made a decision.Byaltsev. Why now, when I’ve only just begun my duties?Nezhdanov. I suppose that is what Allah wanted, and the time came for me to leave.Byaltsev. Is this an eastern philosophy of some kind?You must write an official request. This decision does not lie in my hands, but in the hands of the high court/military department in St. Petersburg. It is their decision and responsibility to hold battle-painters in the army. Are you not worried about your future career?Nezhdanov. No, I am not.Byaltsev. I heard that Russians change when they come to Tashkent... but now I can it see for myself. ^ Sergey Zhvyaginsev You, Valeryan Petrovich should get to know the local life a little better.Byaltsev. I must warn you, until the final decision is made of your case you are still considered to be in service.Nezhdanov I want to disappear. I want to be invisible.^ Tea-house on Sebzar. Within the first measures of the dance come in the Choi-Khona owner Takhir, Colonel Byaltsev, Colonel’s adjutant Sergey Zhvyaginsev and Lance corporal Vasiliy Skoroukhin.Choi-Kohna owner Welcome! As-salyam-aleyman-it-tabahl-ghudah.Sergei. That is not how they greet Muslims or their own locals, but the unfaithful (those not belonging to Islam). Valeikuum Assalam. ^ Choi-Khona owner. You already know a lot about us, but you do not know everything...Thank you for visiting us... You will be comfortable, behind the drapes. You will be able to see everything, but no one will be able to see you.^ Vasiliy. Like inside a parandja.Nezhdanov Like inside a parandja.Byaltsev. Is there a reason why we should hide our faces?^ Choi-Khona owner. That is up to you...Byaltsev. Forgive me, I am new to Tashkent and am just now starting to get to know the local traditions.Owner. Some desire to be invisible to others.The dance continues... Parandjas fall off, underneath we see young men with long natural, wavy hair. Their movements hypnotize and mesmerize the observers... Suddenly a stranger joins them.^ Alisher Where did you come from?The Stranger. Where did you come from?Karim. We don’t know you.The Stranger. I am new and I came here to dance.Makhzum. Can you dance?Stranger. Can you dance?Alisher. He you – bold guy, look at me.Stranger. Look yourself if you want to.Alisher. Wait!Salakhutdin. Leave him alone. We’ll deal with it later.After the dance.Byaltsev. There is a really pretty girl dancing on the right there.Sergey. You are mistaken, Valeryan Petrovich. That is not a girl, it is a boy. I have told you, boys dance here - they are called Bocha. Byaltsev. I cannot possibly mistake a man for a girl.Sergei. They are not men yet – it is a delicate age - adolescence. Byaltsev. A delicate age you say. Boys – bocha. Why aren’t there any girls who dance?^ Sergei. That is the tradition in the East.Vasiliy. I, gracious Colonel, have once gotten myself into trouble. Back when I did not know how everything was here, I came to this Choi-Khona for the first time. I was sitting here after the Bazm, drinking tea – this is not like our Teahouse, they do not have anything strong. Although the stuff they smoke sometimes, it can mess you up worse than vodka. I came up to one of them telling her something. She didn’t say anything back, most of them don’t speak Russian. I continued to talk to her, I looked into her eyes and reached for her little hand… She smiled but did not give me her hand. I was not suspicious of anything… But he – she… came up to me and looked into my eyes, and I saw this electricity, this fire...Byaltsev. Continue your story tomorrow Vasiliy will you...Vasiliy. I’ve already said everything. It’s miserable, you’re going to work and every woman around you is wrapped in bags. They don’t speak our language; I don’t speak theirs. The only thing left is to get to know them by touch… What if you accidentally get an old woman? Byaltsev. See you tomorrow...it’s getting late. Nezhdanov: Can you help me find a place to stay somewhere in the Old City? Not too expensive and perhaps with a small garden?^ Choi-Khona owner: Are you allowed to stay outside of the barracks?Nezhdanov: I do not live in the barracks – I live in the New Tashkent (a Russian part of town), but I want to move away from there.^ Choi-Khona owner: You are not afraid?Nezhdanov: Who should I be afraid of – the locals? Are we supposed to be enemies?Choi-Khona owner: We are all in the hands of Allah.Nezhdanov: So what do you think?^ Choi-Khona owner: There is a garden, behind the Choi-Khona with a summer living construction. You can live there when it’s warm but I can’t guarantee that it will be livable during the winter. Nezhdanov: I can figure something out for wintertime.^ Choi-Khona owner: Oh, Russian, I do not know why I am even considering housing you here. I do not anticipate anything good from your proximity.Nezhdanov It is great…4.The Garden.Nadira (a girl dressed like a boy). I saw my brother during one spring in the garden once. Slumber sweetly shut his eyes and carried him into the land of unattainable dreams. His body called to me with a musk luster, dressed in clothing of the color of the mountain river. I looked away, to avoid giving into sin. For my brother is not even a young manand he is too handsome for someone like me! Salakhutdin Who are you?... Nodira. I am - Nodir…Salakhutdin. Was it you who dared to dance with us today?What do you want?Nodira. I want to dance... I want to be like the fire and the wind!Salakhutdin. Have you ever tried to pee into the fire against the wind? ^ Nodira Me? How?.. Salakhutdin. Try that without wetting yourself.Looking at each other.Nodira: I like you.Salakhutdin: Well I don’t like you! We already have one boy who looks like a girl, and I don’t like him.^ Nodira: You are just mad because I danced better than you at the Bazm!Salakhutdin: If you’ve decided to bother me, it’s useless! There is nobody here – I can hit you!Nodira: Why would you hit me?Salakhutdin: Because I do not like you!Nodira: What am I?Salakhutdin. You are – a girl!Nodira: I!.. I!.. I!.. (Salakhutdin mimics Nodira: “I...I...I…” than makes a risky movement and pins Nodira down ending up on top of her. Nodira screams)Let me go!Salakhutdin. Now you are going to go through Makhalya naked!He suddenly freezes not believing his own eyes.You are…. a real girl?Nodira: I am. I cut off my hair but it will grow back and I will look like Nodira again. I can spin for so long, longer than any one of you can… Why are you, bochas, allowed to dance and I am not?Salakhutdin: You are…. a real girl.Nodira: Don’t tell anyone, I beg of you.... If you are a real man, you won’t tell anyone.Runs away.Painter’s Garden.Choi-Khona Owner: Here it is, the garden that I’ve told you about. You can stay here for now.Nezhdanov: Why did you say that you did not anticipate anything good from my proximity? ^ Choi-Khona Owner: Just… a feeling.Nezhdanov: I would like to paint your dancers. Will you let me do that?Choi-Khona Owner: Our law forbids painting people.Nezhdanov: What about dancing? It is also an art.^ Choi-Khona Owner: You think that you can depict a prophet the size of a bee?Nezhdanov: If the perspective demands that…Choi-Khona Owner: Dance is far more natural art – when we dance we become closer to Allah.Nezhdanov: I want to paint people’s dreams and aspirations.^ Choi-Khona Owner: Do you know how much people pay to get closer to us?Nezhdanov: I can pay.Choi-Khona Owner: It can cost your entire fortune.Nezhdanov: I don’t have a fortune.Choi-Khona Owner: Then how will you pay?Nezhdanov: I will make paintings, sell my work... Choi-Khona Owner: That means you will never pay...Why did you come to the Old City? Nezhdanov: I like it here. I can disappear here and become a part of a different time. ^ Choi-Khona Owner: I don’t understand.I am also looking for someone here.Choi-Khona Owner: Does he live here?Nezhdanov: I do not know....Choi-Khona Owner: What is his name, maybe I can help you find him?The following monologue, can all be played out through a dance. Perhaps around a large heavy led kettle.Nezhdanov: His name? I did not have a chance to ask for his name. I have only just arrived and could not speak a single word of Uzbek. I simply saw him and started to follow him... He was with his mother. I followed him like a hungry cat, which does not know whether he is going to receive anything to eat or not. I followed him determinedly, fervently, shamelessly. Suddenly they both stopped (his mother did not feel too well). She turned around looking for support. He helped his mother and in that moment he saw me. I reddened. I think he realized that I was following him. I turned away and pretended to be interested in watched the carved doors on the street houses. They carried on. They walked for two more blocks and went into the open wicket in the clay house. I was overcome by a strange fervor that disallowed me to listen to reason, which told me that I should leave. It is impossible to not seem suspicious when you are a foreigner in the Old Muslim part of town. Nevertheless I remained in my place. The duval (clay walls) was rather low and I could still see him. He took a jug filled with water and began to drink thirstily from it. He washed his hands with the remainder of water and touched his face with wet hands. After that he went into the far corner of the yard and soon came back with a big heavy kettle. I wanted him to notice me, but he went straight to the shallow river, which was located right outside the duval of his home. When he got there he started washing the kettle with sand. I went down to the river and lied down. He noticed me, but did not turn around and continued to rub the walls of the kettle with sand. The kettle made soft ringing noise. I continued to watch him, the movement of the muscles in his hands and arms, hidden beneath soft young skin. He could have been a great model for painting. His body was finely defined: the shape of his eyes, his elongated oval face, the Adam’s apple in his throat, and his body with every muscle distinct in its place. I do not remember whether it was the heat or the feelings that arose in me…but I finally gave in to slumber. When I opened my eyes, I was alone. ^ Owner. Chillia – is the hottest time of summer. In this time people see mirages. Maybe you’ve made him up? Nezhdanov. I don’t know…Owner. You are such a meek man. In Uzbek we call it - Mumin.Nezhdanov. Mumin^ Owner. Go on and paint your dreams then, if you are a true artist – a true Usto.6.July 1916Tea-house in SebzarSalakhutdin. What do these uncircumcised ones want from us at this hour?Alisher. Do they bother you? They are precise in their payments.Karim. They fear of somebody telling on them and their visits…Salakhutdin. Especially this one..? Makhmud. His name is Sergey. He is assistant to Byaltsev. He wouldn’t leave me alone last time. What are the songs that you sing...How am I supposed to know? Old songs. We learn them and sing. ^ The owner Takhir. Salom. I am glad that you have stopped by today. It’s been almost a week since your last visitSergei. I couldn’t sleep. I just came by to pay for my last visit with the Colonel (gives him money, than seeing Nezhdanov turns red). Aleksandr Vasilievich? Nezhdanov. Do not worry, I will not tell anyone that I saw you here. ^ Sergei. Do you consider my visit here depraved? Nezhdanov. That is not what I meant. Would you like me to give you a commandment: the forbidden fruit is sweet – do not be afraid to collect it.Sergei. You need to come to work; the document of your discharge has not been officially signed yet.Nezhdanov. I signed it myself already.^ Nezhdanov leaves.Takhir. Would you like to order a dance?Zvyaginsev shakes his head. Тakhir looks straight at him and ignores his gesture.Takhir. Who would you like me to call: Makhmud..? Karim..? Salakhutdin..? Or maybe Alisher? 7.Takhir - In my past life, I was a slave merchant. The slaves were delivered to me from many different places, and I would find them their masters. Once, a young man was brought to me from the Middle Sea. There are tails of people like him; a man with such beauty should serve in heaven. When I took him to the Bazaar, I noticed how the passing-by women and even men would slower their strides. At noon, a young high-ranking warrior arrived on his horse to us and asked me how much I was selling the slave-boy for. Upon noticing his swift and enthralled gaze, I named a very high price for the boy. The warrior did not say anything but extended his hand with a bag of money, about a quarter of the payment that I had asked...The next day, he reappeared on his horse, glanced at the boy, extended another bag of money and left. The same happened on the third day. I understood that he not only wanted him as a good, but was also incredibly infatuated by his beauty. I realized that the warrior didn’t have the money that I’ve asked. He was giving me the money to ensure that I did not sell the slave and was prolonging the minutes he would see him again. Having already received a large sum of it, I’ve decided to give the slave-boy to the warrior. The people showed me where he lived and by nighttime I knocked on his gates. Upon seeing us, the young warrior seemed very surprised, then he blushed and seemed to get embarrassed. I came up with a pretext that there were people who wanted to take the boy away and harm him and I asked if the warrior would not mind keeping the boy under his protection for a little while. He agreed and offered me to come inside. I, however, said that I had some business to attend to and left. I came home, prayed and upon preparing for sleep wondered contentedly how the life of the young slave would change in the home of the young warrior. I almost slept when the young slave ran inside crying. What happened? Who has upset you? Not the young warrior?No, - exclaimed the boy, - he was very kind: he made me dinner, bathed me in warm water, made my bed, and even decorated my room with flowers. He asked me if he could stay near me and I agreed. The warrior kneeled his head on the pillow and said: how divine is your beauty and how low are my desires for you. I am not worthy of your youth and your beauty. His heart was beating really fast and loud throughout the whole night when suddenly, it stopped.... I tried to wake him, but I could not. I realized that his heart was so weak that it tore and he died! ^ At this point, Zvyaginsev, who was still not used to smoking opium, falls on his back.Takhir (concluding): Since then I have stopped selling human slaves and their fates. I still carry the memory of the valiant warrior, who couldn’t dare to insult love, in my heart. I carry it from one life to another. Пролог.Нежданов (один, стоя вполоборота к залу, ни к кому конкретно не обращаясь. Говорит тихо.). История моей жизни не изложена ни в мемуарах, ни в дневниках. Я уничтожил свои записи ещё в 1920-ые гг., после первых же моих неприятностей с властями и более никогда их не заводил. Я жил в то время, когда простое человеческое откровение могло стать свидетельством против человека... За то, кого я любил, что я любил, за то, о чём я думал, в моё время карали законом, преследовали гончими и гнусно шантажировали. Если хотите узнать про меня – смотрите мои картины, если они ещё уцелели. Там много откровения и тайн - даже для меня самого. Не уверен, что после моего ухода на земле всё изменилось к лучшему. Меняется видимый мир, а до любви и вечности в нём добираются редко. Почти никогда. Я расскажу то, что расскажется и то, что вспомню. В первый и в последний раз.1.Май 1916 г.Сцена с паранджой. Нежданов, Алишер.Поздний вечер. Нежданов с фотоаппаратом. На протяжении всей сцены бессловесные люди подносят Алишеру специальные настои, натирают его ими, обряжают в красивую одежду со множеством деталей – будто готовят не к базму - танцу для публики, а к ритуалу. Но разве этот танец, ныне исчезнувший, не был ритуалом, воздействующим на тайные чувства толпы, собиравшейся для ночного радения под звёздным небом Туркестана?^ Алишер. Ты когда- нибудь надевал настоящую паранджу?Нежданов. Нет, ни разу. Алишер. Попробуй. Настоящая сделана из конских волос. В ней и дышится нормально, а днём солнце глаза не режет.Нежданов. Паранджа... А правда, что её завезли в Ташкент из Парижа? ^ Алишер. Не знаю. А Париж - это город?(Нежданов кивает)Алишер. Что там есть...Нежданов. Эйфелева башня и café chantant.Алишер. Что это? Нежданов. Как здесь, ваша Чайхана. Алишер. Париж - смешное имя для города.Нежданов. Не смешнее Ташкента. Оба построены из камня: Париж из белого, а Ташкент из глиняного...^ Алишер. Да моим родителям так и обещали. Сказали, что здесь дома сами растут из земли.Нежданов. А красота Венецианская на корабельных соснах из России привезённых держится. А Петербургская и вовсе на болоте выросла...Потому часто смутно там на душе. Красота вообще полна тайн. ^ Алишер. Ты из Петербурга?Нежданов. Не совсем... А здесь всегда солнце... Мне это нравится.Алишер. Меня паранджа спасала не раз. Прихватишь что-нибудь на базаре и был таков... Май 1916 г.Знаешь, сколько мужчин в парандже к женщинам по ночам - в ичкари пробираются, к нам на базм в Чайхану ходят? Нежданов. Хочу исчезнуть и быть невидимкой... Чайхана на Себзаре^ Нежданов надевает паранджу...Алишер. У тебя на получится. Сразу видно, что ты не здешний. ^ 8.September 1916. The Barraсks.Makhmud. Takhir-aka, Alisher went out yesterday night and returned only in the early morning, and Salakhutdin sweared on you, threatened to leave you. Today you saw how a new one danced with us. I cannot dance with him. Why do we need to have another one like me?^ The owner. Go ahead for now, I will take care of this. Wait! Do you think I cannot differentiate between my own dancers and a stranger? Bocha and a girl? Don’t move!Nodira. Let me go! ^ The owner. You should thank that Russian that he was here... If any khushtor (admirer) recognized you... They would have stoned you to death!Nodira. Nobody would have found out.The owner. Are you trying to bring trouble on us? I don’t ever want to see you here again.(^ Nodira sobs and nods her head).Nodira. Nobody would have found out.The owner. Don’t cry...You danced well, but the boys still do it more skillfully than you. You could never replace them...Nodira I don’t want to replace them; I just want to be myself! Can I do that?^ The owner leaves without answering her. We see Alisher who was following the conversation. Later Salakhutdin and Karim join him.Alisher A girl? You have tried to get in where you were not supposed to go like a thief.Nodira. It is you who are thieves and steal other people’s lives. The lives in which you resemble women. Alisher. You better be quiet! Kiss me and then you’ll find out whether I am a man or a woman.^ Salakhutdin suddenly gets very disturbed by Alisher’s last action and attacks him.Salakhutdin. You idiot! Who said that you could do that?Alisher And are you, the mighty one, going to stop me?Salakhutdin. Never touch her again.Alisher. So I can only touch you?Alisher. That’s it! You are finished. Salakhutdin. You are not Allah to decide whether I live or die! Alisher. You will lie here, like a dead donkey!Alisher. Don’t you dare ever raise your hand at me...! Never!^ Alisher. You want to be with us? Do you realize what would happen to you?9.Military Headquarters.Vasiliy. A telegram: the train sent to carry winter clothing for the Turkestan armies has been delayed. They have to prioritize and send it to the fighting front first ^ Vasiliy. We are having fun in the sun here…Byaltsev. Vasiliy, not now... Good morning Sergey. You look exhausted and miserable.Zvyaginsev. Me? No... I am quite happy.Byaltsev. You don’t feel sorry for people who are happy, and I feel sorry for you.Vasiliy. A telegram: due to the growing needs for provisions at the war front, and delay in the deliveries of food, it is suggested to expand contracts with local population…and involve Turkestan’s resources for purchases of meet, dairy products, and vegetables. ^ 8.Сентябрь 1916. Крепость.Где-то в военной крепости раздался звук горна, пробуждающего солдат к службе, на минарете раздался голос муэдзима, призвавшего правоверных мусульман к молитве.^ Рассвет унёс ночные тайны и растворил их в свете дня.Раз два, раз два...промчалось в утренней пробежке отделение молодых солдат.Махмуд (чайханщику). Тахир–ака, а Алишер вчера ночью снова куда-то линял и пришёл под утро поздно, а Салахутдин ругался на вас, грозился бросить вас и уйти. А сегодня, вы видели, к нам прибился какой-то новенький. Я не могу с ним танцевать. Откуда он взялся этот новенький? Кто привёл его? Зачем нам второй, такой же, как я?Чайханщик. Иди, я разберусь. ( тут же поймал за руку убегающую Нодиру). А ну, стой, ты что думаешь, я не могу отличить своих от чужого....я не смогу отличить бачу... от девчонки? (снимает с неё тюбетейку). Не двигайся!^ Нодира. Пустите меня. Пустите!Чайханщик. Скажи спасибо русскому, что здесь был он... Если бы кто из хушторов, – была бы уже мертва...Камнями бы закидали!^ Нодира (плача). Никто бы не узнал.Чайханщик. Ты хочешь накликать беду? Чтобы я больше тебя здесь не видел, оголтелая! Ты услышала меня?(Нодира всхлипывает и кивает головой).Нодира (плача). Никто бы не узнал.Чайханщик (неожиданно). Не плачь...Ты хорошо танцевала. Но мальчишки это делают искуснее тебя. Ты не можешь их заменить...Нодира (отойдя на полшага, не переставая плакать). Можно я не буду их заменять? Можно я буду собой?^ Чайханщик уходит, не отвечая. Мы замечаем Алишера, следившего за их разговором и чуть позже Салахутдина и Карима.Алишер (выйдя из тени) Как вор, ты девочка, пыталась пролезть туда, куда тебе путь заказан.^ Нодира (вскрикивает от неожиданности). Вы сами воры и воруете чужие жизни. В них вы похожи на женщин. Алишер (взял за плечи и резко встряхнул её). Лучше заткнись! Поцелуй меня и узнаешь кто я - мужчина или женщина (потянулся к ней).^ Последнее обстоятельство производит на Салахутдина огромное впечатление: он набрасывается на Алишера.Салахутдин. Дрянь! Кто разрешил тебе делать это?Алишер (смотрит на него). А ты, всесильный, запретишь мне?Салахутдин. Никогда не прикасайся к ней больше.^ Алишер. Только к тебе?Салахутдин толкает Алишера.Алишер. Ну все! Тебе пришёл конец. Салахутдин. Ты не Аллах решать – жить мне или умереть! Алишер сбивает Салахутдина с ног и валит его наземь.Алишер ( душит Салахутдина). Лежи здесь, как дохлый осел!Алишер. Никогда больше не поднимай на меня руку...! Никогда!Алишер А ты захотела быть с нами? Ты понимаешь, что тебя ждёт?^ 9.В крепости.в Крепости свои будни.Василий. Телеграмма: отправка вагонов с зимним обмундированием для Туркестанского округа отложена. В первую очередь идёт отправка на фронт. Василий. А чё? Правильно... мы же на солнышке греемся. Бяльцев. Василй, потом выразишься... Доброе утро, Сергей. Вы выглядите измождённым и несчастным.Звягинцев (неуверенно). Я? Нет... Я счастлив.Бяльцев. Счастливых не бывает жалко, а мне вас жаль.Василий. Телеграмма: в связи с растущими нуждами фронта, предлагаем самостоятельно заключить контракты с местными торговыми домами по закупкам мясо- молочных продуктов и овощей. См. наименования в циркулярах, касательных рациона армии. ^ 10.The painter’s Garden. A commentary on the scene.Usto Mumin’s Ecstasy is shown in the upper middle episode of the painting «Pomegranate lips»: it portrays a group of 6 young adolescent boys (one of them holds a doyra (tambourine)) and one main, soloing dancer. The right to carry on the Zeal gets passed on from one boy to another.Salakhutdin. I do not want to know anything about myself. I want to forget many things in my life! My mother gave birth to us one after the other. And then one day, she died. My father took me to the city. I thought he took me to a regular school, but when they put me in dress robes and started teaching me to dance, I realized it was a different kind of a school... I wanted to run away, but we lived behind a tall fence. I’ve tried once but they caught me and threatened to punish me if I ever tried to run away again. They told me that my father sold me. They said: don’t worry, you will not work here for long, just until your first facial hair appears and then they’ll kick you out like a dog.Makhmud. My family had four girls in a row before they had me. My father could not stop rejoicing that he finally had a son.But when I was kicked out of Medrese and started dancing in the Choi-Khona, he no longer wanted anything to do with me. He said he wished that I hadn’t been born. My sisters loved and played with me. Then I started playing with my comrades in Medrese. They had a rule and they’d always threaten me: «If you kiss in one place twice – I will pull out a nail». My nails are all in place. Because I was really attentive… Karim. I lived with my brother and my mother. My father left to earn money and never came back. My brother was sick. He could not walk very well. I learned to carry him on my back. One time he would not stop yelling something about the Red Choi-Khona... Once I came home and found my brother dead. I think that he must have suffocated from swallowing his tongue in an epilepsy attack. I began to cry. I did not have anyone else. The neighbors started spreading rumors that I killed my brother. Neighborhood boys threw dirt at me calling a brother-killer. I ran away from home. I reached Tashkent in three days. I met Alisher here in the Choi-Khona and thought: he could be my brother. And so I stayed...^ Karim hugs Alisher by his shoulders.Alisher. You can’t be my brother – I am too different from you. You like to be in the shade, and I like it when people break their heads over me, waiting till midnight when I come out and dance. I barely remember my mother...She was often drunk... She’s disappeared... Left with the neighbors. They took me to church and said: pray and God will help you. Remember yourself. They told me not to take offense at my mother, she started drinking after my father was stabbed in Kizil Koom. As soon as I realized that I couldn’t get food from the church I began to steal. I got caught. Luckily, the Choi-Khona owner was around. If not for Takhir – I would have been left without an arm for sure. He took me to the mosque and said: pray, and Allah will help you. He circumcised me and said that I was the first Russian to have a beautiful minaret cut in my front, and that I was now a Muslim. Nodira. I was very shy growing up and always envious of my brothers. I am still very shy. I would always cry and ask my mom why she gave birth to me as a girl? She was always really surprised by that question and answer: that is how Allah wanted it. When my father for the first time dressed me in Parandja I begun to suffocate. But as soon as the tambourine makes a sound, I come to life again and the fear disappears. I can compete in dance even with fire! I always imitate the fire while the bread bakes inside the oven. My arms tremble like the tongues of fire. I am like fire myself now, I am burning and become different!My father loves me in his own way but I fear that if he found out that I’ve danced in the Bazm - he would kill me. ^ The owner. Can I join in?His appearance is unexpected. He seems to have heard the entire conversation.I was the eleventh son and I was given away to a rich relative when I was very young. He would always parade me, like a toy, in front of his guests. When I started growing my first body hair, I cried and began to pluck every single one of it... The more I plucked the more it grew: on my chest, my arms and legs. ... I went to the shaman and said: do whatever you want, but make it so the hair would disappear. The shaman said: I could have promised you eternity and poisoned you. But even after your death I wouldn’t be able to keep you unchangeable…Soon I was kicked out like a dog...I began to hate them, I began to hate the entire world. Meanwhile my body missed dancing… I would go far away from people and dance. I danced until my soul acquired some peace;and then I decided that I would make people give me money and worship me. I’ve decided to make the best Choi-Khona in Tashkent and gather the best and most beautiful dancers...Salakhutdin. Are you going to kick us out like homeless dogs too?^ The owner Go to work... it is Friday and it’s going to be really busy today. Alisher: Wait a minute. You never told us anything.The following will be all performed in a dance.Nezhdanov. Me? They were heading towards each other, without knowing it yet. The lines of the yellow duvals bent in the melted air. They saw each other it the opposite ends of a small narrow street. They moved towards each other and their hearts started beating anxiously. As they leveled each other, one reached out his hand with a pomegranate in it towards the other. The second reddened, embarrassed, but did not move away his hand. They remained standing for a long time, not saying a word. They did not notice that the ripe pomegranate was enchanted. It had the power to attract And its thousand grains kept all sorts of mysteriesof their future fate. (Looking at the owner). A passer-by who was watching them, Became irritable and angry. But he did not have the ability to stop fate. The owner. You are going to decline in this garden. 11.November 1916. The barracks.Voices and screams are heard behind the stage.Byaltsev. What is all this uproar?The yelling grows louder.Karamat. Mr., please listen to me... What am I to do? Allah sees everything... I am seeking justice. If anyone finds out that I came to you… I am dead (begins to cry). Karamat. I’ve exhausted all my strength. I wanted to go to court, but who would listen to me? I am a wife with the least rights!^ Vasiliy. Crazy woman!Byaltsev. Vasiliy, at will. It’s a good sign: a