ANDREW. I’ve never understood why, when you’re praying, even praying inside, you turn into such a pussy. It’s all «Please, Almighty God, please forgive me for my sins’. Does he want me rolling round in the dirt, covered in snot, begging for forgiveness? Does he feed off that? Is it how he gets his kicks? From performing scum. You can’t talk like a grown up? «I’ve sinned. It happened. Won’t do it again. If I’ve gone too far this time, if I’ve run out of road, then punish me – lay it out. Maybe a hundred Our Fathers, forty days’ fasting, a century in hell. And that’s it. Debt paid. Settled. No outstanding balance. No guilt. No humiliation. Dignity intact. Maybe he wants people crawling round on the ground like cowards, crying like kids. On the other hand – I mean, I don’t like being called Dyusha. Sounds too fucking sweet. My proper name’s Andrey Vitalievitch, so use it. Maybe he wants to be talked to properly. Still like God, of course. Or it’s face in the dirt, tears…
«Course I understand God’s just a psychological phenomenon – praying makes life easier. Or maybe there’s some kind of energy field out in space. Idiot. Cos here I am praying and that’s no fucking easier. Doing it wrong. Trying to keep my dignity. Let’s have some fucking give and take Lord. Let’s discuss. Let’s negotiate. I’ll throw the moneylenders out of the temple. Forgive me, Lord, I beg you. I’m a sinner, I’m going to hell, forgive me Lord, I’m screwed. Do something. Give me a thousand Our Fathers, send me to a monastery. Send me to hell. As long as Seka doesn’t come round today. As long as Seka-
SEKA. There was this one kid at school called Dyusha. Fat kid, so he used to use it in fights, crush people. This one’s skinny, though. Fuck knows if he can take Maronov. Maronov’s not been around college for a week. What’s he hiding for? He’s already lost. Came to the table, lost. No need to hide.. Vitalya says three more days, he’s selling his motorbike to the locals. I’ve said to him – «What do you think you’re gonna get for it? Twenty? Thirty? It’s not a Minsk or a Ural or a fucking Dnieper with a side-car – it’s a Honda. World-beating technology. I’ve even cut a deal with the super. Two grand, she’ll cut a key for the store room. It’s crazy, keeping it in the apartment. Dragging it up five flights of stairs every day like Vitalya does. And come Summer, it’ll be sweet, blowing it around the villages… One on one, Dyusha could take Maronov, maybe. Maybe not. The Dyusha from elementary school would probably do better. He’d probably crush him.
