We Read An Excerpt From The New Book By Alexander Tsypkin “Ideal Che. Intuition And Other Unprincipled Stories "
We Read An Excerpt From The New Book By Alexander Tsypkin “Ideal Che. Intuition And Other Unprincipled Stories "

Video: We Read An Excerpt From The New Book By Alexander Tsypkin “Ideal Che. Intuition And Other Unprincipled Stories "

Video: We Read An Excerpt From The New Book By Alexander Tsypkin “Ideal Che. Intuition And Other Unprincipled Stories "
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Alexander Tsypkin
Alexander Tsypkin

On December 27 at 13:00 at the Gogol Center Alexander Tsypkin on the occasion of the release of his new book “Ideal Che. Intuition and other unprincipled stories”invites you to an autograph session. Due to restrictions on the number of people in the premises, it will be held in two stages: at 13.00 and 14.30. You can register using the link.

In addition to stories, the book includes two large, by Tsypkin's standards, works. The first is "Ideal Che". This is the first story of the author, described in three words as an "anthology of the surrounding absurdity." In it, Tsypkin makes fun of modern trends in society: from esoteric hobbies to the search for a national idea.

The second act is the first in Russia interactive play-survey "Intuition". The play was written based on the conversation between Konstantin Khabensky and Alexander Tsypkin about what awaits us on the other side of life. Three years ago, Konstantin Khabensky and Alexander Tsypkin conceived a project in which the viewer or reader will hear or read the monologues of people who have just died, who share their memories of their last day and regrets about what has not been done. These stories are overheard by two angels, one of whom must decide who should be given the opportunity to go back one day in order to have time to fix something before crossing the river Styx. The hero will not remember anything, he will only see a dream with a hint, and whether he will follow the signal or not … who knows. The rules of the game are immutable: a person, of course, will die, but perhaps he will have time to fix something on his last day.

The first 10 monologues were read on December 2 at the Gogol Center. The literary version of Intuition consists of thirteen monologues from the afterlife. As a result of listening or reading them, the viewer or reader will be able to vote on the tsypkin.com website in the "Intuition" section and answer the question which of the characters in the play they would have sent one day ago. Voting will take place on an ongoing basis, for each specific performance and for the whole country. The stories will be supplemented. This is how we find out who the Russian viewer and reader empathizes with most.

In the intermission of the book - stories about sex and about love, and for an encore - two stories that were previously published in a version with obscene language, but Tsypkin's readers asked for a decent version to give anti-obscene friends.

We publish "Bogolyubskaya's monologue" included in the play "Intuition".


Maria Bogolyubskaya, 97 years old

At last. Who here measured ninety-seven for me? Ninety seven! Do you know what is the main disappointment in life, not even disappointment, no - surprise? The fact is that while we are young, we consider life to be up to sixty, and there it seems like old age and that's it. I mean fast old age: so rrraz, I got old quickly and died! But no, I lived after sixty for another thirty-seven years. Thirty-seven years old! Pushkin only lived thirty-seven with his childhood, lyceum, Onegin, duels, cards and his wife with a bunch of children.

Thirty-seven years of old age … And at least some Alzheimer took me, no, she remembered everything in detail. At least now I’ll describe my nursery or the smell of perfume that my dad gave me. Perfume … Of course, men should give them, if a woman buys perfume for herself, there is something unhappy in this. You say, a man with a smell can make a mistake, so you need to come to the store with him, choose, and he will buy. The last time I was given a perfume about forty years ago, and then everything. Itself. I come to the store and stand for a long time, after all, you yourself know what kind of pension, but a woman needs perfume … And for some reason, as you are at seventy, friends or relatives stop giving you perfume, it seems like you are already a grandmother - why do you need it ?! They give all sorts of nonsense, they say, knit, cook compotes, or what kind of warm clothes, as if we have no heating,and perfume … Well, doesn't a woman of ninety want to smell so that everyone would be pleased? Is she somehow different from a girly, but on the contrary, rather, a girly smells of youth, freshness, life, and we already smell of death, so we definitely need perfume.

And is it really the smell? The woman is not stupid, she understands that she is old, that no one will drag her into bed, but she was once beautiful, blooming, desired, and then she was given perfume. If you give it in old age, then how to show that you believe that she was like that once. And then we ourselves do not believe, we look at the photographs and do not understand if we really were like that in knee-length skirts. And, of course, we think that you do not believe, you think that we were immediately born old women.

About five years ago one man came to me to study, a boy at all, I don't remember, sixty-five, or something. He started an affair with a Frenchwoman, he had to learn the language, he was not used to these new technologies, and he did not like the new teachers, he wanted to sound noble, so he dug me out. My grandmother taught me, but she had an affair with … forgot … a French writer, no, she jinxed me, boasted of her memory, not Proust, not … remember - I'll tell you. In general, my French is such that any Macron would envy, eh, Macron … A handsome man, of course … So, this student came to me for a year. And once he saw my photograph in his youth (I took it apart and did not remove it), so he probably was silent for two minutes … Then he said: sorry, I'll be right back. Went out and came with flowers and a bottle of wine. We sat, I even put on my grandmother's earrings. Then they knew how to cut, not like now. We sat, and I felt that he saw me that, then we drank two more times, but he never gave the perfume … Still, there were not enough photos for the perfume.

This is why I don't need to offend a woman with old gifts, although what's the difference, I don't know why I thought about it … Life, of course, was long, ninety-seven, whoever you say - everyone was amazed, envied, said that I was God loves. I'm here with the same question. Can you imagine, I saw Stalin and Khrushchev, I didn’t see Brezhnev, although he was a handsome man, you won’t say anything.

Now I remembered for some reason the New Year in evacuation, the forty-third, it turns out, then everyone was waiting for what would happen in Stalingrad, and we were with my father's relatives in Central Asia. He fought, but near Moscow. I remember the smell of quince jam, I remember a lot. I told this student so much, he just wandered how to live so much, he wanted to go on a diet. I don't know if it will help him or not. I lived for a long time, my last friend died, it turns out, at … twelve years ago. Since then, none of those who remembered me, even when I was forty, and left. And nobody at all. So, some acquaintances … This student, ask how he found me? They suddenly decided to take an interview with me, because I advised Soviet directors when they needed to shoot aristocrats, but this is a long story … But nobody else … God loves me.

Thirty-seven years of solitude. Then she and Irochka went to the dacha, and I … slept so much that Grisha decided not to wake me up, left a note that he would pick me up in the evening, while he himself would open the house and prepare everything. And that's all.

Ira did not have children, and I, except for Ira, too. It was slippery then. I myself drove the car. After that, she could no longer. And it was not I who was driving, Grisha himself, but all the same. And, you know, I was, of course, crushed by this … But many do not want to live at all, and I somehow got out, two years later, but got out. It seems that there is work, friends, my aunt was still alive then, but something disappeared from my soul, I didn't even immediately understand what. I just couldn't communicate with men anymore - as with men, and I'm not talking about bed, of course, I was already sixty … No, I'm even talking about some courtship.

I loved Grisha. And now, you know, loneliness has become so sticky at night, and fear: how long can I live like this? I thought, well, ten years, and everyone, they say, people quickly leave when they don't really want to live, but - thirty-seven years. The hardest thing is to live and not love anyone. It is very difficult not to love herself.

When you are not loved, you get used to it quickly, and then at least some overwhelming man will definitely fall in love. No, not love is unbearable. A person must love someone. Thirty seven years old. Sometimes it seems to me: death has simply forgotten about me. You probably also have bureaucracy here, God, probably, said: "Take this unfortunate woman as soon as possible," but she forgot or was mistaken in the file cabinet.

Oh, now, I remembered the story! I am Maria Bogolyubskaya, and, can you imagine, in my area lived the same Maria Bogolyubskaya, with the same date of birth: both day and year, there was eternal confusion with us. I came once to find out about my pension, and they tell me, it's strange, you seem to have died, and I told them: “I’ve died, but I’ll come for my pension,” they laughed for a long time. And I died in the hospital, so easily, and immediately realized that nothing was over, my doctor was so good, he kept saying: "Maria Alekseevna, you will survive all of us!"

Oh, oh my God! I didn't give him the keys to the apartment so that he could take my diaries !!! You have to be such a fool, I was lying and thinking, I should ask him to pick them up, if anything, and, I don’t know, to some publishing house. And I kept putting off the conversation, I thought, I’ll talk - I’ll die right away, but I didn't want to … I didn't want to … Ninety-seven years, thirty-seven years since Grisha and Irochka died, but I didn't want to … You always want to live. So she didn't say about the diaries … Forty-two notebooks.