By Leon Agulansky
A One-Woman Play
for an Actress Over FiftyBased on Stories by Maria Spokoni
Synopsis
The Float is a powerful one-woman play based on the true-life stories of Maria Spokoni, a Jewish woman who leaves the Soviet Union with her young son in 1991 and begins a turbulent journey through Israel and the United States.
From the humiliation of Soviet emigration procedures and the terror of the Gulf War to poverty, immigration struggles, exploitation, and an abusive marriage, Maria repeatedly finds herself on the edge of survival. Yet each time, she rises again—working, adapting, protecting her son, and rebuilding her life.
Told with sharp humor, painful honesty, and remarkable resilience, The Float is ultimately a story about a woman who refuses to sink. Like the fishing float from her childhood, she may be pulled under by the waves, tilted by the wind, and pushed to the edge—but she always rises back to the surface.
Cast: one woman.
Running time 75 min.
THE FLOAT
By Leon Agulansky
A One-Woman Play
for an Actress Over Fifty
Based on Stories by Maria Spokoni
Scene One
MARIA.
So many years have passed. My grandchildren are grown now. Yet I keep dreaming the same dream.
An autumn wind slips into my sleeves and under my collar. It tears yellow leaves from the trees and scatters them across the gray surface of the Neva. A briefcase in my hand, I walk along the rain-soaked sidewalk past the Lensovet Theater. Posters hang behind rain-streaked glass. A narrow courtyard enclosed by towering buildings. The entrance. The heavy spring-loaded door slams shut behind me. The stone steps, polished smooth by thousands of footsteps.
I’m home. Warmth. The smell of fried potatoes and old books.
I’m… home.
“Emigrate? What emigrate? I won’t sign a thing! My life in Russia is my cross to bear, and I’ll bear it! Get out of my house!” (To the audience.) A father saying that to his daughter. Can you believe it?
It was the late eighties. Everyone seemed to be leaving…
Dad, what cross? You’re Jewish!
“Jewish or not, don’t you dare!”
What was I supposed to do with him? I don’t even remember how, but somehow we talked him into it. He finally gave in.
Leaving was frightening. Staying was even more frightening.
The giant ship called the Soviet Union was steaming full speed toward the reefs. Meanwhile, from “over the hill” – that’s what we called the outside world — photos kept arriving from friends, their faces tanned, smiling, carefree. How could anyone resist?
We applied to emigrate to Israel. Friends helped us get the invitation we needed. Then came the agonizing wait for permission. Permission!
(To the audience.) Do you hear that? Per-mis-sion! People all over the world travel freely, but this country…
(A Pause.)
The excitement of packing our suitcases didn’t last long.
My husband had spent several years working at a classified defense facility. In the Soviet Union they called it a “mailbox” — the nickname for a secret government enterprise. For people trying to leave the country, that usually meant trouble. Our application was denied. The first blow.
I didn’t grieve for long. Wait a minute! I don’t know any state secrets, and I don’t want to know any. So why punish me?
Back to Department of VISA’s. More forms. And instead of an interview, another humiliating interrogation.
While we were busy trying to leave, America closed its doors to immigrants from the Soviet Union. So what? We were going to Israel. The important thing was that we were leaving. We were leaving!
Olya overwhelmed me with colorful photographs from sunny Haifa.
She unfolds the letter and reads it, commenting as she goes.
“Masha, hello! How are you all doing?”
Ha. As if she doesn’t know what things are like for us here.
“The weather is wonderful here. It’s December, and we’re swimming”.
So are we… the “walruses” are swimming too — in the ice holes by the Peter and Paul Fortress.
“The markets and stores are overflowing with everything. There are so many choices your eyes don’t know where to look”.
Here, the shelves have only margarine and sugar — only with ration coupons.
“We rented a nice apartment in an Arab neighborhood, on the fourth floor. No elevator, unfortunately. But the stairs are great exercise. They’ll help me tone my legs and keep me slim”.
I wish I had your problems.
“Come visit. It’s wonderful here! We’re waiting for you. We’ll help you with everything. At first, you can put your as at our place. It’s cramped, but we won’t complain”.
(To the audience.) A serious document, isn’t it?
A secretary stands by a door marked “Head of VISA’s Department”.
MARIA (as SECRETARY).
Where are you going?
MARIA.
That’s exactly what I wanted to ask — where am I going?
MARIA (as SECRETARY).
Where are you applying to go? That’s what I’m asking. Am I supposed to know it for you?!
MARIA.
Israel.
People in the line chuckle.
MARIA (as SECRETARY).
A capitalist country. Wait. Your turn will come through this door.
The pleasant-looking major shuffled through papers without looking me in the eyes.
MARIA transforms into the image of the VISA’s Department, police major sitting behind a desk.
MARIA (as POLICE MAJOR).
You’re applying for permission to leave? Keep in mind: once I register your application, there will be only two possibilities — approval or refusal. Go home and think about it…
(A Pause.)
MARIA.
Have you thought it over? Still want to register? Fine. Give me your invitation.
She looks at the document and writes in the registration log.
MARIA (as POLICE MAJOR).
Who are you going to? Your aunt? I understand. Who are you leaving behind here? Parents, brother, husband, former husband. Is this family reunification or family separation?
All right. Wait. We’ll notify you. Don’t call us. Wait…
MARIA.
Several months later… and — hooray! Permission to leave for me and my ten-year-old son. My husband stayed behind. He let us go. Good for him. Thank you.
When we were children, we used to stare in awe at the Finnish buses parked near the hotel on Nevsky avenue. Their gleaming windows and foreign words painted on the sides made them look like spaceships from another world.
And now, on a freezing morning, we boarded one of those magnificent buses and headed to Helsinki — so close, yet once completely unreachable.
It was one of the routes to Israel. The move was paid for by Finland’s religious community. Even today, they believe that peace on Earth will come when all Jews arrive in Israel.
Music.
Scene Two
A gloomy January morning.
My hometown — where every crack in the pavement breathes history, where my school, my university, the theaters and museums, evenings spent with friends… all of it belonged to me. Belonged.
Now… it was left behind. Left behind forever. For-ev-er!
The frost cuts to the bone. The wind burns my face. Even several layers of warm clothing cannot protect me.
(A Pause.)
They lined us up in pairs in the freezing wind. We stand there.
Prisoners? Deportees? Convicts?
Yes. There were prisoners in this country. Now, as the inmates say, we are “getting out”.
Just a hundred yards away there is another world. An unknown world, and the freedom we long for.
A command is heard:
“Proceed to customs inspection”.
Check in.
A child, blue from the cold. A suitcase filled with useless junk – that’s all.
No. Not all. Two hundred German marks warming between two pairs of socks.
A Custom Officer commands: Move along!
In the gray eyes of the uniformed man — hatred and disgust.
Move along!
People stand frozen.
CUSTOMS OFFICER: What are you waiting for?! Move along! Are we going to stand here until nightfall?!
The lines stand as if waiting for execution. Eyes water in the wind. People turn away and look back.
Are they looking back? Or hiding their faces from the cruel wind?
Forward! “Whatever happens, happens!”
Take Sasha by the hand. Grab the suitcase. Forward!
I was lucky. I was the only one they didn’t make take off my shoes for inspection.
Lucky! I managed to smuggle the two hundred marks across the border.
In the warm bus — to the place where we will spend the night.
The wind has died down. Snowflakes cling to the windows and melt. The gloomy sun hides behind the clouds.
And so came that historic day — January 14, 1991.
Freedom!
(A Pause.)
American troops have entered Iraq.
Saddam Hussein threatens to begin shelling Israel unless the Americans leave by January 15.
They didn’t leave…
The following night we were awakened as if by an alarm. One hour to get ready. A bus. The airport.
Escorted by two military aircraft — a direct flight to Ben Gurion Airport Tel-Aviv.
Scene Three
We landed. Our plane was the last one to arrive that day. The country was preparing for war with Saddam. They were trying to speed up the bureaucracy.
The women were seated at desks to fill out forms. The men went to collect the luggage.
The male half of our family was a skinny little boy with big, sad Jewish eyes, wearing a knitted “rooster” hat.
What could I do? He went off with the men. Came back carrying a suitcase.
Good job! My brave boy!
We were entitled to one free phone call and one free taxi ride — wherever we chose to go.
What was there to decide? My friend was waiting for us in Haifa.
She transforms into the image of her friend. She picks up the telephone.
MARIA (as OLGA).
Masha, is that you?!
You arrived?! At the airport? With a child?!
Are you out of your mind?!
Don’t sign anything! Demand that they send you back!
What does a visa have to do with anything?!
We’re about to have a war. They’re handing out gas masks, and you show up here!
To my place?! Don’t even think about it!
Are you not listening to me, or don’t you understand?!
Go back! That’s it. I can’t talk anymore!
I’m sorry! That’s it!
She hangs up the phone. Returns to herself.
She walks toward the desk, to the clerk.
MARIA.
Yes, yes. Just a moment. One more phone call, please! We hardly know each other, but still…
Maria frantically searches her pocket, takes out an address book, flips through the pages.
She speaks into the phone.
MARIA.
Hello? Tanya? This is Masha from Petersburg. Do you remember me?
Yes, yes. We arrived.
Tourists? No. We arrived for good.
My husband stayed behind. I’m here with my child.
Listen, there’s a problem… the airport is being closed, and we…
Yes? Really?!
Right now?!
Thank you! We’re coming!
(A Pause.)
Scene Four
MARIA.
In a tiny apartment in Bat Yam are four people and a dog. Remember the old film “Four Tank-Men and a Dog?” We watched it as children.
It really was like living inside a tank. Everything was rationed — every drop of water counted. The toilet was flushed only at night, after everyone had “gone”.
“Cramped, but not offended?”
My father used to say: “If it’s cramped, then you’re already offended”.
But what complaints could there be? Only gratitude. As they say here: “Toda raba!”
From Petersburg to Bat Yam. Buildings standing on gray stilts, pressed wall against wall. Water-heating tanks on the rooftops. Loud conversations of people, wind and sea — just like in Aivazovskyэs paintings.
The Home Front Command filled our heads with warnings about chemical attacks. The country was preparing for Iraqi missile strikes — Soviet-made missiles. And we prepared along with the country.
I will never forget that night. Exhausted from running around all day, we went to bed. Heavy rain drummed against the windows. Lightning flashed, thunder rolled somewhere in the distance. There is nothing better than sleeping to the sound of rain. And then suddenly…
(She imitates the sound of a siren.)
A deep, heavy explosion shook the building, making my stomach jump. Dishes rattled in the cupboard and then went silent.
(She screams.)
Sasha! Sasha! Wake up! It’s started! It’s started! Come on! Hurry! Get up!
God, where did I bring my child?! Away from his family, from his father, from his loving grandparents, from our peaceful, quiet life?! Where?!
(Quietly.)
Where?
She takes a roll of duct tape, pulls off a piece.
Maria drops her hands helplessly.
Whatever we were wearing, we rushed into the sealed room. We taped up the cracks around the door.
From the radio came a ridiculous melody that sent a chill through me.
And suddenly:
RADIO ANNOUNCER:
Attention. Israel has come under missile attack from Iraq. All residents of the country are ordered to put on gas masks and remain in sealed rooms until further notice.
The announcement was broadcast in Hebrew. Tanya’s son translated it for us.
The rain poured harder. Several more explosions were heard in the distance. An hour later, we were allowed to remove the gas masks — which we still didn’t have — unseal the door, and go back to sleep.
The next day, in a large hangar, they measured our heads with a caliper and issued us gas masks along with atropine injectors. That was the antidote in case of a chemical attack.
They did not issue sheets — to wrap ourselves in and crawl to the cemetery in case of a nuclear attack.
(A Pause.)
We lived with Tanya for a week.
The Jewish Agency, offices, banks, and apartment rental agencies were closed. Who was going to give us assistance? The two hundred marks — the same ones we had carried across the border hidden in socks — were nothing.
I remember my grandfather used to joke in Yiddish:
“Nokh dray teg heybn gesht an tsu shmekn vi fish”.
“Guests are like fish — after three days they start to smell”.
It’s true. But there was nowhere to go.
And then Olga from Haifa called.
(She transforms into the image of her friend Olga from Haifa. She speaks into the telephone.)
MARIA (as OLGA).
Hello? Hello! I can’t hear you! Hellooo! Ah, Masha, hi! How are you doing there?
Fighting a war? We’re running around with gas masks like idiots too. The sirens are screaming, but there are no missiles. They’re all aiming at Tel Aviv.
Everything’s fine. Listen, I mean… this is about our last conversation. I’m sorry. I panicked. I lost my mind. Forgive this crazy old woman.
Well, not old. Not exactly young either. Anyway…
Grab Sanya and come over to my place. Bring warm clothes.
Okay, that’s it. You have my address.
Hugs. I’m waiting.
Scene Five
Haifa.
How many times had we heard that name – “Hai-fa” — in our friend’s stories, read it in their letters.
We packed two small backpacks and, by whatever connections we could find, made our way to Haifa. Almost no money, no language at all — but we made it!
Our joy knew no bounds.
Misha and Olga’s son was the same age as my Sasha. The boys became friends. Sasha moved into their son’s room.
I got a thin mattress on the balcony, protected from Haifa’s cold nights by plastic blinds.That was why we needed warm clothes.
My duties included housework, shopping, and cooking. For all that, I paid half the rent every month.
(A Pause.)
It was true, Haifa was hardly shelled.
“Hardly” doesn’t count.
The very first night:
She imitates the sound of a siren.
(To the audience.) Recognizable? Well, almost.
That very first night, missiles were already flying toward Haifa.
By then we had gas masks. And we were practically experts ourselves — we knew exactly what to do during a missile attack.
(A Pause.)
A week later, the boys started school, and I started Ulpan.
The food ran out. I went to the market. Walked there to save money.
I drag myself back up the hill along the wet asphalt.
She shows how she carries the bags.
Bags in both hands. I reach the entrance — and the siren starts.
Well, a siren is a siren. I should be used to it by now.
Used to it.
But how do you get used to this?
She spreads her arms.
My blood pounds in my temples. A chill grips my chest. My legs turn to water from fear.
Right there on the staircase — bang! — I drop to my knees.
It hurts! I can’t go up. I can’t. That’s it!
There is no elevator, and I have to get to the fourth floor.
The siren rises and falls in waves, so loud it makes my ears ache.
My legs won’t hold me. I crawl upward, step by step. I drag the shopping bags along the floor.
Everything is spinning before my eyes. I think I’m losing consciousness.
Luckily, the boys had already returned from school. They dragged me into the apartment.
We managed to put on our gas masks and seal ourselves inside our precious safe room.
(A Pause.)
Well… life at my friend’s place was quite a life.
Olga hadn’t invited me only out of kindness. I was needed as proof that her completely Russian grandmother was Jewish. Otherwise, there would be problems with her nationality listed in official documents.
(To the audience.) Let this stay between us. Ok?
And on top of everything else — a war.
But, as King Solomon said: “Gam ze ya’avor” — this too shall pass.
The war ended almost suddenly. Soon everyone forgot about it.
Terror attacks, Southern Lebanon, Gaza — a new agenda, new problems.
Israel.
(A Pause.)
Scene Six
Summer of 1991. I am finishing Ulpan.
Money?(She gestures “none”.)Benefits?(She gestures “almost nothing”.)
We save. We’re economists, damn it!
We save on everything: water, electricity, transportation, clothes. We haul furniture from the dumpsters. We go to the market just before closing to pick through the bruised vegetables and fruit left behind in boxes.
We survive. We dream of a job — any job, even hard, dirty work. Any job!
(A Pause.)
In a little over a year, more than a million people arrived in Israel from the Soviet Union. The country was not prepared for them.
There was work, but the old-timers — immigrants from Arab countries — stood their ground: “No way. Not letting them in”.
Doctors and scientists with advanced degrees were sweeping streets. Knowledge, diplomas, experience — nobody needed them.
Finding a job in my own professions — and I had two: civil engineer and an experienced seamstress — was nothing more than a dream.
And suddenly — oh, happiness!
Through a huge connection, an acquaintance of mine was offered an evening cleaning job at the Technion in Haifa.
Five shekels an hour.
Yes! Five shekels! An hour!
But it was a job – “avoda”! A real job at a government institution.
We rushed there.
And there we were!
Whoa! For some reason, they looked us over from head to toe first. Only then came the rags, buckets, vacuum cleaners!
Rags, buckets, vacuum cleaners! Rags, buckets, vacuum cleaners!
Hooray! My first job!
In Hebrew it was called “nikayon”. Beautiful word, isn’t it? “Nikayon” means cleaning.
(A Pause.)
Getting to the Technion took two buses — an hour and a half. Transportation wasn’t cheap. But it didn’t matter.
Ten, twelve shekels a day left over.
Twelve shekels!
Do you know what twelve shekels meant?
It’s the Four dollars — enough to eat for an entire day!
(Thoughtfully.)
Enough to eat… for an entire… day.
The happiness did not last long.
The head of the administrative department and his deputy hired attractive young single women for cleaning jobs.
Apparently, in order to have the privilege of working, one had to provide those scoundrels with sexual favors.
The job was over.
I was furious. The thirst for revenge wouldn’t let me go and prevented me from moving forward.
I told a reporter from a local newspaper.
After the devastating article, all the people responsible — ha! people! — were removed from their positions.
And me… I was looking for work again!
(A Pause.)
Cleaning apartments and villas is not complicated work. But you can’t just walk into people’s homes. You need a reputation.
They tested me. They set traps for me. They humiliated me with their distrust. And they simply humiliated me.
They left small bills under the bed. A double test: if the money was still there, it meant the cleaning wasn’t done. If the money was gone, I was a thief.
I returned it — and I passed.
I earned my reputation.
And while dragging a huge heavy carpet onto the balcony to beat it clean, I earned myself a back problem.
(A Pause.)
I was paid for my work. It was enough to live on and even save something for a rainy day.
I saved up, and soon we moved into a tiny apartment of our own.
Looking back, the beginning of my emigration hardened me and gave me the strength to overcome the challenges that were only beginning…
(A Pause.)
Years passed. My parents moved to the United States. They quickly found jobs in their professions.
“They were lucky”, everyone says.
But maybe it wasn’t luck? Maybe it was their own achievement? Maybe they made their own luck?
It became clear that my Israeli journey had to come to an end.
My son was already with my parents in Texas. He was fifteen years old.
(A Pause.)
I had to go. Sell the apartment, the car, the furniture.
In my hands: a ticket from Tel-Aviv to Houston and a passport with an tourist’s visa to US.
There was no time for foolishness.
But Marina, a friend of mine, introduced me to an American businessman — a widower. He was visiting Israel.
We met in a beautiful little restaurant on Mount Carmel.
Lyolik was at his best — joking, entertaining everyone with funny stories.
An attractive, athletic-looking man with a broad smile showered me with compliments.
You know, he had some kind of devilish charm that was hard to resist.
Being with him was easy and incredibly fun.
I had no idea he was disabled and walked with a prosthesis!
He somehow managed not to limp!
(A Pause.)
We met almost every day.
And we met in every sense of the word.
(To the audience.)
You understand.
Boat rides in the Gulf of Eilat, laughter, champagne, beaches, restaurants.
I forgot about the hard work, the endless running around with documents, and the departure waiting ahead.
It turned out we were flying on the same day.
Only I was going to Houston, and he was going to New York.
Scene Seven
At passport control in the United States, they exhausted me with questions: Who are you visiting? Why? How long will you stay?
They let me in.
(A Pause.)
I left my son with my parents. I promised I would take him back in a month.
I went to New York, to Lyolik, in Brighton Beach.
The spacious, neglected apartment needed renovation.
And I had a few little things to take care of: legalize my status in US, open a bank account, enroll my son in school, get a work permit, and find that very job.
My parents still did not have citizenship.
We went to a lawyer.
She imitates a man’s voice.
MARIA (as LAWYER).
It’s your choice… The best solution would be to marry your partner. He’s been in this country for seventeen years. Surely he has citizenship.
MARIA (as LYOLIK).
So what are we waiting for? Let’s go get married!
MARIA.
Ha. Get married…
We got married…
(A Pause.)
If only I had known! If only I had known what was waiting for me! If only I had known!
(A Pause.)
I brought my son over. Enrolled him in school.
I worked as a seamstress repairing clothes at a dry cleaner. I was paid under the table.
(To the audience.)
Let this stay between us too. Okay?
With my savings from Israel, I renovated and furnished the apartment.
And then — surprise!
It turned out the apartment was rented. My husband hadn’t even hinted at it.
Why did I spend ten thousand dollars on repairs?!
Then came a letter from Immigration.
(She unfolds the letter and reads.)
“Dear Ms. blah-blah-blah. We hereby inform you that, upon review of your case and so forth… Mr. — Mr. indeed! — is not a United States citizen. The time required for you to obtain your Green Card will be eight years”.
Eight years! Eight years — a sentence!
He could go through naturalization. Then the waiting line would move forward by several years.
We collected documents, filled out forms. Here we go again!
His driver’s license had been suspended for years. Outstanding fines totaled two thousand dollars.
Who do you think paid them?
(She points to herself.)
That’s right.
Lyolik found me a job through his friends: a seamstress in a workshop that made curtains and interior furnishings.
I fell in love with that business. It became my life’s work.
(A Pause.)
A new discovery!
The strange tobacco Lyolik smoked from morning till night turned out to be marijuana.And that wasn’t all.
I found out he had a three-year-old son. He lived with his mother on the next street.
Lyolik hadn’t wanted the child, but the girl had seted him up.
She got pregnant, disappeared, and gave birth. Lyolik visited the boy once a week.
Every Friday I brought home my paycheck in cash. My husband, stretched out on the sofa, would hold out his hand:
“Give me the money! For Max” — that was the child’s name — “and for the weed!”
Despite his outward charm, Lyolik’s character was rotten — just like the man himself.Sometimes he was cheerful and relaxed. Then, without any reason, he would flare up like a match.
He would fly into a rage. Insult and humiliate people.
After meeting my relatives and friends, he completely lost control.They were people of a different level — successful immigrants, living in prestigious neighborhoods.
Lyolik was jealous of that circle and hated it. He poured out his bitterness. He humiliated and insulted me.
(A Pause.)
We visited my brother’s family. We were driving back from Washington.Lyolik was behind the wheel, on edge. He always needed adrenaline, danger, the feeling of being on the edge of a cliff.He drove a hundred miles an hour, cut people off, swerved, passed cars recklessly.
(She screams.)
Stop! What are you doing?! There’s a child in the car! You’re going to kill us! Stop the car! Stop right now!
I could already see myself in Lina’s place — his first wife, who had died in a car accident because of him.
My son froze in fear in the back seat.
And Lyolik laughed, enjoying his power over us.
We stopped at a gas station to fill the tank and run to the restroom. More than two hours still remained until home.
I ran to the restroom and back. I came out — the car was gone.
I was being punished! No money, no documents, no phone.
(To the audience.)
Normal, right?
I sat down on the curb and burst into tears.
About twenty minutes later — the screech of brakes.
I remember: through the car window I saw my son’s pale, tear-streaked face.
All that time, crying, he had begged his stepfather to turn around and come back for me.
Lyolik graciously allowed me back into the car.His rage had not gone away.As we exited the highway, without slowing down, he deliberately scraped the side of the car against the barrier.
He wanted to hurt us even more.
And, as you understand…
(She shows with her fingers «paying.»)
The repairs…
(She points to herself.)
Right! I paid.
My husband received a tiny disability pension. He had no intention of working.I worked myself to the bone for cash. Otherwise his pension would have…
She makes a gesture of a bird flying away.
I became successful in my craft.I found a job as a manager and pattern cutter in Manhattan.The owner paid me a high rate under the table. He wanted to keep me. He did.We designed interiors and made custom work for many celebrities.Names so famous that I have no right to mention them.
(A Pause.)
Scene Eight
Two years have passed. My Green Card interview still hasn’t been scheduled. When will it be scheduled?
(Cynically.) My beloved had driven me crazy with his laziness, his schemes, his rudeness, and his smoking weed from morning till night.
I worked a lot. I came home exhausted, barely able to stand. And at the same time, I ran the household so well that the apartment shone.
(A Pause.)
One Sunday morning, we finally reached the breaking point.
I was making breakfast. My “beloved”, after smoking, turned the TV up full blast. Football.
(Exclaims cynically.) Football! Fine. Football. (Sharp.) But could you turn it down a little?!
God! What a scandal erupted.
I went into the hallway, grabbed a suitcase, and threw my clothes inside.
(She screams.) I can’t live like this anymore! I can’t!
(A Pause.)
My “beloved” shouted: “Everything here is mine! You’re not taking anything!”
(She strikes her fist into her palm.)
And he hit me in the face.
(A Pause.)
A flash… before my eyes.I flew onto the floor of the closet. A knockout. The fight was over. Victory.
No. The bastard grabbed me by the hair and — bang! — smashed my head against the door frame.
My son ran out when he heard me scream.
(She screams.) “Titkashér le-mishtara!” – “Call the police!”
I thought Lyolik wouldn’t understand Hebrew. He did.
He rushed into my son’s room, grabbed the laptop which Sasha was repairing for his classmate.
(She gestures toward the direction.)
To the stairwell and…
(She shows throwing something away.)
Down the shaft from the fourth floor.
Who paid the thousand dollars to the boy’s parents?
That’s right.
(She points to herself.)
After hearing us and seeing my disheveled appearance and the marks from the blow on my face, the police officers handcuffed Lyolik and took him away.
(A Pause.)
I went in for a medical examination to document the injuries and give my statement.
A court date was set.
They issued a “Protection Order” — my husband was not allowed to come near us or even communicate with us from a distance.For several days there was a tense silence.
(A Pause.)
I don’t know how he… managed to call me from jail.
She imitates Lyolik speaking on the phone.
MARIA (as LYOLIK).
Hey! It’s me. Please don’t hang up. They’ll put me away. What are you doing?! How can you?! I love you. Yes, I lose control. You know that. I don’t even understand how it happened. I snapped. I snapped, okay? What now?!
I’m terrified of losing you. A disabled man in prison won’t have an easy time. In the cell, there are all kinds of monsters looking at me. You understand. Forgive me! Forgive me! Withdraw the police complaint. They’ll release me. Everything will be different. I promise.
(A Pause.)
Ohhh…I withdrew it.He came back as quiet as a mouse.We firmly decided to move out of his apartment.
As they say: “Do what is right, and let the consequences be what they may”.
We moved to another part of Brooklyn.
Lyolik wouldn’t give up.He came to my workplace and waited for me at the subway entrance.
He begged me to come back.Trying to make me feel sorry for him didn’t work.Then he turned to blackmail.
She unfolds a letter and reads.
“You left your disabled husband without help or financial support. You can be held responsible for that. In short, if you don’t return and apologize, I will withdraw my petition for your status. I will also declare that our marriage was a sham and that you are a fraud”.
We had just received our appointment for the Green Card interview.The entire family had to appear.
(A Pause.)
To stand firm and refuse to return to that bastard meant deportation back to Israel.To grit my teeth and go back meant getting the documents and staying in US.
Scene Nine
It was 1998. The Intifada was escalating in Israel. Sasha was already eighteen. If we returned, they would take him into the army service immediately.
I was terrified of losing my son. Many of his classmates had already been drafted and were fighting in the occupied territories.
My son was ready to serve in the IDF — just not to return to that monster’s apartment.
Once he even said that I was a prostitute, selling my dignity for a Green Card.
Oh, my son… my son!Maybe you were right.But that whole nightmare of moving to America was for you and because of you.
Living in Israel, I made a firm decision: my grandchildren would never know what an air-raid alarm sounded like. Never!
(A Pause.)
We went back to Lyolik.
My son was very angry with me, but he accepted it.
There was a possibility of getting my documents without my husband — as a “victim of physical and emotional abuse”.
But opening a new case, collecting endless documents again, dealing with lawyers — I had no strength left, no time.
I was exhausted. Depression. Panic attacks. Medication with side effects.
(A Pause.)
After the interview, we waited a year, a year(!) for an answer.
The answer came: the case had been lost.
All the chaos with the paperwork, all the legal fees — everything had to start over.We did it. We paid. We waited.
Six months later — denial.
Apparently, our family income was too low. I was paid under the table. My husband had a tiny disability pension.
To the audience.
Denied. No big deal, right?
So much…
She gestures: «everything.»
Wasted.How many years stolen from my life! From my life!What did I spend my best years on?!
My parents helped. Working as engineers, they became my financial sponsors.
Once again, we prepared the documents, and once again — we waited.
(A Pause.)
My husband understood that he was losing control over me.He started being cruel and outrageous again.He always enjoyed “walking on the edge of a knife”.After his next stunt, I told him I couldn’t take it anymore.I was leaving. This time, for good.
His reaction surprised me:“So how are we going to split the assets?”
After four years of hard work, without vacations or travel, I had saved one hundred thousand dollars in cash.
While I was at work, my “beloved” took the entire amount from my safe-deposit box.I was in shock.And he presented me with a mathematical calculation of the expenses: obtaining the Green Card, living in the apartment, food, and everything else.
According to him, my debt to my husband was one hundred and four thousand dollars.
He waved the keys to the used car I had bought for my son and said:
(Imitating a man’s voice.)
“Give me the money – I’ll give you back the car”.
And I — I! — was the wife of this scoundrel.
My father transferred the money that very day and told me to give it to Lyolik.
Realizing I was leaving, this man completely lost control and managed to do many more hateful things out of revenge.
He smashed dishes. He ruined our belongings.
(A Pause.)
My son was graduating from high school.I bought him a tuxedo for the graduation ball.While we were away, Lyolik blew his nose into the satin lapel of the jacket.
The big day arrived.My son put on his tuxedo.Dried snot was proudly displayed in the most visible place.
That was just one of many terrible things Lyolik did to us.
(A Pause.)
My son and I moved out.
That was the end of my marriage to that monster.
The long-awaited Green Cards finally arrived.Our marriage had not been fake.My legalization happened thanks to my parents.
Lyolik still managed to take another thirty thousand dollars from me, saying:
Imitating a man’s voice.
“Masha, come on. I’m disabled, and you’re healthy and hardworking. You’ll earn it back”.
For another year he pursued me.He begged me to come back. Promised to return the money.He ambushed my boyfriend and…
She shows a stabbing motion.
…stabbed him with a sharpened object in a soft part of his body.My boyfriend lost a lot of blood and filed a police report.
Lyolik — how he managed it, I will never understand — once again begged for forgiveness…
(A Pause.)
A year later, with the money he had taken from me, my ex-husband bought an oceanfront apartment.He moved to Florida with a new girlfriend.
Years passed.
By an incredible coincidence, when I ended up in Florida, I became friends with that woman.
It turned out that for several years my photo had been hanging on Lyolik’s mirror…
We are still friends today with that women.
She founded a immature theater in our area.I had the chance to act there.
It has been five years since this man left this world.
But vivid memories of our life together — more bad than good, more bitter than funny — are still alive in my memory.
His journalist friend said about him:
“A talented, awful, wonderful, unhappy man who lived his life disgracefully and twisted the lives of others. May you rest in heaven, skipper!”
(A Pause.)
How quickly the years fly by.
In Israel, people of my generation say: “We’re already walking home from the market”.
How true that is.Now we are wiser, more experienced, less emotional.If only we had this wisdom in our younger years.
(A Pause.)
When my brother and I were children, we used to catch perch in a lake.For hours we watched the fishing float.It would dive, then rise, then tilt in the wind, then rock on the waves.But it never turned over and never sank.Never…And that is how I am too — unsinkable…
From early childhood, I served other people’s opinions of me.I created an impression. I worked hard at it.Funny.An honors student at school, a Komsomol organizer at the institute, the best seamstress and the best designer.I dressed better than everyone else. I took care of my figure.And true love, a life partner and a kindred spirit — believe it or not, I met him on a beach.No hidden secrets, no fashionable clothes, no diploma were needed for happiness.
And another childhood dream came true — to perform on stage.
And here I am.
END OF PLAY
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