Little Eagles E-Book

Rona Munro

• Herausgeber: Nick Hern Books
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Serie: NHB Modern Plays
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 142

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Fifty years after Yuri Gagarin's first orbit around the Earth, Little Eagles tells the fascinating and little-known story of Sergei Korolyov, chief designer and unsung hero of the Soviet space programme. Under Korolyov's leadership the 'little eagles' of the USSR beat the Americans in the early stages of the space race, achieving a series of firsts, including the first human in space. Rona Munro's gripping play illuminates the life and work of a brilliant engineer who struggled to meet the military demands of his ruthless political masters, whilst devoting as much time as possible to his real passion, exploring outer space. Little Eagles was first staged by the Royal Shakespeare Company at Hampstead Theatre, London, in 2011.

Leseprobe

Rona Munro

LITTLE EAGLES

NICK HERN BOOKS

London

www.nickhernbooks.co.uk

Contents

Original Production

Dedication

Author’s Note

Characters

Little Eagles

About the Author

Copyright and Performing Rights Information

Little Eagles was first performed by the Royal Shakespeare Company at Hampstead Theatre, London, on 16 April 2011. The cast was as follows:

TITOV

Charles Aitken

GUARD 2/FARMER/

Joseph Arkley

PRISONER/GUINEA PIG

KHRUSHCHEV

Brian Doherty

KOROLYOV

Darrell D’Silva

DOCTOR

Noma Dumezweni

YURI GAGARIN

Dyfan Dwyfor

GUARD 1/BREZHNEV

Phillip Edgerley

OLD MAN/GELADZE

Greg Hicks

IVANOVSKY

James Howard

KOMAROV

Ansu Kabia

RITA/NATASHA

Debbie Korley

GLUSHKO/STEVE

John Mackay

STALIN/YAKOV

Sandy Neilson

MISHIN

Peter Peverley

LEONOV

Oliver Ryan

ANNA/XENIA

Hannah Young

VALYA

Samantha Young

Director

Roxana Silbert

Designer

Ti Green

Lighting Designer

Chahine Yavroyan

Music and Sound

Ben & Max Ringham

Movement Director

Ayse Tashkiran

Fight Director

Terry King

Aerial Consultant

Vicki Amedume

Company Text and Voice Work

Stephen Kemble

Additional Company Movement

Struan Leslie

Assistant Director

Helen Leblique

Company Dramaturg

Jeanie O’Hare

Production Manager

Rebecca Watts

Costume Supervisor

Jill Pennington

Company Manager

Michael Dembowicz

Stage Manager

Robbie Cullen

Deputy Stage Manager

Alison Tanqueray

Assistant Stage Manager

Amy Griffin

For all the wonderful, welcoming people at Davidson College, North Carolina without whom the rocket would never have got off the launch pad

Author’s Note

Little Eagles is intended as the first part of a trilogy of plays about the years of space exploration that formed such a significant backdrop to my childhood. Like many others of my age I still can’t quite believe that the astronauts and cosmonauts I thought would be part of our future have instead become part of our history.

I only encountered the extraordinary story of the mysterious Chief Designer after I began my research and it quickly muscled its way into the centre of this narrative.

Writing any play based on real events and characters is a daunting exercise. In writing about Sergei Pavlovich Korolyov and the others who inhabit this play, I have had to take some glaring liberties with time and space and imagined events and emotions which may never have occurred or, if they did, may not have occurred as I’ve chosen to portray them. I’ve invented some characters, condensed others and turned great chunks of detailed human history into a few short scenes. I don’t think I’d have been doing my job if I hadn’t dared to mess things around like this, it was a very necessary outcome to the wonderful wrestling match any writer goes through turning real events (in this case on an epic scale) into drama. However, if I’ve offended the better informed amongst you, rocket scientists, historians, space enthusiasts, with some of my choices I sincerely hope it won’t detract from your enjoyment of the story.

I should also ask forgiveness of the dead and the indulgence of the living, some of whom have been fictionalised in our play. I hope they will agree that this incredible story and this incredible character deserve wider exposure and any liberties are excusable. If there’s any justice, this will be far from the last version of these events an audience may enjoy.

Those who are interested can seek out the same research material I did – thank God for the world wide web and for some very well-written academic and popular science and history books about this fascinating period. There they will discover that while they might not always agree with my interpretation of events (and there will always be as many interpretations as there are subjective viewpoints), I have not exaggerated either the achievements or the genius of the Chief Designer or the early successes of the Soviet scientists who pushed humanity out of the earth’s atmosphere.

Rona Munro

Characters

STALIN

KOROLYOV

OLD MAN

GUARD ONE

GUARD TWO

CONDEMNED MAN

DOCTOR

XENIA

NATASHA

GLUSHKO

MISHIN

IVANOVSKY

KHRUSHCHYOV

BREZHNEV

GULAG WORKER

YURI GAGARIN

VALYA

KOMAROV

TITOV

OFFICER

GULAG PRISONER

GENERAL GELADZE

TECHNICIAN

GUINEA PIG

ANNA

RITA

YAKOV

FARMER

ENGINEER

STEVE

SCHIRRA, STAFFORD, BORMAN, LOVELL and MISSION CONTROL (voiceovers)

And GULAG WORKERS, DESIGN ENGINEERS, GUARDS, MEMBERS OF THE POLITBURO

ACT ONE

Scene One

Kolyma Gulag, 1938.

STALIN stands high above the frozen steppes.

STALIN. Comrades.

Our country is attacked from within. Only the most naive among you can doubt that our enemies are right in the heart of our great nation, like rats in a barrel of wheat. We all know that the agents of all the bourgeois countries prey upon each other, sewing war and creating discord inside each other’s borders. We know too that these same bourgeois countries consider us, the Soviet people, to be their greatest enemy. Of course they have sent their agents, their spies among us. Who can doubt it?

And even as we struggle against this foreign disease we still have failed to root out every germ of our own illnesses, Trotskyites and other double-dealers are living amongst us.

As STALIN speaks, the GULAG WORKERS enter one by one. The Gulag is a frozen wasteland, an icy, open-cast gold mine. It’s just after sunset. The GULAG WORKERS are scraping at the icy earth. They are all sick, very weak.

Some have accused our loyal agents of using excessive physical pressure against those who have been arrested. Some have even said that these faithful comrades have behaved like criminals themselves. But a party directive, made in 1937, indicated such force could be used in exceptional cases. I ask those who criticise this action to tell us how otherwise we are to defend ourselves against blatant enemies of the people. Enemies who, when interrogated by humane methods, defiantly refuse to turn over the names of co-conspirators. Enemies who refuse for months on end to provide any evidence. Enemies who try to thwart the unmasking of co-conspirators still at large, and who thereby continue, even from prison, to wage a struggle against the Soviet regime. The use of force requires courage but our experience has taught us no other method can produce results. The defence of the Soviet people demands all our strength.

There is no other case to answer.

What is done is done by the will of the people as all their actions demonstrate.

STALIN exits but his presence remains onstage in some visible form.

One by one the GULAG PRISONERS stop working, some collapsing altogether, others struggling to continue.

One of them, KOROLYOV, looks up at the sky. He smiles. The worker beside him, an OLD MAN, sees him.

OLD MAN. Who’s up there?

KOROLYOV. Venus. The evening star. Close and bright in the blue dusk. You can see the shape of her.

OLD MAN. You got a biscuit, comrade?

KOROLYOV. What?

OLD MAN. They fed you, there was none left for an old man, I couldn’t reach it in time. Were there biscuits? I’ll lick the crumbs off your fingers, comrade, anything.

Something sweet. I’d give my soul for something sweet on my tongue, comrade.

KOROLYOV. There’s never any biscuits, you old fool.

I’ve nothing.

Two GUARDS drag on another WORKER; an execution. They position him and then aim their guns. The DOCTOR follows them on.

DOCTOR. Wait…! I didn’t mean…

The CONDEMNED MAN raises his arms to STALIN.

CONDEMNED MAN. Long live Comrade Stalin!

GUARD ONE (meaning it). Well said, comrade!

They shoot him.

They turn to the DOCTOR. The DOCTOR is in her late twenties. She has never seen anyone shot before.

You were saying.

DOCTOR. I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean…

GUARD TWO. You said he was dead.

DOCTOR. I didn’t mean…

GUARD ONE. You said he was as good as dead already.

DOCTOR. I didn’t…!

GUARD TWO. You said,

(Looks at notes.) ‘If he’s under sentence of death you might as well shoot him now and get it over with…’

GUARD ONE. ‘…it’d be kinder.’

That’s what you said.

GUARD TWO. And he was under sentence of death. So we did.

GUARD ONE (pushing paperwork at her). Sign.

GUARD TWO. We did your kindness for you.

GUARD ONE. Sign.

GUARD TWO. Put your name to it. Put your name to your recommendation, as medical officer in charge.

GUARD ONE. Go on, sign.

They’re closing in on the DOCTOR, intimidating her.

GUARD TWO. Sign it!

GUARD ONE. Put your name on the paper, comrade!

KOROLYOV (to the DOCTOR). They can’t make you do that.

DOCTOR. What?

KOROLYOV. Someone needs to be responsible, for the paperwork, death must be recorded, execution quotas must be precise, they’ve acted without paperwork…

GUARD ONE silences him. A vicious blow.

GUARD TWO. Sign.

The DOCTOR signs.

DOCTOR. What I said… What I meant… there is only enough medicine to treat one person… I only have enough to save one of them… but no one should die from this disease, no one deserves that death… it’s too cruel…

GUARD ONE. So treat them.

DOCTOR. I only have enough for one person!

GUARD TWO. So pick one!

DOCTOR. We have to requisition supplies! I need you to contact your superior officers and tell them we need more supplies!

GUARD ONE (to GUARD TWO). When did she get here?

GUARD TWO. I’m guessing yesterday.

GUARD ONE (to DOCTOR). You are the last new, clean and healthy thing whose feet will break the dirty snow here till next May. No drugs. No daylight. No escape…

(Moving in on her.) Nothing else sweet and soft and fresh for a thousand miles…

DOCTOR. Stay away from me! I’ll report you, comrade.

GUARD ONE. I don’t think so, it’s a long way to Moscow, sweetheart.

GUARD TWO (warning). Pieter Nikolyavich…

GUARD ONE. Pick one and save his life. Just make sure it’s worth saving.

GUARD TWO. Yeah, the bastards have got to be able to work, that’s why they’re here.

GUARD ONE (calling out to GULAG WORKERS). Hey! We’ve got one dose of the life-saving shit that’ll stop you shitting your souls out your arse. One dose for a worker. Who’s fit to work?

Some of the GULAG WORKERS call out, stumbling to their feet.

Well, will you look at that? It’s a medical miracle, they have all made a miraculous recovery!

(To GUARD TWO.) Move them out to break the new site.

GUARD TWO. Move.

Starts pushing the GULAG WORKERS out, clearing away the dead body.

GUARD ONE. Pick one. Make sure he’s worth saving. You’re the angel of life and death. Enjoy.

DOCTOR. You have the fever already.

The DOCTOR is left with KOROLYOV, the OLD MAN and another GULAG WORKER. It is bitter cold. Only KOROLYOV is fit to speak, the other two are far gone. The DOCTOR looks at the OLD MAN. Checks his pulse.

You look like my father.

Moves to KOROLYOV. Checks his pulse.

What’s your name, comrade?

KOROLYOV. Sergei Pavlovich Korolyov.

DOCTOR. What did you do, Sergei? Before they sent you here?

KOROLYOV. I… made… I flew…

I made… rockets… rockets.

DOCTOR. Fireworks or bombs?

KOROLYOV. To fly… we flew… I can’t remember…

Let me live…

DOCTOR. Your heart’s weak. They’ve cracked your ribs…

KOROLYOV. Help me, let me live, help me.

DOCTOR. Lie still, you’re bleeding.

KOROLYOV. Help me see the sky…

DOCTOR. Careful… alright… gently…

She helps him. He looks up at the sky.

(Treating his wounds.) I’ve been posted here indefinitely. What does that mean? How long do doctors work here?

KOROLYOV. I don’t know. A long time.

DOCTOR. I can’t stay here.

KOROLYOV. I could have flown us both out of here.

DOCTOR. On a rocket.

KOROLYOV. Beyond the edge of the air, out into the sparkling dark and out of the reach of gravity… to the other side of the Moon. We would fly on forever.

DOCTOR. Good. Dream of that.

KOROLYOV. It’s not a dream. It’s not. I could do that.

DOCTOR. Not today you can’t.

(Starting to crack.) How will I live here?

KOROLYOV. You breathe.

Don’t cry.

DOCTOR. I’m not… I…

KOROLYOV. No. You have to stop. You have to stop crying if you want to live. One day you’ll work somewhere else again. Keep thinking that. You’ll escape.

DOCTOR. I don’t deserve escape.

KOROLYOV. That’s got nothing to do with it, comrade.

DOCTOR. No… No! I’m an idiot and a whore! He was a General. He promised me an apartment. Oh God, I so wanted an apartment! I thought I could suffer a few wet kisses, a few sweaty gropes…

I couldn’t do it twice! I couldn’t bear it when he came back for more. So he knew, it wasn’t maidenly virtue, was it? He knew he made me heave. I couldn’t hide it. I’m here because I’m only half a slut, only half a liar. If I knew how to be properly wicked I’d be safe by a stove in Spiridonovka.

I wanted a apartment! That’s all! A window sill with sun on it! A pot of flowers. A cat. My own little bed with fresh sheets and someone pretty lying under them now and then. What’s so wrong with that!? Why am I punished for that… Why am I here? I… Please… please… I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t want to be here. I don’t… I can’t… I want to go home… I want a home…! I want a yellow painted wall and a kettle!

She gets herself together. She opens her medical bag and gets a needle ready.

I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to do, Sergei Pavlovich.

KOROLYOV. Give it to him.

DOCTOR. He’s old. He’s barely breathing.

KOROLYOV (the other worker). Then give it to him.

DOCTOR. The fever’s high in him already.

KOROLYOV. Then give it to me! Just do it!

DOCTOR. Promise me you’re not a traitor, comrade.

Promise me you’ll do no more harm.

KOROLYOV. I’m a man! If I’m alive I’ll do harm!

DOCTOR. Then say you forgive me!

KOROLYOV. For what?

DOCTOR. For choosing who lives and who dies.

KOROLYOV. Fuck you, witch. You’ve got fur-lined boots.

The DOCTOR pulls away from him. She goes to inject the OLD MAN but at the last moment turns back and gives KOROLYOV the life-saving vaccine.

DOCTOR. You rotting traitor. Live then, for all the good it’ll do you. You owe me one, Sergei Pavlovich.

The DOCTOR exits.

KOROLYOV. Witch.

The OLD MAN groans. KOROLYOV struggles to him.

OLD MAN. Is it time to go in? Help me in, son, I’ll die out here.

KOROLYOV. I can’t.

OLD MAN. Oh…

Oh… that’s a fucker then…

KOROLYOV. Here.

He gives something to the OLD MAN.

OLD MAN. Sugar!

KOROLYOV. She had a lump in her pocket. I lifted it.

OLD MAN. The last sweet thing in Kolyma Gulag. You’ve been a good apprentice, Sergei Pavlovich. My time’s not been wasted. You came here an enemy of the people and I’ve made an honest thief out of you. Did they hurt you?

KOROLYOV. I’ll live.

OLD MAN. See that you do. One day you might go south again, eh? Make something of yourself. Live a bit of life for me.

KOROLYOV. I’ll build a rocket… I’ll send your fame all over the sky. ‘The last honest thief’ – you can steal a piece of the Moon.

OLD MAN. A rocket?

A rocket is no memorial is it, Sergei?

Sergei Pavlovich, you know full well all I wanted was another sugar lump.

Dip it in vodka, melt it on your tongue, then drain the rest and think of me.

What a fucking waste.

KOROLYOV. Hold onto me, comrade. Just hold on.

OLD MAN. You’re right…

This isn’t the time. I’m feeling lucky.

I could steal my own soul back from death if I put my mind to it.

But they tell me men have no souls these days.

You know who the devil is, Sergei?

KOROLYOV. Who?

OLD MAN (laughing). A bad boy from Smolensk, just like me.

Oh, look at that night…

So much ice in the air even the stars are shivering with it.

KOROLYOV. Hold on. You’ll be alright.

OLD MAN. If you say so, son. Just don’t forget me, eh?

KOROLYOV. Never.

OLD MAN. Good. That’s good.

The OLD MAN dies.

Time passes. The night passes. The sun is coming up. KOROLYOV still sits with the frozen corpse of the OLD MAN.

GUARD TWO enters. He has some papers in his hand.

GUARD TWO. Sergei Pavlovich Korolyov…

KOROLYOV says nothing.

They want you in Moscow.

Holds up papers.

Official release for reassignment of labour. They want him to stop breaking ice and rock and sit by a stove somewhere doing sums…

I’m not joking.

Alright, I might be joking. I might just be waiting for the poor fucker to stick his hand up so I can shoot the traitor in the head. We’ll never know unless he takes a gamble, will we…

KOROLYOV (cuts him off). I’m Korolyov.

The GUARD raises his gun. Then he roars with laughter as KOROLYOV flinches and drops the papers beside him.

GUARD TWO. Better get yourself to Moscow, comrade.

KOROLYOV struggles up. He just looks at the GUARD, dazed and confused.

What? You thought they’d send you a car? Better get walking, comrade. Only nine thousand kilometres to go.

KOROLYOV turns to face the rising sun. He starts to walk towards it, blinded by the light, stumbling, freezing.

Behind him the GULAG WORKERS enter and are labouring again. Some of them drag the body of the OLD MAN offstage.

KOROLYOV keeps walking. He doesn’t look back.

Scene Two