Ivan Dobnik - Vilenica

On/Off
Stanka Hrastelj · 121
This Polič couple is nice in a way, says Erik every time we are coming away
from a visit, nice in a way, I never know what he means, is it in a way or
nice that he is stressing, on our way home tonight it occurred to me that
I don't even know why we keep calling on them, what binds us together.
Sometimes I see a picture: I am kidnapped by a stranger, dragged to their
place, and seated in a grass-green armchair with my hands tied, then he
walks over to Irena switching her ON, and Irena opens her mouth, starting
on the rehearsals for Steel Magnolias, talking about countless backstage
trivialities, how she went shopping for props, for hair rollers of different
colours and sizes, she got some huge ones, so funny you could piss yourself,
that funny, and she hauled from Butlers two basketfuls of knickknacks
for the stage sitting-room, I am trying to struggle free of the noose, to free
myself, while she is saying that she bought the props in Zagreb, that she
had a cigarette the other day after the rehearsal, the first in four years but
oh boy did it feel good, she was tense, the firemen are so slow to lend the
hall to their group but where could they rehearse otherwise, and always
nagging too about the hall being messed up, but it's messed up worst by
being closed all the time, closed, never even aired, only opened once in
several years, for the polls or a referendum, with a few tables and chairs
moved around and then it's in function from seven till seven, for twelve
hours, a total of twelve hours in several years, she is talking, I am moving
my hands, bending my wrists, slowly the noose is loosening but I am still
a prisoner, she is talking, proud of her leading role though Shelby's role is
not leading, just crucial to the story, a reversal bearer in this play that tries
so hard to be a drama but is too slapdash, too sugary and pretentious to be
moving, still, staged by Irena and her crowd it worked, it worked in our
little town and was mostly entertaining, with the girls parading onstage
in huge fluorescent hair rollers and Shelby always as light as a butterfly,
cheerfully fluttering at the beginning when she gets married and at the end
when she's dying of kidney failure, she is still talking, talking, and I am a
hostage sunk in a grass-green armchair, forced to listen to an actress from
an amateur theatre group, we had to wait for her in the dressing room
after that performance and she hugged us beaming, took the offered hand
and roses and asked us, it was inevitable, asked us what did you think of
it, Irena, what an effort, my goodness, what an effort, but she did not hear
what an effort for nothing, she did not sense in my voice that I was barely
restraining myself from grabbing her by the hair that had just held those
piss-funny rollers and knocking her face against the wall, in my mind's eye
I grabbed her by the hair and started smashing her head against the wall
as hard as I could, but what she heard was a compliment, so she grinned
broadly, I finally work myself free somehow, the noose loosens up enough
for me to pull my hands out, then I decisively rise and switch Irena OFF,