This story includes a scene from the play Uncle Vanya, by Anton Chekhov, translation by Paul Schmidt, with some injections from me as well. Full credit to a wonderful translation!
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In college I took an acting class. We studied some classic playwrights like Shakespeare, Chekhov, Ibsen, and Miller to name a few.
The class was mostly theatre majors with a few folks who were looking to get out of their comfort zone and had an interest in the text from a literary perspective. I was one of the latter. Theatre was something I enjoyed, but hadn't been involved in much.
When you think of a theatre major, you might think of a more hipster crowd, a little out there. Well, you'd be right. I was pretty much a hipster at the time. There was, however, one girl in the class you'd call preppy. Actually, just straight up WASPy. She was very thin, carried herself with poise, gave off rich-girl vibes, and was very pretty. Usually, this didn't translate to good acting. Actors tend to be less about being proper and more about being raw, honest, uninhibited. So when I met Kelsey, I figured she'd be a little too stuck up to let loose in a scene.
I was wrong. She was super talented. And she used her poise to great effect while acting. Where most hipster girls in the class couldn't pull off prim and proper, she could.
I was lucky enough to get paired with Kelsey for a scene from Chekhov's Uncle Vanya. I was playing Dr. Astrov, a jaded drunk with crazy predictions that one day, the planet's weather might be effected by all of the trees we are cutting down. (Chekhov predicted global warming in the late 1800's with this, by the way.) Astrov is considered a handsome love interest to Yelena, the wife of an old, sick professor with a bad temper. Their love is considered unfulfilled by most. They don't "wind up together" as it were. But they do share a final scene together before Yelena moves away with the professor. Astrov tries to convince Yelena to stay, as he has fallen for her, but she remains resolved to leave. While they have this brief moment of privacy, Astrov kisses her on the cheek goodbye. Yelena responds, "I wish you all the best. (Looks around.) At least once in my life...Why not? (Embraces his violently; then they both move away from each other.) Time to go."
It seemed pretty cut and dry to me; she, in a moment of inhibition, gives his a mere hug and then she leaves.
But this is Chekhov. And we are reading a translation with stage directions that may be up for interpretation, our teacher explains. Our professor suggests that while rehearsing, each actor take moments of stage direction in our own interpretation, without explaining to our scene partner first. This way, an organic moment might present itself in the scene.
After we received the scenes, Kelsey approached me.
"Hey, David. When do you want to rehearse?"
"Well...maybe in a few days? I'd like to get off-book first."
"Me too. Let's meet Thursday afternoon then, yes?"
Thinking ahead to the rest of my week, I thought that sounded doable.
"Sure. Here, let me give you my number so we can talk about a time and a place."
We exchanged numbers and Kelsey went on her way. I watched as she grabbed big sunglasses out of her small leather clutch, slide them on, and walk away in her cotton Burberry dress.
Over the next few days, I agonized over every line, wanted to be prepared for the scene as well as I knew she would be. She was always line perfect in a scene. And since I wasn't an actor, I didn't want her to be disappointed.
We picked a place and time to meet on Thursday, and before I knew it, there we were. Our rehearsal space was a small black box studio with some chairs and boxes that we could move around as rudimentary scenery.
I was early, pacing a little nervously as Kelsey walked in, right on time. She had on a soft camel colored sweater that looked like cashmere or...alpaca or something. She looked slightly red in the cheeks from the fall chill that was beginning to overtake our campus. She was glowing, really. She put her bag (a rattan box clutch this time) down on a chair, slid off her light trench coat, and walked over to me, no script in hand.
"Hi, David. You ready?"
"Yeah, let's do this."
"Wait, are you totally off-book?" She asked, surprised I wasn't holding my script. She could see it was open on the chair behind me.
"I think so."
She looked approvingly at me and without missing a beat, fed me the first line, "I'm leaving."
She held out her hand and said, "Goodbye."
Taken aback by how abruptly she began, I paused for a brief moment before looking her in the eye and uttering my first line, "Already?"
She continued, "The carriage is here."
Me, not playing her little game, responded cooly, "Goodbye, then."
Kelsey was Yelena. All I had to do was respond to her.
Yelena, disappointed by how casually she was being dismissed, pivoted nervously to keep the conversation going, "You promised me earlier you'd stop coming here."
I, brokenhearted behind a stony exterior reply, "I haven't forgotten. I'm leaving right now."
Yelena doesn't move. I, noticing she's still there, feel a shift in the air. I ask, "Are you still frightened? Was it all so terrible?"
We are speaking to, and not past, each other now.
"Yes." She replies.
Feeling bold, I ask. "Then why not stay? Hm? And come see me tomorrow."
Now that I've taken her bait, she can spurn me once again. "No. I've made up my mind. That's why I can look you in the eye like this, because I've made up my mind to go. There's just one thing I'd like to ask. Will you try to believe I'm really a good person? I want you to respect me."
Her nerve. To act to fucking cavalier around me. Like if she left just then, it would hardly mean a thing. When here she is, needing me to paint her in colors of her own choosing.
Giving in to the frustration and impatience, "Oh, come on! Why not stay?" Feeling like there is nothing left to lose, Yeléna on the cusp of leaving, I speak only the harsh truth, hoping to reel her in. "Look, your life is empty, you have no goals; you must realize that. You've never had a chance to use your mind, and sooner or later you're going to give in to your feelings. You can't avoid it. And instead of Hárkov, wouldn't it be better to do it out here in the bosom of nature? Why not?" I challenge. "That'd make a kind of poetry out of it. Beautiful fall weather, lots of trees, rickety old country houses, just like a Turgénev novel..."
I wait for her to pick up where I've left off.
"What a funny man you are." She delivers like a stab to my heart. Is she avoiding understanding because she is afraid of the truth, or is she too daft? I think she's smarter than she lets off. It hurts more that way. "You make me angry, but still...You're completely original. I intend to remember you with pleasure." I never see her express much of a feeling to anyone. I make her angry? I make her feel something! She takes a beat. "We'll never see each other again, so why hide anything? I was attracted to you...a little. So let's shake hands and part friends, shall we? And please don't hate me."
Yeléna is telling me that this is the end of what never began. Yet, I can't help but be encouraged and enraged. At that moment, she reaches a hand out to shake. She needs to feel my touch before leaving, this handshake a gesture too thick with implication. I grab it tightly.
"Yes, you should definitely go." I look at her and she has need in her eyes for my approval. I shouldn't give, but I do, "You probably are a good person, but there's something strange about you, about your entire existence. You and your husband show up here one day, we're all busy working away at our little jobs, we get things done, and all of a sudden we have to drop everything and spend all our time taking care of you and your husband's gout." I'm getting more angry, and frustrated, still holding her hand in mine. She listens to my harsh words and all she gives me is an inscrutable look somewhere between hurt, longing, and confusion. She stares at me, not dissenting, not agreeing, just staring. "You and your husband--the pair of you, you do nothing and you infect us all." I stop myself, fearing I'll go too far. I melt a little at this beautiful woman, not pulling away from my hand, who keeps staring at me, more and more like a child. "I fell hard for you, you know that. I haven't done a thing for over a month, and there are a lot of sick people out there, and the goddamn cattle are eating up my seedlings..." But I can't help but get pulled back into reality. Yeléna is leaving. "Wherever you and your husband go, you destroy." It's harsh. I realize she's correct. And maybe she's letting me figure that out, right here in front of her. We cannot be together. "It's funny too: if I did stay, I know what would happen. Complete and utter disaster. I'd never survive it, and you...it might not be too much fun for you either. All right, you're leaving, just go. Finita la commedia."
My outburst ends. The air is thick. Yeléna removes her hand from mine and takes one of my pencils off the table.
"I'm taking this pencil with me. As a souvenir."
"Funny, isn't it? We got to know each other so well, and now all of a sudden we'll never see each other again. That's the way it goes, I guess. There's no one around, no Uncle Ványa with his bunch of flowers, so let me...I want to kiss you goodbye. All right?" Nervous, I step towards Yeléna, half expecting her to recoil. She held my hand and wasn't that enough after all? But she stays and waits for me as I approach. I will her cheek, sweetly. "There. That was nice."
This is it. I relish in the last moment I have with her, knowing it will stay with me as long as I live. I've already said enough harsh words. I want to think back with a modicum of fondness.