THE REAL BEINGS
Teona Dolenjashvili’s real beings - disappointed and tired are wandering around us, sometimes in love and sometimes non-compos-mentis swashbucklers, destroying everything, everyone and especially themselves. Is it all caused by feelings – love, betrayal, egoism, fear – the only things that stay in our memory forever? Nia thinks so. Nia's relationship with George has collapsed. She got pregnant, gave birth to a boy, and left him in a public square. But she doesn't regard this as a tragedy - her inability to forget George is her primary problem. Nia tries to do her best and tells her scientist brother that she's ready to be his first participant in the experiment to block Npas4, the gene which is responsible for keeping memories of psychic traumas. The characters try to escape from love, hate, life, death, regret and to disremember the memories… But is it possible?
Translated into English by Elizabeth Heighway
I have not enough patience for life
He was last here fifteen years ago. Almost nothing has changed; the hotel, eucalyptuses and lakeside are all the same as they were back then. Time has stopped here, and it almost seems as if it's still that summer, that carefree summer of fifteen years ago.
Maybe it's because everything seems so boring and monotonous to him now. Before he got here he thought differently. Back in the city he had made the deep blue lake, its shoreline, and the summer he'd once spent there sound as attractive as possible for his wife and children, and they had agreed to go, albeit grudgingly. After all, when all is said and done he who pays the piper calls the tune. And so he made his choice—the best room in the hotel. He packed their bags and started up the car and now, suddenly, here he is. He looks at the view from his hotel room and feels a sense of regret. He realizes that spending his time off here will not be pleasant at all—in fact, it will be torture. He felt like this when he first saw the lake and the light green painted façade of the hotel, and when they were unpacking their bags and Lana was throwing a fit about some toiletries she'd left at home, and again when he realized how it actually hurts to revisit the past with a tired heart and an empty future. He tries to rid himself of this oppressive feeling. He leaves his room and walks slowly along the shore. In the distance he sees holidaymakers and hears their voices mixed with happy laughter. He doesn't want to see all those unfamiliar happy faces and sits down where he is. He throws pebbles glumly into the lake. He feels just how tired he is... Maybe it's the contrast between the carefreeness he left behind here fifteen years ago and the oppressive weight of the present day. Or maybe it's Lana's neuroses, which tighten around his neck and stop him breathing like a choke chain on a dog, or this landscape, completely unchanged and uncomplaining, with which he's somehow fallen out of step, and which unlike him has not aged or deteriorated at all, and which confirms to him once again that you can never go back and can never go into the same lake twice.
Even recalling the days he spent here in the past doesn't bring him much pleasure. Somehow it feels like flicking through an old album, looking at photos that faded long ago and with which you no longer have any emotional connection, where nothing transports you anymore—not the surroundings, not the people—and the only thing you find in there to like is yourself, just as you were back then, and nothing more... (See PDF)
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