Hamlet, or the Phenomenon of Danish Katsapism

Les Poderviansky

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*** Hamlet, or the Phenomenon of Danish Katsapism ***
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Dramatis Personae:

• Hamlet — a Danish katsap;
• Margarita — Hamlet's mother;
• The Ghost — a horrifying sight, thoroughly draped in a bedsheet smeared with mud and ichor;
• Claudius — the prince's lustful uncle;
• Sigmund Freud — a famous psychiatrist.

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Act One

The seashore. The depraved cries of seabirds, the roar of a walrus, and other sounds made by diverse marine scum are heard. Enter Hamlet, dressed in a comfortable, pleasant Tolstoy blouse and matching sailcloth trousers. Hamlet is handsomely belted with a thin leather strap; he is barefoot, bearded, and pot-bellied, holding a sturdy cudgel in his hands.

Hamlet:
— How fucking sick of swimming I am, or maybe I should go for a dip? To swim, or not to swim, these fucking questions drive me up the wall! Or maybe without hesitation just drop my pants at once and breaststroke the fuck away until the buoys fade before my eyes? And later on, not giving a damn about the possible consequences—just once, and already fuckup creeps in with its predatory grin. A cold, hemorrhoids, a boil on the ass, a spit-covered floor, doctors, a hematoma from a syringe, and a grave, upon it dirty stinking Ophelia and a bunch of daisies, and underneath lies that sucker who loved to swim! Such a fuckin' scenario I'd skull-fuck into mouth and nose!!

Hamlet hocks a loogie into the sea and thrashes it with his cudgel.

Enter Claudius, the prince's lustful uncle.

Claudius:
— Mon cher Hamlet, let's go to the study, I'll give you a candy to suck on. The candy's mighty fine—a delicious "Tuzik"!

Claudius smacks his lips repulsively, depicting the delicious, unfuckin'believable "Tuzik". At that very moment, the Ghost emerges from the sea in a filthy sheet.

Ghost:
— Don't believe this faggot, my son, he'll shove that candy right up your ass.

Claudius: "A-a-ah..."; runs away........

Ghost:
— Look at that, got scared, the fucking bedwetter. He pissed on me during a hunt while I was sound asleep, with a treacherous hand he shoved a filthy dick into my ear, and mortal gangrene twisted my gorgeous body into a mangled fuck. I want revenge!! To see this scoundrel sitting on the prison shitter, playing cockfight with an unshaven murderer, or in an office as a fucking engineer, or bent over doggy-style on the floor of a yurt, with Tatars fucking him right in the ass!

Hamlet:
— One must not take revenge; we must love all faggots, thieves, murderers, for each of them is the folk, all God-bearers...

Ghost (ironically):
— So maybe you don't eat meat either?

Hamlet:
— No, I don't eat meat on principle; I only like to drink sometimes, for we are a broad and hospitable people, and we can drink a fuck-ton, far more than other foreigners, Jews, and heathens.

Ghost:
— Shitty fashion, something stinks rotten in the Danish principality. When I was tsar, I fucked all God-bearers in the ass, Leo Tolstoy included—figuratively speaking, of course. For having despised faggots since childhood, I sent them to bust their balls on chemical work camps for the good of the Motherland. Oh times, oh wretched Denmark!

Hamlet:
— Dad, you've gotten completely fucked in the head being a ghost, you spout such bullshit it wouldn't clear up in a whole week. I told you—I cannot take revenge, for all men on earth are brothers, except Jews, Tatars, Masons, blacks, and Belarusians, whom I despise, but on the whole, I am a humanist—unlike you, old man. All you ever care about is guzzling vodka, fucking poor mother on the stove till smoke pours from the shack, then slurping tea and hurling an axe at the paralyzed granny, kicking the toilet with your boots, and plenty of other fuckery I've noticed you doing. Why on earth did you force your own brother, weaker in health than you, to suck you off? That's why the poor bastard lost his damn mind! And no wonder. My poor mother hated you like I hate the Jews; yet she loved me, her good boy, and often coddled me, and I played kitty and squirrel with her. You, father, fuck off into your sea and make it quick, or I'll smash your fucking face in with this cudgel, and I'll call uncle too, and together we'll lay down such a beatdown that Denmark will shudder.

Ghost:
— You son of a bitch, you fucking abortion, talking such shit to your father! Why didn't I drown you in my spunk when you were born, why didn't I shove you head-first up an ass and suffocate you, what a whored-out family. Just you wait.

The Ghost drowns himself in the sea.

Hamlet:
— Fucking old man, worked my last nerve down to the bone. Ought to go grab a champagne in a bar, 'cause my mouth tastes like cats pissed in it, and subconsciously I just want to lick my hot teeth with a rough tongue.

Hamlet leaves. Walruses roar, birds shriek, the sea hums.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Act Two

On one side of the stage stands a "STEINWAY" grand piano; sprats sit on top of it. In the center of the stage stands a katsap armchair devoid of any artistic taste; above them hangs the national coat of arms. The coat of arms depicts a bear. In one hand, the bear holds a hammer, and in the other, a balalaika; this symbolizes the beast's diligence and uninhibited nature.

In the armchair sits Margarita, Hamlet's mother, embroidering a collar on a kosovorotka tunic. She is humming "Komariki".

Quietly, with the soft tread of a queer, enters Claudius, the prince's lustful uncle.

Claudius:
— Today I was strolling along the Danish shore with your handsome son; I offered him a candy, a good one, very tasty, but the dipshit wouldn't take it.

Margarita:
— What an eccentric, honestly!

Claudius (to himself):
— I'll fuck him yet... (to Margarita): The "Tuzik" candy is damn unfuckin'believable!

Margarita (tenderly):
— You rogue!

Claudius:
— What stinks so bad in the study, as if someone took an unhygienic shit; open the vent window, peasants, to let the stink out.

Two peasants in kosovorotkas and boots jump up, quickly open the vent window, and that very instant the Ghost flies through it.

Ghost:
— Aha, you bastards, pants down everyone, assume the position, you're fucking done for now, flush the pipes, you fucking Masons, or whatever the fuck you are...

Claudius, Margarita, and the peasants obey the Ghost's orders. He laughs wildly and flies around the study.

Claudius:
— My ghost, we aren't doing any fuckery. Toward all Judeo-Masons we harbor malice and hatred, and every single day we sing national hymns on the balalaika in chorus! The Jews and heathens fear us; prestige grows stronger, powerfully surging like the fat percentage in butter; the peasants are content—their fucking mugs are well-fed; there are far fewer faggots around. They're all busting their balls like Gepetto on chemical works in Cherkasy, and all the dykes are at Solovki.

Enter Hamlet, shitfaced drunk. In one hand he holds a cudgel, and in the other—champagne.

Ghost:
— Look, my son, these are Judeo-Masons. Thrash them across the liver with the cudgel, and report back to me afterwards, got it?

Hamlet:
— Old man, everything will be done in the best possible shape, don't worry.

Hamlet beats everyone with the cudgel, smashes the coat of arms with the bear, then pours champagne into the piano and tosses the sprats in there as well. Then he batters the piano with the cudgel... The piano hums.

Ghost:
— My son, that's a piano, not Jews, no need to beat it. I bought it with hard currency.

Hamlet:
— I fucked the pianos, the hard currency, and all the Jews!!

Hamlet beats the Ghost with the cudgel; the Ghost falls. On the floor lie the corpses battered by Hamlet; sprats swim quietly in the piano. Enter Sigmund Freud, his glasses gleaming mysteriously in the dark.

Hamlet slowly begins to sober up.

— Let us tally the results: I clobbered dad, beat poor mom to death along with my own uncle, smashed precious furniture, trashed the national coat-of-arms bullshit; everywhere is death, ruin. I'm not gonna drink anymore, though frankly—what's a reasonable alternative? Ah, fucking Denmark, total doom to all hopes!

Hamlet tears his Tolstoy blouse off.

Music plays softly, a pleasant voice sings "Yablochko". Sigmund Freud approaches Hamlet, jabs a syringe into his ass, and leads him away to the madhouse.

Seven sailors in terrifying, black pea coats appear on stage. The song "Yablochko" spreads triumphantly. To the cheerful tunes of "Yablochko", the sailors silently, dreadfully tap-dance...

            * CURTAIN *