Tommi Virhia:

		TUBA
	
	written in Finnish April 1994
	translated into English by Tommi Virhia August 1995


	A comic monoloque in one act.

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(An elderly woman is sitting. Holding tuba at her arms.
 She blows it once or twice or at least tries to.
 She lays it down and starts to tell.)

Tuba. Here it is. Tuba. Maybe I should tell you folks
how it all happened.

It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon in July.
Or was there a little bit drizzle in the air?
No, the sun was shining. If I recall that right.
There I was sitting at home and kept staring the ticket in my hand.
It was a ticket for a jazz consert. I have to go, haven't I. Because the
ticket is here. What shall I do over there? So, what shall I do!
I will listen and live. I will live a full life. I will let the sweet
melodies touch gently my bones, delight my ear,
and all that stuff what is there inside the ear, who remembers.
That was that what I explained to
myself. Why so. Early in the spring the Devil came to me.
I saw an ad and thought. Jazz.
There I have never been before and why not. At the same
second I went to buy a ticket. It made nearly two hundred marks.
Who cares, and still I always have too little money.
Everything costs. Electricity and water and ...
And many other things need money. I have to admit that food takes a big
chunk of my money funds. Food is so expensive. -- Yes, drinks are too.
I do not drink a lot but just a little for medical purposes.
Sometimes. But now I have to go because I have this ticket.

Actually I did not have any ticket at all. I knew that.
In the spring I have been thinking to buy one and maybe
I even bought one. How should I now. You can't know everything.
No one knows everything. Not even God. If he would,
I should now have that jazz-ticket. But I don't. Just a paper slip,
which I cut from the newspaper ad. But I shall go anyway. At least I
shall listen behind the door. I have maid my decision.
I found a small drop of vodka,
which I poured into a pocket-flask. That way it goes. I won't
spill a drop, no. I did not! Then, just a minute, in the drawer I have a
small drop of old liqueur. That also into a bottle, into its own little,
nice shelter. Just to be on the safe side. The vodka is for the trip and
that sweet stuff is extra to be on the safe side. And now, here we go.

Buses pass me, but I do not care. I am walking. It is a beatiful day.
Yes, it must have been beatiful weather.
At least I didn't have an umbrella with me.
It is a long way to downtown, but walking makes good. And anyway,
I did not have any money. Not even a single penny. I don't care about
singles and pennies, at least 50 marks should I have.
So that I can be there, there in the yam-session, the whole evening.
You can't just sit there with a dry mouth,
you have to drink something. Although I do not have that
ticket either, actually. Well, who says that you should always remember
everything. No one knows everything. Not even God. Oh my God!
Who is lying there in the ditch. --- It is a man, a dark man. No, not
a gipsy. Not a nigger either. He is a white man but quite a dark one.
Everybody just passes by. Hey, stop somebody. Man overroad.
In the bottom of a ditch.
Please help now. No one. Nothing. I shall not pass by.
Hey, man. How are you? Any news?
Was that a stupid question. What is the state of the land?
How is it going? Do you have a job? He can't hear me, I think. Or maybe
he won't understand me. He looks like a foreigner. "Youuu well are?"
Hello! Now he is wakening, says something, speaks oddly,
not knowing Finnish very well. Oh my God and all his angels!
He is a Russian. I can see it clearly. He is a Russian.
Should I leave him here. What about if he belongs to the maffia?
No, I won't leave him. May I help you? He is talking and
mumbling. All I understand is that he is in a bad shape. Been drinking.
Well, who wouldn't have been drinking, anyone would have.
Even God himself.
Take here from my flask, so that you will brighten up,
get some stimulation.
Now he takes. Likes it. Drinks a lot. Starts to brighten up. Now he put
that flask into his own pocket. Hey mister, that flask is mine. No, he
won't understand. Keeps talking and stumbling. Well, anyone will stumble.
In that shape. Even God will. Did I already said that.
What does he say now. To the djowntown, gooroto naada.
How can I help, old woman with no money.
Please, help somebody. Nobody helps. Nobody, not even God himself.

No, that was a mistake to say like that. He heard.
He, who helps all the weak people.
Wasn't I looking just then left over the road and what do I see there.
There is a man, man with an enormous belly,
wrinkled suit and his zip open.
Rushes out from a telephone-box. Jumps into a white Mercedes.
Or actually I don't recognize any cars,
but surely I know the Mercedes. I am a
well-bred woman, civilized you may say. Coins are flying all over.
Clerr, kling, trrr. There must I go. He might have dropped some coins
when phoning. And I go. Straight over the road. I didn't even noticed
any cars. Toot. Oh just blow your horns! My old ears won't hear
silent sounds. Or actually I do have good ears. No problem with
ears or tears. Oh, what a mess! There are all kinds of coins there.
The floor of the telephone-box is flooding. I start to collect them.
There are dimes and nickles. How could he miss the phone like that.
Is the phone broken. No, don't tell me. It doesn't accept coins at all.
It is a card-telephone. A man with a Mercedes and no credit-card.
Hah, hah. With cards you can lose money or earn. That's like that with
all card games. Oh, this makes tens of marks together. And there lies
even a note. Bank-note of fifty marks. He has tried to force even that
into the phone. They are always forcing, these gentlemen.
Phones or women. Don't say I wouldn't know that.
And now it is the end of the world! Heaven is open!
Here is the jazz-ticket. The same ticket, which I
personally bought to myself in the spring. And here it is now. And it
is for today's concert. No one ever is lucky like this. Not even God
himself.

To djowntown. Let's call a taxi for us two. Now we have money.
Here is money for you. Take. Let's go to djowntown. I call and a taxi
arrives. The Russian goes inside, slams the door and goes. Now he
has gone. I ought to come with, too! Here I am standing, looking silly
and wawing with my fifty marks note. And all I see, are the blinking
back lights of the taxi. Fifty marks. That I don't spend recklessly to
a taxi. No. With that fifty marks I will sit in a concert and not
with a totally dry mouth. I even have the ticket. That was a lucky
thing to find that ticket again. Now just keep walking. The sun is
shining and the life is wonderful. The Russian stole my vodka, but
who cares. I still do have some liqueur. This is happiness.
No one is as happy as I am now. Not even the Devil himself.

(She is sitting. Drinks her liqueur.)

Are you already too tired to listen. Don't worry. I am already
tired, too. This won't take long anymore. Where was I. Oh yes,
I was there walking. But not very long anymore. I walked and at last
I was there in a jam-session. And there I was sitting. Drinking
beer, cheap beer and listening. Or trying to listen. Because there
were so noble people at the same table. They have visited all the
foreign countries and there were they chattering
about those trips of them. I heard them say that
in Njyy Orleans the jazz was so cool or was it fool.
Anyway, I didn't hear much. Jazz, I mean. All I heard was their stories.
But then happened that thing I was actually telling you about. I was
coming from the.. you know... from the place, where you sometimes
have to go. And who is standing there. My bonus. I mean that Russian.
The same Russian. And pulls me onto the stage. Thjis lady saved me
from the djitch, and gjive some fljowers tjo her, when I had been
drinking tjoo much vodka and was abjout to miss this jam-session and
you lady, just sit there and be mjy honoured quest, thjis table,
and what shall I order for youu. Hey waiter, a Black Russian for this
lady.

There we were sitting then. The evening was full of speed. Lots of
Black Russians and beer. I was really embarrassed, but who cares.
Netschewoo. We Finns have never
really known if we are originally Slavs or
do we originate from the west.
I wonder, if any one might know that. Might even mighty God know that.
But then happened that thing I was telling you about, actually.
It was near the end of the evening. That Russian took me once again
onto the stage and boasted that without thjis lady there have not
been any jams at all, and now the lady may wish anything she wjants to,
we will make thjat wish to come trjue. Well, I knew that he meant
a piece of music. Take the A-beer or the March of the Saints.
Something like that.
But then the Devil came to me again. Last time the Devil came to me,
was then in the spring, when I bought that jazz-ticket, which I then
lost, or which I never really bought. But which then jumped into my
hands from the floor of that telephone-box. Nevertheless. So, the
Devil came to me and I said I will want to have that tuba.

You must already have guessed that, right. And here we are now. Or
should I say hjere as that Russian said. Actually I hate music, never
have liked that at all. Why do I buy a jazz-ticket, and why do I find
that ticket again in the telephone-box.
And some money for the beer, too.
And why do I say, I will want that tuba. I want the tuba. I have always
wanted to have one. Nothing else but a tuba. If I will get a tuba,
that will be all I want. That tuba is my whole life. That is
how I am making noise and finally got that tuba.

Do you know what that means. It means that this tuba is a big and
heavy thing and I have a long way home. I have no money left, but
a little drop of this sweet liqueur for my stomach is still left.
I can't play tuba. It is enough if I can even carry this. And there are
not so many who can play tuba, either. Not even God himself.
But do you know what else that means.
I shall practice and I shall be learning.
And when I am home after my long walk and all that carrying,
I can already play one tone. And next summer
I shall pljay with thjat Russian at the same jazz-concert.
And if I am going to learn, so will also God himself.
Because he took me into a situation like this.
And yet he knew what he was doing.

(Drinks carefully a little pull at her wonderful sweet refreshment
 and looks gently at her tuba.)

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