Donald, a pouty American gent in his mid-sixties with an orange head of hair.
Vladimir, a slightly younger Russian guy, balding, small and trim.
Setting: The Kremlin and the White House, separated by the River of Time.
Setting: The Kremlin. 2013. An expansive view from the window. The White House is rising across the River of Time. Vladimir and Donald sitting, legs splayed, in easy chairs. Both are still flushed from dropping in, announced, on the girls dressing room at the Ms. Universe Pageant. Both are gazing toward the White House.
Contemplating a run for the White House, Donald?
Yes, Vladimir, thinking about it.
Could I hitch a ride, too? Incognito, of course. Always wanted to see what it's really like inside...
Sure, Vladimir, but just do it so nobody can see you. Ok?
No problem, Donald. I wasn't a KGB colonel for nothing.
Setting: 2016. A raft on the River of Time. Trump, aft, his tie loosened, is steering erratically. Putin, in a wet suit but bare-torso, is lying on his stomach. His face, in a Joker mask, is hanging over the bow. He is paddling along with his hands, like a surfer on a surf board.
To the right, Vlad, paddle to the right! Vlad! Vlad! are you listening?
Hush Donald, of course I am listening, but (stops paddling and raises his right hand) I may not be the only one who is listening, he-he-he…
We’re almost there, Vlad! I can already see the American carnage. A good place to make land!
(The shore within reach, the two jump into the water, ditch the raft, and wade through the swamp towards the bank.)
Setting: The stage is split between Putin's Kremlin digs and Trump's Oval Office. Between the two offices runs the River of Time. The year is 2017. Russia has just announced the expulsion of 755 American diplomats.
(on a speaker phone)
What, Vlad, what? You mean 55, not 755?
No, Don, no. I know you can listen, Don. It’s seven hundred and seventy-five. Seven. Five. Five.
Vlad, 755 of our diplomats?! I didn’t know we had so many.
I’ve told you, Don, Rex isn’t doing his job.
But you're killing us, Vlad! Why can't you do something!
Sorry, Don. Can't help it...
But why, Vladimir, why!?
It's in my nature, Don...
(The sound of water rushing in. Walls crumble. Gargling sounds. Both drown.)
Berkeley, 1 August 2017
Copyright © 2017 by Gregory Freidin