FullReads

NAZAROVNA.
Don’t swank, young man! Perhaps the old man is giving back his soul to God, or repenting for his sins, and you talk like that, and play your concertina…. Put it down! You’ve no shame!

FEDYA.
And what are you sticking to him for? He can’t do anything and you… with your old women’s talk… He can’t say a word in reply, and you’re glad, and happy because he’s listening to your nonsense…. You go on sleeping, grandfather; never mind her! Let her talk, don’t you take any notice of her. A woman’s tongue is the devil’s broom–it will sweep the good man and the clever man both out of the house. Don’t you mind….

[Waves his hands]
But it’s thin you are, brother of mine! Terrible! Like a dead skeleton! No life in you! Are you really dying?

SAVVA.
Why should I die? Save me, O Lord, from dying in vain…. I’ll suffer a little, and then get up with God’s help…. The Mother of God won’t let me die in a strange land…. I’ll die at home.

FEDYA.
Are you from far off?

SAVVA.
From Vologda. The town itself…. I live there.

FEDYA.
And where is this Vologda?

TIHON.
The other side of Moscow….

FEDYA.
Well, well, well…. You have come a long way, old man! On foot?

SAVVA.
On foot, young man. I’ve been to Tihon of the Don, and I’m going to the Holy Hills. [Note: On the Donetz, south-east of Kharkov; a monastery containing a miraculous ikon.]… From there, if God wills it, to Odessa…. They say you can get to Jerusalem cheap from there, for twenty-ones roubles, they say….

FEDYA.
And have you been to Moscow?

SAVVA.
Rather! Five times….

FEDYA.
Is it a good town?

[Smokes]
Well-standing?

Sews.
There are many holy places there, young man…. Where there are many holy places it’s always a good town….

BORTSOV.
[Goes up to the counter, to TIHON]

Once more, please! For the sake of Christ, give it to me!

FEDYA.
The chief thing about a town is that it should be clean. If it’s dusty, it must be watered; if it’s dirty, it must be cleaned. There ought to be big houses… a theatre… police… cabs, which… I’ve lived in a town myself, I understand.

BORTSOV.
Just a little glass. I’ll pay you for it later.

TIHON.
That’s enough now.

BORTSOV.
I ask you! Do be kind to me!

TIHON.
Get away!

BORTSOV.
You don’t understand me…. Understand me, you fool, if there’s a drop of brain in your peasant’s wooden head, that it isn’t I who am asking you, but my inside, using the words you understand, that’s what’s asking! My illness is what’s asking! Understand!

TIHON.
We don’t understand anything…. Get back!

BORTSOV.
Because if I don’t have a drink at once, just you understand this, if I don’t satisfy my needs, I may commit some crime. God only knows what I might do! In the time you’ve kept this place, you rascal, haven’t you seen a lot of drunkards, and haven’t you yet got to understand what they’re like? They’re diseased! You can do anything you like to them, but you must give them vodka! Well, now, I implore you! Please! I humbly ask you! God only knows how humbly!

TIHON.
You can have the vodka if you pay for it.

BORTSOV.
Where am I to get the money? I’ve drunk it all! Down to the ground! What can I give you? I’ve only got this coat, but I can’t give you that. I’ve nothing on underneath…. Would you like my cap?

[Takes it off and gives it to TIHON]

TIHON.
[Looks it over]

Hm…. There are all sorts of caps…. It might be a sieve from the holes in it….

FEDYA.
[Laughs]

A gentleman’s cap! You’ve got to take it off in front of the mam’selles. How do you do, good-bye! How are you?

TIHON.
[Returns the cap to BORTSOV]

I wouldn’t give anything for it. It’s muck.

BORTSOV.
If you don’t like it, then let me owe you for the drink! I’ll bring in your five copecks on my way back from town. You can take it and choke yourself with it then! Choke yourself! I hope it sticks in your throat! [Coughs] I hate you!

TIHON.
[Banging the bar-counter with his fist]

Why do you keep on like that? What a man! What are you here for, you swindler?

BORTSOV.
I want a drink! It’s not I, it’s my disease! Understand that!

TIHON.
Don’t you make me lose my temper, or you’ll soon find yourself outside!

BORTSOV.
What am I to do?

[Retires from the bar-counter]
What am I to do?

Fate hasn’t sent me to my death because of a stolen axe….

[Falls down and sobs]
Woe! Woe is me! Have pity on me, Orthodox people!

[Curtain.]