The Chekhov Collection: Novellas, Short Stories, Plays, Letters & Diary. Anton Chekhov

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      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? [Is thoughtful.]

      EFIMOVNA. It’s the devil tormenting you. Don’t you mind him, sir. The damned one keeps whispering, “Drink! Drink!” And you answer him, “I shan’t drink! I shan’t drink!” He’ll go then.

      FEDYA. It’s drumming in his head…. His stomach’s leading him on! [Laughs] Your houour’s a happy man. Lie down and go to sleep! What’s the use of standing like a scarecrow in the middle of the inn! This isn’t an orchard!

      BORTSOV. [Angrily] Shut up! Nobody spoke to you, you donkey.

      FEDYA. Go on, go on! We’ve seen the like of you before! There’s a lot like you tramping the high road! As to being a donkey, you wait till I’ve given you a clout on the ear and you’ll howl worse than the wind. Donkey yourself! Fool! [Pause] Scum!

      NAZAROVNA. The old man may be saying a prayer, or giving up his soul to God, and here are these unclean ones wrangling with one another and saying all sorts of… Have shame on yourselves!

      FEDYA. Here, you cabbage-stalk, you keep quiet, even if you are in a public-house. Just you behave like everybody else.

      BORTSOV. What am I to do? What will become of me? How can I make him understand? What else can I say to him? [To TIHON] The blood’s boiling in my chest! Uncle Tihon! [Weeps] Uncle Tihon!

      SAWA. [Groans] I’ve got shooting-pains in my leg, like bullets of fire…. Little mother, pilgrim.

      EFIMOVNA. What is it, little father?

      SAVVA. Who’s that crying?

      EFIMOVNA. The gentleman.

      SAVVA. Ask him to shed a tear for me, that I might die in Vologda. Tearful prayers are heard.

      BORTSOV. I’m not praying, grandfather! These aren’t tears! Just juice! My soul is crushed; and the juice is running. [Sits by SAVVA] Juice! But you wouldn’t understand! You, with your darkened brain, wouldn’t understand. You people are all in the dark!

      SAVVA. Where will you find those who live in the light?

      BORTSOV. They do exist, grandfather…. They would understand!

      SAVVA. Yes, yes, dear friend…. The saints lived in the light…. They understood all our griefs…. You needn’t even tell them…. and they’ll understand…. Just by looking at your eyes…. And then you’ll have such peace, as if you were never in grief at all — it will all go!

      FEDYA. And have you ever seen any saints?

      SAVVA. It has happened, young man…. There are many of all sorts on this earth. Sinners, and servants of God.

      BORTSOV. I don’t understand all this…. [Gets up quickly] What’s the use of talking when you don’t understand, and what sort of a brain have I now? I’ve only an instinct, a thirst! [Goes quickly to the counter] Tihon, take my coat! Understand? [Tries to take it off] My coat…

      TIHON. And what is there under your coat? [Looks under it] Your naked body? Don’t take it off, I shan’t have it…. I’m not going to burden my soul with a sin.

      [Enter MERIK.]

      BORTSOV. Very well, I’ll take the sin on myself! Do you agree?

      MERIK. [In silence takes of his outer cloak and remains in a sleeveless jacket. He carries an axe in his belt] A vagrant may sweat where a bear will freeze. I am hot. [Puts his axe on the floor and takes off his jacket] You get rid of a pailful of sweat while you drag one leg out of the mud. And while you are dragging it out, the other one goes farther in.

      EFIMOVNA. Yes, that’s true… is the rain stopping, dear?

      MERIK. [Glancing at EFIMOVNA] I don’t talk to old women. [A pause.]

      BORTSOV. [To TIHON] I’ll take the sin on myself. Do you hear me or don’t you?

      TIHON. I don’t want to hear you, get away!

      MERIK. It’s as dark as if the sky was painted with pitch. You can’t see your own nose. And the rain beats into your face like a snowstorm! [Picks up his clothes and axe.]

      FEDYA. It’s a good thing for the likes of us thieves. When the cat’s away the mice will play.

      MERIK. Who says that?

      FEDYA. Look and see… before you forget.

      MERIN. We’ll make a note of it…. [Goes up to TIHON] How do you do, you with the large face! Don’t you remember me.

      TIHON. If I’m to remember every one of you drunkards that walks the high road, I reckon I’d need ten holes in my forehead.

      MERIK. Just look at me…. [A pause.]

      TIHON. Oh, yes; I remember. I knew you by your eyes! [Gives him his hand] Andrey Polikarpov?

      MERIK. I used to be Andrey Polikarpov, but now I am Egor Merik.

      TIHON. Why’s that?

      MERIK. I call myself after whatever passport God gives me. I’ve been Merik for two months. [Thunder] Rrrr…. Go on thundering, I’m not afraid! [Looks round] Any police here?

      TIHON. What are you talking about, making mountains out of molehills?… The people here are all right… The police are fast asleep in their feather beds now…. [Loudly] Orthodox brothers, mind your pockets and your clothes, or you’ll have to regret it. The man’s a rascal! He’ll rob you!

      MERIK. They can look out for their money, but as to their clothes — I shan’t touch them. I’ve nowhere to take them.

      TIHON. Where’s the devil taking you to?

      MERIK. To Kuban.

      TIHON. My word!

      FEDYA. To Kuban? Really? [Sitting up] It’s a fine place. You wouldn’t see such a country, brother, if you were to fall asleep and dream for three years. They say the birds there, and the beasts are — my God! The grass grows all the year round, the people are good, and they’ve so much land they don’t know what to do with it! The authorities, they say… a soldier was telling me the other day… give a hundred dessiatins ahead. There’s happiness, God strike me!

      MERIK. Happiness…. Happiness goes behind you…. You don’t see it. It’s as near as your elbow is, but you can’t bite it. It’s all silly…. [Looking round at the benches and the people] Like a lot of prisoners…. A poor lot.

      EFIMOVNA. [To MERIK] What great, angry, eyes! There’s an enemy in you, young man…. Don’t you look at us!

      MERIK. Yes, you’re a poor lot here.

      EFIMOVNA. СКАЧАТЬ