The Russian Masters: Works by Dostoevsky, Chekhov, Tolstoy, Pushkin, Gogol, Turgenev and More. Максим Горький

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      There is no God.

      SAVVA

      How's that?

      TONY

      And no devil either. There's nothing, no people, no animals, nothing.

      SAVVA

      What is there then?

      TONY

      There are only faces, a whole lot of faces. It's faces, faces, faces. They are very funny, and I keep laughing all the time. I just sit still, and the faces come jumping and gliding past me, jumping and gliding. You've got a very funny face too, Savva. (Sadly) It's enough to make one die of laughter.

      SAVVA (laughing gayly)

      What kind of a face have I?

      TONY

      That's the kind of face you have. (Pointing his finger at him) She also has a face, and she. And father too. And then there are other faces. There are a lot of faces. I sit in the tavern and see everything. Nothing escapes me. You can't fool me. Some faces are small and some are large, and all of them glide and glide—Some are far away, and some are as close to me as if they wanted to kiss me or bite my nose. They have teeth.

      SAVVA

      All right, Tony, now you can go. We'll talk about the faces later.

       Your own face is funny enough.

      TONY

      Yes, of course. I, too, have a face.

      SAVVA

      All right, all right. Go now. Don't forget to send in the whiskey.

      TONY

      As in the daytime so at night. A lot of faces. (From the door) And in regards to whiskey, maybe I'll send it and maybe I won't. I can't tell yet.

      SAVVA (to Lipa)

      Has he been that way a long time?

      LIPA

      I don't know. I think so. He drinks an awful lot.

      PELAGUEYA (going)

      No wonder. You're enough to drive a man to drink. Cranks. (Exit)

      LIPA

      My, how stifling! I don't know what to do with myself. Say, Savva, why aren't you nicer to Polya? She is such a wretched creature.

      SAVVA

      A slavish soul.

      LIPA

      It isn't her fault if she's that way.

      SAVVA (coldly)

      Nor mine either.

      LIPA

      Oh, Savva, if you only knew the terrible life people lead here. The men drink, and beat their wives, and the women—

      SAVVA

      I know.

      LIPA

      You say it so calmly. I have been waiting very much to have a talk with you.

      SAVVA

      Go ahead.

      LIPA

      You'll soon be leaving us, I suppose.

      SAVVA

      Yes.

      LIPA

      Then I won't have any chance to talk to you. You are scarcely ever at home. This is the first time, pretty nearly. It seems so strange that you should enjoy playing with the children, you a grown man, big as a bear.

      SAVVA (merrily)

      No, Lipa, they play very well. Misha is very good at the game, and I have a hard time holding up my end of it. I lost him three pairs yesterday.

      LIPA

      Why, he is only ten years old.—

      SAVVA

      Well, what of it? The children are the only human beings here. They are the wisest part of the—

      LIPA (with a smile)

      And I? How about me?

      SAVVA (looking at her)

      You? Why, you are like the rest.

       [A pause. Being offended, Lipa's languor disappears to some extent.

      LIPA

      Maybe I bore you.

      SAVVA

      No, you make no difference to me one way or another. I am never bored.

      LIPA (with a constrained smile)

      Thank you, I am glad of that at least. Were you in the monastery to-day? You go there often, don't you?

      SAVVA

      Yes, I was there. Why?

      LIPA

      I suppose you don't remember—I love our monastery. It is so beautiful. At times it looks so pensive. I like it because it's so old. Its age gives it a solemnity, a stern serenity and detachment.

      SAVVA

      Do you read many books?

      LIPA (blushing)

      I used to read a lot. You know I spent four winters in Moscow with

       Aunt Glasha. Why do you ask?

      SAVVA

      Never mind. Go on.

      LIPA

      Does what I say sound ridiculous?

      SAVVA

      No, go on.

      LIPA

      The monastery is really a remarkable place. There are nice spots there which no one ever visits, somewhere between the mute walls, where there is nothing but grass and fallen stones and a lot of old, old litter. I love to linger there, especially at twilight, or on hot sunny days like to-day. I close my eyes, and I seem to look far, far into the distant past—at those who built it and those who first prayed in it. There they walk along the path carrying bricks and singing something, so softly, so СКАЧАТЬ