Plays, series 2 | Page 8

you can go
now!

TIHON. [Returns to the bar-counter] You're too fond of being clever.
You do it again and I'll turn you out of the inn! Yes! [To BORTSOV,
who is approaching] You, again?
BORTSOV. Look here, suppose I give you something made of gold. ...
I will give it to you.
TIHON. What are you shaking for? Talk sense!
BORTSOV. It may be mean and wicked on my part, but what am I to
do? I'm doing this wicked thing, not reckoning on what's to come. ... If
I was tried for it, they'd let me off. Take it, only on condition that you
return it later, when I come back from town. I give it to you in front of
these witnesses. You will be my witnesses! [Takes a gold medallion out
from the breast of his coat] Here it is. ... I ought to take the portrait out,
but I've nowhere to put it; I'm wet all over. ... Well, take the portrait,
too! Only mind this ... don't let your fingers touch that face. ... Please ...
I was rude to you, my dear fellow, I was a fool, but forgive me and ...
don't touch it with your fingers. ... Don't look at that face with your
eyes. [Gives TIHON the medallion.]
TIHON. [Examining it] Stolen property. ... All right, then, drink. ...
[Pours out vodka] Confound you.
BORTSOV. Only don't you touch it ... with your fingers. [Drinks
slowly, with feverish pauses.]
TIHON. [Opens the medallion] Hm ... a lady! ... Where did you get
hold of this?
MERIK. Let's have a look. [Goes to the bar] Let's see.
TIHON. [Pushes his hand away] Where are you going to? You look
somewhere else!
FEDYA. [Gets up and comes to TIHON] I want to look too!
[Several of the tramps, etc., approach the bar and form a group.
MERIK grips TIHON's hand firmly with both his, looks at the portrait,
in the medallion in silence. A pause.]
MERIK. A pretty she-devil. A real lady. ...
FEDYA. A real lady. ... Look at her cheeks, her eyes. ... Open your
hand, I can't see. Hair coming down to her waist. ... It is lifelike! She
might be going to say something. ... [Pause.]
MERIK. It's destruction for a weak man. A woman like that gets a hold
on one and ... [Waves his hand] you're done for!
[KUSMA'S voice is heard. "Trrr. ... Stop, you brutes!" Enter KUSMA.]

KUSMA. There stands an inn upon my way. Shall I drive or walk past
it, say? You can pass your own father and not notice him, but you can
see an inn in the dark a hundred versts away. Make way, if you believe
in God! Hullo, there! [Planks a five-copeck piece down on the counter]
A glass of real Madeira! Quick!
FEDYA. Oh, you devil!
TIHON. Don't wave your arms about, or you'll hit somebody.
KUSMA. God gave us arms to wave about. Poor sugary things, you're
half-melted. You're frightened of the rain, poor delicate things.
[Drinks.]
EFIMOVNA. You may well get frightened, good man, if you're caught
on your way in a night like this. Now, thank God, it's all right, there are
many villages and houses where you can shelter from the weather, but
before that there weren't any. Oh, Lord, it was bad! You walk a
hundred versts, and not only isn't there a village; or a house, but you
don't even see a dry stick. So you sleep on the ground. ...
KUSMA. Have you been long on this earth, old woman?
EFIMOVNA. Over seventy years, little father.
KUSMA. Over seventy years! You'll soon come to crow's years.
[Looks at BORTSOV] And what sort of a raisin is this? [Staring at
BORTSOV] Sir! [BORTSOV recognizes KUSMA and retires in
confusion to a corner of the room, where he sits on a bench] Semyon
Sergeyevitch! Is that you, or isn't it? Eh? What are you doing in this
place? It's not the sort of place for you, is it?
BORTSOV. Be quiet!
MERIK. [To KUSMA] Who is it?
KUSMA. A miserable sufferer. [Paces irritably by the counter] Eh? In
an inn, my goodness! Tattered! Drunk! I'm upset, brothers ... upset. ...
[To MERIK, in an undertone] It's my master ... our landlord. Semyon
Sergeyevitch and Mr. Bortsov. ... Have you ever seen such a state?
What does he look like? Just ... it's the drink that brought him to this. ...
Give me some more! [Drinks] I come from his village, Bortsovka; you
may have heard of it, it's 200 versts from here, in the Ergovsky district.
We used to be his father's serfs. ... What a shame!
MERIK. Was he rich?
KUSMA. Very.
MERIK. Did he drink it all?

KUSMA. No, my friend, it was