ANÍSYA. I’m not going to deny it. A life such as mine could make one do worse than that. It could make you hang yourself or throttle him. Is this a life?
MATRYÓNA. That’s just it. There’s no time to stand gaping; the money must be found one way or other, and then he must have his tea.
ANÍSYA. O-oh, my head, my head! I can’t think what to do. I am so frightened; he’d better die of himself. I don’t want to have it on my soul.
MATRYÓNA (viciously) And why doesn’t he show the money? Does he mean to take it along with him? Is no one to have it? Is that right? God forbid such a sum should be lost all for nothing. Isn’t that a sin? What’s he doing? Is he worth considering?
ANÍSYA. I don’t know anything. He’s worried me to death.
MATRYÓNA. What is it you don’t know? The business is clear. If you make a slip now, you’ll repent it all your life. He’ll give the money to his sister and you’ll be left without.
ANÍSYA. O — oh dear! Yes, and he did send for her — I must go.
MATRYÓNA. You wait a bit and light the samovár first. We’ll give him some tea and search him together — we’ll find it, no fear.
ANÍSYA. Oh dear, oh dear; supposing something were to happen.
MATRYÓNA. What now? What’s the good of waiting? Do you want the money to slip from your hand when it’s just in sight? You go and do as I say.
ANÍSYA. Well, I’ll go and light the samovár.
MATRYÓNA. Go, honey, do the business so as not to regret it afterwards. That’s right!
ANÍSYA turns to go. MATRYÓNA calls her back.
MATRYÓNA. Just a word. Don’t tell Nikíta about the business. He’s silly. God forbid he should find out about the powders. The Lord only knows what he would do. He’s so tender-hearted. D’you know, he usen’t to be able to kill a chicken. Don’t tell him. ’Twould be a fine go, he wouldn’t understand things.
Stops horror-struck as PETER appears in the doorway.
PETER (holding on to the wall, creeps out into the porch and calls with a faint voice) How’s it one can’t make you hear? Oh, oh, Anísya! Who’s there?
Drops on the bench.
ANÍSYA (steps from behind the corner) Why have you come out? You should have stayed where you were lying.
PETER. Has the girl gone for Martha? It’s very hard…. Oh, if only death would come quicker!
ANÍSYA. She had no time. I sent her to the river. Wait a bit, I’ll go myself when I’m ready.
PETER. Send Nan. Where’s she? Oh, I’m that bad! Oh, death’s at hand!
ANÍSYA. I’ve sent for her already.
PETER. Oh, dear! Then where is she?
ANÍSYA. Where’s she got to, the plague seize her!
PETER. Oh, dear! I can’t bear it. All my inside’s on fire. It’s as if a gimlet were boring me. Why have you left me as if I were a dog? … no one to give me a drink…. Oh … send Nan to me.
ANÍSYA. Here she is. Nan, go to father.
NAN runs in. ANÍSYA goes behind the corner of the house.
PETER. Go you. Oh … to Aunt Martha, tell her father wants her; say she’s to come, I want her.
NAN. All right.
PETER. Wait a bit. Tell her she’s to come quick. Tell her I’m dying. O — oh!
NAN. I’ll just get my shawl and be off.
Runs off.
MATRYÓNA (winking) Now, then, mind and look sharp, lass. Go into the hut, hunt about everywhere, like a dog that’s hunting for fleas: look under everything, and I’ll search him.
ANÍSYA (to MATRYÓNA) I feel a bit bolder, somehow, now you’re here. (Goes up to porch. To PETER.) Hadn’t I better light the samovár? Here’s Mother Matryóna come to see her son; you’ll have a cup of tea with her?
PETER. Well, then, light it.
ANÍSYA goes into the house. MATRYÓNA comes up to the porch.
PETER. How do you do?
MATRYÓNA (bowing) How d’you do, my benefActor; how d’you do, my precious … still ill, I see. And my old man, he’s that sorry! “Go,” says he, “see how he’s getting on.” He sends his respects to you.
Bows again.
PETER. I’m dying.
MATRYÓNA. Ah, yes, Peter Ignátitch, now I look at you I see, as the saying has it, “Sickness lives where men live.” You’ve shrivelled, shrivelled, all to nothing, poor dear, now I come to look at you. Seems illness does not add to good looks.
PETER. My last hour has come.
MATRYÓNA. Oh well, Peter Ignátitch, it’s God’s will you know, you’ve had communion, and you’ll have unction, God willing. Your missus is a wise woman, the Lord be thanked; she’ll give you a good burial, and have prayers said for your soul, all most respectable! And my son, he’ll look after things meanwhile.
PETER. There’ll be no one to manage things! She’s not steady. Has her head full of folly — why, I know all about it, I know. And my girl is silly and young. I’ve got the homestead together, and there’s no one to attend to things. One can’t help feeling it.
Whimpers.
MATRYÓNA. Why, if it’s money, or something, you can leave orders?
PETER (to Anísya inside the house) Has Nan gone?
MATRYÓNA (aside) There now, he’s remembered!
ANÍSYA (from inside) She went then and there. Come inside, won’t you? I’ll help you in.
PETER. Let me sit here a bit for the last time. The air’s so stuffy inside. Oh, how bad I feel! Oh, my heart’s burning…. Oh, if death would only come!
MATRYÓNA. If God don’t take a soul, the soul can’t go out. Death and life are in God’s will. Peter Ignátitch. You can’t be sure of death either. Maybe you’ll recover yet. There was a man in our village just like that, at the very point of death….
PETER. No, I feel I shall die to-day, I feel it.
Leans back and shuts his eyes.
ANÍSYA (enters) Well, now, are you coming in or not? You do keep one waiting. Peter! eh, Peter!
MATRYÓNA (steps aside and beckons to ANÍSYA with her finger) Well?
ANÍSYA (comes down the porch steps) Not there.
MATRYÓNA. But have you searched everywhere? Under the floor?
ANÍSYA. No, it’s not there either. In the shed perhaps; he was rummaging there yesterday.
MATRYÓNA. Go, search, search for all you’re worth. Go all over everywhere, as if you licked with your tongue! But I see he’ll die this very day, his nails are turning blue and his face looks earthy. Is the samovár ready?
ANÍSYA. Just on the boil.
NIKÍTA (comes from the other side, if possible on horse-back, up to the gate, and does not see PETER. To MATRYÓNA) How d’you do, mother, is all well at home?
MATRYÓNA. The Lord be thanked, we’re all alive and have a crust to bite.
NIKÍTA. Well and how’s master?
MATRYÓNA. Hush, there he sits.
Points to porch.
NIKÍTA. Well, let him sit. What’s it to me?
PETER (opens his eyes) Nikíta, I say, Nikíta, come here!
NIKÍTA approaches. ANÍSYA and MATRYÓNA whisper together.
PETER. Why have you come back so early?
NIKÍTA. I’ve finished ploughing.
PETER. Have you done the strip beyond the bridge?
NIKÍTA. It’s too far to go there.
PETER. Too far? From here it’s still farther. You’ll have to go on purpose now. You might have made one job of it.
ANÍSYA, without showing herself, stands and listens.
MATRYÓNA (approaches) Oh, sonny, why don’t you take more pains for your master? Your master is ill and depends on you; you should serve him as you would your own father, straining every muscle just as I always tell you to.
PETER. Well, then — o — oh!… Get out the seed potatoes, and the women will go and sort them.
ANÍSYA (aside) No fear, I’m not going. He’s again sending every one away; he must have the money on him now, and wants to hide it somewhere.
PETER. Else … o — oh! when the time comes for planting, they’ll all be rotten. Oh, I can’t stand it!
Rises.
MATRYÓNA (runs up into the porch and holds PETER up) Shall I help you into the hut?
PETER. Help me in. (Stops.) Nikíta!
NIKÍTA (angrily) What now?
PETER. I shan’t see you again…. I’ll die today…. Forgive me, for Christ’s sake, forgive me if I have ever sinned against you…. If I have sinned in word or deed…. There’s been all sorts of things. Forgive me!
NIKÍTA. What’s there to forgive? I’m a sinner myself.
MATRYÓNA. Ah, sonny, have some feeling.
PETER. Forgive me, for Christ’s sake.
Weeps.
NIKÍTA (snivels) God will forgive you, Daddy Peter. I have no cause to complain of you. You’ve never done me any wrong. You forgive me; maybe I’ve sinned worse against you. (Weeps.)
PETER goes in whimpering, MATRYÓNA supporting him.
ANÍSYA. Oh, my poor head! It’s not without some reason he’s hit on that. (Approaches NIKÍTA) Why did you say the money was under the floor? It’s not there.
NIKÍTA (does not answer, but cries) I have never had anything bad from him, nothing but good, and what have I gone and done!
ANÍSYA. Enough now! Where’s the money?
NIKÍTA (angrily) How should I know? Go and look for it yourself!
ANÍSYA. What’s made you so tender?
NIKÍTA. I am sorry for him, — that sorry. How he cried! Oh, dear!
ANÍSYA. Look at him, — seized with pity! He has found some one to pity too! He’s been treating you like
