LITMIR.BIZ

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Don't speak about it. He'd better die of himself. It's no use—he doesn't die, and I have only taken a sin on my soul. O-oh, my head, my head! Oh, why did you give me those powders?

      MATRYÓNA. What of the powders? The sleeping powders, lass,—why not give them? No evil can come of them.

      ANÍSYA. I am not talking of the sleeping ones, but the others, the white ones.

       MATRYÓNA. Well, honey, those powders are medicinal.

      ANÍSYA [sighs] I know, yet it's frightening. Though he's worried me to death.

      MATRYÓNA. Well, and did you use many?

      ANÍSYA. I gave two doses.

      MATRYÓNA. Was anything noticeable?

      ANÍSYA. I had a taste of the tea myself—just a little bitter. And he drank them with the tea and says, “Even tea disgusts me,” and I say, “Everything tastes bitter when one's sick.” But I felt that scared, mother.

      MATRYÓNA. Don't go thinking about it. The more one thinks the worse it is.

      ANÍSYA. I wish you'd never given them to me and led me into sin. When I think of it something seems to tear my heart. Oh dear, why did you give them to me?

      MATRYÓNA. What do you mean, honey? Lord help you! Why are you turning it on to me? Mind, lass, don't go twisting matters from the sick on to the healthy. If anything were to happen, I stand aside! I know nothing! I'm aware of nothing! I'll kiss the cross on it; I never gave you any kind of powders, never saw any, never heard of any, and never knew there were such powders. You think about yourself, lass. Why, we were talking about you the other day. “Poor thing, what torture she endures. The step-daughter an idiot; the old man rotten, sucking her life-blood. What wouldn't one be ready to do in such a case!”

      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].

      

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