TIKHON (inspects the cap). Hm . . . There are caps and then there are caps . . . Full of holes like a sieve.
FEDYA (laughs). A gentleman’s cap! Walk down the street in it and tip it to all the mamzelles. Top o’ the morning, good day to yez! How you doing?
TIKHON (hands back the cap to Bortsov). Wouldn’t have it as a gift. Piece of crap.
BORTSOV. You don’t like it? In that case, put it on my tab! On my way back from town I’ll bring you your five kopeks! Then you can choke on your five kopeks! You can choke! I hope they stick in your craw! (Coughs.) I hate you!
TIKHON (banging his fist on the bar). What are you pestering me for? What kind of a man are you? What kind of a crook? What’re you doing here?
BORTSOV. I want a drink! No, I don’t want it, my disease wants it! Understand!
TIKHON. Don’t make me lose my temper! Or you’ll be on the other side of the door double quick.
BORTSOV. What am I to do? (Walks away from the bar.) What am I to do? (Becomes rapt in thought.)
YEFIMOVNA. It’s the foul fiend tormenting you. Never you mind him, sir. The father o’ lies is whispering in yer ear: “Drink! drink!” Just you say to him: “I won’t drink! I won’t drink!” He’ll leave you be!
FEDYA. That skull o’ yours, I’ll bet, is going bam-bam-bam . . . and your belly’s rumbling! (Roars with laughter.) You’re a funny one, yer honor! Just you lay down and get some sleep! No point flapping around this joint like a scarecrow! This ain’t no corn field!
BORTSOV (viciously). Shut up! Nobody asked you anything, you jackass!
FEDYA. You talk and talk and make no sense! We know your sort! There’s plenty of your sort shambling along the highway here! Talking o’ jackasses, when I wallop you one upside your head, you’ll howl worse’n the storm wind. Jackass yourself! Piece of shit!
Pause.
Son of a bitch!
NAZAROVNA. Mebbe the holy old man’s saying his prayers and giving up his soul to God, while these roughnecks is beating each other up and using all sorts of bad language . . . Shameless creatures!
FEDYA. And you, you sawed-off stump, you’re hanging out in a barroom, so stop sniveling! In a barroom there’s barroom manners.
BORTSOV. What am I to do? What’s there to do? How can I make him undertand? What greater eloquence do I need? (to Tikhon.) The blood’s clotting in my chest! Good old Tikhon! (Weeps.) Good old Tikhon!
SAVVA (groans). There’s shooting pains in my leg, like a bullet o’ fire . . . Sister pilgrim, honey!
YEFIMOVNA. What is it, dearie?
SAVVA. Who’s crying?
YEFIMOVNA. The gent.
SAVVA. Ask the gent to shed a tear for me so’s I’ll get to die in Vologda. Tearful prayers work wonders.
BORTSOV. I’m not praying, granddad! These are not tears! They’re my life’s blood! They’ve squeezed my heart and the lifeblood’s run out. (Sits down at Savva’s feet.) My life’s blood! But how can you grasp that! Your primitive mind, granddad, can’t grasp that. You people are living in the dark ages!
SAVVA. And where’s them with the light?
BORTSOV. Enlightened people do exist, granddad . . . They would understand!
SAVVA. They do, they do, my son . . . The saints was enlightened . . . They understand all kinds of troubles . . . You wouldn’t have to tell ‘em, they’d understand . . . They’d look in your eyes—and understand . . . And you’ve such a comfort once they understand, it’s like there never was no trouble — it’s gone as if by magic!
FEDYA. So you seen any saints?
SAVVA. It comes to pass, young fella . . . There’s all kinds of folks in this world. There be sinners, and there be servants o’ God.
BORTSOV. I’m not following any of this . . . (Gets up quickly.) A conversation ought to be comprehensible, but am I making any sense right now? All I’ve got is instinct, thirst! (Quickly walks over to the bar.) Tikhon, take my overcoat! Understand me? (About to take off his coat.) The overcoat . . .
TIKHON. And what’s under the overcoat? (Looks at Bortsov beneath the overcoat.) A naked body? Don’t take it off, I don’t want it. . . I’m not going to take a sin on my soul.
Enter MERIK.
SCENE II
The same and MERIK.
BORTSOV. Fine, I’ll take the sin on myself! All right?
MERIK (silently removes his fustian coat and stands in his tight, sleeveless jacket. He has an axe in his belt). Some folks feel the cold, but the bear and the man with no family ties is always hot. I’m sweating like a pig! (Puts his axe on the floor and takes off his sleeveless jacket.) Whiles you’re pulling one foot outa the mud, you’re pouring sweat by the bucket. You get that foot out, then the other’s stuck in the mud.
YEFIMOVNA. That’s so . . . Sonny-boy, is it still coming down so hard?
MERIK (after a glance at Yefimovna). I don’t have no truck with womenfolk.
Pause.
BORTSOV (to Tikhon). I’ll take the sin on myself! Did you hear me or not?
TIKHON. I don’t want to hear, leave me alone!
MERIK. It’s dark, like somebody smeared the sky with tar. Can’t see yer nose before yer face. And the rain whips ya in the kisser, like one of yer snowstorms . . . (Bundles his clothes and his axe in his arms.)
FEDYA. Fine times for our pal the robber: even beasts of prey take cover, but it’s Christmas for you jokers.
MERIK. What man said those words?
FEDYA. Looky over here . . . don’t s’pose they jest slipped out.
MERIK. We’ll make a note o’ that . . . (Walks over to Tikhon.) Evening, fat face! Doncha know me?
TIKHON. If you expect me to know every drunk who comes off the highway, I figure I’d need a dozen eyeballs in my head.
MERIK. Jest you take a good look . . .
Pause.
TIKHON. Well, I do know ya, dern it all! I knowed ya by yer eyes! (Gives him his hand.) Andrey Polikarpov?
MERIK. I was Andrey Polikarpov, but now, seems as how I’m Yegor Merik.
TIKHON. Why’s that?
MERIK. Whatever label God sends, that’s my moniker. Two months now I been Merik . . .
Pause.
Rrr . . . Thunder on, I ain’t scared! (Looks around.) No bloodhounds here?
TIKHON. What dy’a mean bloodhounds! Mostly bugs and mosquitoes . . . A squishy bunch . . . These days the bloodhounds are prolly snoozing in their feather-beds . . . (Loudly.) Good Christians, keep an eye on your pockets and your duds, if you care about ‘em! This here’s a bad man! He’ll rob ya!