KUZMA. So how long you been suff’ring in this world, old woman?
YEFIMOVNA. Going on eighty, dearie.
KUZMA. Going on eighty! Soon you’ll be old as Methusaleh. (Looks at Bortsov.) And what sort of stewed fruit have we got here? (Stares straight at Bortsov.) A gent!
BORTSOV recognizes Kuzma and, in his embarrassment, goes to a corner and sits down on the bench.
Semyon Sergeich! Is that you or ain’t it? Huh? How’d you wind up in this joint? This ain’t no place for you!
BORTSOV. Be quiet!
MERIK (to Kuzma). Who is he?
KUZMA. A miserable wretch! (Nervously paces along the bar.) Huh? In a cheap tavern, for pity’s sake! In rags! Drunk! This has really got me spooked, pals . . . Really got me spooked . . . (Speaks to Merik in an undertone.) That’s our master . . . owner of our estate, Semyon Sergeich, Mister Bortsov . . . I can’t believe my eyes! Wouldja lookit the state he’s in now? There you have it . . . drink’ll lay you that low . . . Fill it up, you! (Drinks.) I’m from his village, Bortsovka, maybe you heard of it, about a hundred and fifty miles from these parts, in Yegorov district. His father owned serfs . . . What a shame!
MERIK. Rich was he?
KUZMA. A big man . . .
MERIK. Played fast and loose with the old man’s propitty?
KUZMA. No, it was fate, old pal . . . He was a big-time gent, rich, sober . . . (To Tikhon.) I bet you seen him yourself, once upon a time, driving past the tavern to town. Real classy horses, smart and trim, a carriage on springs—top of the line! He kept five troikas, believe me brother . . . About five years ago, I remember, he’s crossing by the Mikishkin ferry and instead of five kopeks he tosses ‘em a ruble . . . “Got no time,” he says, “to wait for change . . .” How ‘bout that!
MERIK. I s’pose he lost his mind.
KUZMA. Looks like he’s still got his wits about him . . . It’s all ‘cause of gut-lessness! And easy living! Mainly, boys, it was on account of a skirt . . . He fell in love, poor boob, with a woman from town, and figured she was the prettiest thing in all the world . . . Hunt an eagle and bring home a crow. A girl from a good family . . . Not ‘zactly a slut or like that, but sort of . . . flighty . . . Her tail going—wag! wag! Her eyes going—squint! squint! And never stops laughing, never ever! Not a brain in her head . . . Gents go for that kind of thing, figure it’s cute, but our folks down home would kick her out the door . . . Anyhow . . . he falls in love and—now he’s done for, the gent is doomed! He starts carrying on with her, one thing leads to another, tea and sugar, and so on . . . boating all night long, and playing the piano . . .
BORTSOV. Don’t tell them, Kuzma! What’s the point? Is my life any business of theirs?
KUZMA. Excuse me, your lordship, I’ve spoke my piece . . . I told ‘em and that’s all they’ll get . . . I spoke my piece because you got me spooked . . . I was really spooked! Fill ‘er up, boy! (Drinks.)
MERIK (in an undertone). And did she love him back?
KUZMA (in an undertone, which gradually shifts into his usual tone of voice). You kidding? The master ain’t no nobody . . . Not fall in love, when there’s a couple of thousand acres and money that ain’t chicken feed . . . And him so respectable, highfalutin and sober . . . And on good terms with the big shots, like this here . . . takes their hand . . . (takes Merik by the hand) “how do and fare thee well, thank you kindly” . . . Anyhow, this one time it’s night and I’m crossing the master’s garden . . . that garden, pal, wow! Went on for miles . . . I’m walking quiet as you please, and then I sees the two of ‘em sitting on a bench and kissing (makes the sound of kissing) one another. He kisses her once, twice, she, the snake, kisses him a couple o’ times . . . He takes her little white hand, and she’s all—flares up! and squeezes up, squeezes up against him so she can . . . “I love you, Senya,” she says . . . And Senya, like a soul in torment, walks around and brags about how happy he is, being as how he’s so gutless . . . A ruble here, a ruble there . . . Gave me money for a horse. Forgave everyone’s debts, he’s so dee-lighted . . .
BORTSOV. Ah . . . What’s the point of telling that story? These people have no sympathy . . . It’s painful, after all!
KUZMA. Just speaking my piece, sir! They’re asking! Why not tell ‘em a little bit? All right, I won’t, if it makes you angry . . . I won’t . . . To hell with ‘em . . .
The harness bells on a mail coach are heard.
FEDYA. Don’t yell it, just nice and quiet . . .
KUZMA. I am saying it nice and quiet . . . He don’t like it, so nothing doing . . . And there’s no more to tell. They got married — and that’s that . . . All over. Pour out a glass for big-hearted Kuzma! (Drinks.) I don’t hold with drunkenness! At the very minute when the ladies and gents is sitting down to the banquet after the wedding, she ups and runs away in a carriage . . . (in a whisper.) Hurries off to town to some shyster lawyer, her lover boy . . . Eh? How ‘bout that? The very exact minute! Yessir . . . killing’s too good for her!
MERIK (thoughtfully). Right . . . So what happened next?
KUZMA. He went nuts . . . Look, you can see, he started by hitting the bottle and wound up, like they say, bashing the whole brewery . . . First it was bottles, then it was barrels . . . And all that time he’s in love with her. Look at ‘im: he still loves her! I figure he’s walking back to town now just to get an eyeful of her . . . He’ll get a good look and — come back again . . .
The mail coach drives up to the tavern. The POSTAL COURIER enters and drinks.
TIKHON. The mail’s behind schedule!
The POSTAL COURIER silently pays up and exits. The mail coach departs with a jingling of harness bells.
A VOICE FROM THE CORNER. In this foul weather robbing a mail coach’d be a piece of cake!
MERIK. I’ve lived on earth thirty-five years and never yet robbed a mail coach.
Pause.
Now it’s gone and it’s too late . . . Too late . . .
KUZMA. Planning to get a taste of prison life?
MERIK. Stealing don’t guarantee a taste. Big deal, prison! (Sharply.) What next?
KUZMA. You mean about that poor boob?
MERIK. Who else?
KUZMA. The next thing, pals, which led to his downfall is his brother-in-law, his sister’s husband . . . He gets the bright idea of vouching for this brother-in-law to a savings and loan . . . thirty thousand or so . . . The brother-in-law is a brother-outlaw . . . you know how it goes, the crook’s got his eyes on the prize, so he behaves like a skunk . . . Takes the money, but can’t be bothered to pay it back . . . So our boss has to pay the whole thirty thousand. (Sighs.) A fool and his money are soon parted. The wife’s got kids by her shyster, and the brother-in-law buys an estate near Poltava,5 while our guy, like a jerk, goes from one bar-room to another belly-aching to us peasants: “I’ve lost faith, pals! There ain’t nobody I trust no more!” Gutlessness! Every fella’s got his own troubles, some snake’s eating his heart out, but does that mean you crawl into a bottle? For example, take our village elder6 now. That wife of his carries on with the schoolteacher in broad daylight, spends her husband’s money on booze, and the elder goes around with a big grin on his face . . . Only thing is he’s lost a lot o’ weight . . .