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A Play

By George Calderon

[Praskóvya's sitting-room. Street door in porch and a curtainless window at the back. It is night; the light of an oil-lamp in the street dimly shows snow-covered houses and falling snow. The room is plainly furnished: a bed, a curtain on a cord, some books, eikons on a shelf in the corner with a wick in a red glass bowl burning before them, paper flowers, and Easter eggs on strings. A photograph of a man of twenty hangs by the eikons. There are doors to kitchen and to the lodgers' rooms.

Varvára is discovered sitting by a lamp darning stockings.

There is an atmosphere of silence, solitude, and Russian monotony. The clock ticks. A man is seen passing in the street; his feet make no sound on the snowy ground. There is the sound of a concertina and a man who laughs in the distance out of doors. Then silence again.

Enter Astéryi, stout and lazy; gray hair thrown untidily back, a rough beard. He is in slippers and dirty dressing-gown, with a big case full of Russian cigarettes in his pocket.]

Ast. Is Praskóvya Petróvna not at home?

Var. [rising]. She is not at home, Astéryi Ivanovitch. She has gone to Vespers at St. Pantaléimon's in the Marsh. It is the festival of the translation of St. Pantaléimon's relics. [Varvára sits again. Astéryi walks to and fro smoking a cigarette.] Will you not have your game of patience as usual?

Ast. Without Praskóvya Petróvna?

Var. She would be sorry if you missed your game because she was late. You can play again when she returns; she likes to watch you.

Ast. Very well.

[Varvára gets a pack of cards. Astéryi sits at a table at one side and plays.]

Var. Shall I prepare the samovar?

Ast. Not yet; I will wait. How greasy these cards are [laying out a patience].

Var. No wonder, Astéryi Ivanovitch. It is two years since you bought this pack.

A Voice [without]. Varvára! Varvára! There is no water in my jug.

Ast. There is one of the lodgers calling you.

Var. It is the schoolmaster.

Ast. Better not keep him waiting; he is an angry man.

Var. I will go. Excuse me, please.

[Exit Varvára. The clock ticks again. Astéryi pauses and meditates, then murmurs, "Oh, Hóspodi!" as if in surprise at being so terribly bored. The concertina plays a few notes. A knock at the street door.]

Ast. Who's there? Come in, come in!

[Enter Spiridón, a man with a cringing, crafty manner, in a sheepskin coat with snow on it. He stands by the door, facing the eikon, crossing himself with large gestures and bowing very low towards it.]

Spir. [looking round]. Good-day, sir, good-day. [Crossing himself again.] May the holy saints preserve all in this house.

Ast. Ah! it's you, Spiridón?

Spir. Yes, sir. It is Spiridón the stonemason.

Ast. What brings you here, Spiridón?

Spir. Is Praskóvya Petróvna not at home?

Ast. No, she has gone to Vespers at St. Pantaléimon's in the Marsh.

Spir. The service is late to-night.

Ast. Yes.... You are a hard man, Spiridón.

Spir. Me, sir!

Ast. And you lose money by your hardness. Praskóvya Petróvna is a poor woman. For years she has been saving up money to build a stone house over the grave of her son in the Tróitski Cemetery. You say that you will build it for 500 roubles, but you ask too much. By starving herself and pinching in every way she has saved up 400 roubles at last, and if you were a wise man you would accept it. For see, she is old; if she starve herself to save up another 100 roubles she will be dead before she has got it; her money will be sent back to her village or it will go into the pocket of some official, and you will not have the tomb-house to build at all.

Spir. I have thought of all these things, Astéryi Ivanovitch, since you last spoke to me about it. And I said to myself: Astéryi Ivanovitch is perhaps right; it is not only Praskóvya Petróvna who is old; I myself am old also, and may die before she has saved up money enough. But it is very hard to work and be underpaid. Good Valdai stone is expensive and hard to cut, and workmen nowadays ask for unholy wages. Still, I said to myself, a tomb-house for her son—it is a God-fearing work: and I have resolved to make the sacrifice. I have come to tell her I will consent to build it for 400 roubles.

Ast. You have done rightly. You are an honest man, and God and St. Nicholas will perhaps save your soul.

[Enter Fomá in cap and great-coat from the door to the lodgers' rooms.]

Fomá. Good-evening, Astéryi Ivanovitch. Is Praskóvya not at home?

Ast. No, she is at Vespers.

Fomá. I come in and find my stove smoking. [Taking of his coat.] I wished to ask her permission to sit here awhile to escape a headache. Who is this? Ah, Spiridón. And by what miracle does Astéryi Ivanovitch hope that God and St. Nicholas will save your soul?

Ast. He has consented to build Praskóvya Petróvna the tomb-house over Sasha's grave for 400 roubles instead of 500.

Fomá. That is good! She will be glad to hear the news, and shake hands on the bargain, and christen the earnest-money with vodka.

Spir. The earnest-money? Ah no, sir, there can be no earnest-money. The whole sum of money must be paid at once. I am a poor man. I must pay the quarryman for the stone; my workmen cannot live on air.

Ast. If she has the money she will pay you.

Fomá. Well, if there is to be no earnest-money, at least we will have the vodka. Vodka is always good.

Ast. [to Spiridón]. Sit down and wait till she returns. She will not be long.

Spir. No, no; I will come again in an hour. I have to go to my brother-in-law two streets away. [Crossing himself before the eikons.] I will come again as I return.

[The tap of drums in the street.]

Ast. Why are they beating drums?

Fomá. It is a patrol passing.

Spir. The soldiers are very watchful to-day.

Fomá. It is because the Empress comes this way to-morrow on her journey to Smolensk.

Spir. They have arrested many suspicious people. All those who have no passports are being sent away to Siberia.

Fomá. Ah! poor creatures! [A patrol of soldiers passes the window quietly].

Spir. Why should you say "poor creatures"? If they were honest men they would not be without passports. Good-evening.

Fomá. Wait till they have gone.

Spir. We honest men have nothing to fear from them. Good-evening. I will return again in an hour. [Exit Spiridón.]

Fomá. How glad Praskóvya will be.

Ast. Say nothing of this to any one. We will keep it as a surprise.

[Enter Varvára.]

Fomá. Varvára, my pretty child, fetch the bottle of vodka from my room.

Var. Vodka in here? Praskóvya Petróvna will be angry.

Fomá. No, she will not be angry; she will be glad. [Exit Varvára.] Do you play patience here every night?

Ast. Every night for more than twenty years.

Fomá. What is it called?

Ast. It is called the Wolf!

Fomá. Does it ever come out?

Ast. It has come out twice. The first time I found a purse in the street which somebody had lost. The second time the man above me at the office died, and I got his place.

Fomá. It brings good luck then?

Ast. To me at least.

Fomá. How glad Praskóvya Petróvna will be!

[Enter Varvára with vodka bottle, which she sets on a table; no one drinks from it yet.]

Var. Do you not want to drink tea?

Fomá. Very much, you rogue.

Var. Then I will set the samovar for both of you in here. [She gets out tumblers, lemon and sugar.]

Ast. I did wrong in moving the seven.

Fomá. Put it back then.

Ast. It is too late. Once it has been moved, it must not be put back.

[Enter Praskóvya from the street hurriedly with a lantern.]

Pras. [crossing herself]. Hóspodi Bózhe moy!

Var. [running to her, frightened]. Have you seen him again?

Pras. [agitated]. I do not know. There seemed to be men standing everywhere in the shadows.... Good-evening, Fomá Ilyitch, good-evening, Astéryi Ivanovitch.

[Varvára goes out, and brings in the samovar.]

Fomá. I have been making myself at home; my stove smoked.

Pras. Sit down, sit down! What ceremony! Why should you not be here? And vodka too? What is the vodka for?

Ast. I will tell you when I have finished my patience. [They all drink tea.]

Pras. So you are playing already.

Ast. If it comes out, the good luck that it brings shall be for you!

Pras. For me? [They all watch Astéryi playing.] The knave goes on the queen. [A pause.]

Fomá. That is unfortunate.

Var. You should not have moved the ten. [A pause.]

Ast. That will be better. [A pause.]

Pras. How brightly the eikon lamp burns before the portrait of my boy.

Var. It does indeed.

Pras. It is the new fire from the Candlemas taper.

Fomá. It is the new oil that makes it burn brightly.

Pras. [crossing herself]. Nonsense! it is the new fire.

Fomá. Did ever one hear such stuff? She put out the lamp at Candlemas, and lighted it anew from the taper which she brought home from the midnight service, from the new fire struck by the priest with flint and steel; and now she thinks that is the reason why it burns so brightly.

Var. Is that not so then, Astéryi Ivanovitch?

Ast. Oh, Fomá Ilyitch is a chemist; he can tell you what fire is made of.

Fomá. So you have been all the way to St. Pantaléimon's in the Marsh? Oh, piety, thy name is Praskóvya Petróvna! Not a person can hold the most miserably little service in the remotest corner of the town but you smell it out and go to it.

Var. It is a Christian deed, Fomá Ilyitch.

Ast. Now I can get at the ace.

Var. [to Praskóvya]. I must get your supper. [She gets a plate of meat from a cupboard.]

Fomá. And on All Souls' Day she brought home holy water in a bottle and sprinkled the rooms of all the lodgers. The schoolmaster was very angry. You spotted the cover of his Greek Lexicon. He says it is a pagan custom, come down to us from the ancient Scythians.

Pras. I do not like to hear jokes about sacred things. One may provoke Heaven to anger.

Ast. Now I get all this row off.

Fomá. You are always afraid of offending Heaven.

Pras. Of course I am. Think what I have at stake. For you it is only a little thing. You have a life of your own on earth; I have none. I have been as good as dead for twenty years, and the only thing that I desire is to get safely to heaven to join my son who is there.

Fomá. We all wish to get to heaven.

Pras. Not so much as I do. If I were in hell it is not the brimstone that would matter; it would be to know that I should not see my son. [Fomá nods].

Ast. I believe it is coming out.

[They all concentrate their attention eagerly on the patience.]

Var. The six and the seven go. Saints preserve us! and the eight. [She takes up a card to move it.]

Ast. No, not that one; leave that.

Var. Where did it come from?

Ast. From here.

Pras. No, from there.

Var. It was from here.

Ast. It is all the same.

Fomá. It will go.

Pras. And the knave from off this row.

Var. The Wolf is going out!

Pras. It is seven years since it went out.

Fomá. Seven years?

Ast. It is out!

Pras. It is done!

Var. [clapping her hands]. Hooray!

Ast. [elated]. Some great good fortune is going to happen.

Var. What can it be? [A pause.]

Pras. And what is the vodka for?

Ast. The vodka?

Pras. You promised to tell me when the patience was done.

Ast. How much money have you saved up for the house on Sasha's tomb?

Pras. Four hundred and six roubles and a few kopecks.

Ast. And Spiridón asks for 500 roubles?

Pras. Five hundred roubles.

Ast. What if he should lower his price?

Pras. He will not lower his price.

Ast. What if he should say that he would take 450 roubles?

Pras. Why, if I went without food for a year.... [Laughing at herself.] If one could but live without food!

Ast. What if he should say that he would take 420 roubles?

Pras. Astéryi Ivanovitch, you know the proverb—the elbow is near, but you cannot bite it. I am old and feeble. I want it now, now, now. Shall I outlive the bitter winter? A shelter to sit in and talk to my son. A monument worthy of such a saint.

Ast. Spiridón has been here.

Pras. Spiridón has been here? What did he say? Tell me!

Ast. He will build it for 400 roubles.

Var. For 400 roubles!

Ast. He will return soon to strike a bargain.

Pras. Is it true?

Ast. As true as that I wear the cross.

Pras. Oh, all the holy saints be praised! Sláva Tebyé Hóspodi! [Kneeling before the eikons.] Oh, my darling Sasha, we will meet in a fine house, you and I, face to face. [She prostrates herself three times before the eikons.]

Var. Then this is the good luck.

Ast. No, this cannot be what the cards told us; for this had happened already before the Wolf came out.

Var. Then there is something else to follow?

Ast. Evidently.

Var. What can it be?

Ast. To-morrow perhaps we shall know.

Pras. [rising]. And in a month I shall have my tomb-house finished, for which I have been waiting twenty years! A little stone house safe against the rain. [Smiling and eager.] There will be a tile stove which I can light: in the middle a stone table and two chairs—one for me and one for my boy when he comes and sits with me, and....

Var. [at the window, shrieking]. Ah! Heaven defend us!

Pras. What is it?

Var. The face! the face!

Pras. The face again?

Fomá. What face?

Var. The face looked in at the window!

Ast. Whose face?

Var. It is the man that we have seen watching us in the cemetery.

Pras. [crossing herself]. Oh, Heaven preserve me from this man!

Fomá. [opening the street door]. There is nobody there.

Ast. This is a false alarm.

Fomá. People who tire their eyes by staring at window-panes at night often see faces looking in through them.

Pras. Oh, Hóspodi!

Ast. Spiridón will be returning soon. Have you the money ready?

Pras. The money? Yes, yes! I will get it ready. It is not here. Come, Varvára. [They put on coats and shawls.]

Ast. If it is in the bank we must wait till the daytime.

Pras. My money in the bank? I am not so foolish. [She lights the lantern.] Get the spade, Varvára. [Varvára goes out and fetches a spade.] It is buried in the field, in a place that no one knows but myself.

Ast. Are you not afraid to go out?

Pras. Afraid? No, I am not afraid.

Fomá. But your supper—you have not eaten your supper.

Pras. How can I think of supper at such a moment?

Fomá. No supper? Oh, what a wonderful thing is a mother's love!

Pras. [to Astéryi and Fomá]. Stay here till we return.

Var. [drawing back]. I am afraid, Praskóvya Petróvna.

Pras. Nonsense, there is nothing to fear.

Fomá. [throwing his coat over his back]. I will go with you to the corner of the street.

Ast. [shuffling the cards]. I must try one for myself.

Fomá. [mockingly]. What's the use? It will never come out.

Ast. [cheerfully]. Oh, it never does to be discouraged.

[Exeunt Praskóvya, Varvára, and Fomá. Astéryi plays patience. Everything is silent and monotonous again. The clock ticks.]

Fomá. [reënters, dancing and singing roguishly to the tune of the Russian folksong, "Vo sadú li v vogoróde"]: