MERIK. I call myself after whatever passport God gives me. I’ve been Merik for two months. [Thunder] Rrrr. … Go on thundering, I’m not afraid! [Looks round] Any police here?
TIHON. What are you talking about, making mountains out of mole-hills? … The people here are all right … The police are fast asleep in their feather beds now. … [Loudly] Orthodox brothers, mind your pockets and your clothes, or you’ll have to regret it. The man’s a rascal! He’ll rob you!
MERIK. They can look out for their money, but as to their clothes—I shan’t touch them. I’ve nowhere to take them.
TIHON. Where’s the devil taking you to?
MERIK. To Kuban.
TIHON. My word!
FEDYA. To Kuban? Really? [Sitting up] It’s a fine place. You wouldn’t see such a country, brother, if you were to fall asleep and dream for three years. They say the birds there, and the beasts are—my God! The grass grows all the year round, the people are good, and they’ve so much land they don’t know what to do with it! The authorities, they say … a soldier was telling me the other day … give a hundred dessiatins ahead. There’s happiness, God strike me!
MERIK. Happiness. … Happiness goes behind you. … You don’t see it. It’s as near as your elbow is, but you can’t bite it. It’s all silly. … [Looking round at the benches and the people] Like a lot of prisoners. … A poor lot.
EFIMOVNA. [To MERIK] What great, angry, eyes! There’s an enemy in you, young man. … Don’t you look at us!
MERIK. Yes, you’re a poor lot here.
EFIMOVNA. Turn away! [Nudges SAVVA] Savva, darling, a wicked man is looking at us. He’ll do us harm, dear. [To MERIK] Turn away, I tell you, you snake!
SAVVA. He won’t touch us, mother, he won’t touch us. … God won’t let him.
MERIK. All right, Orthodox brothers! [Shrugs his shoulders] Be quiet! You aren’t asleep, you bandy-legged fools! Why don’t you say something?
EFIMOVNA. Take your great eyes away! Take away that devil’s own pride!
MERIK. Be quiet, you crooked old woman! I didn’t come with the devil’s pride, but with kind words, wishing to honour your bitter lot! You’re huddled together like flies because of the cold—I’d be sorry for you, speak kindly to you, pity your poverty, and here you go grumbling away! [Goes up to FEDYA] Where are you from?
FEDYA. I live in these parts. I work at the Khamonyevsky brickworks.
MERIK. Get up.
FEDYA. [Raising himself] Well?
MERIK. Get up, right up. I’m going to lie down here.
FEDYA. What’s that. … It isn’t your place, is it?
MERIK. Yes, mine. Go and lie on the ground!
FEDYA. You get out of this, you tramp. I’m not afraid of you.
MERIK. You’re very quick with your tongue. … Get up, and don’t talk about it! You’ll be sorry for it, you silly.
TIHON. [To FEDYA] Don’t contradict him, young man. Never mind.
FEDYA. What right have you? You stick out your fishy eyes and think I’m afraid! [Picks up his belongings and stretches himself out on the ground] You devil! [Lies down and covers himself all over.]
MERIK. [Stretching himself out on the bench] I don’t expect you’ve ever seen a devil or you wouldn’t call me one. Devils aren’t like that. [Lies down, putting his axe next to him.] Lie down, little brother axe … let me cover you.
TIHON. Where did you get the axe from?
MERIK. Stole it. … Stole it, and now I’ve got to fuss over it like a child with a new toy; I don’t like to throw it away, and I’ve nowhere to put it. Like a beastly wife. … Yes. … [Covering himself over] Devils aren’t like that, brother.
FEDYA. [Uncovering his head] What are they like?
MERIK. Like steam, like air. … Just blow into the air. [Blows] They’re like that, you can’t see them.
A VOICE FROM THE CORNER. You can see them if you sit under a harrow.
MERIK. I’ve tried, but I didn’t see any. … Old women’s tales, and silly old men’s, too. … You won’t see a devil or a ghost or a corpse. … Our eyes weren’t made so that we could see everything. … When I was a boy, I used to walk in the woods at night on purpose to see the demon of the woods. … I’d shout and shout, and there might be some spirit, I’d call for the demon of the woods and not blink my eyes: I’d see all sorts of little things moving about, but no demon. I used to go and walk about the churchyards at night, I wanted to see the ghosts—but the women lie. I saw all sorts of animals, but anything awful—not a sign. Our eyes weren’t …
THE VOICE FROM THE CORNER. Never mind, it does happen that you do see. … In our village a man was gutting a wild boar … he was separating the tripe when … something jumped out at him!
SAVVA. [Raising himself] Little children, don’t talk about these unclean things! It’s a sin, dears!
MERIK. Aaa … greybeard! You skeleton! [Laughs] You needn’t go to the churchyard to see ghosts, when they get up from under the floor to give advice to their relations. … A sin! … Don’t you teach people your silly notions! You’re an ignorant lot of people living in darkness. … [Lights his pipe] My father was peasant and used to be fond of teaching people. One night he stole a sack of apples from the village priest, and he brings them along and tells us, “Look, children, mind you don’t eat any apples before Easter, it’s a sin.” You’re like that. … You don’t know what a devil is, but you go calling people devils. … Take this crooked old woman, for instance. [Points to EFIMOVNA] She sees an enemy in me, but is her time, for some woman’s nonsense or other, she’s given her soul to the devil five times.
EFIMOVNA. Hoo, hoo, hoo. … Gracious heavens! [Covers her face] Little Savva!
TIHON. What are you frightening them for? A great pleasure! [The door slams in the wind] Lord Jesus. … The wind, the wind!
MERIK. [Stretching himself] Eh, to show my strength! [The door slams again] If I could only measure myself against the wind! Shall I tear the door down, or suppose I tear up the inn by the roots! [Gets up and lies down again] How dull!
NAZAROVNA. You’d better pray, you heathen! Why are you so restless?
EFIMOVNA. Don’t speak to him, leave him alone! He’s looking at us again. [To MERIK] Don’t look at us, evil man! Your eyes are like the eyes of a devil before cockcrow!
SAVVA. Let him look, pilgrims! You pray, and his eyes won’t do you any harm.
BORTSOV. No, I can’t. It’s too much for my strength! [Goes up to the counter] Listen, Tihon, I ask you for the last time. … Just half a glass!
TIHON. [Shakes his head] The money!
BORTSOV. My God, haven’t I told you! I’ve drunk it all! Where am I to get it? And you won’t go broke even if you do let me have a drop of vodka on tick. A glass of it only costs you two copecks, and it will save me from suffering! I am suffering! Understand! I’m in misery, I’m suffering!
TIHON. Go and tell that to someone else, not to me. … Go and ask the Orthodox, perhaps they’ll give you some for Christ’s sake, if they feel like it, but I’ll only give bread for Christ’s sake.
BORTSOV. You can rob those wretches yourself, I shan’t. … I won’t do it! I won’t! Understand? [Hits the bar-counter with his fist] I won’t. [A pause.] Hm … just wait. … [Turns to the pilgrim women] It’s an idea, all the same, Orthodox ones! Spare five copecks! My inside asks for it. I’m ill!
FEDYA. Oh, you swindler,