(Mrs. Vagabundov enters like a bouncing ball: she is very elderly, white dress trimmed with lace, lace fan and velvet neck ribbon, apricot-colored hair.)
MRS. VAGABUNDOV
Greetings, greetings, I know I intrude
But, in view of what’s happened I don’t think I’m rude—
TROSHCHEYKIN
Let’s go, let’s go!
MRS. VAGABUNDOV
—and in view of events—
LYUBOV’
Madam, he’s in great form today, you’ll see!
MRS. VAGABUNDOV
There’s simply no sense!
No—no—this ain’t
The right time to paint.
Lord, what could be absurder
Than such a beauty to murder?
TROSHCHEYKIN
The portrait must be completed.
MRS. VAGABUNDOV
With heroics, Maestro, dispense—
I know and respect your state of suspense:
I’ve been widowed like you,
And not one time but two.
My conjugal bliss was a horrid deception,
And consisted without exception
Of wakes.
I see you have tea and cakes?
ANTONINA PAVLOVNA
Sit down, please do.
MRS. VAGABUNDOV
I’m thirsting for news!
TROSHCHEYKIN
Please listen to me—I’m being serious. Drink some tea, have whatever you want—that thingum with the cream, for instance—but then I want to work on your portrait ! You must realize that I’ll probably be leaving tomorrow. We must finish!
ELEONORA SHNAP
So! Here is shpeaking common zense. Leave, leave and again leave! I have always with Herr Barbashin a bit of hail-fellow-vell-met relationship, und naturally he vill a terrible ding do.
MRS. VAGABUNDOV
Maybe he will toss a bomb.
But does he have enough aplomb?
Yes, he might just
And, on the spot
Blow the whole lot
Of us to dust.
ANTONINA PAVLOVNA
I’m not worried for myself. There is a saying in India that only great people die on their birthdays. The law of whole numbers.
LYUBOV’
There’s no such saying, Mummy.
MRS. VAGABUNDOV
Amazing combination,
A family fête and this revisitation!
ELEONORA SHNAP
Dass is vot I zay. And zey vere zo happy! On vot hangs the human happiness? On a tread tin tin it hangs, zat’s how ve live!
MRS. VAGABUNDOV
(to Antonina Pavlovna)
What a darling little sieve!
More water, please, that’s much too strong....
Yes, everything’s dandy, then he comes along!
VERA
Ladies, ladies, it isn’t funeral time yet. Everybody knew perfectly well that one day Barbashin would be back, and the fact that he is back a little early doesn’t really make any difference. I’m certain he’s forgotten all about it.
(The doorbell rings.)
MRS. VAGABUNDOV
You mustn’t say that. I’ve been through this game....
Believe me, the jail term has but fanned the flame!
My dear Mr. Alex, it just isn’t befitting—
Let’s forget the sitting.
Holding still is a thing I can’t face.
My bosom will heave and my pulse will race.
(Ryovshin comes in.)
RYOVSHIN
Yevghenia Vasilyevna and consort, and also Mr. Kuprikov, professional artist.
TROSHCHEYKIN
Wait a minute—he’s come to see me.
(Troshcheykin goes out.)
ELEONORA SHNAP
(to Mrs. Vagaburtdov)
I undershtandt you zo goot! My heart is bleeding alzo.
Speaking between me und you, now I am kvite sure the child wass hiss....
MRS. VAGABUNDOV
There’s absolutely no doubt!
But I’m glad a professional opinion bears me out.
(Aunt Zhenya and Uncle Paul enter. She is a buxom lady in a silk dress, and would be wearing a bonnet with ribbons if it were a half-century earlier. He wears his white hair in a crew cut and has a dashing mustache that he preens with a little brush. He is of pleasing appearance, but ga-ga.)
YEVGHENIA VASILYEVNA
Don’t tell me it’s all true! Did he actually run away from hard labor, and try to break in here last night?
VERA
That’s ridiculous, Aunt Zhenya. Why do you listen to such clap-trap?
YEVGHENIA VASILYEVNA
Clap-trap my eye! Today Uncle Paul himself.... Here, let him tell you. He described it beautifully to me. You’ll hear for yourself, (to Antonina Pavlovna) Happy birthday, Antonina, even though it’s hardly a day for congratulations, (to Lyubov’, indicating Eleonora Shnap) I’m not on speaking terms with that bitch. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have come.... Paul, everybody is waiting.
UNCLE PAUL
The other day...
AUNT ZHENYA
No, no—today.
UNCLE PAUL
Today, as I was saying, quite unexpectedly, I suddenly saw a certain party coming out of a restaurant.
MRS. VAGABUNDOV
Out of a restaurant, you say?
So early in the day?
How much liquor had he put away?
ANTONINA PAVLOVNA
Oh, Zhénichka, why do you spoil me like this? They’re lovely! Lyubochka, just look at these handkerchiefs.
ELEONORA SHNAP
Ja. Zey vill be goot to cry into.
UNCLE PAUL
Making allowance for the brevity of my observation and the rapidity of the subject’s motion, I affirm that I was in a sober state.
AUNT ZHENYA
No, not you ... him.
UNCLE PAUL
Very well, him.
VERA
Uncle Paul, you’re imagining things. It’s not a dangerous symptom, but it ought to be watched.
LYUBOV’
Anyway, all this isn’t very interesting.... What may I give you? Would you like some cake first? Mama is going to read us her new fairy tale now.
UNCLE PAUL
This is my firm conviction, and it won’t change even under threat of conviction.
AUNT ZHENYA
Go on, go on, Paul.... Now you’re getting warmed up.
UNCLE PAUL
He was walking, I was walking. And the other day I saw a woman get hurt falling off a bicycle.
MRS. VAGABUNDOV
What disaster, what dismay!
It’s time to leave, that’s clear as day!
Every one, for heaven’s sake!...
I think I’ll have a little more cake.
ANTONINA PAVLOVNA
Lyuba, dear, shouldn’t we wait until everybody is here?
LYUBOV’
No, it doesn’t matter—please begin.
ANTONINA PAVLOVNA
All right. Here we go. So, this fairy tale, or rather sketch, concludes my Illumined Lakes cycle. Paul, dear, will you sit down please?
UNCLE PAUL
I would rather stand.
(The doorbell rings.)
AUNT ZHENYA
I don’t understand it. He told it so colorfully, so nicely, before, and now something has jammed. Maybe he’ll get going again later on. (to her husband) You worry me lately. (Ryovshin enters, ushering in Mrs. Nikoladze, a wizened little old lady with short-trimmed hair, dressed in black, and the Famous Writer. He is old, used to being lionized, and speaks slowly, weightily, a little nasally, with throat-clearing noises that give his words impressive emphasis. He is wearing a dinner jacket.)
ANTONINA PAVLOVNA
Ah, at last!
WRITER
Well....It appears one is supposed to wish you a happy birthday.
ANTONINA PAVLOVNA
I’m so glad to
see you here in my house! I kept worrying you might rush off somewhere, bird of passage that you are.
WRITER
I don’t think I know anyone here....
MRS. NIKOLADZE
Happy birthday. Some candy. Only a trifle.
ANTONINA PAVLOVNA
Thank you, darling. You shouldn’t have gone to the expense for my sake!
WRITER
(to Vera)
Haven’t we met somewhere before, my dear?
VERA
At His Highness’s reception, right, dear sir?
WRITER
At His Highness’s reception.... Ah, bravo. I see you’re a tease.
LYUBOV’
What can I offer you?
WRITER
What can you offer me.... Mm—yes. What’s that you have there—one of those things people eat after funerals? Oh, it’s a fruitcake. Very similar. I thought you were holding a wake.
LYUBOV’
I have no reason to hold a wake, Pyotr Nikolaevich.
WRITER
Oh, really? Well, I don’t know, my dear. The mood is pretty indigo here. The only one missing is the reverend.
LYUBOV’
What will you have? Some of this?
WRITER
No, I am an antidulcinist, an enemy of all things sweet. How about some liquor?
ANTONINA PAVLOVNA
In a minute we’ll have the Moët, Pyotr Nikolaevich.
Lyubushka, ask Ryovshin to open the bottle.
WRITER
How come you have Moët? You must be getting richer and richer.
LYUBOV’
If you must know, the wine merchant gave it to my husband in payment for a head-and-shoulders portrait.
WRITER
Great thing, to be a portrait artist. You develop horns. Of plenty, that is. Say, would you have a little brandy for me?
LYUBOV’
You’ll be served right away.
MRS. VAGABUNDOV
Pyotr Nikolaevich, pardon a widow’s confession....
To meet you in person makes such an impression!
I’m so honored I could die.
Not only I,
But everyone loves your creations.
WRITER
Thank you.
MRS. VAGABUNDOV
But do give us your evaluation
Of the situation.
WRITER
Of what situation, Madam?
MRS. VAGABUNDOV
You mean you haven’t yet learned
Who has unexpectedly returned?
ANTONINA PAVLOVNA
(taking the snifter out of Marfa’s hands)
There you are.
WRITER
I have been informed, (to Lyubov’) Tell me, my dear, are your knees shaking? Let’s have a look.... In my youth I once fell in love with a girl just because of her knees.
LYUBOV’
I’m not afraid of anything, Pyotr Nikolaevich.
WRITER
You are fearless, aren’t you? M-mm—this assassin is quite a connoisseur.
MRS. NIKOLADZE
What’s that? I don’t understand anything. What masseur? What assassin? What happened?
WRITER
To your health, my dear. Your brandy is nothing to brag about, I must say.
ELEONORA SHNAP
(to Mrs. Nikoladze)
I zee you know nussing about itt. I’ll tell you.
MRS. VAGABUNDOV
If you’ll allow,
It’s my turn now.
ELEONORA SHNAP
No, it’s mine. Please not to interfere.
LYUBOV’
Mummy—now, please....
ANTONINA PAVLOVNA
When you came in, Pyotr Nikolaevich, I was going to read them a little piece of mine, but now, in front of you, I feel kind of abashed.
WRITER
Stop the pretense. You’ll enjoy it even more. I assume that in your youth you prattled between kisses like all deceitful women.
ANTONINA PAVLOVNA
I have long since forgotten such things, Pyotr Nikolaevich.
WRITER
Go ahead. Let’s hear it.
ANTONINA PAVLOVNA
The title is “The Resurrection of the Swan.”
WRITER
“The Resurrection of the Swan.”...The death of Lazarus.... The second and final death.... Not bad....
ANTONINA PAVLOVNA
No, Pyotr Nikolaevich, not Lazarus—the swan.
WRITER
Forgiye me. I was talking to myself. Something flashed through my mind. A reflex of the imagination.
TROSHCHEYKIN
(appearing at the door)
Lyuba, come here for a minute.
LYUBOV’
You come here, Alyosha.
TROSHCHEYKIN
Lyuba!
LYUBOV’
Come here. Mr. Kuprikov will also find this interesting.
TROSHCHEYKIN
Suit yourself.
(comes into the room with Kuprikov and the Reporter. Kuprikov is a tritely picturesque picture-painter, in a jacket with padded shoulders, an extremely dark shirt and an extremely light necktie. The Reporter is a young man with parted hair and a fountain pen.)
TROSHCHEYKIN
This is Igor Olegovich Kuprikov. Get acquainted. And this gentleman has come to interview us for the Sun.
KUPRIKOV
(to Lyubov)
Honored to meet you.... I’ve given your husband all my information.
MRS. VAGABUNDOV
Oh, I’m filled with expectation!
Let’s hear your information.
AUNT ZHENYA
Now, Paul! Now is your chance to shine! You told it so beautifully before. Paul! Come on.... Mr. Kuprikov, Alyosha—my husband, here, also saw...
UNCLE PAUL
Be glad to. It happened like this. The ambulance was coming around the corner from the left, and the lady on the bicycle was coming full speed from the right—a rather fat lady, with a red beret, as far as I could make out.
WRITER
Halt. You’ve lost the floor. Next.
VERA
Come, Uncle Paul, come, my sweet. I’ll give you a piece of candy.
AUNT ZHENYA
I don’t understand what is the matter.... He’s developed some kind of mechanical defect.
KUPRIKOV
(to the Writer)
May I?
WRITER
Maestro Kuprikov has the floor.
LYUBOV’
(to her husband)
I don’t know why all this has to be transformed into some kind of nightmarish farce. Why did you bring this reporter with his note pad? Mama is about to read her story. Please, let’s not talk about Barbashin anymore.
TROSHCHEYKIN
What can I do?...Leave me in peace. I’m dying a slow death, (to the guests) What time is it? Does anybody have a watch?
(All look at their watches.)
WRITER
Five on the dot. We are listening, Mr. Kuprikov.
KUPRIKOV
I have just been reporting the following fact to Alexey Maximovich. I shall now give a short version. As I was walking today at two-thirty through the city park, namely along the avenue that ends at the urn, I saw Leonid Barbashin sitting on a green bench.
WRITER
You don’t say?
KUPRIKOV
He was sitting motionless, pondering something. The shadows of the foliage lay in beautiful patterns around his yellow shoes.
WRITER
Fine ... bravo....
Man From the USSR & Other Plays Page 15