Redemption and two other plays Part 31

ANiSYA. Ah, if you knew all! The thing is that I've made one little mistake.

NEIGHBOR. Well, if I were you, I'd go straight and have the law of him. The money's yours; how dare he squander it? There's no such rights.

ANiSYA. They don't pay heed to that nowadays.

NEIGHBOR. Ah, my dear, now I come to look at you, you've got that weak. Anisya. Yes, quite weak, dear, quite weak. He's got me into a regular fix. I don't myself know anything. Oh, my poor head!

NEIGHBOR (listening). There's some one coming, I think.

[The door opens and AKiM enters.

AKiM (crosses himself, knocks the snow off his feet, and takes off his coat). Peace be to this house! How do you do? Are you well, daughter?

ANiSYA. How d'you do, father? Do you come straight from home?

AKiM. I've been a-thinking I'll go and see what's name, go to see my son, I mean,--my son. I didn't start early--had my dinner, I mean; I went, and it's so what d'you call it--so snowy, hard walking, and so there I'm what d'you call it--late, I mean. And my son--is he at home?

At home? My son, I mean.

ANiSYA. No; he's gone to the town.

AKiM (sits down on a bench). I've some business with him, d'you see, some business, I mean. I told him t'other day, told him I was in need --told him, I mean, that our horse was done for, our horse, you see. So we must what d'ye call it, get a horse, I mean, some kind of a horse, I mean. So there, I've come, you see.

ANiSYA. Nikita told me. When he comes back you'll have a talk. (Goes to the oven.) Have some supper now, and he'll soon come. Mitritch, eh, Mitritch, come have your supper.

MiTRITCH. Oh Lord! merciful Nicholas!

ANiSYA. Come to supper.

NEIGHBOR. I shall go now. Good-night.

[Exit.

MiTRITCH (gets down from the oven). I never noticed how I fell asleep.

Oh, Lord! gracious Nicholas! How d'you do, Daddy Akim?

AKiM. Ah, Mitritch! What are you, what d'ye call it, I mean?...

MiTRITCH. Why, I'm working for your son, Nikita.

AKiM. Dear me! What d'ye call ... working for my son, I mean. Dear me!

MiTRITCH. I was living with a tradesman in town, but drank all I had there. Now I've come back to the village. I've no home, so I've gone into service. (Gapes.) Oh Lord!

AKiM. But how's that, what d'you call it, or what's name, Nikita, what does he do? Has he some business, I mean besides, that he should hire a laborer, a laborer, I mean, hire a laborer?

ANiSYA. What business should he have? He used to manage, but now he's other things on his mind, so he's hired a laborer.

MiTRITCH. Why shouldn't he, seeing he has money?

AKiM. Now that's what d'you call it, that's wrong, I mean, quite wrong, I mean. That's spoiling oneself.

ANiSYA. Oh, he has got spoilt, that spoilt, it's just awful.

AKiM. There now, what d'you call it, one thinks how to make things better, and it gets worse I mean. Riches spoil a man, spoil, I mean.

MiTRITCH. Fatness makes even a dog go mad; how's one not to get spoilt by fat living? Myself now; how I went on with fat living. I drank for three weeks without being sober. I drank my last breeches. When I had nothing left, I gave it up. Now I've determined not to. Bother it!

AKiM. And where's what d'you call, your old woman?

MiTRITCH. My old woman has found her right place, old fellow. She's hanging about the gin-shops in town. She's a swell too; one eye knocked out, and the other black, and her muzzle twisted to one side.

And she's never sober; drat her!

AKiM. Oh, oh, oh, how's that?

MiTRITCH. And where's a soldier's wife to go? She has found her right place.

[Silence.

AKiM (to ANiSYA). And Nikita,--has he what d'you call it, taken anything up to town? I mean, anything to sell?

ANiSYA (laying the table and serving up). No, he's taken nothing. He's gone to get money from the bank.

AKiM (sitting down to supper). Why? D'you wish to put it to another use, the money I mean?

ANiSYA. No, we don't touch it. Only some twenty or thirty roubles as have come due; they must be taken.

AKiM. Must be taken. Why take it, the money I mean? You'll take some to-day I mean, and some to-morrow; and so you'll what d'you call it, take it all, I mean.

ANiSYA. We get this besides. The money is all safe.

AKiM. All safe? How's that, safe? You take it, and it what d'you call it, it's all safe. How's that? You put a heap of meal into a bin, or a barn, I mean, and go on taking meal, will it remain there, what d'you call it, all safe, I mean? That's, what d'you call it, it's cheating.

You'd better find out, or else they'll cheat you. Safe indeed! I mean you what d'ye call ... you take it and it remains all safe there?

ANiSYA. I know nothing about it. Ivan Mosevitch advised us at the time. "Put the money in the bank," he said, "the money will be safe, and you'll get interest," he said.

MiTRITCH (having finished his supper). That's so. I've lived with a tradesman. They all do like that. Put the money in the bank, then lie down on the oven and it will keep coming in.

AKiM. That's queer talk. How's that--what d'ye call, coming in, how's that coming in, and they, who do they get it from I mean, the money I mean?

ANiSYA. They take the money out of the bank.

MiTRITCH. Get along! Tain't a thing a woman can understand! You look here, I'll make it all clear to you. Mind and remember. You see, suppose you've got some money, and I, for instance, have spring coming on, my land's idle, I've got no seeds, or I have to pay taxes. So, you see, I go to you. "Akim," I say, "give us a ten-rouble note, and when I've harvested in autumn I'll return it, and till two acres for you besides, for having obliged me!" And you, seeing I've something to fall back on--a horse say, or a cow--you say, "No, give two or three roubles for the obligation," and there's an end of it. I'm stuck in the mud, and can't do without. So I say, "All right!" and take a tenner. In the autumn, when I've made my turnover, I bring it back, and you squeeze the extra three roubles out of me.

AKiM. Yes, but that's what peasants do when they what d'ye call it, when they forget G.o.d. It's not honest, I mean, it's no good, I mean.

MiTRITCH. You wait. You'll see it comes just to the same thing. Now don't forget how you've skinned me. And Anisya, say, has got some money lying idle. She does not know what to do with it, besides, she's a woman, and does not know how to use it. She comes to you. "Couldn't you make some profit with my money too?" she says. "Why not?" say you, and you wait. Before the summer I come again and say, "Give me another tenner, and I'll be obliged." Then you find out if my hide isn't all gone, and if I can be skinned again you give me Anisya's money. But supposing I'm clean shorn,--have nothing to eat,--then you see I can't be fleeced any more, and you say, "Go your way, friend," and you look out for another, and lend him your own and Anisya's money and skin him. That's what the bank is. So it goes round and round. It's a cute thing, old fellow!

AKiM (excitedly). Gracious me, whatever is that like? It's what d'ye call it, it's filthy! The peasants--what d'ye call it, the peasants do so I mean, and know it's, what d'ye call it, a sin! It's what d'you call, not right, not right, I mean. It's filthy! How can people as have learnt ... what d'ye call it....