BABAKINA. N-O — no. . Anything else, but when it comes to money—thanks ever so . . . No, no, no! . . . Ah, take your hands off me!
SHABELSKY (minces near them). Little puff-ball . . . She has her charms . . .
BORKIN (seriously). That’s enough. Let’s talk business. Let’s consider things objectively, in a business-like way. Answer me straight, without equivocation or hocus-pocus: yes or no? Listen to me! (Points to the Count.) He needs money, a minimal income of three thousand a year. You need a husband. Want to be a countess?
SHABELSKY (roars with laughter). A wonderful cynic!
BORKIN. Want to be a countess? Yes or no?
BABAKINA (upset). You’re making this up, Misha, honestly . . . And people don’t do business this way, off the cuff like this . . . If the Count cares to, he can himself or . . . or I don’t know how this suddenly, all at once . . .
BORKIN. Now, now, don’t confuse the issue! It’s a business deal . . . Yes or no?
SHABELSKY (laughing and rubbing his hands). Actually, how about it? Damn it, should I really commit this dirty deed myself? Eh? Little puff-ball. . . . (Kisses Babakina on the cheek.) Superb! . . . A tasty little pickle! . . .
BABAKINA. Leave off, leave off, you’ve quite upset me . . . Go away, go away! . . . No, don’t go away!
BORKIN. Quickly! Yes or no! Time’s running out . . .
BABAKINA. You know what, Count? You drive over to my place on a visit for two or three days . . . We’ll have fun there, not like here . . . Drive over tomorrow . . . (To Borkin.) No, you were joking, weren’t you?
BORKIN (angrily). Now who’d start joking about serious business?
BABAKINA. Leave off, leave off . . . Ah, I feel faint! I feel faint! A countess . . . I feel faint! . . . I’m falling . . .
BORKIN and the COUNT, laughing, take her by the arms and, kissing her on the cheeks, lead her out the door at right.
XIII
IVANOV, SASHA, then ANNA PETROVNA.
IVANOV and SASHA run in from the garden.
IVANOV (clutching his head in despair). It can’t be! Don’t, don’t, Shurochka! . . . Ah, don’t!
SASHA (passionately). I love you madly . . . Without you there’s no meaning to my life, no happiness and joy! For me, you’re everything . . .
IVANOV. What for, what for! My God, I don’t understand a thing . . . Shurochka, don’t do this!
SASHA. In my childhood you were my only joy; I loved you and your soul, like myself, and now . . . I love you, Nikolay Alekseevich . . . With you anywhere to the ends of the earth, wherever you want, even the grave, only, for God’s sake, soon, otherwise I’ll suffocate . . .
IVANOV (bursts into peals of happy laughter). What is this? Does this mean starting life over from the beginning? Shurochka, does it? . . . Happiness is mine for the taking! (Draws her to him.) My youth, my prime . . .
ANNA PETROVNA from the garden and, on seeing her husband and SASHA, stops as if rooted to the spot.
Does it mean coming to life? Does it? Back to an active role again?
Kiss. After they kiss, IVANOV and SASHA look around and see Anna Petrovna.
(in horror.) Sarra!
Curtain
ACT THREE
Ivanov’s study. Desk, covered with an unruly sprawl of papers, books, official letters, knickknacks, revolvers; alongside the papers, a lamp, a carafe of vodka, a plate of herring, pieces of bread, and pickled gherkins. On the wall regional maps, pictures, shotguns, pistols, sickles, riding crops, and so on. it is midday.
I
SHABELSKY, LEBEDEV, BORKiN, and PYOTR.
SHABELSKY and LEBEDEV are sitting on either side of the desk. BORKiN is center stage astride a chair. PYOTR is standing by the door.
LEBEDEV. France has a clear and well-defined policy . . . The French know what they want. They need to give the Krauts a good thrashing and that’ll be that, while Germany, my boy, is singing a very different tune. Germany has plenty of other irons in the fire besides France . . .
SHABELSKY. Hogwash! . . . In my opinion, the Germans are cowards and so are the French . . . They give each other the finger behind their backs. Believe me, it won’t go beyond giving each other the finger. They won’t fight.[36]
BORKIN. The way I see it, why fight? What’s the point of all these arms buildups, conferences, defense budgets? You know what I’d do? I’d get together all the dogs in the whole nation, infect them with a good dose of Pasteur’s rabies[37] and let ‘em loose behind enemy lines. All the combatants would be raving mad within a month.
LEBEDEV (laughs). That head may not look all that large, but it swarms with big ideas, countless multitudes of ‘em, like fishes in the sea.
SHABELSKY. A virtuoso!
LEBEDEV. God bless you, you’re good for a laugh, Michel Michelich! (Stops laughing.) Well, gentlemen, “only warlike talk is heard, but as for vodka, not a word.”[38] Repetatur![39] (Fills three shot-glasses.) Our good health!
They drink and take a snack.
A little bit of herring, the appetizer of all appetizers.
SHABELSKY. Well, no, gherkin’s better . . . Learned men have been pondering from the dawn of time and never come up with anything cleverer than a pickled gherkin. (To Pyotr.) Pyotr, go and get more gherkins and tell ‘em in the kitchen to bake four onion tarts. And see that they’re hot.
PYOTR exits.
LEBEDEV. Another good thing to eat with vodka is caviar. Only how? Got to use your head . . . Take a quarter pound of pressed caviar, two bulbs of green onion, olive oil, mix it all up and, you know, like this . . . a little lemon juice on top . . . To die for! You could go crazy from the smell alone.
BORKIN. Another nice thing to chase down vodka is fried smelts. Only you’ve got to know how to fry them. You’ve got to gut them, then roll them in fine breadcrumbs and fry them crisp, so they crunch between your teeth . . . cru-cru-cru . . .
SHABELSKY. Yesterday at Babakina’s there was a good appetizer—button mushrooms.
LEBEDEV. No kidding . . .
SHABELSKY. Only prepared some special way. You know, with onion, bay leaf, all sorts of spices. As soon as they took the lid off the saucepan, it gave off a vapor, an aroma . . . sheer rapture.
LEBEDEV. How about it? Repetatur, gentlemen!
They drink.
Our health. (Looks at his watch.) I don’t think I can wait till Nikolasha shows up. It’s time for me to go. At Bababkina’s, you say, they served mushrooms, but you have yet to see a mushroom at our place. Would you like to tell me, Count, why the hell you spend so much time at Marfutka’s?
SHABELSKY (nods at Borkin). That one, he wants to marry me off to her . . .